Chapter Text
Bruce isn't sure what's going on. He knows he hadn't been out as Batman, he'd been at home. At least, he’s pretty sure he'd been at home? He has no idea where he is. His ears are ringing and the air burns his lungs as he attempts to breathe. He forces his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. There's light, where's that light coming from? He isn’t usually this disoriented, right?
There’s a hand on his arm, trying to pull him to his feet. There's a voice saying something, but he can't hear it, his ears are ringing too much. Oh, he's… he's supposed to be standing right now, isn't he? He doesn't think he's supposed to be lying on the ground right now. He's warm, why is he warm? It had been cold in the room. The hand is on his arm again, another one on his shoulder, trying to pull him to his feet. He's definitely supposed to be standing right now. He should do that.
Bruce starts to stand, trying to get his legs under him, but as soon as he puts weight on it, his right ankle screams in protest, and he collapses back to the floor. It felt like fire was tearing its way up his leg; it was so bad he couldn't breathe. The ringing is back, but now his vision is swimming and he can't see. The hand is back on his arm and trying to pull him to his feet, but he can't stand; it hurts too much, there's no way he can stand.
The ringing is still there, still so loud and it hurts and he just wants it to be quiet. But whoever is pulling at him won't let him go; they're forcing him to stand, talking to him even though he can't hear them, forcing him to deal with the agony that is making his ankle bear weight. Mercifully, he only has to do it for a moment, before someone is pulling his arm over their shoulders, sliding their arm around his waist, and helping him limp from the room. He still can't make sense of what happened, still doesn't know why he's in so much pain. His head is finally starting to clear; the ringing is fading away. The voice that was speaking earlier finally filters into his mind; it's Alfred. Alfred is the one at his side, helping him limp away from whatever happened. He still doesn't understand. He still isn't sure what's going on.
Alfred sits him down. Outside, they're outside, it's cold again, that doesn't matter, focus. The air feels good, clean, not choking him anymore. He slumps sideways without meaning to, exhausted without really knowing why. His leg still hurts, but he's too tired to really care.
"Are you with me now?" Alfred's gentle voice pulls him out of his scattered thoughts. He tries to answer, but the only thing that comes out is a weak groan followed by a cough. He nods instead, breath still coming in short gasps.
"What happened?" Bruce finally manages to croak out, slowly licking his lips. "It...it's all a blur."
"Someone mailed a bomb. I..." Alfred trails off, and Bruce slowly turns to look at him. "I heard the explosion. I didn't..." Alfred closes his eyes for a moment, "I didn't know if you… if you had survived." Bruce can hear the raw emotion in Alfred's voice, something that was rarely there this clearly.
"I'm okay. I'm here. I made it out." His throat still hurts, but his voice is steadier now, not weak and trembling with every syllable. And yeah, his leg feels like it’s on fire and his chest aches with every breath, but he’s alive. He was still pulling air into his lungs, still able to feel the pain.
"I almost lost you, Bruce." It's barely a whisper, but Bruce is stunned. He can't remember Alfred ever calling him just Bruce.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm here, I'm right here. I'm okay. I'm here and I'm breathing and I'll heal." Alfred looks over at him and gives him a shaky nod. His eyes are wet. Bruce is pretty sure he's never seen Alfred cry, either.