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They don't how you've haunted me
So stunningly
— — —
6 Months Later
Batman and Robin had been in the process of stopping a robbery in an alleyway when Dick's comm buzzes in his ear.
"Batman?" Tim's voice comes in.
Dick's breath hitches. "Go ahead, Red."
"We got him."
Dick's fist veers off course as his whole body locks up in shock.
Bruce.
Yesterday, Tim had radioed that he and a few Justice League members were going to Bruce's last known location to hopefully bring him back, alive.
And now, nearly a year after Bruce's death, on a random Tuesday night at two in the morning, they were back at the Watchtower with him.
Bruce is alive.
The goon gets a good punch in on Dick's jaw, but Dick's brain reboots to land the final swing. The goon hits the concrete with a loud smack.
Dick looks over to see Damian tackling his own assailant, the last of the bunch.
"Copy that, Red," Dick replies, voice tight. "We'll be up there as soon as we can."
Damian grabs a bundle of zip ties from his utility belt and tosses it towards Dick, who catches it with one hand. Together they make quick work of restraining the five unconscious men in the alley.
The summer heat suddenly feels suffocating. Beads of sweat pool on his neck under the cowl.
As they grapple back to the Batmobile, Dick can't help but look up at the night sky. Of course, with Gotham's light pollution, he can't see any stars, let alone the tiny, blinking light of the Watchtower—but just knowing Bruce is up there sends him spiraling.
Bruce is alive.
Dick and Damian hop into the Batmobile without a word. Not trusting his attention span at the moment, Dick activates the autopilot and sets it to the Bunker. The tension inside the vehicle is so palpable, it could be cut with a batarang.
He turns to Damian, who's stiff as a board next to him.
Dick takes a deep breath. "Do you… wanna talk about it?"
Damian flinches, making Dick realize how much the news is actually affecting the kid. But he recovers quickly, letting out a soft, "Tt."
"It's okay to not know how to feel right now," Dick says. "I sure don't."
Dick's skin buzzes against the suit, a weird mix of anticipation and fear festering in all of his nerve endings.
"I only really knew Father for six months before he…" Damian trails off, "…disappeared. I've known you longer than I knew him."
Dick waits in the silence, knowing that Damian has more to say. After being his legal guardian for the last twelve months, he's able to read the kid's nonverbal cues like the back of his hand.
"But him being gone has greatly affected you," Damian concludes, "and for that, I'm happy he's back."
"We'll have to see what his condition is, see if he wants to move back to the Manor." Dick doesn't mention the cowl—the idea of being Nightwing again sparks a joy Dick is afraid to grasp at just yet. "I'm still here for you, okay? Nothing has to change between the two of us."
"Hn," Damian replies. Despite only knowing Bruce for less than a year, it's an almost perfect imitation—one that claws at Dick's heart every time he does it.
The Batmobile pulls into the secret garage door and stops in the Bunker a moment later.
Alfred's waiting for them, stiff with his hands behind his back. Dick belatedly realizes that he never told Alfred they were coming back early, or why. But the look on Alfred's face tells Dick everything he needs to know.
Dick jumps out of the vehicle and whips off the cowl. He doesn't know what to say to the man at first. Instead, he looks at Damian and tells him, "Go jump in the shower, I'll be there in a minute. And then we'll take the tube together."
He watches Damian head to the locker room, then finally turns to Alfred.
"Are you coming with us?"
"I’ve been in contact with Dr. Kennedy," Alfred responds. "We’ve been coordinating information, and she will let me know as soon as we can transfer him. I’ll stay here and prepare, for now."
Dick nods and starts taking the suit off. He takes Alfred's reasoning at face-value, knowing that the news is still a shock.
Dick still doesn't fully believe it. There was a body. He saw the body. He couldn't let himself hope after this long.
If Bruce is truly alive, he knows what he has to do—convince Bruce to forget about that night, that kiss, and shove down his romantic feelings forever.
He showers, dries off, and throws on joggers and a sweatshirt. He briefly looks in the mirror, deciding what to do with his hair. He hasn't cut it in a while—wearing the cowl every night meant he cared less—and the ends graze his shoulders. He quickly ties it back in a messy half bun, a few wet strands around his face already falling out.
He grabs his personal phone from his locker, then heads back out to the main area.
Damian is similarly dressed with styled, yet comfortable, clothes.
"You ready, Little D?"
Damian nods, silently walking over to the Zeta tube.
Dick looks over at Alfred. "I'll keep you updated, Alfie."
"Please make sure you do."
Dick keys in his access code, then he and Damian walk through the machine. The artificial lights in the Watchtower burn into Dick's eyes, and the harsh contrast from the Bunker causes him to wince.
