Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce bursts into the Batcave at full speed. He’s barely even killed the engine of the Batmobile before he’s running to the medical area of the cave. He’s almost to the top of the stairs when Alfred faces him, a grim expression stark on the butler’s face.

“Where is my son?” Bruce asks as he takes off his cowl. He drops it to the floor without a second thought.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred tries to explain the situation to Bruce. “They brought him in twenty minutes ago, but he’s lost a lot of blood—”

“Is he alive?” Bruce can’t shake the fear growing in his chest.

“Yes, but the wound is deep and he continued fighting after he was injured. He may have strained himself too much this time—”

“I need to see him,” Bruce pushes past Alfred. Jason and Tim stand along the wall, still in uniform from patrol, but Bruce doesn’t even notice his other sons. His eyes gravitate to the sight of his oldest, lying on the operating table with red seeping from his uniform.

“We are doing everything we can, but at this point I don’t think even the best medical team in Gotham would be any help,” Alfred says from behind him. Bruce stands still with shock for a moment before kneeling at Dick’s side.

“Dick?” Bruce asks as he grabs Dick’s hand.

“Bruce,” Dick’s voice is weak and his breathing is labored. “I went exactly where you told me. But the tables turned against me,” he winces slightly as he tries to tell Bruce what happened.

“I know, I know,” Bruce’s eyes start to burn as he tries to calm his oldest son.

“I—” Dick tries again, but pain washes over his face again.

“I’m sorry. I know you did everything you could.”

“Even though I called for help, there were too many for me to fight,” Dick’s stares at Bruce but his eyes are looking past him.

“I’m sorry, son. I should have known,” hot tears fall down Bruce’s cheeks as he tries to stay calm for Dick’s sake.

Dick takes a deep breath as tears form in the corners of his eyes. “There were too many to fight—” he cringes with a sharp jerk.

“I know. Save your strength and stay alive,” Bruce tells him.

“Alfred! Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this?” you say as you rush to the examination area. Your clothes are disheveled and your makeup is running, but all you care about is the well-being of your son.

You land on the other side of Dick, flinching when you realize just how much blood is on the table. Your head snaps up to face Bruce, and anger swells inside you. “Who did this?! Bruce, did you send him there alone?!”

“Mom, I’m so sorry for forgetting all you’ve done for me—” Dick’s eyes refocus on you.

“My son,” you cry, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“We played piano,” he smiles.

“Yes, I taught you piano,” you smile fondly at the memory of teaching a newly orphaned Dick Grayson how to place his fingers on the piano keys.

“You would put your hands on mine,” he says, completing the warm scene in your mind.

You laugh as tears fall down your face. “You changed the melody every time.”

“Because I’d read the wrong line,” his face brightens slightly for another moment before darkening in pain once more.

“I know, I know,” you shush him and pet his hair.

“But you were always by my side,” he takes another labored breath, and it seems like he can’t get enough air.

“Can you sing the robin’s favorite song?” you starting singing one of the piano warm ups you taught him, and Dick joins, though you can see the light in his eyes starting to dim.

“Good,” you smile at him before starting again. “Can you sing the robin’s favorite song?”

Dick’s breath is shallow when he starts again. “Can you sing—”

You stare at him as the words escape him and his hand falls to his side. “Favorite song…” you continue, refusing to accept what just happened.

“Robin…” oxygen escapes you for a moment. You feel separated from your body. Your son is dead.

You hear a despairing wail of grief before realizing that you were its source. Tears freely fall down Bruce’s face, and he takes your hand from across the table.

Disgust fills your body. You jerk your hand away from your husband. “This is your fault,” you say in a quiet tone that scares everyone in the room. Quiet anger stings more than any other kind, and Bruce slowly stands up.

You bury your face in your hands, mourning the death of your son.

Bruce’s feet move without him telling them to. He walks past Jason and Tim without seeing their tear stained faces. He makes his way back down the stairs of the cave until he reaches the Batmobile. He sits for a second as the guilt settles over him.

Even before you told him, he knew it was his fault.

He drives to the heart of Gotham, the guilty weight of his son’s death heavy on his shoulders.

Chapter Text

Your heart sinks with each and every ounce of soil that fills the grave. Up until this point it didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be true. Surely your baby bird will sneak up and surprise you at any time. But the sound of dirt on metal makes it more real.

Your heart twists in your chest, and you hold onto Tim and Jason, willing yourself to fight back the tears. That Dick wouldn’t want you to cry any more than you already had, but you can’t stand the thought that you’ll never see him again. He’ll never have another birthday party or Christmas. The thought sends you into a darkness that you aren’t sure you can escape.

