A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270
Time passed quickly, John's body taking the opportunity to sleep while he remained in bed with Bane. John didn't fight it each time his eyelids drifted closed, the clock jumping a few hours ahead before he looked over to read it again. He knew his body needed all the rest it could get in order to recover and heal after everything he had been through the last few months, and it was nice to simply rest with Bane, comforted by the knowledge that they were both safe and together.
Bane woke up every few hours but drifted back to sleep each time without a word, only shifting his weight or tightening his grip on John slightly before his eyes closed again. John was relieved to see him sleeping for so long even though his sleep was often disturbed by achy muscles and shivering. He remembered how little Bane slept back at the hotel and doubted Bane had had a proper good night of sleep in his life before now.
By midday the next day John's body had caught up on its sleep and he was growing a little restless. He still refused to leave Bane alone though so he grabbed a book from his bookshelf and settled against the headboard, moving Osito onto the bedside table closer to Bane's side of the bed. Bane woke up in a daze at the change in position but merely re-hooked an arm around John's middle before closing his eyes again, effectively locking John in place.
John hoped that Bane would be able to sleep through his withdrawal but that was just wishful thinking. Early in the afternoon John could feel Bane's arm wrapped loosely around him spasm, his legs doing the same a moment later. Then a slow, drawn out groan rumbled deep in Bane's chest and John could feel the anguish in the sound. Bane broke out into a sweat and began to shake, only groaning again when John bundled him up in more blankets.
"Bane?" John whispered worriedly.
When he lifted a hand to hesitantly stroke the top of Bane's head a large hand reached up and grabbed his arm, holding it aloft to keep him from touching Bane's skin. "Get me morphine."
"Bane, it's okay. You'll get through this. I know it's bad now but—"
John's voice cut away when Bane tightened his hold on John's forearm. "Morphine, now."
John could feel his bones grind together in the tight grip, his fingers tingling as his circulation was cut off. He tried to pull his arm away but Bane only held tighter. "Bane, you're hurting me." The pain was so consuming John felt lightheaded and nauseous but he didn't pull away again, terrified of Bane causing further damage. John refused to hit Bane; besides the fact that it wouldn't solve anything, John wouldn't cause Bane further pain.
"Morphine will make this stop," Bane growled, beginning to pull at John's arm until John could feel his shoulder begin to strain.
"I won't get it for you," John hissed, pain drawing fierce anger out of him. "I know you can fight this!" Bane twisted his grip and John cried out in pain, shifting his position just to keep his bones from snapping like twigs. He whimpered. "Bane, please stop."
The hand holding his arm twitched and released and John scrambled off the bed and out into the hallway, his fight or flight instincts kicked into high gear as pain continued to course through his arm. John cradled his injured arm with his uninjured one against his chest as he ran out into the living room and curled up on the couch. A few unshed tears stung his eyes as his arm throbbed, though the pain was secondary to the ache in his heart. John knew Bane was in extreme pain but it hurt to know that Bane was still a man to be feared.
The pain faded to a dull ache and John blinked away the tears but he didn't return to the bedroom. He sat in sullen silence with his arm held against his chest, staring out the window at the sunlit skyline. John didn't know if he was more upset that Bane had hurt him or that Bane had not apologized. John was just beginning to wonder if he had diluted himself about Bane, chiding himself on even expecting an apology, when he heard a lumbering weight approaching.
John looked up to see Bane stumble into the living room, leaning heavily against the wall to remain upright. Both of his arms were holding his stomach in obvious pain, his skin pallor and sweaty. Even with the short distance between them John could hear the shallowness of Bane's breathing and see the dark heaviness in his eyes.
John remained where he was on the couch but sat up straighter, on the edge of his seat. Bane didn't hesitate as he stepped closer, forcing one foot in front of the other until he was standing right in front of John. Bane wavered and then fell slowly to his knees, grunting upon impact. He held out a hand but John did not offer a hand in return, continuing to cradle his sore arm protectively.
After a moment Bane's arm began to shake noticeably in the air and Bane rested his hand on the couch cushion. John was expecting an excuse or justification so his heart jumped into his throat when he heard Bane's simple words. "I am sorry."
John considered Bane, taking in the details of his now-exposed face. Bane's lips were curled down into a sad frown, eyebrows furrowed and eyes downcast. John could tell Bane wasn't lying; he truly regretted hurting John. But John couldn't just shrug this off. He didn't want to be scared and hurt every single day. They weren't even at the worst of the withdrawal yet. What would happen when the pain intensified? Would John end up with a broken arm? A broken neck?
