Note: Thanks for the comment, ShadowStrike234.
Four days later:
Bruce sighed as he dropped onto the chair near the bed where Dick was fast asleep. He had known that keeping the former acrobat in bed for so long would be difficult, but apparently he had forgotten how difficult. From the moment his eyes had opened, Dick had wanted to go after James and Jasmina, even after being told that they were already in prison. Only that fact that he couldn't look at anything without sending his brain into a whirling tornado of pain had kept him in bed the first day.
Jasmina had been correct: the headache had faded slowly but was gone by the end of the third day. As the pain had receded, Dick's restlessness had increased. Bruce knew his son wanted to start patrolling in order to prove that he was 'good enough' and 'strong enough' to be Nightwing. That had led to the 'lovely' conversation they had had on the evening of the second day of the young man's confinement to bed:
"Dick, you need to rest."
"Bruce, I've been resting for two days, I'm fine."
"Only two days, Dick. Jasmina said…"
"Stop! I'm strong enough to get through this stupid headache and start patrolling again, so just stop with the excuses."
"Excuses?"
"Yes, excuses. 'He's going to have a headache for a while' and 'his muscles will take a few days to get stronger', and 'keep him in bed or the pain will never go away', and whatever else she told you. Those are all excuses you are using to keep me from doing my job!"
"Dick, it's only been two days," Bruce repeated. "Your nose is still extremely swollen, you could barely get out of bed this morning to go to the bathroom, you haven't even had a real meal yet!"
The younger man had shut down after that, turning away from Bruce and pretending to go to sleep. Bruce hadn't been fooled, but he also hadn't wanted to strain their relationship even more by continuing to argue.
It was now the evening of day four, and Bruce was exhausted. He had, against his better judgement, used Bat-sleep on his former partner in the afternoon. Dick had refused to stay in bed once he woke up at six in the morning, claiming it was day four and he was fine. The fact that a sharp flash of pain in his head had incapacitated him for a full six minutes didn't deter him from declaring he was fine when he woke up again. That had led to another conversation:
"Seriously, I'm fine now. It wasn't that bad."
"Dick, you were unconscious for nearly five minutes and couldn't even open your eyes for at least a minute after that!"
Dick had had no answer to that. He hadn't realized he had been out for so long, and the revelation had actually scared him. That's when he had asked the questions Bruce had been dreading, because he had no answers to calm his son's fairly-obvious fears.
"What's wrong with me? Why won't it go away? Am I going to be like this forever? Is that stupid musical note the only thing that will stop this?!"
Admitting that he had no answers was one of the hardest things Bruce had ever had to do. He was failing his son, and the knowledge was eating away at him. Bruce had felt like a failure before, many times although he never let anyone know it, but this one was the most difficult to deal with. Dick needed reassurance, needed answers so he would believe he could beat this. But not even Batman had an answer.
"I…don't know, Dick. I just…"
"Have you talked to them? James and Jasmina, I mean."
"Of course, I'm not an idiot!"
That comment had earned him Nightwing's version of a Bat-glare, and Bruce had instantly regretted it.
Sighing softly, he had continued, "They told me the same things they said in that remote cabin. Time and rest."
That was when Dick had shut down again, an outline of defeat circulating around the fear in his expressive eyes. He had stayed in bed, but had refused to go to sleep, even when his eyelids grew heavy and tears of exhaustion were threatening to roll down his cheeks. So, Batman had finally used the Bat-sleep.
Now here he was, five hours after spraying his son, trying to decide whether to use Bat-awake or let Dick wake up on his own. A soft sound from the direction of the young man's bed diverted his thoughts, and he leaned forward so he could both see and hear whatever was going to happen.
"Sorry," the boy mumbled, "no good, in trouble, idiot."
Dick began shifting his body restlessly around in the bed. Bruce ran a hand down his face, realizing that his son was about to wake up and was currently reprimanding himself for being weak or some other such nonsense.
"When are you going to realize that you are more than good enough?" Bruce whispered wearily. "What happened to all the confidence you had in yourself when you were younger? You will always be more than good enough, chum. Yes, you sometimes find yourself in trouble, but that happens to every crimefighter. Why don't you believe in yourself anymore?"
"Sorry," Dick mumbled again. "Fault, Bat al'ys right."
