A/N: Non-censored version of the story on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270
Bane was right; John did feel better in the morning. He woke with Bane curled around him like a huge warm cocoon, his breath fanning over John's shoulder in even gusts where his face was tucked in the curve of John's neck and shoulder. When John stretched his body ached, but with that good sort of burn that came from a successful workout session. John felt spent and relaxed, regardless of the memories that returned to him from the night prior.
John reached down and laced his fingers with Bane's, both of their hands resting on his hip. Bane slept on and John smiled against the pillow. The alarm clock on his bedside table told him that it was already nearly eleven in the morning but John felt unbothered; he had nowhere to be but here in Bane's arms. He managed to doze a little longer until his stomach began to growl with the demand for food, which was also when Bane woke up and rolled John on top of him.
John straddled Bane's waist and brushed his fingers over the grooves he had left in Bane's shoulders the night before. The skin was red and raised but it would heal; Bane didn't pull away from his soft touch even when he winced. "I wish you didn't have to feel pain," John said, leaning down to press his lips to each tiny cut. He wanted to protect Bane, to take the pain into his own body rather than see Bane suffer.
To his surprise, Bane gave a tiny shrug of nonchalance. "You cannot truly appreciate pleasure without pain."
John's heart swelled. He was always amazed at Bane's strength – not just his physical abilities but also his mental willpower. John cupped his palms around the rounded curves of Bane's shoulders, hoping his warm skin would soothe Bane's torn skin, and pressed his lips to Bane's. John would never grow tired of this, of being able to roll over in bed and find Bane there, of being able to kiss Bane whenever he pleased.
Bane's words had struck John last night, reminding him of the fact that, for the first time in his life, John had someone else to live for. Bane would stay with John even when everyone else had disappeared, and Bane was strong enough to fight off anyone trying to separate them. John would not lose Bane the way he had lost his parents; he could trust Bane to remain in his life as the partner John needed and craved.
In return, Bane had reminded John that he owed Bane that promise in return. Just because John wanted to protect Gotham didn't mean he had to be reckless about it. Bane had made a good point; John would not be able to help anyone if he was dead. And John refused to throw his own life away when it was so entwined with Bane's life and happiness. Besides that, John was in no rush to die; he had a lifetime with Bane to look forward to.
They kissed for a long time, lips sliding together in a dance that was now delightfully familiar. John was just beginning to feel a warm tingling in his groin when his stomach growled louder than before, effectively ruining the moment. Bane pulled his mouth back, and even when John tried to pursue him Bane kept a few inches of space between them. "How about some brunch?" he recommended.
"I can help," John said. However, when he made a move to get out of bed he felt his limbs turn to jelly, still tired from the night before.
John sunk back down onto the mattress and this time Bane loomed over him, kissing John's jaw before sitting up and getting off the bed. "Rest."
John thought about arguing but the blankets tucked around him were warm and soft, making it easy for his eyelids to droop closed again. "Bane," he called out softly, wondering if they could just stay in bed all day. He received no response and when John forced his eyes open again he found an empty room and a clock informing him that he had dozed and over ten minutes had passed.
Missing Bane and wanting to stretch out his body, John finally dragged himself out of bed. He was still tired from the night before but sunlight was streaming into his eyes, waking him up. With sluggish movements he pulled on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, tugging a sweater on overtop before heading out into the rest of the apartment.
John found Bane in the kitchen, standing over two frying pans filled with bacon and eggs. John walked up and leaned against the counter, watching Bane curiously. "I'll admit, I never imagined seeing you like this."
"Like what?" Bane asked without looking away from the stove top.
"So domestic," John said. "Cooking bacon and eggs for a late morning brunch in nothing but a pair of sweatpants," he teased.
Bane glanced over at him and then turned off the heat for the burners, the food ready. "After I got out of prison I had to learn to cook for myself," Bane explained.
John grabbed two plates from the cupboard and set them on the counter for Bane. He watched as Bane pushed an even helping of bacon and eggs onto each plate. "I guess I never really thought about your life between prison and when you came to Gotham, but it makes sense." Bane handed him a plate silently and John searched for courage. "Would you tell me more about that time after prison?"
