wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey asked: So if you are still accepting prompts, maybe you could write something, maybe a moment when lil Dick Grayson feel safe or at home with or loved by Bruce? I don't care if it's angsty as long as there is some comfort :) See I just read a fic where Dick had been kidnapped by a villain and basically got Stockholm syndrome and ended up adopted by the guy and A. The author seemed to think it was all great? And B. Bruce was made to be a TERRIBLE batdad and I just have a sick taste in my mouth

Thanks to crazysnake19 for donating! Also, I'm so sorry that you read something like that, Monica. I wouldn't be able to handle that. Here's some Dick feeling safe with Bruce around. I hope it makes you feel a bit better!

"Shit," Dick mutters under his breath, knocking away another attacker. There are dozens of them, all over the warehouse, all out for his blood. And they just keep coming. Shit, indeed.

He doesn't know why there are so many. According to heat signatures, the traffic cams Oracle had hacked into, his informants, and his own detective work, there were only supposed to be ten men here to protect the shipment of guns. Instead, Dick's fighting thirty.

He'd planned to call for backup as soon as he'd slipped into the warehouse and seen that he was so outnumbered, or at least cut his losses. He can usually tell when he's in over his head, but he'd been snuck up on, and he'd been forced to show himself.

Dick has taken out ten men before he realized that they were ready for him, and by then, he's too busy to press the button on his comm. to contact the others. He's going to have to hit his suit's panic button.

That's, of course, when he gets hit in the face.

He rolls with the blow, sweeping out the feet of another man, and striking upwards. The man groans in pain, and that's eleven down. He fights like a whirlwind, but in the end, it's not enough. He hits the button. And then someone takes a tire iron to the back of his head.

He drops to the ground.

Still conscious, but just barely, Dick hears murmuring, and then there are hands on him. He doesn't have enough sense to shake them off, and even if he did, he doesn't think he'd have the strength. They're dragging him.

"…rid of him," someone's ordering. "The river…enough…kill him…the evidence."

The river. They're going to throw him into the river.

Dick thrashes, startling whoever's ragging him into dropping him. He tries to roll over, to push himself to his feet, but he gets another blow to the head for his efforts, and he drops back to the floor. Everything's muffled. He can't see anything, voices sound like they're talking to him from a tunnel, and he feels a sort of numbness settle over him.

And then he plunges into the icy depths of the river. He eyes shoot open from the shock of it, and the water engulfs him fully. He's sinking, too cold and disoriented to do more than weakly struggle his way towards what he thinks might be the surface.

His lungs burn. He can't breathe. But he has to hold his breath until he gets to the surface. Until he gets air—he can't—he has to—breathe. He has to breathe.

Dick reflexively takes a breath, and water rushes into his lungs. His eyelids flutter, and he finds himself drifting. He can't breathe, he can't cough it up. He doesn't have enough oxygen, and the numbness is settling over him again. This is it.

And then, hands are tugging him upwards, and Dick doesn't fight them. Everything goes dark, and Dick lets it.

The next thing Dick knows, someone is turning him over, and he's coughing up a lungful of water. He coughs and coughs and coughs, until his burning lungs can't take it anymore, and he chokes on his first breath.

"Easy," a voice tells him. A voice he knows That's—

"Bruce," Dick tries to croak, but it's lost to the desperate need to breathe.

Bruce's hands pull him closer. Dick flops his head onto his dad's shoulder immediately, and Bruce lets him. Kevlar is uncomfortable, but Dick can't find it in him to care. Especially when Bruce's gloved hands tangle in his wet hair and curl around him protectively. And Dick—he doesn't try to move. He just sits there and tries to breathe.

"You're okay," Bruce murmurs. "You're alright, Dick."

"Names," Dick tries to joke, but it comes out a rasp, and Bruce hushes him, clutching him that much tighter. Dick buries his face into Bruce's shoulder. He's not comfortable, but he doesn't think that there's anywhere else he'd rather be right now.

Finally, Bruce says, "Let's get you home."

Dick's voice is still barely there, but he has enough strength to say, "Yeah."

He still feels shaky, but with Bruce here, helping him to his feet, the numbness isn't quite as prominent. He feels—safe. Bruce leads him to the Batmobile, and it takes a moment, but finally Dick finally settles into the passenger seat, eyes sliding closed in his exhaustion. He lays his head on the window, wrapping his arms around himself, and just lets himself be.

"Here," Bruce says, and when Dick forces his eyes back open, Bruce is cowl-less and holding out his cape to Dick. Swallowing past a growing lump in his throat, Dick takes the proffered material, and wraps it around himself the best he can. When he falters, Bruce helps him wordlessly.

For some reason, Dick feels like crying.

After a moment of just sitting there, Bruce tells him, "Don't fall asleep yet."

Dick nods and then they're speeding off towards the Cave at high speeds. Dick can feel exhaustion aching in every bone of his body. His head pounds, his lungs and throat still burn with every breath he takes, but he keeps his eye open. He stays awake. Bruce is next to him, Bruce's cape is around him, and they're going home.