Warning: This story will elude to the eventual events of the episode "Old Wounds". There won't be blatant spoilers, just general hintings.
A/N: Here we are; the conclusion to this story! A long time in coming, I apologize, but hopefully worth the wait. Just rapping up and imparting final thoughts.
HOWEVER, if you find after finishing this story that a "sweeter" ending would be more to your liking...fear not! An alternative ending/resolution/batfam moment is going to be posted in my short fic collection "The War Goes On" along with this chapter. The link to it will be at the end of this chapter.
Why did I not just post it on here, you ask? Because that little fic didn't fit the intended tone of this story as a whole.
"I've done all I can, gentlemen. It's up to him now…"
Dr. Leslie Thompkins stepped back from the table and gazed in wonder at the two men standing opposite her, their makeshift hospital room shrouded within the dank walls of the batcave. How they survived the stressors of this particularly unique life she would never know nor be able to comprehend…
Had she been told all those years ago that the little dark-haired, blue-eyed son of one of her closest friends, the boy she had counseled through the traumas of his childhood, would eventually become one of the greatest of Gotham's myths, she would have laughed the notion straight out of her office.
Yet here they all were, brought together by one man's unquenchable thirst for the same justice he had once been so brutally denied.
Perhaps none of them circled around the bedside that night would have believed this would be their lot in life, whether that fact was a blessing or curse was up for individual debate. She dared not think of the strife and struggles that they must all face as the war for Gotham's virtue waged on, the scars of every battle being so much more than merely skin deep.
Leslie was acutely aware of the unique bond the three men shared, their perilous lifestyles creating a deeply rooted rapport that perhaps even transcended the bonds of family. She was also aware that, though the strange lives these men lived forged their closeness into a stronger force, it was also just as quick to ruthlessly and effectively tear it apart.
And if the rumors floating through both elite social circles and drug-infected alleys alike carried any truth in them about the mysterious disappearance of the Robin from Batman's side, then perhaps her fears and suspicions of the true cost of their crusade were not so improbable after all.
Both men standing opposite her wore expressions that were haggard from the events that night had laid before them, one made even more-so by the angry and still sluggishly bleeding gash that carved a path across the young man's forehead. The wound only served to compound the pained and conflicted look that visibly swam across the lad's features as he had watched her tend to his guardian, his usually boisterous and chatty demeanor entirely forgotten in favor of exhausted, contemplative silence.
The other man beside the bed stoically wore a similar expression with years of experience and practice to thoroughly mask its existence, although its presence was none-the-less noticeable to a trained and knowing eye. It had not been the man's duty to question decisions that were not his to make, yet the pained look that creased the worry lines etched into the older man's face as he looked down at the man he raised bore the true confliction of the butler's conscious.
Though he had never breathed a word in condemnation of the Batman, Leslie could merely study the butler's face running with so many emotions to see the obvious responsibility that Alfred must feel for Bruce's predicament.
It was only natural for a father (or in this case, father-figure) to feel that way, after all…
They had all been brought together by a force outside their ability to control, encapsulated in a crusade that perhaps even the Crusader himself did not fully comprehend. And now, they were brought together once again; yet this time, it over the Batman's hospital bed. It had become almost like an unwelcome reunion when her phone rang with the inevitable plea for help, and this time had been no exception to that rule.
She had just finished analyzing the toxicity evaluations on the Batman's blood, implementing cleansing procedures for the Scarecrow's horrid fear toxin and administering the correct antidotes until she was satisfied with the results.
After three frenzied, nightmarish hours of battling the disgusting effects of the unseen torture device being pumped through her patient's bloodstream, hearing his unstifled cries as the war being waged for both his body and soul came to a climax, she could finally allow herself the welcome luxury of taking a deep, calming breath and giving her rigid posture final permission to slump in relief. It always seemed a baptism by fire for her whenever she heard Bruce Wayne's butler on the other end of her telephone.
The nightmare had finally passed, and the tension running taut within the three beings in that dark cave seemed to slide away like the welcome receding of the ocean's tide.
