Hey Everyone! This is whumptober prompt 6: Not realizing and injury. This goes along with one of my earlier prompts, I think that it was the toxin one. This is what happens before Dick wakes up. Let me know how you like it! Leave me a comment for any prompts that you are excited for or suggestions! Lots of Love - Lorna:)

Bruce was a storm of rage, barely contained. Anger boiled in his veins, a relentless tide threatening to drown his reason. The raw desire to punch, to destroy, to unleash it on someone—on Scarecrow—was almost unbearable. Yet, he forced his breathing to steady, his fury masked behind the stoic control he had mastered over the years.

His voice softened, a deliberate calm amidst the chaos inside him. "Dick, can you talk to me? Tell me what's going on, chum."

Dick sat across from him, his usually vibrant eyes unfocused and glassy, fixed on something far beyond Bruce's reach. His silence was a weight pressing down on the room, heavier than any toxin. Bruce leaned forward, careful and deliberate, gently lifting Dick's chin until their eyes met. He took the younger man's trembling hands in his own, rubbing them to generate warmth, as if the friction alone could bring Dick back from wherever the toxin had dragged him. But it was something to come back too, something warm and gentle.

Dick flinched, a sharp, panicked gasp escaping his lips. His fingers clamped down on Bruce's with a desperation that broke Bruce's heart. "Please—don't—don't let go. I can't save you. I'm not good enough. Dad, please. You can't fall. Please, please, please don't—"

The stream of words crumbled into incoherent pleading, and Bruce, throat tight with emotion, gently pressed a hand over Dick's mouth. The pleads didn't stop. Bruce could feel Dick mouth still moving against his fingers. "Shh. It's okay, chum. I'm here. You're safe. Everyone's safe."

The words felt hollow against the storm in Dick's mind, but Bruce repeated them like a mantra, hoping they would anchor him. He had sent Jason upstairs earlier to check on the others, knowing his second eldest needed a task to keep his own fear at bay. Bruce had seen it—the flicker of terror in Jason's eyes, the guilt he carried like a shroud. Some of it was Scarecrow's toxin, but most of it was worry for his brother.

Dick's voice had finally gone quiet , though Bruce didn't know if the toxin was wearing off or he had finally just screamed his throat ragged. Soon his head drooped forward, exhaustion pulling him under and Bruce carefully maneuvered Dick so he would be more comfortable, watching as his son opened his eyes for a brief moment and then roll backwards sluggishly. Bruce brushed a hand through Dick's dark hair, murmuring a soft goodbye as the young man slipped into a restless, toxin-tainted sleep. The battle between antidote and venom raged on, and Bruce could only hope Dick would wake on the other side of it unharmed.

"Alfred," Bruce called softly, glancing toward the door.

The older man stepped into the room, his face etched with concern. "I'll stay with him, Master Bruce. He'll need care throughout the night."

"Thank you." Bruce draped a blanket over Dick's shoulders, smoothing it as though the act alone could shield him from further nightmares. He lingered for a moment longer before forcing himself to step away.

He ascended the stairs, each step weighed down by the gnawing worry that had taken root. Jason was his next concern. Please, let him still be here. Jason had come so far, fighting tooth and nail to reclaim himself from the Lazarus Pit's grasp. Here, in the manor, surrounded by family, the world was less green for Jason. The madness less consuming. Jason was able to be happy. Bruce couldn't bear the thought of losing the fragile peace they had built.

He checked Jason's room first. Empty. It didn't surprise him, but it still stung. A quick sweep of Tim's and Damian's rooms confirmed they were also empty, which Bruce had expected. Jason held a respect for people's rooms, one boundary that had been instilled into him as a child. Willis Todd had been the one to put that paranoia in Jason, trampling every sense of privacy Jason might have had as a child. Bruce's jaw clenched at the thought of the man who had stolen so much from his son. Jason's room had become sacred after that—a haven Bruce had vowed never to disturb, even after Jason's death.

At the end of the hallway, faint breathing reached Bruce's ears. He pushed the door to his bedroom open silently and found Jason sitting against the wall, his body taut with tension. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, and Bruce immediately noted the telltale signs of the toxin: glazed eyes, labored breathing, and a posture that screamed fight-or-flight.

"Jason," Bruce whispered, careful not to wake the sleeping forms of Tim and Damian sprawled across the bed. He stayed rooted in place, letting Jason see he wasn't a threat.

It took a moment, but Jason finally relaxed. "B. Is… Is Dick okay?"

"Yes. He's asleep. Alfred's with him."

Jason nodded, though his eyes remained haunted.

"Can I come closer?" Bruce asked gently. "I want to help."

"No." Jason snapped irritably. "M' fine."

Bruce didn't move despite the worry that was slowly crawling around his body, cold and anxious. "Alright. Can I ask why?"

Jason just grunted in response. "M' fine." He repeated. His eyes were sliding shut, breathing heavy.

Bruce gave him a skeptical look.

Jason shrugged, stiffly. "I breathed a little of the toxin. I'm getting over it."

"Is that why I can't come over."

Jason shook his head like he was trying to clear it. "Yes…no, I don't. Your gonna do something."

"I won't do anything without your permission Jay."

"That's not- You should be with Dick. He's worse off than me. Go smother him"

Bruce kneeled on the ground so he was at Jason's level and not looming over him. Jason relaxed a little. "Alfred's with him. There isn't anything else I can do and Alfred wanted a chance to take care of his grandson. Can you give me the chance to take care of my other children?"

Jason tensed but nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But… don't hover."

Bruce approached slowly, kneeling to Jason's level.

Lets go to your room so we can turn on the lights and not wake up any of the others. I don't know how you got any of them to actually sleep but lets not ruin the moment."

