A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270
John woke up in bed, warm and bundled up in the sheets. He blinked his eyes open long enough to look out the window and see the darkened sky, and then he rolled back over and buried his face into the pillows. For a few minutes John lay there quietly, not thinking about much of anything at all. He couldn't quite remember getting to bed, or why every inch of his body was aching so badly whenever he shifted under the duvet.
He yawned and lifted a hand to rub at his face, which was when he felt the sting of cut skin on his palm. In the darkness he couldn't make out the shape of the cuts but the pain sparked his memories, drawing them all back until John was nearly buried beneath the weight of everything that had happened over the last few months.
Bane had come to Gotham, trapped all of the city's police in the sewers and set up a bomb that would detonate in approximately five months. John had been captured and taken to Bane, and manipulated into remaining captive. The city had fallen to ruin as Bane and Miranda Tate – Talia – continued to work behind the scenes.
John had grown closer to Bane and learned that he was more than just a terrible beast and a mask. Bane had saved him from being raped and kept him safe, and despite every reason against the union they had fallen in love. Bane had sent John away to be safe but John had gone to him anyway, forsaking the chance of survival in exchange for what he believed was going to be only a few more minutes with the man he felt closer to than anyone else in his life.
They had reunited and made love through their believed last moments. They were lucky enough to survive and now John had the opportunity to continue his life with Bane, to support Bane as he searched for a new identity after shucking his mask. Their ties to the past had been severed. Now was the time for new beginnings.
Bane was in John's apartment at this very moment, he realized with a shock. But as he raised his head from the pillow, eager to find Bane and see him again, the memory of the radio hit him with enough force to knock him back down to the mattress. Cops had blown up the Memorial Bridge and doomed every citizen to certain death in their panic, and Batman – Bruce – had sacrificed his life to save the entire city.
Bruce was dead. John clenched his eyes closed, a few tears trickling slowly past his lashes. He cried for the loss of life, and he cried with wonderment and honour that he had known a man as brave as Bruce, who had given up his mind, body and soul for a city that needed saving but might not have deserved it. The thought of what Gotham might be like now without Batman scared John, but he hoped that he could be at least part of the man Bruce was. He could never live up to Batman's legacy, but he would willingly do anything he could to protect Gotham now that it was without a hero.
John allowed himself a few minutes to grieve, face tucked against the pillow and blankets over his head, cocooning him. And then he took a long time to slowly stretch out all of his muscles, working out tired kinks and loosening tight muscles before finally rolling out of bed. It felt odd to be getting out of bed, mostly rested, shortly after eight at night, judging by the clock on the bedside table. He knew he might have screwed up his sleeping schedule, but if he was honest with himself it had been ruined ever since he and Bane said goodbye a week before.
John wiped his face clear of tears and stood up slowly, allowing his body to adjust to holding his weight up. Last he remembered it was sunny when he was in the kitchen so he had at least gotten eight hours of sleep but he still felt tired and sore, run down after his experience over the last few weeks and months. He was hungry now though, stomach clenching as he remembered the soup he had been unable to eat before passing out.
He was still in the comfortable clothes he had changed into earlier in the day but his sweater had been peeled off, keeping him from getting overheated while he slept. John grabbed his sweater from the dresser and pulled it on, the added warmth soothing his muscles even though the apartment had warmed up by now. After that he left the bedroom, wondering why he had woken up in bed alone.
His stomach dropped when he found Bane seated by the window overlooking the city. Bane must have taken one of the kitchen chairs over to the window, the comfortable couch and armchair in the living room unused. As John stepped into the room Bane didn't lift his head or even twitch, which added more weight to the concern dragging John down.
John could read the tension in Bane's body, accustomed to reading his body and movements for clues about Bane's feelings when his face had been mostly covered. Bane's whole body was wound tight but his shoulders were hunched forward, head bowed like he was trying to shrink in on himself and hide away. John approached Bane slowly, letting his footsteps make noise on the carpet to ensure Bane wasn't startled.
Bane still didn't look up as John drew level with him, and John could hear the forced, ragged breathing dragging through his lungs. "Bane—" John began as he set a hand on Bane's shoulder, falling silent when in an instant Bane whipped around and slapped his hand off with enough force for John's wrist to twist at an awkward angle and burn with pain.
"Leave!" Bane growled viciously, hunching up further on himself.
Stung by the violent rebuff, John cradled his wrist with his other hand, holding it close to his chest. "What the fuck is your problem?"
"I said leave!" Each of Bane's words was punctuated with enough anger that it felt like John was getting punched in the gut. Bane' voice was primal and dangerous, and for the first time in over a month John stumbled back a few steps, scared.