Bane leaned against the counter as well, mirroring John's position. "Those were not happy times."
"I'd still like to know…someday," John said, trying to smile past his nerves. There was still so much about Bane he didn't know and he hoped that someday Bane would be comfortable enough sharing those details with him. Now that the city was not at war and Bane didn't need to conceal information about Talia, it was safe for them to share more about themselves. "I could tell you more about my years at the orphanage if you're interested."
"I am interested," Bane told him truthfully. "And it would be nice to tell you a few more stories." John's smile grew and together they moved to the kitchen table. When John took his first big forkful of food he couldn't stop his eyebrows from rising in surprise, causing Bane to chuckle. "You were not expecting it to be good, were you?"
"Not this good," John admitted, shovelling more food into his mouth. His eyes met Bane's and John blushed. "I like it, you know," John spoke shyly, worried about saying something wrong. "When you act like this. I'd love you no matter what but…" he shrugged with one shoulder. "It's nice."
"This is the first time I have enjoyed these sorts of routines," Bane told him, serious but warm.
John felt his heart flutter as he reached across the table, his hand resting on top of Bane's in the middle of the table. "Me too."
After that they mostly ate with just one hand each, their other hand occupied with their fingers knotted. They didn't speak much over their food, enjoying the bacon and eggs while the food was hot. Once they were done John grabbed the plates and washed up since Bane had done the cooking. When he left the kitchen he found Bane by the window, highlighted with bright, warm sunlight as he sat in the chair he had dragged over.
He had a book in his lap – one John recognized from his own bookshelf – but when John pulled up a second chair to sit with him Bane set the book aside. It became a new routine for them throughout the weekend. They sat together by the windows, watching the streets below grow busier as people hesitantly returned to their routines of work, school and play.
Occasionally they listened to the news, which discussed the promotion of Deputy Mayor Peters to Mayor and the other initiatives being taken to return things to a balanced normal. Other times John and Bane would sit together in silence, reading books plucked from John's collection. Most of the time though, John and Bane talked, sharing stories back and forth that had been off limits until the war had come to a close.
Always, no matter what they were doing, Bane would move his chair to sit directly in the sunlight. Even when they left their spots for meals or for exercise, they would resettle the chairs wherever the sun was when they returned. Bane was drawn to the sun like a housecat and it left John smiling privately whenever Bane wasn't looking. The light and warmth seemed to melt Bane, leaving him with a tiny but constant up-curl to his lips, even when he spoke of memories that were clearly painful.
The only story that was strong enough to temporarily remove the smile of contentment was the day Bane described where Talia's father, Ra's al Ghul, ex-communicated Bane from the League of Shadows, the only group of people Bane had ever felt he belonged with. "It was the only home I let myself believe in after I got out of prison," Bane told him sadly. "And it was taken away because of what had been done to my body by the doctor – something I could not control."
Bane closed his eyes and John watched him. He wanted to say something helpful or comforting, telling Bane that he was sorry or that he was better off without the League anyway. But Bane already knew all that and John didn't think it would help to say again. So he remained seated across from Bane, taking in the beautiful sight of sunlight catching in Bane's lashes and soaking into his skin. They sat in silence for a while and when Bane finally blinked his eyes open again, that tiny smile powered by the sunlight had returned.
John was happy to see that Bane seemed calmer in general, and John knew it was because Bane had finally gotten some freedom. Even though their walk through the city on Friday night had not been without incident, Bane's energy had been spent and he was no longer tense or anxious.
John would have been worried that the apartment wasn't enough for him and that Bane was only pretending to want to be here, but when Bane gazed out the windows, grey eyes alight with the sun, John saw no longing there. As Bane had already explained, he had gone so many years without sunlight or freedom that it was not something he could miss or wish for. Bane could not be cooped up forever, but Bane's preferred form of freedom included movement and choice, not the sun.
#
Monday came too soon for John, even though he was as excited as he was nervous. Alfred had suggested that John should come to the reading of Bruce's will at Wayne Enterprises and John wasn't going to do something stupid like ignore the blatant hint. But when John shut off his alarm clock in the morning and slid out of bed, Bane still buried beneath the pile of blankets and sleeping on, his movements were jittery.
