Bruce had a plan. He was going to land on his hands, probably shatter a finger or a wrist, somehow fall into a rollout, avoid all of the chunks of debris, and also communicate the entire thing to Oliver in about six seconds while falling at roughly twenty miles an hour.
Bruce never said he had a good plan.
But suddenly he found himself crashing into Oliver's chest, the wind getting knocked out of him as they hit the concrete. Pain seared through Bruce's shoulder as it slammed roughly against the ground, and he couldn't stop from tumbling over himself— dress shoes weren't exactly ideal for sixty-foot falls.
He finally came to a halt, coming to his senses and putting his hands out to stop himself. His entire body screamed in pain. He didn't have time for pain. He assessed his surroundings— they were probably a good thirty feet from the building, which had more or less stopped falling apart, only the first ten or eleven floors still remaining.
His breathing was labored. Leg in pain. Shoulder dislocated. Possibly shattered. By all other means, he was relatively—
Shock ran through his body.
Oliver.
He whipped around, seeing the blond a few feet away from him, crumpled against a large chunk of concrete. He wasn't moving. His mouth was bleeding. His eyes were shut.
Bruce had trained himself for years not to panic in the face of danger— to keep calm and collected under any circumstance, which had worked well even in a battle against a mind-controlled Superman in Apokolips during a war against Darkseid— but seeing Oliver very possibly dead made Bruce's heart rate shoot through the roof, and his body caved into every response to fear that he thought he had bred out of himself.
"Queen?" Bruce couldn't get his voice above a whisper.
There was no response.
It was like Bruce hadn't just broken a few bones because he made his way over to the blond with no pain whatsoever, adrenaline coursing through his veins because holy shit what if he wasn't alive—
"Queen?" His voice was panicked. Bruce couldn't find it in himself to care.
He couldn't see Oliver breathing.
"Oliver?"
Bruce knew the signs— he saw it in others but never thought he'd see it in himself— the inability to calm your heart rate and chest pains and dizziness— Bruce was having a panic attack.
Bruce knelt down next to the blond and shook him. He felt like he was choking. His hands were shaking. "Oliver?"
He shook him more violently. "Oliver?"
Nothing.
"Shit." Bruce couldn't catch his breath. He sat back on his heels, somehow managing to find his phone in his breast pocket with a now-shattered screen, and dialed a number he thankfully knew by heart. There were a few rings, and although it was right next to his ears, it sounded a hundred miles away.
"Bruce!" The worry-stricken voice of Devin came over the line.
He could barely hold the phone straight.
"Bruce! Where the fuck are you?"
"Uh, back right alley."
"Fuck—okay. I'm coming right now, where's Oliver?"
Bruce was silent.
"Bruce! Hello?"
"I..." Bruce's eyes scanned over the blood pouring out of the other man's mouth. He felt sick. "Dev, I— he's not moving."
There was a pause.
"What?! What the hell do you mean he's not moving?"
"He... he took the brunt of the fall... I don't... I don't know—"
"The fall? What fall?!" Devin sounded like he was in hysteria. "Is he alive?!"
"I can't—I... I don't know, I just—"
"Bruce." Devin's voice was so resolute, so dead serious and so flat that it somewhat shocked Bruce out of his state of panic. He sounded like Gregory. "You need to check if he's alive. Finger to his pulse."
Bruce nodded as if Devin could see. He reached up to Oliver's neck, which was still warm. There was a moment of absolute crushing silence before the faint feeling of rushing blood ran under his finger.
Bruce almost collapsed on the spot out of relief. "He's alive."
"Oh, Christ. Thank fuck. I'm bringing a car now, I'll see how close I can get to you. Just make sure he stays that way."
Devin hung up the phone and Bruce tried to collect himself. He focused on the settling sound of the rubble, the police sirens in the distance, the anger swelling in his chest because Batman didn't panic, Batman didn't forget how to check if someone was alive, Batman didn't fall into hysterics at the sight of some blood and an unconscious man, Batman didn't call Devin like a scared child who didn't know what to do.
Why would he let himself do that? Why would he—
The sound of a car pulled Bruce's attention.