Sighing, Bruce said softly, "No, Batman's not always right, kiddo. I've been wrong more times than you can ever imagine. Especially in the past year or so. I shouldn't have fired Robin, and I shouldn't have pushed you away, and I'm an idiot for being too stubborn to apologize. Why are those two words so difficult to say? Especially to my son?"
"Bruce?" Dick asked quietly, his eyes still closed.
"I'm here, chum," the man replied.
Without any indication that he had heard the response, Dick continued, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all those things. I didn't…I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you in person. I wish this stupid headache would go away so I could find you. I just…I can't figure out how to be good enough for Batman. Nightwing's not good enough, he's disappointing you instead of making you proud. Nightwing is supposed to make Batman proud."
"I am proud of you, Dick!" Bruce exclaimed, although he kept his voice quiet. "I'm proud of you as Nightwing, and I'm proud of you as Dick Grayson!"
Bruce stood up and moved closer to the bed, wanting to gather his son into a hug but not knowing if he should. He realized that Dick thought he wasn't here, so he sat on the edge of the bed and lightly touched the younger man's arm.
"I'm here in person, kiddo, and I'm…"
He paused, the word sticking in his throat. It was a simple word, one he had said to several families of victims who had lost their lives. Why couldn't he say it to Dick, the boy he had raised from the time he was a traumatized nine-year-old?! Bruce had said it before, when his son was younger, but he was pretty sure that Dick hadn't heard that word from him for a long time. Yet Dick was saying it all the time, blaming himself for every little thing that went wrong in both his crimefighting and normal lives.
"You…don't have to say it."
Bruce, who had been staring at the ground, looked up. Dick was staring at him, pain etched on his young features. Whether it was physical or emotional, Bruce didn't know. He did know that Dick needed to hear that word, though.
"It's fine," Dick sighed. "It's my fault, just like everything else. I shouldn't have argued, I should have just…I don't know, accepted it, I guess. But I couldn't, Bruce! I'm a crimefighter, I need this! But Batman doesn't need a partner, so I was wrong."
"Stop," Bruce suddenly commanded. "I was wrong to fire Robin. I was scared, Dick. No, let me finish," he stated when Dick opened his mouth to reply. "Firing Robin created Nightwing, and the only reason I was angry about that was because I couldn't protect you anymore. You were going out on your own, and I can't…"
He trailed off and took a deep breath, holding up his hand when Dick started to speak.
"I can't lose you, chum. I pushed you away because I hated your decision because I was scared. I'm…I, um…I'm…"
Dick grinned slightly and softly supplied, "Sorry?"
"Um, yes," Bruce replied. "I'm…I'm sorry."
There. He had finally said it, finally overcome his prideful fear and apologized.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Dick stated with a small smirk. "I'm…"
"No, Dick, you've apologized way too many times. In fact, you apologize too much. Not everything is your fault, chum. Um…how's your head?" Bruce finished, somewhat desperate to change the subject.
"It…"
"Wait, before you answer, I want you to be completely honest, okay? Don't gloss over your pain just because you think you're not strong enough or good enough or whatever other 'enough' you don't think you are. I am so proud of you, Dick, and of Nightwing, too. You have always been more than good enough, okay? I need you to remember that. You are an amazing person, kiddo, a bright light in this sometimes dark world."
"Um, okay," Dick replied, his voice sounding shocked. "I…um, thanks. But I'm…"
"Stop," Bruce commanded again. "No 'buts' about this. You are, always have been, and always will be more than good enough. As Robin, as Nightwing, as Dick Grayson. Now, complete honesty, how is your head?"
Dick was speechless, his expressive eyes full of astonishment. Bruce, and by extension Batman, was proud of him? Proud of Nightwing, even though he had hated even the idea of Nightwing? How long had it been since he had seen a look of pride on the man's face, or heard a hint of approval in his voice?
"I'm sorry I haven't shown it more often, chum," Bruce stated, able to read his son like a book. He, too, wondered how long it had been since he had shown approval to Dick or Robin or Nightwing.
Two sorrys in less than five minutes. Always-had-something-to-say Dick Grayson couldn't find any words. He couldn't even figure out how to tell Bruce that his head was pounding again and that streaks of bright lightning were flashing around the room.
"Dick, how's your head?" Bruce repeated, a little concerned at the look on his son's face, a face that was too pale for his liking.