John wanted to remind Bane that this was his apartment and that if anyone was going to leave, it was going to be Bane. However, he knew that would not be a productive direction to take the conversation, especially when Bane seemed so agitated. It was terrifying to see Bane like this, like a cornered, injured animal. For the whole time John had known him, Bane had been very self-restrained and calm. Now he was unpredictable, lashing out without any clear plan or consideration.
From a few paces away John studied Bane, ready to run if necessary but also unwilling to give up so easily after everything they had been through together, to stay together. It was easy to see the way Bane's body was practically quivering with anguished tension, like a coil wound too tight and ready to snap at any second. John could also see a thin sheen of sweat across Bane's body wherever skin was visible.
Bane had not reverted back to some earlier version of himself; this was still the man John had fallen in love with. Bane was simply suffering, the effects of morphine withdrawal hitting him hard after years of dependence. John was still hurt that Bane was reacting to him so poorly but he told himself to be patient.
It seemed clear that Bane still cared for him, scaring him away rather than attacking him. And Bane had put John safely to bed when he passed out. John tried to remember that, to remind himself that Bane would have left or done something a lot worse than knock his hand off if his feelings had changed. John had to hold that close and focus on helping Bane rather than worrying constantly over Bane's intentions. It was easy to assume that things would be different out of the hotel room, that their relationship might become 'normal'. But that was a foolhardy thought because Bane – and John himself – was far from normal.
With a little more understanding, John cautiously stepped closer to Bane. The growl that began rumbling in Bane's chest lifted the hairs on the back of John's neck and he hesitated, barely within arm's reach. "I want to help," he said softly.
"You cannot help," Bane snapped. A groan worked up Bane's throat when he turned his head slightly to regard John, though he seemed determined to swallow it back down again.
"Let me try," John implored, not daring to approach further until Bane gave him some sign of acceptance. It made his heart ache to see Bane in so much pain and refuse any sort of help. It left John feeling spurned and frustrated even though he thought he understood. "I know you're not used to relying on others," John continued when Bane said nothing. "But it's just me. Trust me."
Bane's eyes remained sharp and distant for a few moments as they looked John over, judging him. And then, just when John was beginning to lose hope, those eyes softened. "Will you leave me?" Bane asked, sounding nervous for the first time since John had met him. Although John didn't want to see Bane suffering, he had to admit that it was interesting to see these new emotions Bane had never showed him before.
John took another step closer, well within Bane's reach now. Bane watched his approach but said nothing. "Do you want me to leave?"
He could see Bane swallowing hard, sadness and pain on his face. "No."
"Then I won't leave," John promised, moving to stand at Bane's side. Bane looked uncomfortable, sitting stiffly in his chair and making no move to reach for John or push him away. John knelt down beside him, ignoring the pain in his legs from the position. He wanted to touch Bane, to reassure him, but didn't want to cause further pain. "It's just me," he said again, trying to soothe Bane. "You don't always need to be strong."
When Bane reached for him John didn't pull away or protest. He watched silently as Bane carefully took hold of John's left hand, the one he had knocked away. John sighed contently when he felt Bane cradle his wrist and rub light circles on the skin with a warm thumb, the twinge of pain from the hit fading. "I've always been the protector," Bane said. His thumb continued to sweep even though John could feel his arm shaking with pain from being held aloft.
Silently John used his other hand to support Bane's arm, allowing the caress of his thumb to continue but easing the ache from Bane's reach. "I feel safer knowing I have you at my back," John told him seriously. "But you need to remember that I'm watching your back too now." Bane met his eyes and didn't look away, listening intently. "We're partners, and that means we protect each other. You're not alone any longer."
Bane's other hand reached up and John leaned closer to meet his rough fingers when Bane brushed them over his bottom lip for a kiss. John allowed Bane's fingers to trace the shape of his mouth and then pressed a few delicate kisses to those fingers affectionately. Even though they could kiss with their lips now that the mask was gone, this form of a kiss would always mean something special to both of them. It had been their first display of love, not allowing their situation or Bane's mask to hinder their budding affection.
After a few minutes Bane gave a pained grunt and drew his fingers away, resting his arm on his leg. He pulled his other hand from John as well, leaving John without contact as he knelt beside the chair. "I can take care of myself," Bane stated quietly.
"I know you can," John agreed, drawing Bane's attention back to him. "But you don't have to do it alone anymore. Focus on getting better rather than worrying about what I might think because I'm not going anywhere."
"Fine," Bane grumbled.
John didn't take the annoyance in Bane's voice to heart, knowing Bane was likely irritable with the pain he was experiencing. "Good," he said, forcing himself to stand before his legs cramped up any further. "Have you eaten?"
"I reheated the soup a while ago," Bane said, turning his eyes back to watch Gotham through the windows.