He looked up, wiping the sawdust from his eyelashes, and saw Devin maneuvering some gray car— a Maserati, Bruce's mind answered— through the rubble. The car stopped, Devin jumped out of the front seat, locking eyes with Bruce. The older man's face was splotchy and red, brows twisted in fear as he jogged over.
Bruce barely even managed to stand up before Devin had him crushed into a hug.
He didn't move but let Devin have his moment— one hand pressed flat against Bruce's back and the other at the base of his neck.
Devin pulled back. Bruce didn't like the look on his face— he looked like he was going to cry.
"Are you okay?" Devin breathed. His voice was uneven.
Bruce finally pushed him off. "I'll be fine. Worry about him."
Devin stood there, eyes teary and Bruce sighed. He wasn't used to seeing Bruce come back every night with injuries that most people wouldn't survive.
"I'm okay," Bruce restated with just a little hint of compassion in his voice to not scare the other man. "I've survived worse. He's the problem."
"Right, right." Devin wiped at his eyes. "Okay. Help me get him to the car."
Bruce gave a curt nod, trying to gain back a semblance of composure. They each lifted one of Oliver's arms, and Bruce clamped his teeth together at the pain flaring in his shoulder because of the two hundred-something pound blond resting on it. They made their way to the car, and Bruce opened the door with one hand, somehow managing to maneuver Oliver into the back seat. Bruce closed the door. He turned to Devin. "He needs medical attention."
"Figured," Devin answered as he got into the front seat, and gestured for Bruce to get into the passengers.
When they were both in the vehicle it rumbled to life as Devin hit the ignition. Bruce finally let himself take a breath. His body was in pain. He didn't try to dwell on it. The interior of the car was dead silent as Devin pulled out onto the road.
"What hospital?" Devin asked, before taking in the scene in front of them. The roads were completely blocked by emergency vehicles, news crews, and pedestrians. "Fuck."
Bruce rerouted the original plan. "Turn around."
"Around? Gotham General is that way, not behind us."
"We're going back to the Manor."
"The Manor? He needs serious medical help—"
"I come home with worse injuries than what he probably has. I'll let Alfred know we're coming. I'll call my doctor."
"I— Jesus, okay? How the hell am I supposed to get back to the Manor? Roads are gonna be blocked for hours. Maybe we should just take him to one of the ambulances—"
"No. There are probably dozens of injuries— it'll take too long. And once the media finds out it's Oliver Queen it will turn into a big story that we don't have time to deal with. Turn around." Bruce gave Devin instructions to an alleyway just near where they previously were.
Devin stopped the car. "Uh, did you hit your head, too? That's a brick wall, Bruce."
Bruce didn't respond, opening his phone and pressing a button. The brick wall in front of them began to slide open.
Devin's jaw dropped. "What the hell?"
"Tunnels. Hurry— the sooner he sees a doctor the better."
"You—" Devin seemed at a loss for words as he drove into the opening. "You have tunnels in the city?"
"I'm Batman."
Devin was silent. "That... doesn't explain anything, you realize that, right?"
"Just drive."
* * *
Dick sat on one of the several metal counters that lined the edges of the Batcave, biting his bottom lip in concentration as he sharpened one of his birdarangs. He hummed some absentminded tune in tandem with the clacking of the main computer's keyboard, which Tim was currently using.
"So," Dick announced. "Tell me for real, Timmy. Just between you and me—are you actually taking Meredith's offer because you want to? Or because you want to spite Bruce?"
The typing stopped. "I really want to. Honest. You should've seen her tech department, Dick. It was insane! The stuff Meredith wants to do is big. And important. I wanna be a part of it."
Dick nodded slowly. "And if Bruce says you can't do it while living here?"
"Then I move out," Tim said as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "I have enough money to be perfectly fine, and I'll be even better once I get my first paycheck. Meredith says that if I want it early just to pay for the down payment on a place, she'd be glad to give it to me."
"Meredith Elias is really the woman who can do it all, huh?"
"Yeah." Tim sighed in awe. "Can't blame Bruce for liking her."
Dick chuckled. "Guess you can't. You think she'd ever go for him?"
"For Bruce?" Tim spun around in the large chair to face him, a mug of coffee in one hand. "Doubt it. I don't know what caused their big fallout years ago, but both of them are the type to hold a grudge. Plus, Meredith's too... perfect for Bruce. She's smart and pretty and funny and not a criminal—Bruce needs someone at least a little fucked up."
