**CW: description of a character verging on a panic attack and non-explicit discussion of attempted sexual assault**

Please keep yourself safe!

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Chapter 4

The ping came a day later as Bruce was alone in the cave doing a perfunctory equipment check, not too far from the main computer. Immediately, his heart spiked with a sharp anxiety, but he quickly tucked away any irrational assumptions before pulling up his communications window on the large monitor.

As expected it was from Oracle, a short but urgent message:

Nightwing down. No major vitals tripped, but odd movement pattern before halting.

The text was followed by a location that he immediately pulled up on his tracking system. As he swiftly prepared the bat mobile for immediate use, he opened comms to growl out, "How long?"

"About thirty minutes, he was on his usual patrol route but suddenly stopped in an alley." Her voice was clear and alert, only softened by the slight static and crackle of her communicator.

"It could be nothing, but I dunno, B. It looked like he was moving aimlessly before just stopping completely. Could have been hit by something…"

The worry evident in her voice as she trailed off was not only felt by her, Bruce's grip on the wheel as he pulled out of the cave turning painfully tight. It was not uncommon for them to run into suspects carrying any variant of fear toxin or a plant-based concoction meant to subdue them. Though the substances sold in underground markets were merely modeled after their high grade counterparts—only held by the likes of Scarecrow or Ivy—they were still no laughing matter.

He pressed further on the pedal as his ETA was determined; about thirty-one minutes. He reported as much to Oracle, before adding, "Tell me if there are any changes to his location or condition."

"Of course."

With that, he focused solely on weaving between the straggling late night traffic, mind running through stock of first aid supplies and anti-toxins on his person and in the car.

Bruce had managed to cut the thirty-one minutes down to twenty-four, but it had still felt far too long. The only reassurance he had that he would not find a gravely injured Nightwing was the lack of any further alerts from Oracle, and as he entered the five mile radius of his location, Batman patched into the hero's emergency comm link.

"Nightwing, are you injured?"

"W-what? Batman?"

Batman withheld the sigh of relief that wanted to rush out of him from hearing the lucid voice of the younger man, even if it was slightly out of breath.

"How did you—"

"I'm approaching your location now."

"What?! No, no, I'm fine, B, you didn't have to—" Bruce didn't pay attention to the rest of his protests as he slammed the Batmobile into park and fluidly slid out into the alley.

Nightwing was clearly not happy to have him here, his tone terse and defensive. However, he was sorely mistaken if he believed a verbal assurance without visual confirmation would be enough to send the Batman away without question.

He quickly angled his attentions upwards when his quick sweep of the alley did not reveal the figure he was looking for. As he mapped the quickest route to reach the rooftop, Nightwing's voice cut back in to his focus, stern this time.

"B, I didn't leave my comm open so you could monitor my every move!"

This time he could hear an echo outside of his ear-piece, immediately changing course. After a quick scale up the right wall of the alley, he landed on a lower roof, a small landing hidden between the taller buildings. There, against a back corner, was Nightwing. He was slightly braced against the wall behind him, presumably having just risen from a seated position.

This observation was made quickly, though, as Dick was immediately storming towards him.

"Why are you here? I didn't send out any distress signals." They both knew that was irrelevant, although Batman did not acknowledge it with an answer. Instead, he pressed on unperturbed.

"Were you hit with anything?"

"Only with the realization that I really can't trust you to respect boundaries." Dick's voice was laced with exasperation. He stood close, glaring up into the cowl with his arms crossed tightly across his chest, shoulders hunching in and tight with anxiety. Bruce couldn't help but feel that was an unfair accusation, but was self-aware enough to know that it was deserved.

"You were immobile after an unusual movement pattern."

A hint of embarrassment, or even possibly shame, seemed to seep into Nightwing's expression as he awkwardly dropped his arms. He let out a short, quiet huff before finally breaking the glare. It was almost childish how he was trying to hide what was clearly transpiring, though if it was for fear of chastising or belittlement, Bruce did not know.

"Well, I'm fine, see?" Dick moved to push past him. "So if you'd be so kind as to let me finish my patrol—"

"You were incapacitated to the point of not moving for nearly an hour," Bruce reiterated, this time his own tone colored by impatience.