John felt the same way he did on each Christmas morning when he was young, his mother's absence a heavy weight in the air as John's father pushed one small box into his hands each winter. There would be no other presents under the tree, which would be a sagging little pine picked from the reject pile at the nearest convenience store. John had no money to buy his father a present and John's own present was always bought with money that truly didn't belong to either of them.
John would hold that box in his hand each year, a mix of excitement and anxiety filling his chest until it was hard to breathe, until he wondered if he might somehow drown. Then John would pull away the haphazard wrapping with shaking fingers, hesitate, and finally lift the lid of the box with a wince. Because John loved gifts like any child did but he knew that it would never be something he deserved. They had more important things to spend money on than a colouring book or a shiny red fire truck.
That was how John felt now. He was eager to see what Bruce might have left for him but at the same time, with a sense of dread, John knew that whatever it was would be far too much. Bruce shouldn't have left him anything; there was nothing of his possessions that should rightfully go to John. Bruce had written the will though, with Alfred's help, so John wasn't going to turn away from his final wishes.
John decided to dress up for the occasion, if only a little. When he checked the weather on his netbook he saw that spring was finally taking command again after the last cold weekend of winter. The sun would be bright and clear with the temperatures slowly climbing throughout the day. With this in mind John watched himself in the mirror as he put on a blue shirt with a matching sweater and tie; he would grab his lighter lined jacket from the hall closet on his way out.
He grabbed a bowl of cereal and stood by the window as he ate, the apartment quiet but lived in. The reading of the will was at ten in the morning so John left after he was done eating, taking his wallet and phone with him. Bane was still asleep so John left a note on the bedside table beside Osito, even though Bane knew where John was going. Then John kissed him on the forehead and headed for the door.
John wasn't sure how many people to expect at the reading of the will considering how few people had attended the private funeral, but he was still surprised to see the boardroom almost completely empty as he walked in. He checked his watch, wondering if he was early, but then a lawyer at the head of the table began to speak. "Mister Wayne's will was not amended to reflect his more modest state. Nonetheless there are still considerable assets to dispose of."
John came to a standstill near the door and listened. With the man's words John realized that Alfred and Bruce must have written his latest will only a short time before Bruce lost his fortune. John continued to listen as the lawyer reading the will explained that the contents of the house would be sold to settle the estate's accounts with the rest going to Alfred.
"The house and grounds are left to the city of Gotham on condition that they never be demolished, altered or otherwise interfered with," the lawyer said. John could feel his body deflating at the thought of what government officials might think of doing with the gorgeous grounds, but then perked up as the will continued. "That they shall be used with one purpose, and one purpose only: the housing and care of the city's at-risk and orphaned children."
John looked up suddenly, eyebrows lifting in surprise and lips curling with a proud, grateful smile. This must be the gift Bruce had left for John to hear, and the one Alfred had persuaded John to come listen to. John's memory flashed back to the day he had confronted Bruce in his manor, challenging him not to give up on Batman or the city. Despite having his cover challenged, Bruce had only asked John one question: "why did you say that your boy's home used to be funded by the Wayne Foundation?"
It might be time to get some air and start paying attention to the details, John had said, disappointed but also hopeful. Some of those details might need your help.
Bruce had listened to him. Not only had he donned Batman's mask again, he had left the huge manor house and grounds to orphaned and at-risk kids. Even in death Bruce was still helping and protecting the people, giving lost children an opportunity for support and love that could offer them better futures than they would have otherwise.
John laughed once, silently, amused and pleased that his words had been taken into serious consideration. Content with what he had heard, John turned to leave, but paused when the lawyer spoke up again. "My clerk can help with any of the smaller correspondences and instructions."
It seemed presumptuous to assume Bruce had left him anything else – what he had done with the estate had more than impressed. But he was already here and decided it couldn't hurt to ask. John followed the signs through the hallways and into the elevator, finding the aforementioned clerk five floors down from the boardroom. She looked up at him as he entered the office, clipboard and pen ready in hand. "Blake, John," he offered.
Her eyes skimmed over the clipboard and then turned back up to him. "Nothing here." Her voice was soft, almost apologetic.
