Work Text:
“You were sloppy tonight.”
It would have been a simple criticism, had it been coming from anyone else. But Dick felt a frown take residence on his face when he heard the words come from Bruce’s mouth. He knew that the night’s patrol had been rough, evidenced by his small wince as he pulled on a clean t-shirt, the movement jostling his sore shoulder. He turned to face Bruce, walking past him towards his gym bag sitting on the opposite bench.
“Yeah, well, we all have off nights,” he replied, rolling his eyes. He started stuffing his suit into his bag in a practiced motion, preparing to ignore Bruce’s annoyed grunt. He wanted nothing more than to go home and avoid the incoming fight that was brewing.
Truthfully, he had been off his game tonight, his slow movements directly leading to the fresh stitches on his shoulder. If he’d been even a little bit slower, the knife would have pierced his chest by his heart. He had hoped that Bruce would have let it go, but his next sentence threw away all hope of a quiet end to the evening.
“You haven’t been sleeping again.” It wasn’t a question. Despite the fact that Dick lived in his own apartment in Bludhaven, Bruce always found a way to pry into the intimate details of his life.
“What, are you spying on me? I don’t know if you’ve managed to figure this out yet, but I’m an adult, Bruce. I can take care of myself.” His words were laced with annoyance and frustration. Dick zipped up his bag, slinging it over his uninjured shoulder with a huff.
“Look, what’s it matter to you if I get 8 hours every night? You’re not exactly known for your quality sleep schedule.”
Bruce ignored the jab, his eyes darkening into a glare. Dick stared right back into his hard eyes, taking on a defiant stance. He noticed a tiny flicker in Bruce’s eyes, an emotion that he couldn’t quite place, before they settled back into the glare of Batman.
“You’re having nightmares. You weren’t ready to come back. You’re benched. No missions with the team and no patrol for the foreseeable future.”
Dick raised his hands in exasperation, ignoring the twinge of pain in his shoulder. Anger and frustration raced through his body as he raised his voice.
“Oh, for fucks—you don’t get to decide that, Bruce!”
“You’re still emotionally compromised, Nightwing. So unless you’re looking to watch someone else you love die, I suggest you stand down.”
Dick took a step back in stunned silence at the words. Someone else. As if the one wasn’t still a raw wound that Bruce had just poured salt into. Dick pushed a hand through his hair, his eyes set in a glare and muttering, “I’m so not dealing with this right now.” He turned on his heel, walking quickly away and climbed onto his motorcycle, purposely ignoring the frantic call of his name from behind him.
It was nothing new, arguing with Bruce. Over the years, petty arguments that grew into harsh words, and in rare circumstances punches thrown, had somehow become a pillar of their relationship. It didn’t mean that the words didn’t sting, though.
The first time he and Bruce had fought, Dick found himself slamming his bedroom door shut with a frustrated yell. He’d slid down to the ground, his back to the door and buried his face into his knees, trying to slow the angry shaking of his body. He didn’t know how long he had spent there before being startled out of his position by the vibrating of his phone. He had taken a deep breath, digging his phone out of his pocket to see a text from Wally.
wallman: do you think superman also gets power from the moon? like, the moon reflects the sun, right? so it would make sense that supes would get power from that too
Dick had let out a soft laugh at the message, relief flowing through him at the antics of his best friend. He had smiled softly before typing out a reply.
dickolas: I don’t think that’s how it works
wallman: but it makes sense, dude
wallman: also shouldn’t you still be on patrol for like, another hour?
Dick had swallowed thickly. He was supposed to have been on patrol still, but was currently locked up in his bedroom. In that moment he had taken a deep breath and typed out another message.
dickolas: Yeah. Bruce and I got into a fight. It wasn’t pretty. I’m, uh, I guess grounded from patrol
He had regretted the message the moment he’d sent it. He was still regretting it moments later, when Wally's contact info popped up on the screen in a call. He’d answered tentatively, some part of him terrified that Wally was going to go off at him as well, before he’d heard him softly say, “Tell me what happened.”
From that night forward, Wally was always there after he fought with Bruce. He listened on the phone as Dick vented and let out his feelings. Wally was there in an instant, after Bruce had fired him from being Robin, holding Dick as he broke down in sobs in his arms. No matter how small or big the fight, how harsh the words, Wally was there to help him pick up the pieces.
Wally had been there for him in so many ways. When he'd first gone out as Nightwing, the night had ended with a bombastic fight when Bruce realized what he was doing. Once he'd gotten home, tears finally starting to fall, it didn’t come as a surprise to either of them when Wally gently leaned in to kiss Dick and promise him that everything would be okay.