Dick laughed. It was an accurate assessment.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say it sounds like someone has a crush, Timbo," Dick teased as he went back to sharpening the metal weapon.
Tim rolled his eyes and took an audible slurp of the coffee. "So what if I do? It's just innocent— how could you not be in awe of Meredith?"
"True," Dick agreed. Then he smirked. "I bet Bruce just visits her at nights to test himself and see how long he can keep it concealed in his pants. You know he's weird like that."
Tim scrunched his face up in disgust. "Uh, I'd rather not think of our father like that. Thanks for the image, asshole."
Dick chuckled but was interrupted by the cave announcing system.
"Unidentified vehicle approaching Cave."
Dick stared at Tim in confusion.
"Access override: Batman, code B-12-K."
Seconds later, a gray car roared into the cave from one of the tunnels and screeched to a halt on the center parking pad. Everything suddenly started happening at once: Alfred appeared from the main elevator with Doctor Leslie Thompkins, Bruce was flying from the passenger door, sawdust covering his hair and shoulders, suit torn and bloody. Devin Elias jumped out from the driver's side, eyes splotchy and face red. Dick's birdarang clattered on the counter beside him as he furrowed his brows in worry. The two men opened the back door of the Maserati and pulled out an unconscious blond man coated in blood—Oliver Queen.
"Holy shit," Dick swore, running over to help the two carry the archer. "What the hell happened?!"
He moved Bruce aside since Dick could tell something was wrong with the man's shoulder and took the brunt of Oliver's weight. Tim was right behind him doing the same with Devin.
"Get him into the medbay," Bruce ordered, marching in front of them to the door just off of the cave. He flipped the lights on, revealing the large room with six medical beds, all white and shiny and sterile.
"Is he alive?!" Dick questioned as he and Tim set the blond down on the nearest bed.
"Alive enough," Bruce answered gruffly.
Alfred and Leslie appeared in the room moments later.
"Doctor," Bruce greeted as the older woman with gray hair, a deep purple dress, and a white medical coat set a box of supplies down next to the bed Oliver occupied.
"Bruce," she replied. "No time for pleasantries— what happened?"
Bruce shifted his weight onto one leg. He was in pain, Dick could tell. And upon further inspection, it looked like his shoulder was previously dislocated, too.
"The GCB collapsed," Bruce answered flatly. Evenly. Too stoically— even as Batman, Bruce never spoke like that. Something was wrong. "My leg got trapped. Oliver came in, pulled me out, had a grappling gun on him but he knew it didn't hold enough weight for the both of us. He was trying to get to a lower floor to minimize the fall in case the line snapped but..."
Bruce trailed off, eyes darting down to the floor. He took a deep breath and got a steely look in his eyes. "I made a mistake. There were no warning signs and suddenly the floor gave out from under me and I— I wasn't fast enough. I fell. Oliver jumped out after me, sixteen stories up. Around seventy feet. Shot the line out at fifty, made it to twenty and it broke. There was too much debris and not enough time and... Oliver he just—" Bruce cleared his throat. "He just took the brunt of the fall. Pushed himself in front of me. I don't know what injuries he sustained— probable concussion considering he's been unconscious the entire ride back."
Leslie nodded curtly as she pulled an x-ray machine overtop Oliver. "How long would you estimate he's been this way?"
"Nearly eleven minutes."
She nodded again, pressing a stethoscope against his chest. "He's breathing, so that's a good sign. Lungs sound clear. Pulse seems relatively stable, possibly a little slow. I'd agree with your assumption about a concussion. His abdomen feels a little tense, so potentially some internal bleeding— I'd guess broken ribs. A fractured elbow at best, shattered at worst. Let's pray there's nothing spinal."
The room fell silent at that. The last time "something spinal" occurred, Oracle was created.
There was a beep, signaling the x-ray was ready. Leslie peered closer to the screen. Dick noticed Bruce pulling at his fingers behind his back—that was a very bad sign. Bruce only did that when he was extremely nervous. Other than that, Bruce remained unreadable as usual.
Everyone was quiet.
"Two broken ribs." Leslie finally announced. "Broken right arm. A few fractured fingers. Trauma to the skull and... nothing spinal, at least nothing that's apparent."