The heart monitor she had installed moments ago echoed cheerfully each blessed heartbeat of the man lying still and pale under the white sheets of the bed, its erratic racing now eased into the peaceful beats of sweet sleep. She absentmindedly patted the still hand of the man she often privately fancied was like the son she never had gently despite his inability to sense or appreciate the touch, tucking it underneath the blanket.
"Will he be alright, Doctor?"
Her gaze rose to meet the crystal blue orbs of the aged butler whose aquamarine depths betrayed a soul had been through more than a man could in three lifetimes. She squeezed his well-dressed arm reassuringly and allowed herself a small smile after the tenuous few hours they had endured before they had known for sure the outcome of the Batman's condition.
"Knowing Bruce, Alfred, after a few days you'll have to chain him to that bed."
The butler chuckled at the welcome lightheartedness, his eyes twinkling with unspoken gratitude and obvious, unmasked relief.
"Then perhaps you'd like something hot to soothe the nerves, Doctor? I have some herbal tea that does wonders…"
She allowed the smile that had broken the strained mask that had hardened her face to widen at the elder man's suggestion, his responsibilities as the Wayne Manor butler never entirely forgotten and his selflessness never overcome.
"Thank you, Alfred. I think we could all use some," Leslie responded, voice cracking with relief at the crisis having finally passed.
It was at that moment that she because acutely aware of their third member's conspicuous silence and turned to address Bruce's ward. "Don't you think so, Dick?"
Turning toward the countertop on which the young man had been sitting with arms crossed and resting on his knees in what she could instantly detect was true weariness from the battle, she blinked at the now empty space. A quick turn of the head caught him making his hurried escape toward the shadowed steps leading to the surface and subsequently the manor above.
She could not help but chuckle to herself at how much like Bruce he was becoming (whether or not he would admit so was another story entirely), especially when it came to sneaking away to avoid the poking and prodding they both equally detested so much.
"Nice try, young man, but it's high time we took a look at you too."
His shoulders rose noticeably in an unconcealed cringe at being caught in his escape attempt, yet he immediately turned on heel and obeyed her summons (though begrudgingly). Yet when he reached her, he did not sit on the examining table like she had anticipated, instead stopping short as though he did not wish to come any nearer.
She took the detachment for what it truly meant, and did not needle him as she often had in the past for refusing to be helped. She could not imagine what was roiling inside the lad's mind at this moment, an entirely inhuman amount of responsibility surely weighing on those ever-so-young shoulders.
"I'm fine, Leslie, really…"
"You look like you've been through a warzone, Richard. Don't you think that gash could use a few stitches?"
The young man's brows pinched together at the thought of yet again being stitched together like some old garment, the action causing his hand to unconsciously reach up to tenderly explore the angry wound as though he wished to prove its existence. Upon touching the offending slash, he flinched perceptively and pulled his hand away to reveal a small stain of residual blood left on the fingertips of his green gauntlet.
Shrugging, he replied with a forced nonchalance, "Nothing a band-aide can't fix…"
"Dick…"
With her gentle admonishment and pointed gaze, the façade fell perceptively from his frame with a sagging of the shoulders and the bowing of his head. He instantly lifted his head, however, and returned her gaze, the blue depths silently pleading for her understanding.
An entirely different lad stood before her now, the bubbly demeanor that so set him apart having completely vanished; her heart clenched at the thought of what sacrifices they truly made for others' security and happiness, if it stole a young person's joy of life.
"I just need some time alone to," he paused at this, as if searching for the right word. "think…"
Without waiting for her to reply, he turned on heel and shed his gauntlets and cape with a practiced ease that Leslie was sure was due to more hours spent under the cape and cowl than perhaps in his own clothes. She would let him go this time, not because his injuries were truly minor, for they did need tending to, but because she understood that in those uncertain times, the boy who was swiftly growing into a man needed to sort through the matters of his heart undisturbed.
Yet before he could melt into the shadows of the batcave almost as easily as his mentor, she spoke softly to his retreating form, "You did good tonight, Dick. He'll be proud…"
The young man known as Robin stopped dead at her words yet did not turn around, speaking in a volume almost imperceptible to her ears, "If only it were that simple."
"If tonight has proven anything," Leslie continued, hoping to impart some comfort to the young man in obvious turmoil. "it's that he needs you, regardless of whether he'll admit it or not."
