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He should have known better.
But the fact was all he could see, through the haze and the flashing lights and the weird cacophony of sounds surrounding him, was Dick on the ground, bright red and deadly still.
Except the image kept flashing, the blood pooling from his split throat, and then from a gaping hole in his chest, arms splayed out, and then something would shatter and shake and he thought he heard Dick's voice calling, a frantic “Batman!” over the scraping and his fingers were gripping someone's throat—at least he thought so.
Somewhere, he thought he heard a gurgling laugh.
Over that was the sound of Crane yelling, but he had no idea what he was saying. Dimly he knew something had hit him—some variation of the fear toxin he thought, something brutal that made the world tilt sideways even more then usual.
And he had been hit by a lot of it
But that didn't change the reality of Dick's body there, and how bright the red was, not even the sound of Dick's voice screaming changed that reality.
He thought he had his fingers wrapped around a throat, though he could not focus on who was in front of him. He was shaking someone, with two faces that kept changing in front of him—maybe it was Harvey. Harvey, who he remembered standing over Dick, a knife against his throat when he walked into the room. Harvey who had always wanted Robin dead, who had once been Bruce's friend.
His grip was too tight if he was just trying to scare the other man, except the world was wrong and shaking and he wanted to kill this man more then he remembered wanting anything in his life.
Except there were fingers scrabbling at his hands, trying to pull him off and all he could see was flashes of blue and Dick's voice still cutting through everything. “Batman, stop!”
-0-
Dick stood in the batcave, watching Bruce hunched over the computer. “So,” he said, because since the night before Bruce hadn't said a word to him. “Are we gonna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Bruce asked, and his voice was hoarse from screaming.
By the time Dick had knocked Scarecrow to the ground, Bruce had been moments away from strangling Two-Face. Dick had wrestled him away and left Scarecrow and Two-Face zip-tied together for the police to find as an early Halloween present because at least it meant they would not be on the streets on the actual holiday.
After that it had been a matter of getting Bruce, still yelling and striking out into the Batmobile and home, placing frantic calls to Oracle and Robin to figure out what was wrong.
Tim was waiting for them when he pulled in, and halfway through Bruce had reached out and grabbed his bicep with bruising force. “Nightwing,” he had babbled. “Robin. Dead. You're dead, I can't see—”
“I'm right here, B,” he said, not daring to take his eyes off the road.
Bruce had continued to babble as Dick dragged him from the car and on to an examination table. The whole time, his eyes had been unfocused and wild, especially when he focused on Dick's face.
Their usual antidote to the fear venom had done just about nothing, which explained why he was having such a bad reaction. “It's like he made a totally new strain of it,” Tim said, exhausted, when Bruce had finally passed out. Dick had collapsed against the side of the examination table, burying his face in his knees. “We'll have to synthesize something new to combat it.”
“Which will happen tomorrow, I presume,” Alfred said, walking by, looking more put together then any of them, but his shoulders were drooping too. “Will you see your throat looked to, Master Richard?”
“It's a shallow scrape,” he said, rubbing a hand lightly over it. “It looks way worse then it is. All I need to do is clean it and I'll be fine, promise.”
Alfred had looked doubtful for a moment before he nodded and moved along.
Bruce woke up some time in the early hours of the morning. And had promptly started discussing how to make a new antidote with Tim, while not looking at Dick once.
“We have a lot to talk about,” he snapped, because he should be used to Bruce looking away from him, but somehow he still wasn't. “About last night alone, even.”
He thought Bruce winced but he couldn't be quite sure. “There is nothing we need to discuss about last night,” he said.
Dick put his hands on his hips because it gave him something to grip instead of punching Bruce. “Nothing?” he repeated. “Nothing at all? Nothing about what you kept saying about me being dead or the fact you almost throttled Two-Face?”