There was an unspoken, collective sigh of relief.
She turned to Alfred. "Let's get him hooked up to fluids. I'll administer some general anesthesia and work on setting his bones back into place. I need a few more images of his head— the trauma to his skull could be a potential issue. I brought some of WayneTech's newly updated injectable self-replicating nanites— courtesy of Lucius. It should help speed up the healing process once I've done everything I can."
"You got very lucky Mr. Queen," Leslie spoke to the unconscious man. "As you hero types usually do."
"Thank you, Leslie." Bruce's voice was clipped and his eyes downcast.
She looked up for a moment after placing an IV in Oliver's arm. "And what of you, Bruce? You're walking, but that isn't usually a good indicator of whether you're in pain or not."
Bruce apparently didn't care for the attempt at a joke. "Dislocated shoulder. I popped it back in on the way here. Most likely a sprained ankle. Nothing Alfred can't fix. I'll be fine."
She nodded. "And emotionally?"
Bruce paused mid-turn. He shot her a questioning look.
"Don't think I forget that you and Oliver used to be close," she explained. "I can imagine seeing him like this... or experiencing that, is not comfortable for you."
There was another deafening silence.
"I'm fine."
Liar. Dick knew he was anything but. Bruce's stillness and flat tone and tugging fingers and downcast eyes were all very indiscreet signs that Dick had picked up on over the years, signs that meant Bruce was substantially shaken.
"Thank you again, Leslie." Bruce walked out of the room.
The woman sighed, turning her head in Alfred's direction. "He's still a horrible liar."
The butler paused. "He is."
No one said anything else after that. Dick watched the two elders roam around the room, preparing supplies and fluids and anesthesia and whatnot. Dick turned to Devin, who had his arms crossed. From close up, Dick could definitely tell the man had been crying. He felt like he knew Devin well enough over the past few weeks to give him a gentle nudge.
"And what about you?" Dick asked below his breath, careful not to disrupt Alfred or Leslie.
Devin glanced over. "I'm..." He slid his gaze to Oliver. "I'm not sure. It's just, I can't— I can't believe that all of you seem more or less... okay. Does this really happen that often?"
He received a few sullen nods in response.
"I never properly introduced myself, Mr. Elias," Leslie said. "Doctor Leslie Thompkins— and I'll give you some unsolicited advice because I'm getting the feeling that you're somewhat new to this whole hero business: the injuries Mr. Queen sustained are what we professionals like to call getting off easy."
"If it helps, and I'm not sure it does," Dick added as he placed a sympathetic hand on Devin's shoulder. "We've all come back with worse. I can't speak for Oliver, but I know Bruce alone has lost almost half of his blood volume, broken every bone at least three times over, has been shot dozens of times, so on and so forth. This is a very survivable injury."
"I..." Devin looked stunned. "I don't know how you all deal with that. You two are still kids! I... I mean, I saw Bruce just standing there, perfectly fine and alive in the middle of some rubble and I was this close to losing it. I don't know how you can just be okay with going out every night, doing what you do, knowing that there's a very real chance of death, coming back with injuries worse than this, and just... be fine."
"No one's really fine here," Tim qualified. "We're all just good actors."
Dick saw Devin's face fall. "But, hey, even we have our off days. I can tell Bruce is seriously freaked out by whatever happened."
Devin nodded in agreement. "He... he called me on the phone after the fall. He was in total hysterics. I've never heard him like that. Ever."
"Hysterics?" Dick repeated. Bruce didn't go into hysterics. Batman certainly didn't. He let his hand down off Devin's shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"He just called, like, in a full panic attack. Couldn't form sentences. Barely remembered how to check a pulse. He just sounded... I don't know. It wasn't pretty."
Dick tilted a stare back at Oliver, who Leslie was currently wiping blood off of. Dick didn't know much about him, he realized. He saw Green Arrow sparingly, maybe a handful of times at the Watchtower and once or twice in the field. He saw Oliver Queen milling around a charity event sometimes when Dick was younger, though they'd never really talked.
But apparently, this man, who Dick had rarely seen and never heard about, was so important that him almost dying sent Bruce spiraling into a panic attack. Bruce.