John should just leave. He didn't need anything, didn't want anything more than what he had already been given. But there was a glimmer of hope deep inside him, thinking back to all of the advice Bruce had given him the few times they had gotten a chance to talk. Maybe Bruce had one more piece of advice or help he could offer John before John was truly on his own.
He fumbled with his wallet, pulling out his driver's license. "Try my legal name," he said, handing the card over for her to check.
Don't be disappointed, John scolded himself as the clerk gave his card and then the clipboard another long look. Don't be disappointed, he thought again as she handed back his card. But then she circled something on her list and handed over the clipboard. John saw his name and signed beside it. When he handed the clipboard back the clerk turned to the side, rifling through boxes of tagged envelopes. To John's surprise she grabbed a small black duffel bag from the ground and handed it over to him. "You should use your full name. I like that name," she said as she handed the bag to him "Robin."
John nodded and took the bag, feeling the weight of it when it was fully passed into his hands. "Thanks."
It was Christmas all over again, making up for the holidays that had passed Gotham by without any notice during the war. Excitement and anxiety plagued John as he wondered what was in the hefty duffel bag. He wanted to open it now, but also never wanted to know what it was Bruce could possibly think John deserved receiving. In the end, as John fidgeted with the leather handles in the hallway he decided to open the bag when he got home and headed for the door.
Bane was awake and in the living room by the time John made it home. His chair was by the window as usual, though the sun hadn't crept high enough in the sky yet to hit Bane's outstretched legs. John slid out of his boots and coat before walking slowly to his own chair by the window, bag in hand. Bane looked up at him and closed his current book, eyes flicking down to the black bag.
"A present?"
"I guess so," John set the bag on his chair, standing beside it.
John could feel Bane's eyes switching between the bag and John. "Are you going to open it?"
John sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, more apprehensive now that he actually had to open the bag. "He shouldn't have left me anything," he hedged.
"John," Bane's voice drew John's gaze from the bag to soft silver eyes. "If he left it for you then he wanted you to have it."
Those eyes infused calm into him and John nodded. He sat in his chair and rested the bag in his lap. Bane didn't bother pretending that he wasn't paying attention, eyes watching John's trembling fingers grab the zipper tag and pull. John really hadn't known what to expect, but what he found tucked inside the duffel back still surprised him enough that his eyebrows lifted noticeably.
He reached inside and pulled out a heavy-duty beacon flashlight and what appeared to be a harness, the buckles and nylon already set up with a coil of strong-looking rope sitting at the bottom of the bag. "Does he want me to go rock climbing?" John wondered aloud, looking over the sturdy climbing harness in his hands. Bane had no answer, only observing quietly, so John set the harness in his lap and dug further into the bag in search of some explanation.
Tucked into a corner at the bottom of the duffel bag John found a few more items. He found a slip of paper with a set of latitude and longitude coordinates scribbled on it with blue marker, paired with a small battery-powered GPS device. The third and final item was a sealed envelope half-crushed against the rope.
John pulled out the envelope and returned everything else to the bag, instinct telling him that the harness, rope, coordinates and GPS device were all separate from this plain envelope. He set the duffel bag on the ground and tore open the envelope, this time unsurprised when a few notebook pages with Bruce's scrawl fell into his lap.
Bane stood from his chair and John looked up quickly. "You don't have to leave," he insisted. "I don't mind you being here."
"I need to stretch my legs," Bane said. John smiled when Bane tilted his chin up with a finger and kissed him softly before exiting the living room. Although he hadn't been lying when he said he didn't mind Bane staying with him, John appreciated the consideration and privacy. Returning his attention to the letter from Bruce, John unfurled the pages and began to read.
John,
There are two things that I want to say to you, both of which I wish I had the chance to tell you in person. However, with the city in the state it's in I fear that such an opportunity will not come.
First I want to thank you. You have been a true friend and an inspiration. I don't think I could have found the courage to take up my mask again without your visit. If something happens to me at the end of this, please do not regret our discussions. The choices I will be making in the near future are my own, and ones I will be proud of. You offered me a glimmer of hope but are in no way responsible for what is to come.