"I…is it too bright in here?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow, his concern increasing. The light in the room was dim, as it had been for the last four days.
"I'm going to assume that means you have a headache again. Status report," Bruce demanded, easily slipping into Batman mode.
"Um…back to day two?" Dick answered softly, pain flitting around the edges of the words.
Batman swore under his breath, hoping Alfred wasn't close enough to hear, and laid a hand on Dick's forehead. There was no fever, but the boy's face was as pale as it was whenever he lost too much blood.
"Number," Batman commanded, keeping his voice soft.
"Nine," Dick ground out through clenched teeth. His eyes were squeezed shut and his entire body was trembling.
Swearing again, Batman pulled the covers off in order to scan for injuries. There were no visible wounds, no sign of blood, no swollen limbs or torso, and his nose wasn't bleeding. Why had the pain suddenly intensified?
"Sorry," Dick muttered, "should've stayed in bed without arguing. Id…"
"If you call yourself an idiot one more time…" Bruce warned.
Dick's breathing quickened and Bruce immediately retrieved the can of Bat-sleep from the bedside table.
"Rest," he whispered as he sprayed a gentle mist in his son's face.
Three hours later:
Dick woke up to a dark room and the soft snores of a dozing Bruce Wayne. Slowly, he sat up and waited for the pain to begin. Nothing happened, but Dick was sure that wouldn't last. He took several deep breaths, expecting some sort of pain to manifest itself somewhere on his body.
"How are you feeling?"
The familiar voice came from his left, and Dick carefully turned his head.
"I'm…fine," he answered, confusion in his tone. "Why am I fine?"
"Maybe you just needed more rest," Bruce guessed, his voice somewhat sleepy. "I really have no idea. Are you being honest with me?"
"Yeah," the younger man responded. "I'm at a two, but that's only because of my nose. Nothing else hurts."
Sighing in relief, Bruce nodded and stretched.
"So…" Dick began.
"No," Bruce immediately replied. "No, you're not going on patrol tonight and no, you're not going back to your apartment tonight."
"Okay," Dick acquiesced.
Bruce was surprised by the lack of argument, especially since his son had been asking to do those two things ever since he had first woken up. He searched Dick's eyes, looking for any hint of a lie. Dick gave him a tiny, sheepish grin then dropped his eyes to the thick blanket he had pushed away from his body upon sitting up. Absently, he began picking at a loose thread on one edge.
"Um, thanks," he whispered after almost an entire minute of silence. "For, um, fixing me up and letting me stay and everything."
A hint of shame was laced through the quiet humility in Dick's voice. It was a sound Bruce instantly recognized, and it was a sound he hated hearing from his son. The boy never gave himself enough credit for anything and considered everything that went wrong to be his fault. It was obviously wearing him down, carrying all the blame on his shoulders ever since…Bruce realized he didn't even know when this self-condemnation had begun.
"You're welcome, and…" Bruce paused, not knowing whether or not he should continue to attempt to drive home a point that Dick never seemed to understand.
"And you have nothing to be ashamed of, chum," he finished. "You're not responsible for everything that happens in this world, and you will always…"
"Be good enough," Dick finished for him with a soft sigh.
"No," Bruce said forcefully, causing his son to look up in surprise. "You're missing a word, and you're missing the point. You will always be more than good enough and you need to stop blaming yourself for everything. Nobody is perfect, Dick, and I don't expect you to be."
With a skeptical look on his face, Dick replied, "Yeah, you do. Batman does, because Batman is."
Surprise flashed through Bruce's eyes. The boy thought Batman was perfect, and that he wasn't measuring up to that standard? How long had this been going on? How long had Dick considered himself a disappointment to his mentor? What had either of them said or done to even cause him to begin thinking like that? He had already said it twice, Bruce reflected, so he could do it again.
"I'm sorry I made you feel like that. You have never disappointed me, kiddo."
Dick's eyes widened as he protested, "I never said anything about disappointing you."
"I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice," Bruce stated confidently. "I don't know when you started thinking that, or what caused it, but you're wrong. I'm not disappointed in you, and Batman is not disappointed in Nightwing. I would ask for an explanation, but that's a different conversation that I know you don't want to have right now. I can also see that in your eyes. Yes, I've been angry with you sometimes…"
"Sometimes?" Dick muttered, so quietly that Bruce almost hadn't heard it.