Bruce stands with you, but not close to you. You refused to speak to him since the incident, and he doesn’t blame you. As the last bit of dirt covers the grave, his heart falls deeper than what he thought would be possible.

He needs to clear his head, take a walk.

Fighting back tears, he leaves the funeral, and no one thinks anything of it. They can’t imagine the pain he must be facing. They say he’s incredibly strong to face the pain of losing his oldest son. He is living through the unimaginable.

Bruce walks through Gotham city, trying to take in the excitement that is common for the city at this time of day. But it is unusually quiet. He doesn’t care for the quiet; it leaves him alone with his thoughts.

Every person he passes turns to face him, but nobody dares to speak to him. Ordinarily Bruce would be dealing with the paparazzi, but a news report from a nearby shop window reveals why everyone is so melancholy.

“The entire city of Gotham is in a state of mourning after receiving a report that Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson, the adoptive son of Bruce and Y/N Wayne, has passed away.” Bruce hears a young news reporter as if he is submerged in water, and he can’t help but feel like he’s drowning in grief. “Grayson was an officer with the Bludhaven Police Department, and while no details on his death have been reported, any investigation on the incident has been halted, saying that no foul play was involved. Services for Grayson are being held today, and our hearts go out to the Wayne family as they deal with the tragic loss.”

A group of bystanders looks on at Bruce with pity. They whisper to each other that he looks older somehow. Maybe it’s his eyes. The eyes of a man who has suffered enough loss for a lifetime.

Bruce keeps walking. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he doesn’t want to stop moving. He doesn’t want the guilt to catch up with him. The sun has turned the sky a brilliant shade of pink and red when he finally stops.

The circus grounds. The tent casts an eerily peaceful shadow against the ground, and Bruce remembers when you and he first saw Dick and his parents. The same night a devastating accident left a young boy orphaned and in need of guidance.

A familiar figure stands at the entrance of the tent. Even though it hurts to be here knowing that he’s gone, you’re heart decided you needed to visit the grounds, too.

Bruce walks up beside you, and the two of you stare at the circus stage. A moment of silence passes before you speak to your husband for the first time since that night. “At least he’s with his real parents now.”

Bruce looks at you. “Y/N. You were as much of his mother as Mary was.”

You just shake your head as fresh tears work their way to your tired eyes.

“Y/N, I want you to look at where we are and where we started. Look how far we’ve come. We raised not one, but three boys who risk their lives to protect the innocent,” Bruce says before turning away. “I know I don’t deserve you, after everything that’s happened, but hear me out. That would be enough.”

You hug yourself, trying to hold everything in. He continues, “If I could spare his life, or if I could trade his life for mine, he’d be standing here right now, and you would smile, and that would be enough for me.”

You turn away from the tent, Bruce following beside you. “I won’t pretend that I know the challenges we’re facing. Y/N, I know I can’t replace what we’ve lost, and you need time to go through this. But I’m not afraid of what’s ahead of us. I know who I married. All I ask is that you let me stay by your side. Please.”

Instead of answering, you start walking. The sky has turned a deep purple, but you couldn’t care less about being on the streets at night. The streets are still bustling, but it is unusually quiet. Here and there a stranger gives you and Bruce a nod in remorse.

You let your feet guide to the city park, and a sense of calm flows into you as a gentle wind blows through the trees.

You look up for the first time in what feels like an eternity. The city lights of Gotham highlight the sky and contrast with the natural beauty that surrounds you. You let out a deep sight before facing Bruce, finally ready to speak what’s on your heart.

“Bruce,” you start. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t your fault—”

“Yes, it was,” he interrupts. “I shouldn’t have sent him—”

“No, Bruce. He knew there was a chance he wouldn’t make it, and he took it. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, or for me to blame you. And I’m sorry. It’s just that after learning about Talia, and that you have a son with her—” you take a deep breath, unable to finish the thought.

“Y/N…” he starts, but you shake your head.

“I know it wasn’t your fault. That she put something in your drink, and that it was years ago. But that didn’t stop the pain,” you cry as you take his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

He looks at you with tear filled eyes. “I’m sorry, too.”

You fling your arms around him, pressing your face to his chest you begin to sob. He holds you tightly with his head against yours. In that moment you two are the only people in Gotham, unspoken forgiveness granted in every tear.

You stand there holding each other until the tears refuse to flow and peace settles between you.

For tonight, the city is quiet, and the two of you will make it through the unimaginable.