Second, I want to say that I am sorry. I should not be leaving you with this harness and GPS. It is not fair of me, and it is a selfish choice. But I will do it anyway because I love this city and its people and I know I cannot protect it forever. It is not your destiny or your obligation to take my offer, but I can think of no hands or heart more capable.
You have a fire in you, John. One that could light up the darkest of places and mend the most broken of hearts. You could become a beacon of hope for these people and lead them from the shadows shrouding Gotham.
So again I apologize, because the option I hand to you is not a fair one, nor a prosperous one. Darkness cannot be defeated; it can only be kept at bay by the individual actions of people brave enough to shine light into the shadows. If you choose to follow me then follow the coordinates I have left you. Also, on the final page of this letter you will find detailed information for a small bank account I set up in your name to help support you on your way.
Although a part of me hopes you will burn this letter and find a quieter, happier life than mine, I know that the decision lies with you. So I shall simply wish you luck on your future endeavours, and on a happy life. Even if you follow the coordinates please do not forget the importance of love and happiness, because it will be what keeps your fire burning despite all hardships.
Thank you for everything,
Bruce
John read the letter and then reread it, letting the words sink in. Then he flipped to the final page, seeing a few strings of numbers that indicated an account number, a passcode and answers to pre-determined security questions. When he saw those strings of numbers John could feel his fingers quiver and he quickly folded the pages back up, carefully slotting them back into the envelope where they were safe.
He sat there for a while on his chair, the envelope resting on his thighs as the sun slowly snuck higher into the sky until it finally spilled into John's apartment and onto his body. John felt his skin tingle with warmth and light and closed his eyes, imagining himself as the beacon of light Bruce described him as. He raised a hand and pressed it against his beating heart, visualizing the fire inside him that Bruce mentioned; the one that Bane cherished so dearly.
Sitting like that, John breathed in and out slowly. He had never really meditated before but he figured this must be what it felt like as he followed his slowing breathing. Despite the emotions whirling inside him from the letter, and the hint of what Bruce had really left for John to take if he chose, John felt calm and peaceful. Although his alleged 'fire' was supposed to lead others out of darkness, it also centred John.
Eventually John stood up and packed everything away in the duffel bag, setting it on the floor by his chair. He stretched out his stiff legs and walked to the bedroom where he had seen Bane disappearing to. As he expected, he found Bane sitting on the edge of the bed, unmoving and calm. So much for 'stretching his legs', John thought with a smile. Aloud he said, "You're not a very good liar."
Bane's eyes slid up John's body to his eyes. "I am an excellent liar," Bane refuted. "I just do not try with you."
"I'm glad." John walked further into the bedroom, approaching slowly until he was standing between Bane's parted legs. Bane held John's hips and pulled him closer, and John ducked his head down to kiss Bane softly.
Bane groan quietly into John's mouth and returned the kiss, lips warm and inviting. "I was not expecting this sort of reaction after you got a letter from Bruce," Bane admitted after they parted.
John brushed his fingers over Bane's head and down the back of his neck, the pads of his fingers tracing the ridge of scarred skin that started at the base of Bane's neck and disappeared below his shirt. "It was a good letter," John said, wondering how much detail he should give. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bane; the letter just felt very private. "I feel empowered and cautioned all at once. Both of which lead me to you."
He didn't fight when Bane lifted him and led him onto the bed, stomach down on the duvet. Nor did he complain as Bane silently relieved John of his clothing, first pulling John's shirt over his head and then pulling down his pants and underwear. When John was completely naked on the bed he crossed his arms beneath his head, comfortable and warm as Bane hovered over him.
Although John always enjoyed their more passionate couplings, John liked these moments where Bane's possessiveness was displayed through calm touches of affection. Bane liked to pin him, touch him and taste him, and it left John shivering with a slow-burning pleasure. The goal of this wasn't to achieve orgasm, but John still found these connecting moments distinctly memorable.
Bane knelt over John and then carefully lowered his weight, knees denting the mattress on either side of John's hips. It was reminiscent of the first night John had spent with Bane in the hotel room when Bane had tended to the long-since healed cut on the back of John's head. That night John had pushed up against Bane and fought frantically, for his life and against the twinge of guilty arousal that shot through him when Bane brushed his fingers along John's spine.