Tim's waiting for them on the other side, still in his new Red Robin suit but with the cowl off.
Dr. Kennedy stands next to him, wearing scrubs and a stark-white lab coat. Dick has only met her once before, when she was added to the approved on-call roster a few years ago.
Dick inhales to say something, anything, but Tim beats him to it.
"Hey," Tim says. "It's good to see you."
Dick takes in Tim's small smile and dark circles around his eyes—like a weight had been lifted off Tim's shoulders that shouldn't have been there in the first place. Guilt floods him like a roaring river. "Tim, I-"
"Go see him," Tim says, cutting Dick off. "We'll talk later, okay? I promise, we will."
"But I-"
"Dick," Tim says. "Listen. I did this for all of us, not just me. For you, too."
"He's awake," Dr. Kennedy says, "but visitors should be one at a time, especially since he's refusing medication."
Dick's heart aches. That does sound like him. But he still can't fully believe it. "Damian?"
Damian hesitates, looking between Dick and Tim—which, Dick understands. He's a little hesitant to leave the two of them alone together. But Damian responds with, "Richard, you should go first."
"Go," Tim insists. "He's asking for you."
Dick's breath hitches. Bruce is asking for him? How much did he remember, in the months leading up to what happened?
"Okay," Dick acquiesces, nodding. "Lead the way."
Dr. Kennedy escorts him out into the hall, then down the corridor to the Watchtower's med bay. They reach a shut door, and she tells him that she'll be back in about an hour.
Dick takes a deep breath with his hand on the door handle. He opens the door, walks in, and shuts it behind him before he looks into the room.
Bruce lays upright on the medical bed, with various bandages and wraps on his face and arm. He's lost weight and muscle definition, with the baggy hospital gown hanging off one shoulder. His hair is greasy and disheveled, and stubble covers his jaw.
But he's alive.
Bruce is alive.
Dick's knees go weak, so he grabs onto the bed's end railing to keep himself steady. "You're alive."
"Dick," Bruce breathes out, eyes slowly turning towards him.
Dick stumbles over to the bedside chair and falls into it. "Oh my god, you're actually alive."
Dick doesn't know what to do with his hands. He rests them lamely in his lap, never breaking eye contact. "Do you need anything? Water?"
"I'm alright, chum," he says, but his voice is weak and weary. "Dr. Kennedy said it's been a year?"
Dick sucks in a breath. "A really long year, yeah."
Bruce winces as he tries to shuffle into a better seated position against the pillows. Dick instinctively reaches his arms over to help him. Once settled, Dick leaves one hand on the bed, resting on the thin sheet just inches from Bruce's hand.
"What happened?" Dick asks.
"Darkseid sent me back through time," Bruce begins, and launches into his travels, of where and when he'd been.
Dick takes it all in. "And the injuries?"
"Mostly superficial. Nasty knife to the upper arm, though. That needed stitches."
The two stare at each other for a moment. Dick's eyes catalogue Bruce's features, trying to memorize them in case he vanishes again, clinging onto every second that ticks by.
"Your hair's longer," Bruce comments, breaking the silence.
Dick blushes. "Yeah, I just haven't been cutting it. There's really no need, with the cowl."
"You took up the mantle." It's a statement, not a question.
But Dick nods anyway. "Damian, Alfred, and I moved into the penthouse. Damian's been my Robin, and Tim…" He doesn't know how to finish that sentence as the guilt overwhelms his stomach.
Bruce lays his hand on top of Dick's. "It's okay, chum. Tim and I talked earlier."
Dick gasps at the touch. The gentle hand on his reminds him that he can't stall the inevitable. He'd begged the universe for this. He needs to complete his end of the deal.
"Bruce, I…" Dick starts, but he doesn't know how to say it. He tries to pull his hand away, but Bruce grabs onto his wrist.
"Dick, I'm sorry for the way I left things."
Dick shakes his head. "Bruce, it's okay. We don't need to focus on that right now."
"Yes, Dick. We do."
"We can just pretend it never happened," Dick whispers. "Please."
"I can't," Bruce says, leaning forward. "I clawed my way through time to get back to you. The thought of never telling you how I really feel was the only thing keeping me alive."
Dick rests his hand back down on the bed, and Bruce doesn't let go. Dick tries to absorb what Bruce is saying, but it doesn't make any sense.
"I pushed you away because I was afraid of what I would do, afraid of what I've felt towards you for years," Bruce says. "I told myself that I would never cross that line. How could I? I put men like that in Blackgate. And then you kissed me, and for a moment everything finally made sense. And I was terrified."