"I don't want to be scared of you," John whispered sadly. "You've protected me from so much."
"Everything except myself," Bane lamented, eyes fixed on John's own. "But that changes now."
John felt his stomach clench painfully as Bane struggled to his feet. "What are you doing?"
"I am leaving," Bane told him, his arms wrapping around his stomach again as though holding himself together. "I will not let myself hurt you again."
Bane didn't manage more than a few faltering steps before John reached out with both hands to grab Bane's arm, hooking himself to the crease of Bane's elbow to halt him. Bane looked down at him in confusion, unmoving. "You're not allowed to give up on us that easily."
Bane pulled against his hold but without the true intent of breaking free. "I do not want to hurt you."
"Then don't," John said strongly. Bane withdrew with more strength but John used all of his weight to pull Bane down, taking advantage of Bane's weakened state to bring him toppling down to the couch.
Bane groaned but didn't fight as John led him down onto the couch. "It is not that easy," he protested.
"It is that easy," John argued. "I've never met someone with more self-control than you."
"And you're going to trust me?" Bane scoffed, beginning to push himself off the couch again.
John stilled him by cupping his cheek and turning his face back. Once Bane was facing him John pressed his thumb against Bane's mouth, denting his lips around the pad of his finger. Bane stilled immediately and leaned into the kiss, eyes a little wide as he watched John. As he met Bane's gaze John nodded seriously. "I trust you."
"I will never betray that trust again," Bane proclaimed. All at once Bane was on him, pressing their lips together. John moaned and met the kiss, tilting his head to lock their lips together. John was just considering the possibility of climbing on top of Bane to feel him again – their aching bodies be damned – but was halted when he suddenly felt Bane wrench away.
John fell back against the couch when Bane pushed him away and ran. He felt dizzy between his lust and confusion; Bane had initiated the kiss and yet now he was running away. John's answer came to him a moment later when Bane seemingly found the bathroom and John heard the sound of violent retching into the toilet.
John took a moment to compose himself, slowing his breathing and racing heart. Then he stood from the couch as well and moved to the bathroom as Bane continued to alternate between retching and moaning in agony. In the doorframe John watched Bane curl over the toilet, one arm still holding his stomach and his other hand holding the toilet lid up. John heard the horrible crack of plastic splintering as Bane held the lid too tightly, his hand coming away bloody when he let go of the broken lid.
John's instincts told him to run. The primal part of him saw a vicious beast in a moment of weakness; now was the time to strike or run. But John had no intention or interest in running. After all, when his world was about to go up in a ball of flames – literally – John had run to Bane and away from his only known chance of survival. Bane's words echoed in his mind as the large man heaved and gasped. I will never betray that trust again. John's arm still ached, demanding he make a different choice, but it was drowned out by all the memories of what Bane had done for him, and what Bane meant to him.
With a sigh John turned from the bathroom and out into the hall. He returned a minute later with a large glass of water and two blankets draped over his arm. John set the glass on the counter where Bane could reach if he wished but would not knock down by accident. Then he slowly unfurled the blankets and wrapped them around Bane, fabric resting heavy on his shoulders and hugging him protectively the way John wished to hold Bane.
Bane was panting as he looked up at John, face red from exertion and skin sickly. John hovered for a moment and then knelt beside Bane, purposefully close to Bane rather than keeping his distance. Bane continued to watch John warily as John lifted a hand and carefully wiped away a few stray tears from the man's cheeks.
"It's just from throwing up," Bane informed him stiffly, voice ragged.
John smiled softly, willing to accept Bane's explanation whether it was true or not. He leaned forward, ignoring the smell of sweat and sickness, and kissed Bane's cheek. "You don't always have to be strong in front of me, you know. For once in your life just let yourself struggle. Save your energy for recovering rather than pretending; I'm not going anywhere."
He thought Bane might say something sweet or meaningful, even a simple 'thank you'. John could tell Bane had heard him and had accepted his words as good advice because he could see the way Bane's jaw went slack and his shoulders relaxed slightly. Bane's lips parted and John found himself leaning forward ever so slightly in anticipation. Then Bane's non-injured hand reached out and pushed him back, unbalancing John and sending him toppling as Bane promptly threw up again in the toilet.