Now John pressed up only to feel Bane lead him back down with insistent tenderness. He lifted his head enough to look over his shoulder, drawing Bane's lips down to his jaw for a few moments before Bane calmly pushed him back down again. John remained splayed on the bed, arms cradling his head and his legs spread slightly as Bane traced his spine and the curve of John's narrow hips.
Before meeting Bane, John would have never considered himself a submissive partner. And yet with Bane it felt perfect and natural. John had always tried to maintain control of everything, untrusting of anyone else's ability to lead – in life or in the bedroom. Without control John had felt lost and anxious. But then he had met Bane and had no choice but to give up control to the masked man. John had dug his heels in at first, but as he and Bane became friends and then lovers, John realized that it might not be scary having Bane lead him.
John doubted he would be able to give up his control to anyone else, but Bane was different. When John submitted to him Bane continued to treat him as an equal, rather than just a body used for pleasure. It was why John trusted him enough to submit; Bane was not stupid or greedy with his power. It was an equal exchange between them and John felt safe with Bane leading.
Bane had further mellowed after he had gotten sick and he had allowed John to lead their coupling when Bane was too weak to hold himself up, both of them finding a perfect balance to their relationship. Submitting actually helped John relax, knowing Bane would keep both of their needs in mind. And John had actually realized that it was a private turn on for him to have Bane controlling his pleasure, his body always burning hotter when Bane held him in place and claimed him.
John's thoughts screeched to a halt when Bane began to nip marks down John's sides, pinching the skin with his teeth before sucking the mark darker and then moving his mouth down an inch to begin again. John closed his eyes and focused on Bane's mouth on his skin, pleased to know that he would have two columns of love bites lining his sides when Bane was done. At the same time Bane kept his hands pressed firmly against John's shoulders, keeping him immobile. John loved the calm form of possession Bane had over him, demanding but affectionate.
When Bane's marks were done he lifted himself up and rolled John over onto his back. John didn't stifle the pleased moan that fell from his lips when he felt his sensitive skin press against the sheets, the bites stinging with a sweet, intoxicating ache. Bane settled above him again, kneeling but with his weight keeping John on the mattress. Bane's fingers dug into John's hair as his eyes roamed John's body unhurriedly but keen.
"Don't you want to know what the letter said?" John wondered aloud, surprised that Bane hadn't asked yet. Bane was a person who always liked to know everything he could; after all, knowledge was power.
Bane leaned forward until the length of his body was moulded to John's. Then Bane buried his face against John's neck and breathed in deeply, his warm breath ghosting over John's skin. "I do not need to ask. If you want me to know then you will tell me."
John weathered his bottom lip, staring at the ceiling as he skimmed his hands lightly over the defined muscles of Bane's shoulders and arms. He suspected that Bane would be angry about Bruce suggesting that John take up his mantle, especially after their conversation on Friday night. But even though John was nervous about Bane's reaction, he had no intention of lying or hiding this. They were a pair and this would affect both of them; John wouldn't accept anything until they had come to some form of agreement.
"The letter didn't give a lot of details. I think Bruce was being careful in case someone else found the letter before it got to me," John said, slipping one hand under Bane's shirt to feel the raised line of his scar. John should have felt uncomfortable like this, completely naked while Bane was fully clothed, but it was comfortable and Bane's body kept him warm. "But I think he left me some resources I could use to follow in his steps if I chose."
John felt anxiety twist his stomach into knots when he noticed Bane's breathing catch sharply and then turn shallow. "Gadgets will only keep you safe for so long," Bane warned. Bane's arms curled tighter around John, holding him close on the bed.
"I know that," John pursed his lips. "But Bruce talked about a fire in me... It sounded like the same fire you've mentioned." Bane nipped John's collarbone a little too harshly, stealing a tiny gasp from John's lips at the sharp pain that faded to a dull throb as soon as Bane removed his teeth from John's skin. "What was that for?" John grumbled.
"You still sound unsure," Bane said when he lifted his head, grey eyes holding John's own. "Do not doubt the light you shine, or its worth."