Dick closes his eyes as Bruce's words wash over him, trying to grasp at the confession. Sure, Bruce had kissed him back at first. But with the clear rejection in the following moments and the subsequent months, his feelings—Dick had thought—were abundantly clear.
The warmth of Bruce's hand radiates around his wrist.
"Had I accidentally groomed you?" Bruce continues. "Was your attraction to me somehow my doing? I realized I couldn’t live without you, but I was so disgusted at myself for being attracted to the person I raised as a son."
Dick's eyes fly back open. "You don't think I get how wrong this is? That we both feel this way?"
"I’m tired of trying to deny my feelings, chum. And I know you are, too."
A wretched sob escapes Dick's throat. "You can't just say that! You denied me! You dodged me for months, and then you died!"
"I know," Bruce whispers, voice cracking.
"I've spent the last year begging for you to be alive, thinking that somehow it was my fault, that revealing my feelings killed you." Tears start streaming down his face.
"I'm so sorry, Dick."
Dick pushes himself forward and smashes their lips together. Bruce lets out a startled groan, but quickly kisses him back. The fear and anxiety melt away from Dick's body, but there's still simmering anger, threatening to boil over.
Dick pulls back slightly and stares into those icy blue eyes, needing to make sure Bruce hears every word. "You listen to me. It’s not a childhood crush or hero worship. I’ve loved you my entire life, and I want us to be together, in every sense of the word."
"Yes," Bruce murmurs back. His hands wrap around Dick's neck as Dick cups Bruce's face.
The next kiss is messy and open-mouthed, their hands gripping onto each other desperately—as if to verify that they were both still physically in the room.
Dick gasps for breath. "Don't you ever fucking do that to me again. If we're doing this—us—then we're going all in. You don't get to just leave when it gets too hard."
"It would be forever," Bruce agrees, lips against Dick's cheek. "No more running."
Dick presses their foreheads together. "The media is going to crucify you once this gets out. Are you absolutely sure?"
Bruce nods. "They do that anyway. Might as well get what we both want."
"And the rest of the family?"
"I don't care about the fallout anymore," Bruce whispers, "about any of it. I just want you."
They seal their vow with another kiss—a promise they'll both finally uphold, somehow.
"I love you," Dick says wetly. "I'm still so pissed at you, but god, I love you."
"I love you, too," Bruce responds breathlessly. "And I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if that's what it takes."
— — —
After another day on the Watchtower, Dr. Kennedy clears Bruce to move to the penthouse. Besides the knife wound that needed stitches, most of Bruce's recovery revolves around strength training nutrition.
For the last week, things had returned to an almost normal routine—Dick still operated as the Bat with Damian as his Robin, and they were all still living at the penthouse and operating out of the Bunker. Tim had come over to the penthouse yesterday to visit, and he and Dick had hashed everything out. Dick feels lighter than he has in ages.
Dick was still Damian's legal guardian and in charge of the kid's day-to-day life. Dick and Bruce had discussed the best approach, and surprisingly, Bruce had yielded to Dick's point of view. It would be best for Damian to have a slow transition back to seeing Bruce as an authority figure, and—
Well. It made sense to keep guardianship since he and Bruce were now romantically together.
Since Bruce had moved into the penthouse, they've shared the master bedroom. Alfred didn't even blink an eye. Damian and Tim weren't that surprised, either. Bruce is still legally dead, so the relationship hasn't left their close circle quite yet, but they're already planning for the inevitable.
With Bruce's knife wound and overall malnutrition, they hadn't done anything in their shared bed besides kissing—mostly at Dick's request, because Alfred would kill them both if Bruce popped his stitches.
But on this early Tuesday morning, for the next few hours, Dick and Bruce are the only two in the penthouse. Damian's already at school, and Alfred is back at the Manor to prepare for their move back in a few weeks.
Dick walks into the bedroom with two cups of coffee.
Bruce, shirtless and sitting against the headboard on the bed, looks up from his tablet. It's still jarring to see Bruce thinner and less defined. It makes the scars stick out even more, highlighting how much Bruce had gone through in his crusade to return to the present—to him.
Dick sets the mugs down on the nightstand, then climbs into the bed on top of the covers. He hands Bruce one of the cups and presses a light kiss into his cheek. "Morning."
Bruce takes a long sip then smiles.
Dick grabs his own mug and slots right up against the other man, their shoulders down to their ankles touching.
They casually discuss their plans for the day, which include physio for Bruce and dinner with Tim. Bruce's tone is light, but Dick can detect a slight tension in Bruce's jaw. He waits for a natural lull in the conversation to bring it up.
Since they're trying to be more open with each other, Dick outright asks, "Everything okay, big guy?"