Bruce froze and Dick was glad Tim and the others had not come back from patrol yet. Bruce had been benched for the night and Alfred had made him promise to give only a short patrol short of a disaster. So he was home early and for the moment it was only them.
At least it meant he had a chance of getting Bruce to open up to him.
“Ah,” Bruce said. “I thought that had really happened.”
And that felt like a punch to the gut, hearing Bruce doubting his own reality. Closing his eyes, Dick forced a few even breathes before opening them again. “What do you remember then?” he asked.
“I thought you were dead,” Bruce said, not looking at him. “I kept seeing your body and hearing your voice. It was all—very confusing.”
“So you weren't really aware,” Dick said, holding on to that. “You didn't really know—”
Bruce leveled him with a look and Dick snapped his mouth shut. “I knew I was trying to kill him,” he said. “Because I thought he had killed you.”
If it had felt earlier like being hit, this was like being knocked down. “Bruce—”
“I wanted to kill him because I thought he killed you,” Bruce repeated, as if Dick hadn't heard him the first time. “If you hadn't stopped me I would have.”
“But I did stop you, and you didn't,” Dick said and Bruce for once was actually looking at him, and Dick rubbed the top of his uniform, which covered the shallow scratch he had received.
“If you had been dead, you wouldn't have been able to stop me,” Bruce said and Dick closed his eyes before forcing them back open. There was something raw in Bruce's face that made it hard to look at him.
“Then I just won't die,” Dick said. “You won't have to think I have or be stopped.”
“Neither of us can ever promise that you won't die,” Bruce said and the corners of his mouth almost flickered, almost turned into a smile. “You made it very clear I could not control your actions or make you leave this life when you stopped being Robin.”
“When I stopped being Robin,” Dick repeated and there was the old bitterness laced through his voice. “What a kind way of saying that.”
Bruce winced, barely a motion but Dick was used to searching his face, looking for any reaction. “I know,” he started and floundered. “I've made mistakes—”
“Bruce, I've told you before—since then—that I would die for you.”
Bruce came to another complete stop, staring at Dick. “I would never want you to,” Bruce said.
Dick wanted to reach out and touch Bruce as much as he wanted to run away or punch a wall. “Why does it take so much for you to just say you care?” he demanded. “When you fired me, it took me storming back in here to demand to know why for you to even tell me you cared. Don't you—don't you remember when we used to be friends? When you could talk to me?”
“Things were—”
“I'm still me! You're still you! What fundamentally changed that much?”
“It's more complicated,” Bruce said, stiff.
“Jesus Christ,” Dick muttered and leaned away. “You know what, I need to go home. I just need,” he rubbed a hand over his face.
“Dick,” Bruce said softly.
“No, no, I need time to—”
“I've always cared about you too much. I thought you knew that.”
“Sometimes you make it very hard to remember!” Dick snapped. “And then things like this happen where it feels like you're putting a feast in front of me and what am I supposed to do with that?”
“Dick,” Bruce said and it was strained. “You terrify me.”
Dick blinked at him, still looking like he was halfway to leaving. “How am I supposed to take that?”
“My control means everything to me,” Bruce said. “It is everything that allows me to—continue this. But with you control is hard. I want to break people for touching you, I might kill anyone who took you from me, you make me—”
“You know, it's funny” Dick said when Bruce talked himself to a standstill. “That you're basically saying you love me so much you can't be around me.”
Closing his eyes, Bruce's chest heaved a few times. “Yes,” he said. “That is basically it. Our working relationship means... a lot to me. Having you out there in Blüdhaven, in the night of Gotham, helping Tim, it means so much, Dick.”
“I miss you,” Dick said, because if Bruce was going to try and be so good at words for him then he could return the favor. “I miss eating breakfast together, I miss the stupid riddles we solved together, the puns I would make just to see your mouth twitch. I miss knowing you were always down the hallway. I miss sitting in your office, reading whatever while you did paperwork. I miss being Bruce and Dick, as well as Batman and Nightwing.” When Bruce opened his mouth he cut him off. “And don't tell me they're the same because in this case they aren't.”