"I don't see it," John told Bane honestly.
Bane stared at him, studied him, and then kissed him. The kiss was hopeless and sad, desperation making each movement a bit sharp as their lips locked and moved. John was confused, his uncertainty mounting when Bane pulled away but seemed at a loss for words. Bane's hand came to rest over John's heart, palm noting each of John's frantic heartbeats. "It is your selfless courage and concern for others," Bane struggled to explain. "Your love despite many hardships."
"It is a powerful weapon," Bane continued, "but also a dangerous weakness." John wished his heart would stop racing; it was making him feel dizzy. "Hope allows you to fight harder and longer than anyone else, but that will draw attention you do not want." Bane was frowning and John swallowed; there was fear in Bane's eyes. "Creatures of darkness hate the challenge of light. Once you become a big enough threat, they will not stop until you are dead."
John finally looked away, unnerved by the certainty in Bane's voice and face. "Maybe what Bruce left me will help," John said weakly.
"All he could have left you was money, gadgets and words of encouragement," Bane said strongly. "And none of those will stop a fist," Bane pressed his hand down harder until John felt his ribcage ache, "a knife," Bane dug five crescents into John's skin with his nails, "or a bullet." At that Bane used enough of his weight on John's chest for John to feel that initial panic of his lungs struggling to drag in enough air.
Bane remained like that for only an instant before pulling away but his point had been made; John had been shaken. "You're just trying to scare me," John snapped, knocking away Bane's hand from his bare skin.
"Fear is what keeps you alive," Bane retorted. He looked pained at hurting John, but he had still done it all the same!
Jaw clenched tightly, John dragged himself from beneath Bane's weight. Bane didn't stop him, only sitting up and watching as John stood and started pulling on the first clothes he could find on the ground. "I still think it's worth looking to see what he left me, at least," John said. His voice was strained even though he had caught his breath.
"You are going now?" Bane asked. It sounded like someone had a vice grip on his throat.
John wanted to leave without another word but he forced himself to take a few deep breaths and not do or say anything he would regret later. When he was sure his expression wouldn't look too much like a glare, John half-turned to face Bane. "What's wrong with going now?"
Bane's eyes flickered from John, to the sunny window, and back. "It's daytime." John knew what Bane was thinking but John could still feel his skin throbbing with lingering pain. The crescents Bane had left circling John's heart stung with each beat of his heart and the love bites on his back and collarbone that now brushed against his shirt with every movement no longer felt pleasing. He was going to make Bane say it, and take pleasure in the way Bane's eyes flashed. "I cannot go with you."
"No," John stated simply, trying to keep his voice even despite the fact that his heart was racing. "You can't."
Bane stood slowly, a primal growl vibrating in the back of his throat. John didn't take a step back when Bane towered over him because he knew Bane wouldn't truly hurt him, but that didn't mean John didn't feel the adrenaline slipping into his veins, prompting a fight or flight instinct. John did neither and instead continued to stand directly in front of Bane. He wouldn't fight Bane, nor would he run from him.
"Go," Bane ordered quietly.
John suddenly wavered. Bane was trying to hide it but now that his mask was gone, John could see the tightness of his lips curling down as his eyes glanced away. Bane was hurt, frustrated and remorseful. "Bane..." John began hesitantly.
Bane's gaze snapped back to John with such ferocity that John's heart stammered in his chest. "If you are so determined to die, then go!"
It felt like a rock was in his throat. John tried to swallow and when that failed he just turned on his heel and strode out of the bedroom. He grabbed the duffel bag quickly and rushed for his coat. John didn't even take the time to put on his coat, merely slinging it over an arm as he shoved on his shoes and stumbled out the door. It was his apartment he was leaving, and the man he loved. He would return; there was no doubt in his mind. But he felt too sick with emotions right now. He needed space.
John knew he probably looked like an emotional wreck when he paused in the lobby, his face hot from dwindling anger and from running down the stairs. He set the duffel bag down and fumbled with his coat, his body shaking as he pulled it on. Then, before he could think too much about the sour note he had left on or his desire to go back and make amends, John slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
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"Beyond the Shadow" on AO3: archiveofourown(dot-org)/works/684270