Wally was right. Everything was okay. At least he was right until that day 4 months ago during the Reach invasion. Nothing had been okay since then.
Now, Dick found himself in a position he'd found himself in countless times before. He drove down the highway, wind ripping through his hair and a frustrated sob ripping its way out of his throat. Tears threatened to spill over as he replayed the fight in his mind. In all honesty, it hadn’t been too bad until the last thing that Bruce had said. The way that he was using Wally against him left Dick raging. He knew that he wasn't at his best, but this, being a hero, was all he had left. He sped down the road, driving nowhere in particular. In the past, he would have gone straight home to his apartment to bury his face into Wally's chest. Tonight, he just drove, hoping that the violence of the wind would help to clear his mind.
It wasn’t like he’d expected that he would never fight with Bruce again, but some small part of him had hoped that the peace would remain. Things had been quiet since Wally died, though there was an almost visible tension. Dick saw the way people looked at him— his family, his teammates, his coworkers. They looked at him like he could break. Whatever small part of him that had hoped for a peace, there was a bigger part of him that was thankful that Bruce never looked at him like that.
That certainly didn't fix the problem of Bruce taking him off of patrol with no right to do so, however. A new wave of irritation crashed over Dick as he pulled to a sharp stop by an old rundown phone booth. He breathed heavily, staring at the booth in contemplation. Within moments, he made a decision and was turning his bike off and stashing it to the side. He moved into the booth and set his destination for Keystone. He felt the familiar sense of zeta technology, taking him apart piece by piece to transport him and he had a passing thought as he felt the weightlessness take hold.
I wonder if this is how he felt when he died.
One technological feat and a short walk later, Dick found himself sitting on damp grass, the cool evening breeze of Kansas flowing over him. It was a stark difference from the harsh winds of Gotham and Bludhaven.
He let out a breath, his face falling and landing on his knees, a perfect mirror image of that first night all those years ago, when he'd locked himself in his room. The cold stone in front of him was just that, a stone bearing the name of the man he loved. He knew that there was no body buried beneath him, since there wasn't one to bury, but something about it still somehow felt right. He turned his face to the side, resting his cheek gently against his knee. His position with his arms wrapped around his knees made his shoulder burn with pain, but he couldn't find it in himself to care as he stared out into the dark night.
He took another breath, turning to face the gravestone in front of him. Then, he let it out. He spoke softly, talking and venting and letting out every thought he'd had since he left the cave. He didn't know how long he talked for, but eventually he ran out of things to say beyond a whispered, "I miss you, Walls."
And he did. Every single day he missed Wally. He missed his laugh, his sparkling green eyes, his comedic antics and bad flirting. He missed his best friend. The thought brought on a new round of tears as he stared at the grave in front of him. It was cold and unforgiving, and it so desperately failed to capture the light and energy that was Wally West.
It was as he was thinking this that he heard the light footfalls behind him. They were purposefully loud enough for him to hear so as not to startle him. The figure approaching him came in slowly before sitting on the grass next to him. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Bruce spoke.
"I'm sorry."
The words startled Dick out of his thoughts. He turned to look at Bruce, confusion marring his face. They didn't do apologies like that. Bruce's preferred method of apologizing was a soft grunt and the file to an interesting case. Tonight, Bruce was looking at the stone in front of them. There was a look in his eyes again, the same one from earlier in the cave. Now, with the look remaining, Dick was able to place it. Worry. Not the same sort of worry that other people had, the fear that Dick was like a piece of glassware already full of cracks. No this was the worry that Dick saw on Bruce's face when he was a kid. Flashes of fear and concern that he was going to fail Dick.
"He was good to you. I... I know how much he helped you when we were having... hard times," Bruce spoke quietly, with a gentleness that Dick hadn't witnessed in years, "I wished I'd never have to see you like this again. After your parents, I promised myself that if I could help it, you wouldn't have to feel like this."
In that moment, the pieces fell into place. Bruce was just as scared as he was that things weren't going to be okay. The checking up on him, the ban from patrol, it wasn't done with the intent to take Nightwing away. Bruce was trying to protect him from more hurt the only way he knew how. Dick took a breath, unwrapping his arms and leaning against Bruce lightly, his head coming to rest against his shoulder.
It wasn't much, but it was something. Bruce hummed, bringing up an arm to brace across Dick's back. They sat in the cool night air leaning on each other, a father helping his son. Things weren't okay right now, but maybe someday they would be.