Bruce huffs out a laugh. "That obvious?"
Dick leans in to kiss Bruce's cheek, hoping to lighten the mood. "I was trained by the best."
Bruce sets his mug down, reaches one hand under his pillow, and pulls out a small jewelry box. "I promised that I would spend the rest of my life showing you how serious I am about us."
Dick's heart stutters. A box that small, in that distinct square shape, could only mean one thing, right? He tries to be as casual as possible when he asks,"When did that get there?"
"Alfred grabbed it for me before he left," Bruce replies.
Dick deposits his mug on the nightstand, then turns his body to face Bruce directly. "B?"
Bruce opens the box.
Dick gasps, recognizing the ring nestled in the velvet cushion instantly as Martha Wayne's wedding ring.
"Bruce," Dick whispers, one hand coming up to his mouth. He can feel the tears already forming in the corners of his eyes, dangerously close to spilling.
"Obviously it won't fit," Bruce says. "Not that I think you wouldn't wear it! I just couldn't wait any longer. And I was thinking, maybe we could use the existing stones and metal to create a new band?"
"Oh my god." Dick's eyes flick between Bruce's face—oh, he looks nervous—and the diamond ring.
"I'm getting ahead of myself," Bruce says and takes a deep breath. "Richard John Grayson, will you marry me?"
"Yes," Dick gasps out. "God, yes."
Bruce pulls something else out from under the pillow—a simple gold chain. He gently pulls the ring out of the box and threads the chain through. Dick leans in, bowing his head down slightly as Bruce wraps the chain around his head. The cold metal thumps against his chest.
Dick gasps into a messy top lip kiss as they crash into each other. "Yes, yes, a million times yes."
"Hey," Bruce says, pulling away slightly. He wipes his thumbs across Dick's face and rubs a few tears away in the process. "I know we hadn't talked about it. Is it too soon or-"
"No, it's perfect." Dick gasps, cutting him off. "I just, never thought this would happen. With you."
Bruce grabs onto Dick's hands with his own. "I love you. So much. And I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."
They stop talking again in favor of making out. It starts out slow and chaste, but Dick quickly deepens it. His entire body aches with want as he presses into Bruce as much as he can, with only his thread-bare tee shirt and the ring between them.
"B, can we-"
"Yes," Bruce replies, his voice deep with arousal.
Dick hastily pulls off his shirt, then lifts his hips to take off his pants. He throws the clothes off to the side.
Dick swings his leg over to straddle Bruce's thighs. He rests his hands on the headboard to steady himself, the chain and ring swinging with the movement. He shifts back slightly, lining up their cocks to be mere inches from each other.
"Is this okay?" Dick asks.
Bruce nods.
Dick stares at the paradox of a man—his fiance—right in front of him. He brushes his lips against Bruce's throat as his thumbs rest against his chest. He feels the beating of Bruce's heart thrumming against his skin, rushing and full of life.
Bruce is alive.
Bruce lifts his cock and out of his boxers, already swollen and pointing upwards with arousal. Dick's seen it a few times in the communal showers in the Batcave—but to see it this close, and so hard, just from him? Flickering heat swells deep within his pelvis.
God, he wants it in his mouth so badly. Next time. And to think, there definitely will be a next time.
Dick keeps one hand on the headboard—with the other, he reaches for Bruce's cock and slowly wraps his fingers around it. He pumps up and down a few times, flicking his thumb against the slit to collect the precum already dribbling out.
Bruce's hands pull against Dick's hips, fingers digging into the skin as he groans. Then his thumbs rub against Dick's upper thighs, laying claim to the sensitive skin—as if he was writing the word mine.
"Fuck, B-" Dick gasps out, stifling the moan in his throat.
"Let me hear you, sweetheart," Bruce murmurs, wrapping his own hand around them both. "You're so beautiful like this."
Dick hisses at the sensation and pulls his hand away as Bruce starts pumping them in earnest. Dick slams both hands against the headboard so he can rock his hips in time with Bruce's movement.
"Ah-" Dick throws his head back as Bruce speeds up. Neither of them last long, He feels his orgasm building up like waves until finally it crashes over, igniting every nerve ending on fire.
Bruce quickly follows him with a low groan, his own release spilling between them.
Their labored breaths fill the room for a moment, their chests heaving.
"Fuck, that was so good, B," Dick breathes, looking right into Bruce's icy blue eyes.
"Yeah?" Bruce asks, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.
Dick smiles as he realizes Bruce angled them away from his own chest to avoid getting the ring messy.
"Yeah," Dick replies, glancing over at the empty wine bottle that still sits on the top of the dresser. "I wouldn't trade this for the world."
— — —
I choose you and me
Religiously