"I don't know what he would do without you…"
The young man turned at her last words, a gentle ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and crinkling at the corners of his eyes. For a single moment, the bright young lad she had once known, the young man who could light up a room just by cracking a smile, stood before her.
"Me neither…"
And with that, like a plume of smoke scattered by the wind, he was gone. The cave was quiet yet again, with only a heart monitor to permeate the silence.
~oOo~
Leslie's words ran over in Dick's mind like a tape on continuous reply as he watched the clock on the dimly lit screen of the batcomputer evidence the passage of yet another minute. He leaned back into the plush leather of the chair and let out a sigh he did not know his lungs had been holding.
"I don't know what he'd do without you…"
If what had transpired this night had not happened, Bruce would be finding out just what that would have meant. But it had happened, and now the young man could only gather up his shattered resolve and attempt to make sense of the emotions swirling through him.
After all they had been through that night, after seeing a man Dick had thought he had known better than anyone else expose the most private and sheltered part of his soul to the very last person who currently deserved to be witness to it, he could no longer allow his bitterness to rule his heart and his head.
In times past, he had mistakenly believed that the Bat's moral codes were the most treasured and sacred parts that made up his soul and gave purpose to the life he led. But after the events of that night, he came to the realization that, perhaps, he had been wrong after all.
Perhaps it was not the fact that his perfect plans had been questioned that had caused many of the most infamous of Bruce's uproars. And it was with that realization, discovered under the decaying rafters of a rigged warehouse, that Dick's vivid anger toward his mentor had been scattered like leaves in an autumn wind.
Perhaps all those years of impossible goals and unattainable standards were not to remind the Robin that he could never surpass his teacher or satisfy some insecurity in the teacher himself, but instead was an attempt to keep at bay one of Bruce's greatest fears now laid bare and open by Crane's toxin: losing yet another person he cared about.
However misguided his ways of attempting to keep his loved ones safe from harm and show them how much he truly cared, there was now no doubt in Dick's mind that Bruce's intensions were pure. Despite all the unforgiveable things Bruce had said and done in the past and all the opposing ideals they had fought over, Dick could not, if he truly searched the depths of his heart and soul, fault Bruce for allowing himself to open his heart and care.
If the greatest sin Bruce Wayne ever committed in the strange life he lived was to care too much, then no man, much less Dick himself, could fault him for that…
Despite it all, he still could not fool himself into believing that everything could return to the way it was before. The years of bitterness harbored from being pushed aside so many times had not suddenly and magically dissolved into distant, buried memories. Dick felt the same way; he still could not allow himself to completely forgive Bruce for all the miseries that he had caused Dick and everyone that surrounded him and his strange crusade.
Despite his strong feelings, however, the events of this night turned what had been a black and white issue in Dick's mind and flipped his perception of said issue upside-down.
If these were Bruce's true fears, if this is what had been the driving force behind every argument they had slogged through, every miscommunication and every disagreement, then every reason that had justified Dick's anger towards Bruce had been torn apart that night in a warehouse fighting demons he could not see and fears he could never
have comprehended.
He was mad at the man, and for every good reason he could think of. But this… This had completely blindsided him, threw him from the path he had been so determined on, and he was truly unsure of what he should do next.
After tonight, all the things that he had found to be bitter over, to grumble about, and to despise seemed so… trivial.
Yet there was one thing Dick Grayson was sure of, one thing he knew he could not deny in his heart: he would be sitting at that bedside when morning light returned.
Because sometimes a person does not need to be given what they deserve, regardless of how severe their actions may have been in the past or how truly hurtful they had been. Sometimes, a person deserves better than what they've given. And after tonight, Bruce Wayne did not deserve to have his fears go unresolved and unaddressed. At the very least, Dick owed him that much.
The ties that bound their strange troop together were, when all pretenses were stripped away and the truth was laid bare, stronger than any divisiveness that ever threatened to tear it apart. In the end, they were family, and for now, that bond was strong enough.
Fin
Thank you for reading! And now, for those who wish for a sweeter resolution/h/c batfamily moment, the link to the ficlet: [ s/11679225/14/The-War-Goes-On]