Anger flared across Nightwing's face as he turned sharply, his words tight with the strain of containing it. "I was resting. Sue me."

"Then why are you still out of breath?"

This time the anger swelled as Dick breathed deeply into his chest, but it seemed to leave him just as quickly when a shaking exhale spilled out of him, and—there—Bruce could finally see it. A clenched jaw, lips twitching into a frown, eyebrows furrowing. Another deep, shaky inhale and exhale; his chest constricted with an acute twinge of anxiety as he saw the continuation of a breakdown gripping his eldest son.

His immediate reaction was to step forward and brace the boy, but stiffly halted the action as Nightwing calmly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the roof, placing his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands. His breathing continued to loudly fill the air, but Bruce quickly identified the pattern as a breathing technique he taught all his proteges, meant to steady and ground oneself when spiraling.

He followed along in counting in his own head for what felt like an eternity before the intended effect finally took place, Nightwing's breathing returning to normal.

After a few moments more, Bruce tentatively broke the silence.

"Nightwing, tell me what's going on."

A beat of silence passed before the boy lifted his head, his expression ashen and shameful. He seemed to be still arguing with himself on what he should do next. Taking a step closer, Bruce held fast, sensing this was the last chance he would have to be let in or shut out.

"Please."

That rare utterance seemed to finally spur Dick into a decision, his throat bobbing before he licked his lips. He returned his gaze to his hands.

"It…" Dick's voice was wooden as he fell behind a mask of detachment, clearing his throat before continuing. "Happened about a week ago. Just a routine bust, had been tracking a small group that was on the rise with some harder drugs, pretty textbook case."

Bruce didn't let on that he was already aware of this, though he doubted Nightwing believed otherwise. Still, he had no intention of interrupting and let him continue in his recounting.

"It was the last supply they had coming in before they would go under since I'd hit all their other shipments, so I was prepared for some heightened security, y'know? More gun-power and grunts, the whole nine-yards. And I wasn't wrong since that's what I found," he chuckled, an ironic tone creeping in, "but I guess I was a little too confident in my guesstimations.

"Someone probably tipped them off that I was the one hitting their shipments, so they came prepared." Here his hands began to slowly clasp and unclasp, a tendency Dick seemed to have when he was nervous or uncomfortable. Batman's own hands started to clench by his sides, hidden beneath his cape.

"How so?"

Nightwing quickly glanced up then back down before continuing, uncharacteristically timid.

"Well, when I finally dropped down into the place and we got into it, I managed to get down to the last five or six of 'em before they pulled out a—" he paused, struggling to find the words, "it almost seemed like an air horn? But before I really saw it, I got blasted in the face with a cloud of something," he shook his head, almost with incredulous entertainment at the memory. Guilt took reign however when he added, "I didn't get a sample of whatever it was, though."

Before Dick could allow himself to stew in the perceived shortcoming, Bruce gently encouraged, "What happened next?"

Dick's mouth pressed into a thin line, his leg joining in on his fidgeting.

"I think they were hoping it would knock me out right away, but more than anything it made me nauseous. I kept up with them for a while, but when it started really kicking in, I was kind of in and out of it…

"One of them was on me and managed to land a pretty strong hit, and I think that's when I really went under," here he subconsciously moved to hold his side, his still healing ribs, "and when I woke up…

"They…it was different. They stopped punching and kicking. Instead, they were…"

Dick fell into a longer pause now, the air between them stilling. His continued fidgeting the only sign he was still present in the moment.

"They, had me on the ground. With the one still on top of me…I think he went to open my suit, and that's when the defenses kicked in."

Bruce couldn't breath.

His hands were shaking, his heart having plummeted to the pit of his stomach. He felt ill, but remained passive as the world tunneled in on Dick's increasingly horrific confession.

"At that point, I was able to regain control and the upper hand," Dick fell back into a clinical mission report. He briefly detailed the men's detainment and a follow-up of the drug distribution stats.

But Bruce's mind was still circling around the words Dick had said, and more importantly left unsaid:

It was different…had me on the ground…on top of me…open my suit…

Bruce slowly brought a hand to his face, a tremor just barely noticeable in it. The image of Dick's neck in the cave, desperately hidden behind an oversized hoodie, pushed its way to the front of his mind. The prominent bruise along his throat, that he had teased him about. That had been…

Behind the cowl, his face felt hot with a deep sense of dread, his body reacting to the spike of shock pumping out of his chest. It felt almost like a rush of poisonous heat, but left only the feeling of ice in his veins. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until Dick speaking up again caused it to quietly rush out of him.