John massaged his wrists after they caught the majority of his fall and then stood. He resituated the blankets around Bane's shoulders to combat the chill John knew would be leaching into his legs from the bathroom tile. After that he grabbed his first aid kit from under the sink and knelt beside Bane again, lifting his injured hand.
Blood pooled in the dip of Bane's palm and as John cleaned the gash slowly he wondered if people even considered the fact that Bane bled like everyone else. During the last few months Bane had been transformed into the epitome of evil for the citizens of Gotham. Not without significant aid from Bane's own actions, to be sure, but it left John curious to realize that many had come to view Bane as something other than human. A beast, a monster, a nightmare.
None but John knew Bane like this: a man who bled, who ailed, and who could regret and change.
Once the cut was clean John wrapped a bandage around the gash. It would not need stitches but it did need to be kept clean so it could heal. By then Bane had stopped vomiting and flushed the toilet. Then he had grabbed the glass of water as he sat against the counter. John could see the ripples in the water betraying Bane's constant tremor but he didn't draw attention to it. He packed up the first aid kit but left it on the counter in case it was needed again.
He settled on the tile in front of Bane, giving the aching man distance only to avoid causing further pain, rather than due to any fright. Bane was a man of his word and John had meant it when he told Bane he trusted him. Bane was watching him, eyes dull and bloodshot and face gone pale. He was noticeably shivering and his non-injured hand was holding his stomach again, but he seemed more tired than nauseous now.
Sitting there in the bathroom across from Bane in silence, John knew this was more trust from Bane than anyone else had probably ever received. Bane was tired, weak, sick and injured, and he had allowed John to remain close and treat his wound, to offer assistance however possible. John was touched, knowing this was Bane without any mask, offering himself to John without trying to be strong.
They remained in the bathroom for a few minutes, waiting to see if Bane would throw up again or if it was safe for him to move away from the toilet. Bane drained the glass of water and let John refill it, sipping the water more slowly after that. It brought back memories of the day Bane had saved John from being raped, and when Bane had kissed him with his fingers for the first time.
At that thought John shifted closer to sit beside Bane, slowly resting his weight against Bane's arm as he waited for any sign of pain. Bane tiredly moved his hand from his pained stomach to John's knee and left it there, heavy and warm. It was enough for John to finally drop the rest of his weight against Bane's arm, head on his shoulder.
"What do you think will help?" he asked after a few more minutes of their quiet breaths mingling in the small room.
"Time," Bane said, dread and tired acceptance warring in his voice.
John turned his head and kissed Bane's jaw, aware of the little raised bumps of scarring on Bane's skin. It felt a little peculiar brushing his lips against the scars, the bumps almost tickling him the way Bane's absent facial hair would have. Struck by the sudden idea, John lifted a hand to brush his knuckles along Bane's face, up from jaw to cheekbone.
Bane turned to him slightly, watching John rather than his moving hand. John saw the curiosity on his face. "I was just wondering if your hair might grow back now that the mask is gone."
"I doubt it," Bane said gruffly, not turning away from the touch but not straining to meet John's eyes fully either. "After Venom my hair has not grown back." Bane's skin warmed under John's palm as he moulded his hand to Bane's cheek. "Does it bother you?"
John knew the waver in Bane's voice was a rare occurrence and he felt something catch in the back of his throat at the sound of it. "Of course not. I fell in love with you like this, didn't I? Even with that terrifying mask on I loved you." Bane's gaze dropped to the floor and the quiver working through his body extended through John's hand and arm. John leaned closer and kissed the corner of Bane's mouth. "I love you still," he whispered.
The corner of Bane's mouth twitched upward as though entranced by some magic bestowed by John's kiss. John felt his heart flutter, desperately fervent to see those lips curl with a genuine smile again the way they had back at City Hall during their reunion. However, the pain from the morphine withdrawal won out and John steeled himself as those lips fell back into a forlorn frown.
Refusing to lose hope, John forced himself to stand up, stretching out his stiff legs and sore arm. "I know it'll take time no matter what, but is there anything I can do to help now?"
Bane was silent for a moment as he thought, blinking and breathing slowly. John could see that each movement for Bane was now forced, each rise and fall of his broad chest a fight against pain. "More soup, maybe," Bane suggested with no real interest.
Even though John knew Bane probably had little to no appetite, he remembered what it was like to throw up on an empty stomach. It felt as though your body was trying to shred itself. All you could do was wrap your arms around your stomach and try to keep yourself from falling to pieces. John blinked away the sympathetic pain and nodded. "You can stay here or go back to bed if you want. I'll get the food ready."