He studied Oliver. Messy blond hair and darker eyebrows, with scruffy stubble littering his lower face and upper lip. Even unconscious and covered in his own blood, Dick could tell the man was traditionally very attractive.
What did Oliver enjoy doing? What was he like? Dick tried to compare Oliver's friendship with Bruce to his own friendship with Wally West. Did they have inside jokes? Stories that they'd be caught dead before telling anyone? That's how it was with Wally, and it was very weird to picture Bruce having someone like Wally in his life. Bruce wasn't exactly... friendly.
Maybe he should call Roy, Dick suddenly thought. He wasn't as close with the younger archer as Jason was, but there was a point where both Dick and Roy were on the Titans together. The redhead would surely answer a few questions... at least Dick hoped. Roy was always a little private, especially when it came to his mentor. Dick, however, did know that Roy and Oliver didn't talk anymore. Maybe Roy would tell him why.
"I'm just gonna step out for a bit," Devin said, pulling Dick from his thoughts. "Thanks, Doctor Thompkins."
"Please, Mr. Elias, it's Leslie." She smiled slightly. "Any friend of Bruce's is a friend of mine."
He nodded, returning the gesture. "Then it's Devin. Mr. Elias is my dad— makes me feel old."
Leslie didn't respond, simply crinkled the corners of her eyes in amusement. Devin dipped his head and turned around, walking back into the Cave. Dick watched him approach Bruce who sat at the main computer. Devin slid a hand along Bruce's back before leaning against the counter and exchanging hushed words that Dick couldn't hear.
Dick narrowed his eyes. Bruce was never okay with someone touching him affectionately like that, but he didn't tense up or glare at Devin like he usually would. He simply swiveled the chair to face the older man. Bruce looked... tired as he rested his head on his hand.
"It's weird to see him act like that," Tim noted from next to him. Dick turned his head to realize that Tim was also watching the scene unfold in front of them.
Dick nodded. "It's all strange. He's just..."
"Comfortable with him," Tim finished.
"Yeah. That."
A pause.
"So weird."
"Yeah."
Dick looked back at Leslie and Alfred. "They were good friends, huh?"
The woman glanced up. "Bruce and Oliver?"
Dick nodded.
"They were," Alfred answered. "Master Bruce does not enjoy talking about it, but those two were trouble. Mister Queen was around the Manor rather often."
Dick hummed. He couldn't imagine Bruce and someone else being trouble. "Interesting. I would've never guessed."
"Not many would. I believe that's why Master Bruce was in such distress."
"Huh."
They all fell into silence. Dick wanted to ask more questions, but decided against it to let them focus.
"Any ETA on when he'll be awake?" Tim questioned.
"Around three hours," Leslie replied. "Maybe two if we're lucky. With the head trauma, I don't want to keep him on anesthesia for too long."
Dick nodded. "Alright, uh, I've gotta go make a call real quick, but let me know if anything changes."
He left the medbay, pulling his phone from his pocket and opening his contact list. He scrolled down before finding who he was looking for and hitting dial.
The screen blinked bright blue.
NOW CALLING: ROY HARPER.
* * *
Around two hours later, Tim stood near Devin at Bruce at the main computer as he watched the two men argue back and forth.
"Oliver was just doing what you heroes are supposed to do, Bruce," Devin tried to explain.
"I don't need to be saved. There were other people— I would've been fine."
"Oh, please. I know you're Batman and all, but even Batman doesn't survive a twenty-six-story fall with no gear. Get real."
"He shouldn't have taken the fall. He was being careless and stupid— he could've died."
"You could've died!"
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "I would have been fine."
"You realize Oliver does what you do, right? He probably thought the exact same thing. You know you two have always been martyrs like that."
Bruce let out a quiet scoff. "And what if he had died? Then what?"
"No offense, but would you really have cared? You haven't talked to Oliver in years, and you make it pretty obvious that you don't like him."
Bruce's face went blank. Tim widened his eyes.
"I can't let people die because of me. It doesn't matter who it is."
"Ah, got it. So you fall into a panic attack over every teammate who gets injured, then?"
"No—"
"So you're not pissed about a person dying, you're pissed about Oliver dying."
"That's not—"
"Jesus, Bruce! You care, then! Why the fuck can't you be nice to the guy if that's the case? It would make my job of being the middleman between the two of you a hell of a lot easier!"