It seemed Nightwing had taken in Bruce's reaction, his voice tinged with rushed reassurance, "It wasn't that bad! Really, nothing happened, so…" he let his voice drift off, severely lacking his usual conviction. "So that was that."

Batman quickly brought his hand back under his cape, hiding the tremor in it. It was harder to hide the tension in his jaw, though, when he finally managed to speak.

"And afterwards, you came to the manor."

Dick seemed to be uncomfortable once again, his nose wrinkling presumably at the memory of their last conversation. "Well, not immediately after, but, yeah. A few days later." He looked away, shifting.

Those few days in the Manor replayed in Bruce's mind as if the memories and conversations were blaring through a speaker. Every hesitant excuse and awkward avoidance, and worst of all the ways that Dick had downplayed his turmoil, had shut himself off after Bruce's disgustingly false assumptions in the cave.

"Nightwing…"

When Dick grimaced at that, Bruce stepped back. A little surprised by the sudden move, Nightwing watched him with a puzzled expression. Without warning, Bruce removed his cowl.

"Dick."

Eyes wide, Dick fixed him with a cautious expression, one that said he couldn't tell if he should brace for a reprimand, or…or something. So when Bruce spoke this time, he half expected the stunned reaction that followed.

"I'm sorry."

There was a beat of palpable silence.

"You're sorry?" Dick nearly laughed out, though it landed more as a huff.

"Of course I am," Bruce continued, his gaze steady and unyielding. "I failed to be there for you. To read the signs." Dick laughed again, halting him from continuing.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, all right big guy, just…hold your horses," his voice faltered as he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh. He remained seated, face in hand, so Bruce waited patiently.

"'Read the signs?' Jeez, Bruce, way to make a guy feel like an open book," he finally dropped his hand to give a tired, warm smile. "And you totally did catch onto my moping, just for the record. Never could get anything past you."

Despite the light tone Dick was aiming for and his supposed shift in mood, Bruce had to press on.

"It wasn't 'moping' Dick," he stepped closer, "you shouldn't trivialize what you're going through."

"I'm not—" Dick's voice cut in, sharp and tense. He paused before releasing another sigh and continuing softly.

"It's just…hard. Hard to be 'going through' something like this. Hard to admit it to myself, let alone to you." His gaze was once again downcast, but his shoulders relaxed, body language finally poised as open. Bruce closed the remaining distance between them before kneeling and placing a hand on Nightwing's shoulder.

"I'm glad that you can."

His own sincerity felt nearly foreign on his tongue, though not because it was false. It was a flaw he recognized in himself, and one he was sure was apparent in his hesitant speaking cadence.

In fact, a slight embarrassment began to creep in when his admission was left hanging in the air as Dick simply looked up at him, an almost child-like look of expectance for something more in his eyes. Unluckily, the silence was abruptly cut short by a stifled laugh from the boy.

"Sorry, sorry" he finally made out through equally child-like giggles.

"It's just always funny to see you go against your 'No Emotions Programming,'" he teased. Unamused at the blatant jab at his inability to communicate, Bruce quietly rose to his feet once again. When Dick's eyes still held his, he offered a hand.

Accepting it, Nightwing rocked up to his full height, rolling his neck slightly with a smile still ghosting his lips. The high-strung tension had left Dick's body, but it was replaced with a heavy tiredness in his shoulders and neck.

He raised a hand and flicked one of the cowl's ears, which still hung off the back of Bruce's neck. "Better cover up that sorry mug of your's before we head back down."

A smile seeped its way into the corners of Bruce's mouth as he obliged, a warmth slowly replacing the ice in his veins.

They descended the fire-escape in silence, and only once they were both tucked away in the safety of the Batmobile did Dick speak up again.

"I owe you an apology."

Quickly turning to face him, Bruce was about to rebuff the notion that Dick was at any fault when he was cut off.

"I really sold you short. Since I went home, you've been trying your best to make sure I was all right, in your own invasive way," a dry humor painted his words. "I guess I was so convinced of the idea that you'd shut me out somehow, I shut you out before I even gave you a chance."