Ignoring the response, the man continued, "…but that doesn't mean I was disappointed in you. I've been disappointed in your decisions, but never you. And that was only because you sometimes make rash decisions that could be fatal to you. It frustrated me – I cannot lose you, Dick – and so I would get angry. I was trying to protect you by making you stronger and faster and smarter and…"
"And you did," Dick interrupted. "Nightwing is so much better than Robin ever was…"
"Wait a minute!" Bruce objected. "Robin was always impressive…"
"But Nightwing has to take care of himself, and you prepared me to do that. Robin had to stay in your shadow, under your cape of protection, but Nightwing is stronger and faster and smarter because of you. Nightwing doesn't make the same stupid mistakes that Robin often did, although I am good at making new ones all the time."
The last part was mumbled under his breath, but Dick knew Bruce had probably heard it anyway.
"So…thanks," Dick finished, "for everything."
Leaning back in his chair, Bruce studied his son's face. There was a rueful half-grin, and his expressive eyes were full of gratitude but still outlined with shame.
"Thank you," Bruce finally responded, "for being you. For putting up with me, for keeping me from falling completely into darkness, for being a bright light, for always working hard in everything you do…"
Dick held up his hand, effectively stopping the list of his positive attributes. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and regret was now taking the place of the gratitude in his light-blue circles.
"I wasn't fishing for compliments, Bruce, and you don't have to lie to try to make me feel better."
"When will you get it through your stubborn, thick head that you are an amazing person?!" the older man burst out, frustration evident in his voice. "What happened to the confident Dick Grayson, the one who convinced me to let you become Robin?!"
"I…don't know," Dick replied, surprise in his voice. "I'm still Dick Grayson…"
"Yes, you are," Bruce replied, sarcasm lacing his voice. "But you are not the same Dick Grayson that you used to be," he finished, the sarcastic tone already gone.
"We all change, Bruce."
"You went the wrong way," Bruce replied grumpily, folding his arms across his chest.
"I'm not going to blame you, Bruce, this is my fault. I'm the one who argued, I'm the one who was always stubborn, I'm the one…"
"Stop blaming everything on yourself!" Bruce commanded loudly. "I'm stubborn, I pushed you too hard, I argued right back, and you forgot who you were…are!"
There was a long, awkward silence. Dick gave in first.
"Who am I?" he asked softly.
Another bout of silence as Bruce tried to figure out how to answer that question.
"Never mind," Dick said, regretting the question.
"You are my son, and I need you," Bruce finally replied quietly. "Batman needs Nightwing."
Silence reigned again. Dick gently probed his healing nose with his index finger, wincing when he touched the most sensitive spot. Suddenly he was being crushed in a fierce hug. Bruce had moved so fast that the younger man hadn't had time to react.
"You are my son," Bruce repeated, "and I need you. More than you'll ever know, chum."
"I love you," Dick mumbled, the words muffled against the strong chest of Bruce Wayne.
"Um…me, too," the man responded hesitantly.
He hadn't admitted that for a long time, he realized when he heard the almost-inaudible gasp of surprise from his son. They had been too busy arguing to think about saying important things like that.
This time the silence lingered as Bruce sat on the bed, refusing to relinquish his firm hold on his son. Dick melted into it, allowing all of his pent-up emotions to be released through the silent tears that rolled down his cheeks.
Meanwhile, just outside of Dick's bedroom door, Alfred smiled. The old butler had only heard two sentences, but it was enough to convince him that his two boys were finally on the right track. Shaking his head, he quietly chuckled at Bruce's phrase. 'Um…me, too' wasn't perfect, but at least it was a start. Humming softly, Alfred continued on his journey toward the kitchen – cookies and hot chocolate were on the dessert menu tonight.
THE END
Note: The ending was super cheesy, sorry. There's a reason for that, but I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that I learned a lesson from the person who still has my heart but is no longer talking to me. That lesson formed Bruce's thoughts about Dick, who then reacted. So, out came the cheesy comfort. :)
I have more story ideas, but this one is probably the last one I'm going to post (for various reasons). So I want to thank all of you for your support and for reading my stories. As a former friend of mine used to say, "See you in another life."