"No one asked you to be the middleman." Bruce's voice was sharp and his eyes were narrowed, not-so-subtly avoiding the question.
"You shouldn't need to ask! Oliver obviously still wants to be friends with you and you still want to be friends with him so why can't you—!"
"I do not want to be friends with him. Just because I don't want him to die doesn't mean I like him."
Devin gave a very dramatic eye roll. "Whatever, Kid. Live in denial, then."
"Stop calling me that. And I'm not in d—"
"Sorry to interrupt this very touching moment," Leslie suddenly approached the group, her forehead sheening in sweat and face appearing done with Bruce and Devin's ongoing two-hour-long fight. "But he's awake."
Everyone paused, sharing a brief look with each other before getting up and making their way back to the medbay. Tim passed Dick, who noticed the commotion and spoke something into his phone.
"Shit, looks like he's awake. Yeah, yeah. Thanks again. I'll keep you updated," Dick spoke as he hung up and slipped the device into his pocket.
"Who was that?" Tim questioned as Dick fell in stride with him.
"Long story, I'll fill you in later." Dick waved him off as they caught up to the two men and entered the medical room. Tim decided it was better not to dwell on it.
He moved around Devin to see Alfred at the side of Oliver's bed where the blond was just groggily opening his eyes.
"Whauthehlll..." Oliver slurred, barely moving his head.
"Hey, dude," Devin greeted softly as he approached the bedside, putting a hand on Oliver's shoulder to alert him. "How're you feeling?"
"Whauidonnowashppnin... Devin?"
Devin smiled. "Yeah, it's me. You hangin' in there? Pretty nasty fall you took."
"Fall..." Oliver mumbled, squinting at the ceiling. He was silent for a moment as his brows creased, trying to recall what had happened. The archer suddenly widened his eyes, mouth drawing in a gasp as he shot out of the bed. "Holy shit! Where's Bruce?!"
"Whoa, whoa! Hey!" Devin put his hands out to stop Oliver from getting off of the table. "He's right there! Chill out!"
Deep green eyes frantically searched the room before landing on Bruce, and the blond visibly relaxed.
"Jesus, mother of..." Oliver muttered some swear words under his breath, tilting his chin up towards the ceiling. He finally exhaled and took in his surroundings, gaze resting on each figure in the room before landing on Leslie. He nodded in a greeting. "Doc Thompson. So what the hell happened to me?"
Before Leslie had the opportunity to answer, Bruce was stepping forward, face completely scowled and angry and tense. Dick knew his father had been looking for a fight since the moment they got back to the Cave. "You threw yourself carelessly out of a twenty-six-story building and nearly paralyzed yourself."
Oliver blinked, looking confused. "Am I paralyzed?"
Leslie shook her head. "No."
"Oh. So it sounds like it worked out, then."
"Stop being nonchalant about it!" Bruce suddenly snapped, eyes boring into Oliver. "This isn't a joke."
Oliver visibly reeled back, focusing his attention on Bruce once again. "Wait, I'm sorry, so I ran into a collapsing building, went up twenty-six flights of stairs, pulled about a ton of steel and concrete off your leg, jumped out of said building to save you from falling to your death, literally took the fall, and... and you're pissed at me?"
"I didn't need help." Bruce's voice was now rising dangerously fast. "There were other people in that building, Queen—"
"Oh my God," Oliver drew out his syllables as he gave an over-dramatic eye roll. "Here we go again: Bruce Wayne, the victim. So please, now tell me how I've failed to meet your expectations yet again. I'm dying to know."
Bruce was now about two feet from the bed. "This isn't about my expectations— this is about you being careless and purposely taking the fall!"
Oliver got that dangerous look in his eyes. "What the fuck did you want me to do, Bruce? I didn't know the full extent of your injuries! How am I supposed to let you take the brunt of a twenty-foot free fall? Or would you rather me have let both of us take it so we both would've died—"
"You thought someone was going to die?!"
"Wha— you didn't?!"
"You took the fall!"
"Yeah, we've established that already, Smartass. Why the hell do you keep saying—"
"You thought someone was going to die. But you still took the fall."
"Yes?"