"Okay, I'll find something for both of us to eat since I'm hungry too," John stretched out his muscles, unhappy knowing they would ache for another few days while they healed. "Then you should probably sleep."
"I cannot sleep," Bane sighed tiredly.
"Not sitting there you can't," John chided.
Bane's gaze flashed up to him, angry again. "If I could sleep, I would."
"Fine," John held his hands up in surrender. "Continue sitting on the most uncomfortable chair in the apartment and wonder why your body hurts and you can't sleep." John took one step past Bane's chair toward the kitchen and grunted when a strong arm shot out in front of him, barring his path. Before he could say anything Bane tightened his hold and dragged John closer, pressing their lips together with harsh determination. John moaned despite himself, leaning into the kiss until Bane pulled away. "What was that for?" he questioned breathlessly.
"Because you are mine," Bane told him, heat coming off his body in waves.
"And you're a possessive brat," John informed him, though he kissed Bane again anyway. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy Bane's possessiveness, especially in moments like this when it was easy to take Bane's irritable withdrawal as a sign that his feelings had changed. John liked being reminded that Bane had chosen him as John had chosen Bane in return.
This time when John moved away Bane didn't stop him and John disappeared into the kitchen. Bane had dragged the garbage bag full of food into the kitchen but had left the bag of clothes untouched in the hall, though John figured this was due to Bane's tired, aching body rather than any pickiness about the clothing.
The radio was still playing on the table and John listened intently as the various newscasters updated listeners on new information about the city as well as repeated older news from earlier in the day that John had missed while he slept. None of the information was as earth-shattering as the first broadcast but John found himself listening anyway as he boiled some pasta and heated up a jar of sauce.
Hearing the news confirmed John's suspicion that it would be a long road to recovery for Gotham. With all of the police released from their underground prison they were able to start regaining control of the city. But there was only so much they could do in the first few hours and days, many of them exhausted and sick from being trapped for so long. Quite a few of the criminals that had been released by Bane had gone into hiding, no doubt lying in wait until they could either escape the city or run rampant again.
John had mixed feelings whenever he heard Bane mentioned on the radio, even though he knew it could only be expected. He was nervous knowing that the city and authorities believed that Bane was still alive, though they were unsure of his physical state after varying reports about the final fight between Bane and Batman. As long as the people thought Bane was still alive they would continue hunting him. But John was also slightly relieved hearing that no one had any idea about where Bane might have disappeared to after City Hall. Although the police would continue searching for Bane, they would also be forced to split their attention between that and helping the city recover. For now, Bane was safe here.
Each time the news updated, the dead and injured counts increased. It would probably take days if not weeks for the city to track everything that had happened: who had died and how, which citizens of Gotham had taken advantage of the situation to wreck their own havoc, and how much damage had been dealt to the city. John wondered what it would be like in a few weeks once people had begun to return to their homes. How many would abandon Gotham and head for the tunnel? How many would continue living and try to ignore how many neighbours, friends and family members were missing?
As John drained the pasta and split it between two bowls he noticed his police badge in the corner of the kitchen on the ground where he had thrown it. John picked it up and without another thought he dropped it in the garbage bag along with his coat and Bane's armour. He had every intention of continuing to help and protect Gotham and its citizens, but John had no interest in rejoining the police force. He was certainly not against the police, but he couldn't allow justice to be restrained.
John shook his head, momentarily dispelling those thoughts. The more he thought about the police blowing up Memorial Bridge and dooming the city, and Bruce sacrificing his own life as the only option to save Gotham, the more frustrated John became. For now he forced himself to calm his mind and body, focusing instead on doing what he could to help Bane through the effects of morphine withdrawal. John could search for a new way to help Gotham on his own terms once he was certain Bane was better.
Bane was still seated in the kitchen chair overlooking the city when John returned to the living room, a bowl of pasta in each hand. He held out the bowl in offering until Bane took it with unsteady hands, resting it on his lap. John settled in the armchair a few paces away from Bane, taking his first big bite of food in almost a full day.
He closed his eyes when the warm food began filling his stomach, relieved to finally be eating. John had to make sure he didn't eat too quickly and make himself sick but it was difficult to maintain control, knowing the food would banish the clench of hunger gnawing at him and help his body begin to heal.
John looked over and was surprised to see that Bane hadn't taken a bite of pasta yet even though he was staring at it hungrily. "Something wrong?" John asked in confusion.
Bane pursed his lips, an action John found very distracting. "It has been years since I have eaten in front of someone."
"No need to be self-conscious," John said quickly, trying to make this moment casual even though he could feel his own stomach flipping with excitement. It seemed odd to place so much emphasis on something as simple as sharing a meal together, but in all the time John had been with Bane he had never been trusted enough for Bane to remove the mask.
Bane sent him an unimpressed glare. "I have never been self-conscious in my life."