“I wasn't going to,” Bruce said. They stared at each other. “Would you,” Bruce started and took a deep breath before forcing himself to continue. “Like to come to dinner sometime around the manor? Alfred still remembers your favorites.”
Dick blinked rapidly, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “Are, are you serious?”
“Would I not be?” Bruce asked.
“That, no,” Dick admitted. “You must be serious.” He shifted from foot to foot. “That might be nice.”
“Don't wear your costume,” Bruce said, voice level and Dick startled, offended for a second before he looked up and Bruce wasn't quite smiling in that way he had, when he dropped a joke and waited for everyone to realize what it was.
“I'll try and see if I can make it out of the house without a fashion disaster,” Dick mumbled. “You know, for Alfred's sake.”
“Of course,” Bruce rumbled and they were back to staring at each other. Dick wanted to drift closer as much as he still wanted to leave, and gather himself. “For everyone's sake, not just Alfred's,” Bruce added and Dick reluctantly found himself chuckling.
“Hey now,” he said. “I can dress myself.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” Bruce shot back and Dick wanted to stand there and cry, because Bruce was trying to banter with him, about things that weren't related to work and it felt like a very long time since that had happened. Bruce was trying, actively, right then and there for him.
“Would you like to have a go at it then?” he shot back and something in the way Bruce froze like Dick had struck him set off every alarm he had.
“A go at dressing you?” Bruce asked, arching one brow slowly up and Dick swallowed hard. “No, I think that I can try and leave up to you.”
“Really? You have much better connections though,” Dick said, trying to keep his tone light and teasing. “Much better ideas about how not to be a walking fashion disaster.”
There was something dark in Bruce's eyes and on the heels of everything else he had said, Dick was scrambling to rearrange exactly what Bruce had meant. “I trust you'll impress me.”
“I'll try,” Dick said and left before he could do anything stupider, like ask Bruce about the look in his eyes.
-0-
“Hey, B,” Dick asked, when they were pressed together in the sewers, waiting for Tim to give them the all clear. It was Halloween night and Dick hadn't managed to get to dinner yet, and all of Gotham seemed to be crawling with villains escaped from Arkham. A couple had decided to leave the holiday alone—including Killer Croc who, Dick swore, had said something about letting the kids have a holiday.
The rest of them were out in full force, especially the Joker.
“What?” Bruce asked, and Dick did not want to think about the fact he could feel the puff of the words in his hair from where Bruce was standing.
“When do you want me to come to dinner?”
He expected Bruce to scold him for not paying attention.
“Next Tuesday, six o'clock,” he said, like he had thought about it already, had turned dates and times over in his head for hours until settling on the one most satisfactory to him.
Dick opened his mouth, about to say something—anything—when their comms beeped, Tim's voice giving them the all clear. When Bruce pulled away, all business again, Dick followed.
At least it seemed like they weren't going to wait for the next near death experience to talk again.
-0-
It was dawn when they stumbled back into the Batcave. “I hate Halloween,” Dick muttered. “I hate this holiday so much.”
“I remember when I used to like it,” Tim said, voice flattened and toneless with exhaustion.
“I don't,” Dick said, twisting his spine around. “It was that long ago.”
“You aren't that old,” Bruce said, breezing past both of them. “You should get some sleep,” he added and Tim was already stripping down and rushing through his shower. Dick paused though, all his muscles feeling heavy, and the scrapes and bruises stinging all over him.
“It was a good night,” he said and watched as Bruce went for the computer. “I mean, we got a lot of people put away, protected a whole lot of the city.”
“Yes,” Bruce said.
“Shouldn't you be resting too?” Dick asked, pulling his gloves off and stopping there.
“I'll be up soon,” Bruce said and there was something about the way Bruce was leaning over the computer, something Dick had seen a hundred times before, and the way he had looked at Dick the other night that had Dick drifting closer.