Bruce was silent for a brief second. "So you thought you were going to die."
Oliver narrowed his eyes. "Pretty much, yeah."
There was a painfully long silence, and Dick barely caught Bruce's left index finger twitching before the man was lunging at Oliver, grabbing a fist full of the blood-stained white-collared shirt.
The room erupted into chaos.
Medical supplies clattered to the floor.
"The hell is wrong with you?!" Bruce roared, tugging Oliver closer to his face.
"What the fu— get your hands off me!"
"Master Bruce!"
"Dude, what the fuck!"
"Jesus Christ, Bruce," Dick grunted as he and Tim grabbed their father's arms. An enraged Bruce was about as easy to move as a solid brick wall, with his vice grip around Oliver's shirt. Dick managed to twist Bruce's wrist just enough for him and Tim to push the man away from the blond.
Bruce stumbled barely an inch before regaining his footing, taking one breath, and striding near the bed once again. Dick put his hands out and shot his father a warning glance, who seemed to compose himself enough to not resort to physical violence.
"Are you out of your mind?!" Oliver shouted, chest heaving sporadically.
Leslie finally stepped in. "Bruce, I need you to calm down right now. Oliver was just injected with the nanites and I don't want his blood pressure rising this much becau—"
Bruce pointed a finger directly at Oliver. "You do not get to decide who lives and who dies. That's not up to you!"
"Considering I was the one with the only weapon we could use to save ourselves and you were injured? I'd say it was!"
"I told you I was fine!"
"You know that doesn't mean shit coming from you. You could have a fucking malfunctioning organ and pretend you were fine!"
Bruce took a moment to square his jaw. That's what he did when he fell into his Batman persona. "You were careless. You were thoughtless. You were reck—"
"You were the one who fell!"
"Why'd you do it, then?!"
"I— what?"
"I was the one who fell. I was the one... I was the one who wasn't fast enough. That fall was mine to take. Not yours. So why the hell did you do it?"
"I... I don't know!"
"So you were just doing it to be some hero?!"
"Some hero?" Oliver spat out. "I'm not some hero— I am a hero. A hero who fights on the same team as you, who's actually smart, contrary to your beliefs, because I actually had the common sense to put our leader's life before my own—!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I..." Oliver snapped his jaw shut, appearing that he just realized what he had said. "I..." He sighed in frustration. "One of us was very plausibly going to die. So I had the choice— from a logistical standpoint, it's either me, the guy who's just there to sign the checks, or the leader of the organization. I made the logical choice. You're welcome. Now can you just drop it?"
Bruce furrowed his brows. "No. You made the thoughtless choice. As the leader, I should be the sacrifice. I'm the one who needs to—"
"No, you should be the sacrifice for the teammates you actually give a damn about. That wouldn't include me."
"I'm not more important than anyone else on the League—"
"Oh my God!" Oliver emotionlessly chuckled out of shock. "Really? Because you could've fooled me! All you ever do is act like you're better than everyone! You don't fucking like me. You don't care. You've made that very, abundantly clear. You've made your choice. And so whatever, that's fine— but at least stand by your decision and don't suddenly switch up to your typical moral high ground once someone finally calls you out!"
"I do not act like I'm—"
"You know what? Do you really want the answer? Because fine! I'll tell you: as much as it fucking burns me to say this, you're right! Okay, Bruce? You're right. You win. You are more important than me. And that's not sarcasm— that's why I decided to take the fall. There. Happy?"
Bruce clenched his fists. "Damnit, Oliver! I'm not more important than—"
"Yes you are!" Oliver's voice rose an octave. "You have a family! You have kids and Alfred and Meredith and Devin and their parents, you have a city that falls into ruins without you, a team that collapses if they don't have your guidance, and you always act like it, and you never seem to have a problem telling me, so I know you know it, too!
Who do I have, Bruce? No family, barely any friends. My parents are dead. Me and Roy don't talk. I don't fit in with the League or your little circle of founders— I just sign the checks and leave, and even if I didn't, everyone just sees me as the second-rate Batman, anyway. Star City would survive without me. Anyone can do my job. I have my company. I have my money. That's it. No one else really could give a shit what happens to me. I'm not important— not like you.