"Well don't start now," John teased, trying to keep things as casual and light as possible without irritating Bane further. Bane continued to stare at him without saying or doing anything and John shrugged, feeling a little unsure about what else he could do. Eventually he returned his attention to his own pasta, eating quietly.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Bane held the fork in his hand and prodded at the pasta a few times. John would have chuckled if the moment wasn't so significant and fragile. There was something about Bane's uncertainty that was endearing, and the fact that Bane was even willing to show this small moment of hesitance to John had his heart melting.
John made no comment when Bane finally ate his first forkful of pasta, only smiling privately to himself at the unspoken trust before busying himself with his own food again. After Bane's first bite he began eating quicker, seemingly enjoying the pasta John had made. They ate in comfortable silence and John relished in the moment; this was the first time they had been at ease together since Bane had sent him away.
The food didn't last long and John took the bowls to the kitchen, washing them and setting them in the drainer to air dry. Bane still hadn't moved when John returned again, though his back was almost a smooth curve now with how much he was hunched over. "Why don't you lie down flat?" John suggested, leaning against the window in front of Bane where he couldn't look away or ignore John. "Or maybe take a bath to soothe your body."
Bane looked like he was considering arguing further, but it seemed that the food had mollified him slightly. With a sigh Bane gave a half-hearted shrug and began the slow process of standing and walking to the bedroom. John offered an arm or a shoulder but Bane ignored him, still determined to prove that he was strong enough to take care of himself. It was hard for John to watch Bane struggle with something as simple as standing and walking, his movements no longer fluid and precise, but he could only hope that this was temporary.
John followed Bane to the bedroom, wishing he could help but hanging back as he watched Bane lower himself down on the bed and lie still. The sheets were still askew from when John had woken up a short while ago and Bane made no move to pull them up over his body. Unsure of what Bane would allow, John slowly approached the bed and tugged the sheets up, watching them settle around the bulky shape of Bane's form.
John wished he owned a queen-sized bed since they would be a little lacking in space when they both lay down in bed together. However, John hoped that now they were together, and once both of their bodies had healed, they wouldn't mind sleeping close together every night instead of needing separate space on opposite sides of the bed.
"You kept it," Bane murmured tiredly.
John was confused until he followed Bane's gaze and saw the duffel bag set on the floor by the dresser. Then John sat carefully on the edge of the bed by Bane's elbow. "Of course I kept it."
"I wondered when you showed up at City Hall without it," Bane admitted, voice fading with each passing breath.
"I hid the duffel bag here to keep it safe," John explained. "I decided that if we survived we would come here together to pick it up." John slid off the bed and grabbed the bag, setting it on his knees where Bane could see it as he unzipped it. "Everything is still here," he promised as he pulled out Osito. He left everything else in the bag and set it back down carefully, and then settled Osito against the pillow near Bane's head.
Bane considered the worn, beaten teddy bear for a moment, blinking slowly, and then turned his gaze back to John. "I had to leave everything behind so Talia would not know I was... compromised."
"I went back to our hotel room two nights ago," John admitted quietly, cupping Bane's cheek with his palm. "My drawing books weren't there."
"I would not leave them there. But I had to burn them before anyone found me with them," Bane's voice was pained. "They were all I had left of you."
John traced the strong curve of Bane's jaw, comforting in a way he never thought Bane would allow. "It's alright. I'm here now," he assured his partner. "We don't need mementos."
Bane nodded once and settled more fully against the mattress and pillows. It felt a little odd to be reassuring Bane; even odder was the fact that Bane was responding favourably to it. But he felt something inside himself loosen when he saw Bane relax, a sense of accomplishment and warmth filling him. "John," Bane called to him as he wound an arm around John's waist.
John let Bane drag him down onto the mattress and wrapped his own arm around Bane's waist to stay close. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised.
"I will not be able to sleep," Bane complained, tightening his hold until John wouldn't be able to escape even if he wanted to. "The withdrawal is making me too anxious."
"Just rest then," John soothed. He rearranged himself in Bane's embrace so that he could lift his arm and trace light circles on Bane's back. He felt a shudder work through Bane's body and the following sigh ruffled his hair. They lay there in silence together, John continuing to trace circles long after his arm began to ache at the movement. They barely moved at all until John finally heard Bane's breath even out as he drifted off into a light sleep.
John stopped tracing his fingers across Bane's body once he was certain the man was asleep, but even though there were things John wanted to get done he didn't withdraw from the bed. He told himself that there was plenty of time to get things done later on. The war was over. It was time to rest. And John refused to have Bane wake up alone while the morphine withdrawal was taking its toll. So John remained in bed with Bane quietly, leaving only briefly for the bathroom or for some food before promptly slotting himself back into Bane's arms to doze with his partner.
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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270