Bruce understood that this was a vulnerable statement, not one meant to be taken as an offense, but a part of him felt crushed. Crushed by the fact that the idea was ever given life in Dick's mind, no doubt through the distance he had helped create between them. He fought hard to keep any of the reactionary hurt he felt out of his voice.

"I would never shut you out, Dick. And you don't have to apologize to me.

"We may have our differences from time to time,"—and wasn't that putting it gently—"but I would never turn you away. And never for something like this."

Dick seemed to release a deep breath he'd been holding, a somber look overtaking his eyes and tugging at the corners of his mouth. He considered his next words before speaking.

"I know you never actually would. I've seen you handle," his mouth closed for a moment of hesitation before continuing "victims with the same understanding. I guess part of me was just afraid of you knowing. Especially worrying the way you do," there was a fondness when he spoke, though it quickly dissipated as he seemed to settle into what he said next.

"And I mean, it's not like this is the first time I've dealt with something like this."

The momentary silence that followed that statement felt like a thick, physical cloud between Bruce's ears, halting all thoughts in a stifling standstill. Even so he had no time to linger on the admission before Dick carried on, "Which is why I can't understand why it's screwing me up so bad. A whole week after the fact!"

Dick turned away, scowling out into the distance, shaking his head.

"I just—I got out of it before they could even do anything, really. We encounter people every day who've been through worse; I've been through worse!"

He seemed to be riding a wave of newfound energy, his voice climbing higher, "The only reminder I've got that it even happened is"—he gestured frantically towards his neck—"this ugly thing!"

He panted softly after his outburst, flopping back against the seat, his frustration palpable in the muted interior space of the car.

Bruce took in the now faded bruise, just barely peeking above the collar of the Nightwing suit. Just as quickly, he brought his gaze back up to the stormy face of his ward, whose eyes were burning into the dashboard before him. It felt like an impossible battle to build the connection from his brain to his mouth, but Bruce pushed through with a steady voice.

"There is no rhyme or reason for our reactions to trauma, and the fact that you've had a similar experience in the past only exacerbates this.

No matter the perceived scale or significance, how your mind and body reacts is outside the control of rationalization. You know that just as well as I do. You shouldn't discount human nature from yourself just because of what you do."

"Hah! Look who's talking."

"Dick."

Bruce spoke his name with a silent plea, his tone gentle but insistent. Instantly the boy bristled, still riding the frantic outburst, but his eyes found his mentor's. They stayed like that, Dick's chest rising and falling faster than it had before. He held a flurry of emotions at bay, lips pressing together and eyes welling. Bruce stared back, no mask in place, no filter.

A shaky, wet laugh once again escaped Nightwing's lips. He quickly swiped at his eyes.

"Sorry."

Then again, "Sorry."

A sniffle.

The energy drained out of him instantly, the same exhaustion from before returning as he sank further down his seat. The air around him no longer seemed to be buzzing, whether that be due to his exhaustion, or the safety of the Batmobile and Bruce's reassurances.

Reaching over, Bruce placed a gloved hand atop Dick's and gave a gentle squeeze. They stayed like that for a moment, before he finally gave a quick squeeze in return, a small nod punctuating the gesture.

And with that, the Batmobile hummed to life.

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A/N: Finally! The end! I hope this doesn't disappoint after such a long build-up, haha…(nervous laughter)

Thank you to everyone who's patiently stuck with me for this long. I, too, am perplexed at just how long it took me to wrap up this story. I spent a lot of time mulling over this chapter, rehashing and reshuffling dialogue and reactions, but I think I've got it as good as I'm ever gonna get it. I really wanted to avoid having them betray the rule of exposing faces and names in the field, but in the end I couldn't bring myself to break up the flow of the dialogue and scene to have them relocate…so let's just pretend this was a very well hidden roof in a non-residential area ;) or something like that.

I'm considering doing an epilogue to leave us off on a better feeling note, but as is, I liked having emotions be up and down vs. a clean-cut-let's-move-on ending. So if you're not completely done with my tomfoolery yet, that might be on the horizon.

Thank you for all the kind and supportive reviews, I'm terrible at responding but I do read them and appreciate them all!

Until next time✨