Bane offered no response and John took that as his cue to get to work. Luckily he had a cupboard full of soup, left over from his years as a rookie out on the streets, more intent on watching over his city than going home and making proper meals for himself. John got a pot of soup settled on the stove and then rummaged through his fridge for something he might feel like stomaching.
All of his perishable foods had faded in his absence – sour milk, mouldy cheese, the onion in his bottom drawer sprouting anew. John held his breath and pulled out an unopened jug of orange juice before quickly closing the fridge again. Then he redirected his attention to the freezer, praying for something appealing. In the end he found a frozen half-loaf of bread, some unopened margarine and a few individually-packaged slices of cheese, and it was with an oddly comfortable sort of domesticity that John prepared a grilled cheese sandwich for himself beside Bane's simmering soup.
When the food was ready John tucked a bottle of water under his arm and held a meal in each hand, heading out of the kitchen in search of Bane. He was surprised when he found Bane in the living room rather than in the bathroom or bedroom. John was even more surprised to see Bane on the ground, spine a rigid line and arms bulging as he did slow but determined push-ups.
John was about to scold Bane – maybe even chuck the bowl of soup at his head for his stupidity – but the words died on his lips as he looked Bane over. His muscles were taut, limbs held tense and poised, but Bane's eyes had sharpened with a look of satisfaction and relief, his mouth a neutral line of focus rather than a grimace of pain.
He knew Bane had noticed his entrance and his hovering but Bane said nothing, didn't even look up at him as he continued to gruellingly rise and fall. Silently John made his way over to the couch, setting the bowl of soup on the end table beside Bane's refilled glass of water. Although John still felt the urge to tell Bane off for not resting, he couldn't deny the improvement – however slight – so he settled on the couch and began chewing on his sandwich.
John watched Bane with greedy reverence, studying each corded muscle bunch up and release, holding all of that strong bulk aloft above the ground. Bane's massive form and power almost made it seem like he was pushing the ground away, rather than himself. More than once John had to pointedly remind himself that now was not the time to feel those muscles and taste that skin, or to slip himself beneath Bane's form on the floor as a clear, demanding hint. Despite Bane's stubbornness he was still sick.
He considered the idea of grabbing a new sketchbook to draw Bane like this but decided that he didn't want to keep the memory. Although he was proud of Bane fighting the withdrawal, John didn't want to be reminded of the suffering Bane was working through. Instead he ate quietly and then simply watched, sipping water occasionally as he wondered how long Bane would be able to continue.
It was obvious to John the moment Bane had pushed himself too far. Eyes sharp as they were and focused on Bane, John noticed the second Bane pushed himself up for another push-up and his arms wavered, Bane hesitating for just a moment before lowering himself back down and starting again. John knew that those arms would buckle soon if they were not given the rest they needed.
Just as determined and feeling brave, John stood from the couch and moved to kneel beside Bane who wavered again but didn't stop. John drew his gaze along Bane's body one final time, smiling sadly, and then reached out to rest a palm on Bane shoulder. A quiver shook Bane at the touch. Bane wobbled and then carefully lowered himself fully onto the ground where he remained.
"Was that entirely necessary?" John smoothed his hand down Bane's back, reminding those tight muscles to finally relax.
After a few moments Bane was loose as he lounged on the carpet, his breathing slowly returning to a normal pace. "Motionlessness is my most hated cage," Bane said. While the words probably would have had a dark bitterness to them – casting Bane back to his years of imprisonment with a true cage keeping him from moving freely – now they were dulled with exhaustion.
John leaned closer, one hand working out a kink he felt between Bane's shoulder blades and his other hand on the floor for balance. He whispered by Bane's ear, "Come eat."
Bane grunted and lay still for another moment before pushing himself onto his hands and knees. John could read the uncertainty in his movements even if Bane refused to acknowledge it. Without any ceremony he knelt beside Bane and dipped a shoulder, subtle enough to make the offer noticeable but unacknowledged. It was with a private smile of pride that John bore Bane's weight and helped him stand when Bane dropped a hand to his shoulder.
