me when i cheat and make the same story span two days teehee 

For the first time in the past hour or so since Bruce was brought in, Alfred felt he could breathe. With Leslie's reinforcement, they'd gotten the billionaire stable, and the outlook was positive. He'd have a few weeks of bed rest, but nothing as life-altering as Alfred had feared. One day, their luck would run out, someone would come home too broken to repair, and they'd have to deal with the consequences, but for now, that day was yet to come. 

He pottered about the room, discarding bloodied tissues and used needles so the space was far less imposing when he let Dick in. He hated keeping the boy at arm's length but there was no use in traumatising him further.

"Where's the kid?" Leslie asked.

"I sent him for a shower after I called you. He was soaked." It hadn't been raining and judging by her grimace, she'd caught onto his meaning. Tomorrow, he'd wash both of the bloodied suits, sew them up, and use scraps from their first iterations if the thread wouldn't close the gaps. At worst, he'll be fitting them for another suit. That was for tomorrow.

"I'm surprised he got away uninjured. It's rare the pair don't show up with matching gunshot wounds like a bad couple's tattoo," Leslie lamented. He smiled mirthlessly. He thought Dick's fostering would bring the life-endangering antics down to once or twice a year but now he was dealing with the same lack of self-preservation now shared between two people and doubling it altogether. 

"Small mercies," he replied. 

"He'll be alright," Leslie assured him. 

"Which?"

"Both. They've got good heads on their shoulders even if they're intent on losing them." He hummed in appreciation. It would give him solace if those good heads hadn't landed them in a life of crime fighting and given him countless sleepless nights waiting for the Batmobile to pull in. "I can stay to explain things to Dick if you'd like. If you need the time."

"I should be the one to update him. I may keep Bruce under the assumption he's the child's sole guardian but I've long since accepted my role as his secondary guardian as I accepted I was no longer just the butler all those years ago," he lamented. 

In reality, he was desperate for someone else to put on the brave face for a bit. He was always the stone pillar supporting the manor but he found himself wishing for once that he was the one supported or at least able to be removed temporarily so he could reckon with the mortality he was so often faced with. It was easy to pretend both Dick and Bruce were in some way immortal. Not through superhuman strength or unworldly healing powers but through sheer luck. Then he'd get a harsh smack to the face when he was reminded they were so far from it. That luck was cruel. That luck could see them through the day but see their loved ones suffering or dead. 

"Even guardians need their moments. I'm a doctor. It's my job to deliver news."

"Master Wayne will fight another day. I don't understand why this is so morbid."

"Good news doesn't always provide the relief we seek. Not when we know it's only a matter of time until the next instance," she answered. "You need a holiday."

"I suppose I should return to England once in a blue moon. Unfortunately, there's a pair in my care who are frightfully happy to lay down their lives for whatever obsessive decides on a theme to match their terrorism."

"The storm is over. If you wait for the next storm to blow in and eventually blow over, you'll never leave the docks."

"And if I leave the docks, the storm blows in, how will I be there to help bucket the water from the flooded houses?"

"You don't. You rely on the rescue efforts."

"And if the rescue efforts fail, what do I have to come home to?"

"Whatever's left."

The blaring alarm came first, then the lights flashing to get their attention. Alfred immediately looked at Bruce and then the monitors expecting a dead man and no heartbeat to match but he was stable. Alive. He thought for half a second too long then remembered their code. Alarm and lights for an emergency call button hit in the Batcave and beeping followed by red flashing lights for an emergency call button hit upstairs. He was quick to make up for hesitance by setting off towards the showers with Leslie hot on his heels. For two people too old to try out for any running team without an extensive health check, they ran fast enough.

In comparison to dragging the dead weight of Bruce a block and a half, dragging himself to the bench next to the basket of new clothes was easier than expected. Granted he'd left a nasty trail of blood that looked straight out of a Walking Dead set but the initial act of hauling himself to his knees (he gave up on walking when the pressure made him feel like his thigh would explode) and crawling across the floor wasn't as gruelling as he thought it would be. 

He didn't manage to get all the way to the bench but he didn't need to. The basket of neatly folded fresh underwear and civvies was on the floor tucked in the gap where their shoes were meant to go. All he had to do was stretch out and grab onto the handle, snatching it toward himself and digging out what he needed. He didn't need to get all the way dressed, he assured himself. Just the underwear to give him some modesty. Any other clothes would be cut away as soon as he was found and that would be a waste. 

Dick gave up pulling it all the way close to him and instead gave in when it was close enough that he could reach a hand in. He dug around for a few moments, tugging out two shirts, a sock and undoing all the perfect folding before he finally snatched out some boxers. He quickly decided that if he took the time to sit back on his knees and pull his legs forward, he would be all too tempted to remain there. Instead, brought his uninjured leg forward and looped one of the holes over. He shifted his weight awkwardly, grunting and hissing when he moved the exact wrong way without having any clue as to when he would. After looping the boxers on one leg, he quickly fed his other leg through and tugged them up fast before he could talk himself out of moving again.