So for you to sit here and have the fucking audacity to tell me that you're not more important than me is honestly a slap in the face, and I'd rather just have you tell me what you really think than just blatantly lie to me."
Dick's heart fell at the blond's words. Oliver had a squared jaw and a blank face but his eyes were... sad. The room went into silence. Bruce now seemed less blazing angry and more irritated, but Dick wasn't sure at what.
Bruce's voice faded out of Batman and back into businessman Bruce Wayne. "None of the founders said that they don't care."
Oliver glared down at the floor. "Of course you would think that. Not to be a dumbass little kid, but I'm not invited to shit. Not that you realize. They all force me to sit through those crap meetings every Wednesday, but I'm never included in any founder's plan unless they invite you first and you decline. Then they'll realize they want a seventh person and only then am I invited. I'm always the second choice. Always the afterthought."
"They don't—"
Oliver looked back up. "But who gives a shit about all that, because unlike them, you have actually told me multiple times to my face... what were your words again? Oh! Right: I have no interest in knowing you or interacting with you outside of the masks. We don't bring up the past. We get rid of all the evidence. And you did a damn good job at that last part, didn't you? With the whole 'breaking into my house and stealing all of my childhood memories' thing."
Bruce was silent.
"What?" Oliver chuckled again. He tilted his head as he rested his arms on his knees. "Didn't think I knew about that, did you?"
Bruce stood up a little straighter. His voice was curt. "Oliver—"
The blond's face twisted into a sad smile. "I was stranded on an island for years. My parents died. I came back, my business was fucked, I had nothing. Meredith was too busy figuring out how the hell to run her company, Devin was somewhere taking care of his sick father. And where the hell were you, Bruce? Because I know exactly where I was when it was your parents.
You ignored me for months, and when you finally started talking to me after we found out about each other's alter egos I was thrilled. Only come to find out that it was all one big fat fucking lie, and you were just using me because you wanted to make sure I didn't have any evidence left to prove that we knew each other."
The room was pin-drop silent.
Bruce was blank, like he didn't know what to say.
"Do you realize how fucked that is?" Oliver's voice cracked at the end. "You were the first person to come over to the Mansion in years, under the guise that you actually wanted to see me, only to steal my fucking childhood memorabilia— the only things I had left of when my parents were around— and then drop me right after? Didn't you think I might've wanted those?! You didn't think I wouldn't notice they were gone?!
And I never confronted you about it because I'd heard the stories of Batman— how he was great and all-knowing— and I thought: you know, my old pal Bruce would never do something so twisted like that, so he must have a plan to do something with those. No! Wrong! Turns out you were exactly what I hoped you weren't: you took them, you burned them, and you never brought it up again. So here I am, Bruce! Friendless and useless and memory-less, just like you always wanted. Hope you're fucking happy."
Bruce's voice was even. "I didn't think—"
"No," Oliver snapped. "You did think. You always think. It's what you do. You think about everything and anything and all the possible outcomes of every situation— you thought perfectly well about how I'd feel, or how I'd react. The problem is you just didn't care."
Oliver stood up, ripping the IV from his arm, eliciting a complaint from Leslie which he ignored. He hissed in pain. "So don't think that I took that fall because I care. Because I couldn't care less about some asshole who's treated me like nothing but crap for the last fifteen years. I took that fall because it was the logical thing to do. Now I'm done talking about this— I'm going home, don't bother speaking to me about this ever again because I won't listen."
He turned to Leslie and Alfred. "Thank you both for putting me back together."
With that, he clutched his ribs, brushed past Bruce, and walked out of the medbay.
There was a beat of silence where everyone just stared at each other, and Bruce simply kept his eyes on the empty bed.
"Oliver!" Devin suddenly called, jogging out of the room. "Wait!"
Alfred moved to start stripping the medical bed of its dirty sheets. His face seemed awfully passive, irrespective of what just happened.
"I told you your actions would catch up with you eventually, Master Bruce. Didn't I?"
* * *
So here's a nice long angsty chapter for everyone haha :))) Sorry if the story maybe seems a little slow right now, I promise it will pick up soon! (Me acting like this book isn't going to be around 50-something chapters 0-0). Anyway, I'm exhaustedddd and in desperate need of some sleep, but I figured I'd post this before passing out. Thanks for almost 25k, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!
xo Alexa