John led him back to the couch and got him settled, handing over the soup before turning back to the hallway to grab the bag of clothes he had stolen for Bane. He dropped the bag just inside the bedroom door but pulled out a pair of pants, a shirt and a large sweater before returning. John held them up in offering when Bane looked up from his soup. "You should change into these when you're done eating. They'll be comfortable and less..." he glanced down at Bane's shirt, which was darkened with sweat. "Wet." John made a mental note to use the laundry room in the basement of the apartment building as soon as possible.
Bane's lips twitched up into a weak smile and John could feel the distinct sensation of his heart taking wing. "If you insist," Bane consented. He stared at John for a long moment and then returned to his soup. "Though I would rather wear you."
John placed the clothes on the couch armrest and sat on the couch beside Bane. He didn't fight it when the man's weight pulled down the cushions, which drew John closer until he was practically plastered to Bane's side. Neither of them minded, their shared warmth calming. John smiled in fond amusement and kissed Bane's shoulder. "Just because you're pumped full of endorphins from exercising doesn't mean you can conquer the world."
"I do not want the world. I just want you," Bane rumbled.
The flush of heat that rushed through John's body was staggering and he suddenly found it a bit difficult to breathe. In an instant his mind and body flashed back to their reunion in City Hall; the tears of happiness and relief he blinked away; the drag of his bare skin against the floor; the branding hot wetness of Bane's breath – lips – tongue.
John released a shuddering breath as his eyes drifted closed, desire flooding his senses. He wouldn't give in now though, not when he knew pursuing this thought could hurt Bane more. To diffuse the heat in the air John rested his head on Bane's shoulder, his hair brushing against Bane's neck. "You already have me," he murmured warmly.
"You know that is not what I meant," Bane retorted, though John could feel his body relaxing again, the heat seeping away.
"I know," John assured, enjoying the feel of Bane's breathing against him. "I want that too." He allowed his longing to lower his voice, draw out his words. "But I want you healthy first." Bane growled and shifted slightly where he sat and John could tell he was considering moving to pin John to the couch. But as much as John wanted that, he turned and pressed the most tender kiss he could manage to Bane's jaw. "Later. Trust me."
Without a word Bane relented and returned to his soup. It must have been cold by that point but Bane didn't gripe, eating gradually until the large bowl was completely empty. John was relieved to see Bane getting some food into his stomach and taking the time to gulp down as much water as he could manage without making himself sick again to avoid getting dehydrated. As he picked up the empty bowl and plate John could see the pain and tension creeping back into Bane's body, dragging him back down into a protective hunch and binding him there.
John wondered if Bane might prefer to sleep on the couch rather than forcing himself to move again, but by the time he got the dishes set away, shoved the rest of the soup into the fridge to keep for later and peeked back out of the kitchen, he found the living room abandoned. The new set of clothes was missing as well and John walked to the bathroom, hearing running water through the open door.
The majority of Bane's weight was resting on the counter, the surface bearing Bane's grip as he held himself up. He had changed into the clothes John had grabbed for him and although it still looked odd to see Bane in anything other than his cargo pants and armour, the material looked loose and warm. John took in the sight of Bane brushing his teeth, the cabinet mirror askew from when Bane had opened it to fish out a new toothbrush and some toothpaste.
The mirror captured John's reflection rather than Bane's, brown eyes blinking at themselves while shadowed grey eyes stared blankly at the wall and cabinet. A needling voice whispered in John's mind that it had probably been intentional; Bane had likely turned the mirror away to avoid his own reflection out of uneasiness borne from seeing his exposed face for the first time in long years.
John briefly looked over his own reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes and the disquiet sharpening his gaze. After a lifetime of fighting and struggling to survive – growing up in an orphanage, putting his life on the line to save the lives of others on the streets, falling in love with a villain and still hoping for a happy ending – it was impossible to fully turn off that instinct of caution. He would always be waiting, vigilant, for the next challenge to his fragile hopes and happiness.
"Come to bed with me."
John's eyes flickered from the mirror to Bane, who had set the cleaned toothbrush by the sink and had picked up his glass of water again. The words were spoken as a command but John knew by now the intricacies of Bane's voice. He could hear the lift of a question buried there, even though no uncertainty was necessary.
"Of course," John smiled gently.
He turned on his heel and walked to the bedroom, feeling like he was following even though he was stepping a few paces ahead of Bane. John knew he would always be aware of where Bane was in relation to him, feeling the undeniable pull to Bane like a gravity he never wanted to escape. He cherished the way they moved together, connected without words as they slid into bed and into each other's arms. It felt like home.
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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270