Crawling back was more gruelling than he anticipated and with each inch closer to the alarm, it felt like another mile was added to his journey. The shower was still running. He tried to remember how nice it had been to sit underneath it, how mere moments ago he was letting himself think about anything other than his mentor potentially dying a few rooms over. If he could get back to the shower, he had no qualms about returning to his place underneath the pattering of water. Wet clothes were never great but neither were his two wounds. He could make lemonade from lemons and suffer through wet boxers for the sake of a few seconds of calm. 

The skin on his knees was raw, the water drops left there causing friction rather than letting him slide across the tile. He swallowed thickly as he finally got over the threshold and, as he'd promised himself when he was centimetres away, let himself sit underneath the welcoming warmth the shower provided. With the hand on his good side, he reached up and slammed his hand on the panic button. Surely he'd been in there long enough not to cause too much trouble. He reasoned that whilst he'd been alright so far, it would only be a matter of time before his injuries grew severe. He was being responsible, not a burden. Bruce would've been happy that he thought of that. Maybe he could tell him when things got better when neither of them was at the top of the reaper's list. 

Footsteps were rushing towards him, at a speed he was impressed with given Alfred's age, and soon enough he was face to face with the butler who was now a few shades paler. He gave a limp smile but raised an eyebrow when Leslie popped her head in. Shouldn't one of them be staying with Bruce? 

"Think I got more scraped up than I thought," he greeted.

"I'd agree, sir," Alfred responded. He turned off the shower and leaned down, helping Dick to a pair of feet that wouldn't hold his weight. Leslie appeared at his other side to wrap an arm around him and keep him upright. 

"You often shower with your boxers on?" Leslie commented. 

"Wanted some modesty."

"In future, when blood is no longer in the confinement of your body, you call for help first and reckon with the embarrassment later," Alfred scolded. There was no heat behind his words. If anything, there was concern and fear. "Have you done a self-assessment?"

"GSW to the thigh, bullet is still there. Knife wound navel to last rib. Blood loss likely."

"Looks pretty certain to me," Leslie muttered. 

"I didn't feel it," Dick quickly insisted. He didn't screw up this time and hide an injury (well injuries) for the hell of it. If he hadn't gone for a shower, he probably would've passed out in the cave waiting for the infirmary door to open. He felt the older duo look over his head to share a glance with one another. He wasn't sure if they believed him but he hoped they did. He hit the emergency call button. He didn't try to hide it further or try to dig his finger in to fish the bullet out or use some thread he found in a sewing kit to stitch himself up. He did what he was supposed to do. He saw a set of injuries and called for help.

"It's alright, sir. Adrenaline can make these things rather tricky."

"I wouldn't do this to you, Alfred," Dick added. He guessed that the blood loss was starting to make him emotional when there were suddenly tears burning his eyes, threatening to join the water droplets left over on his face. 

Somewhere down the line, he found shame in crying. It became a sign he was too young, too childish, and to be Robin he couldn't be those things. He could be angry without it being seen as a tantrum but he found it difficult to cry without being seen as a crybaby even if so many close to him had never said that.

"I know, I know. Let's just concentrate on getting you taken care of."

"Is Bruce okay?" he asked, feeling guilty that he hadn't asked earlier. He wasn't the one being dragged in at the dead of night although he was now being practically carried in the early morning. 

"He'll make it through. You'll be joining him on bed rest."

"He's gonna be so pissed when he finds out."

"Given his history, he hasn't got a leg to stand on," Leslie assured him. For two people born so far apart, on different sides of life, they were painfully similar. 

When Bruce woke up, it was slow and intermittent. He'd stay awake for a few minutes then fall back asleep. He'd ask the same thing every time. Where's Dick? Each time, he would be directed to look at the bed beside him. He'd find Dick curled up attached to a blood bag with varying levels of blood left inside of it. He'd follow up with the same question. Is he okay? Alfred would nod and they would both set their gaze on the boy. 

On the time Bruce was able to stay awake and have a conversation, he asked how they got home. 

"He brought you in, sir," Alfred answered. "He did everything right."

"How close was it?"

"Close enough," the butler told him sternly. "I doubt this is the right time to say but once you are both well, I will need some time away."

"Of course, you've more than earned it."

"And, in my absence, you will have Leslie attend to your injuries. Any and all injuries."

"We will."

"Master Wayne, do not make me return to a funeral director walking me through the necessary arrangements. I know better than to ask you to stop whilst I'm not here but if I may speak frankly, I cannot bury another Wayne. I want my good suit to remain in the wardrobe."

"It will, Alfred." They went quiet, letting the promise hang in the air and sink into them like a hungry wolf finally devouring its prey. 

"He wants to keep the bullet."

"He's not keeping the bullet. Tell him it's medical waste."

"I did. He says it's no different than his baby teeth."

"He's not keeping every bullet he gets shot with."

"If he did, he'd have an artillery."