Bruce gently pulled Jason up, letting Jason struggle to get his bearings for a moment before he helped to guide him out of the dark room.

Bruce flipped on the light switch to help him see once they finally made it back to Jason's bedroom. Jason flinched at the sudden harsh light. Bruce moved them both toward the empty bed. Jason sat without prompting, and Bruce gave him a moment to get situated, making sure to give him adequate time to feel like he was in control again. Jason needed to know that he was able to make decisions and have them be listened too.

"How much did you inhale?"

"Not much," Jason grunted, his voice rough. "I'm fine."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you barricaded yourself in my room?"

Jason glared half-heartedly. "I didn't want to make things worse."

"You're not," Bruce said firmly. "But I need to know what's going on, Jay."

Jason's breath hitched, and for a moment, Bruce thought he might shut down entirely. There was a long silence where the only noise in the room was their breathing, Bruce's near silent and Jason's ragged but slowing. There was a sudden warmth and weight on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce didn't look, didn't dare shift in case it was mistaken for trying to shake Jason off, but he did let his hand move up and down Jason's back in soft, repeating motions. Jason curled further into Bruces side. In a broken whisper, Jason confessed, "I hurt him. I hurt Dick."

Bruce's stomach clenched. "Why would you think that?"

Jason's voice cracked as he spoke. "My helmet's filters were damaged. I didn't realize until it was too late. Dick… he gave me his rebreather. I saw him collapse, and for a second, all I could see was green. I thought—I thought I'd lost control again. Dick was writhing on the ground and I thought I has lost control or snapped and hurt him. I saw Tim on the ground covered in blood, and the look on your face when I—. I thought I had done it again. That I'd hurt him. That I'd killed him."

Bruce's hand settled on Jason's shoulder, grounding him. "But you didn't."

Jason scoffed, "I might as well have. Dick was on the ground because of me. Honestly it's more impressive. I didn't even have to land a hit to take down Nightwing. Even when I try to be good I can't escape the d*mn Lazarath pit. I came back wrong Bruce. Even when I try to do the right thing, it all goes to hell. I'm broken, Bruce. The Pit—it left me with all of the bad and none of the good."

"No, you're wrong." Bruce said fiercely, pulling Jason into a hug.

Jason shook his head. "I'm not."

All Bruce could see was the scared street-kid he had taken in, who had never had an adult throw anything but insults at him. When Jason had been young, all Bruce would have to do to calm him was tell Jason he was good, or sweet or precious, and the boy would stop and actually listen to whatever Bruce had to say. He wished he had said it more often, somehow managed to push the long ingrained thought that he was some heathen, something less human and more villain, out of his child's mind.

He felt Jason stiffen, then relax with a shaky exhale into the embrace. But as Bruce tightened his hold, he felt something warm and sticky against his forearm. He pulled back just enough to see Jason wince, his movements slightly sluggish.

"Jason," Bruce said, his voice firm now, "what are you hiding?"

"Nothing." Jason's answer was too quick, too defensive.

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Take off your jacket. Now."

Jason scowled but complied reluctantly. As the leather slid off his shoulders, Bruce's stomach dropped. A deep gash ran across Jason's ribs already stained with blood. The edges were red and swollen, a clear sign of irritation.

"Jason," Bruce chided, trying to rein in the panic rising in his chest. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jason looked away, shame flickering in his eyes. "Didn't want to bother you. Dick needed you more."

Bruce's heart ached at the words. He knelt before Jason, his hands gentle as he assessed the wound. "Jay, you're just as important. Don't ever think otherwise."

Jason didn't respond. Bruce quickly retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his chest. He worked carefully, cleaning the wound and doing the stitches with precision. Jason hissed in pain but didn't protest, his gaze fixed on Bruce's face as though grounding himself.

"You're not broken," Bruce said softly as he worked. "You're hurt, and you're healing. But you're not broken, Jaybird. You're my son, and you're good. You've always been good. Dick did what he did to protect his brother, and that isn't your fault. He would do the same thing again and again if he was given the choice."

Jason clung to him, trembling as Bruce finished tying off the last stitch. "I don't want him to risk himself for me. I don't want any of them to."

Bruce carefully cleaning it again, Jason wincing as the antiseptic stung. "But he does, Jay. He wants to protect you, just like you want to protect him and Tim and Damian."

Jason drew back enough to scowl, but the effect was ruined by tired eyes and tear streaks. Bruce just chuckled.

"They do it because they love you," Bruce murmured as he pulled the bandages just a little tighter than neccisary.

Jason swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "Thanks, B."

For the first time, Jason didn't argue. He simply buried his face in Bruce's shoulder, letting the tears fall as his walls crumbled.

When Bruce finished, he wrapped Jason in a blanket and pulled him close, holding him as he continued to let the tears fall. For the first time in a long while, Jason let himself be cared for, the weight of his father's love easing the pain in his chest as Scarecrow toxin tried to whisper that this was all an illusion. But Bruce just held him until the tension drained from his body, until Jason was just a tired, scared son in need of comfort. When the moment passed, Bruce guided Jason back to his room and coaxed him into bed, surrounded by the family that loved him.

Then, he returned to Dick's side, ready to hold him through his own nightmares. Because that was what family did—they held on, no matter what.

Dick eyes were fluttering as the last of the venom keeping him under was dissolved away. Dick made a small cry before waking up with a gasp like he had been kept underwater.

"Shh, It's ok Chum. Breathe." Bruce whispered.

Dick clutched him tightly, as though afraid he would disappear. He blinked, eyes sticky and yet so wide and terrified in the dark. "B-dad." He rasped. Bruce felt his heart ache and burn as he ran a hand down Dick's back, trying to give him something familiar and grounding to come back too, but it would all be ok. They were a family.