It was the familiar overlaid with the possibilities of something totally unfamiliar that kept teasing at him.
“Hey, Bruce,” he said, and Bruce actually stopped typing to look up at him. “I've been thinking.”
“Have you?” Bruce asked.
“Jesus, you're taking that teasing thing seriously right now,” Dick said, even though it made his chest flutter.
“What can I help you with?” Bruce asked instead of responding to that.
“Well, I've been thinking,” Dick started over. “About the other night. And. Us. And what you said.”
“Anything in particular come out of those musings?” Bruce asked and Dick wavered, standing on the brink of either his worst or best decision.
“I'm so tired I'm not thinking straight,” he said and Bruce frowned. “Which is the only reason I have the bravery to do this honestly.”
“This?” Bruce started to ask and Dick leaned down, bending his body in an arch and not daring to do anything with his hands when he kissed Bruce. He hovered there for a second, just the firm dry press of their mouths before he shot back up and stepped away.
“I understand if I took everything the wrong way,” he babbled because Bruce hadn't moved. “If it's not that at all. It's okay if it's not, really, we can forget I ever did that and move—”
Bruce got his hands around Dick's waist and he yanked him forward abruptly, so that Dick fell into his lap at the same time Bruce's mouth latched on to his. Where Dick's kiss had been brief and chaste, a simple declaration of desire, this was a declaration of intent for more, Bruce storming his way into Dick's mouth with his tongue and his huge and warm hands wrapped around Dick's waist. His fingers twitched like he was considering sliding them lower, but on Dick's waist they stayed and Dick wanted to fall on his knees right then and there.
Instead he caught on to Bruce's shoulders, wrapping his legs awkwardly around him, his knees knocking the arms of the chair and burned.
Bruce kissed him with all the intensity he gave to everything and Dick had dreamed, sometimes, about what that would feel like but this was beyond anything his mind feebly allowed him. Because Bruce's mouth was hot, and he smelled of sweat and coffee and Kevlar and Dick was whimpering, high pitched.
When Bruce pulled back Dick almost followed. “As I said,” he said, eyes still closed and swaying slightly in Bruce's lap. “When you give, it's an embarrassment of riches.”
“I could never ask this of you,” Bruce rumbled, and it was enough to snap Dick out of some of his haze. “I wanted but I could not, can not—”
“I'm giving it,” Dick said abruptly. “Fuck, Bruce, I'm giving you this. Take it from me.”
He actually got to feel the full body shiver that went through Bruce. His fingers were still on Dick's hips and Dick reached forward, running his fingers through Bruce's hair just because he could and nothing had felt quite so wonderful as that simple fact.
“You should,” Bruce started and Dick leaned forward, kissing his temple, his eyes, down his nose and hovering by his mouth again. Groaning, Bruce kissed him again, quick and brutal, drawing his lower lip between his teeth.
“You should sleep,” Bruce tried again. “We should both sleep.”
“Do you remember when I crawled into your bed as a kid?” Dick asked.
“Are you saying tonight is a nightmare?” Bruce asked and Dick wanted to crow because everything just made his chest feel light and full of warmth, especially the way Bruce wryly cocked a brow at him, still holding him on his lap.
“Before right now it was,” Dick said and Bruce considered him before finally giving the barest nod.
“We should sleep then,” he said, casually, and Dick buried his face in Bruce's shoulder for a second, focusing on every breathing exercise he knew before he nodded, rising and pulling Bruce with him.
They didn't do anything that night, too worn out and sore, except sprawl out in bed together. It was different from when Dick had been younger because there was just more of him. But he finally curled up on his side, and Bruce had slid an arm around his waist, pressed against his back and Dick had not slept so well in months at the least.
In the morning he left a note on Bruce's pillow when Bruce was in the shower, a scrawled out I'll see you on Tuesday.