Batman leaned down into the car and lifted his recently wayward son out. "Hold still," he ordered as the twenty year old struggled a bit. Bleeding all over the damn place and he still can't hold still for thirty seconds. Jesus.

"I can walk, you know," Nightwing groaned at him. Everything he had ached or, worse yet, pulsed violently with each heartbeat. There was a trace of annoyance in his voice, but if he wanted to be honest with himself he was damn glad that he didn't have to go the length of the cave under his own power. Being a fully credentialed vigilante in his own right didn't mean that he wasn't soothed simply by being cradled in his father's arms.

"You'll make it worse if you move."

"Yeah…" He dropped his head against the dark armor beside him and closed his eyes, trying to will the pain away. He didn't open them as he felt himself being lowered onto the table and covered with a blanket, nor when he heard Alfred enter the cave and inquire as to the nature of the emergency.

"Master Dick?" a gentle voice asked him. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, I'm right here," he admitted. He had seriously considered not responding so as to save himself from the questions he knew would be coming, but it seemed cruel to deepen their worry by pretending to be unconscious. "I'm okay, it's just a few nicks," he said quickly as hands that were all too familiar with this work began to undo his armor – fat lot of good that did me – and pull back his costume.

"I'm afraid I must disagree with you, sir," Alfred said evenly after a brief examination. "You appear to have…three…bullet wounds, in addition to assorted other injuries not limited to broken bones and lacerations."

"Three?" Bruce had changed with record speed and returned to the table, where he was now doing his own assessment of the younger man's injuries. "You said you were grazed twice, Dick," he accused, his voice a mixture of anger and sadness.

"Well, I guess once you've been shot twice in the same fight you just don't see much point in counting any more," the younger man half-joked through the pain.

"This is a fair bit more than a graze," Alfred intoned, putting pressure on the gaping wound in Dick's side that was causing the greatest amount of blood loss. "Had the wound been much deeper, you may not have made it back here. I am curious as to why your armor didn't protect you better; two of these wounds are in areas covered by it."

"Armor piercing bullets," Dick muttered.

"In Gotham?" Bruce said moodily. "Where are they getting them? Bludhaven?"

"Yeah. That's why I was here, in…in your territory. I've had a couple of these types of rounds in me before, and you better believe I got right to work cutting off their supply lines. There are still a few guys running around Bludhaven with armor piercers, but not many. Tonight I got wind that they were selling a load to someone in Gotham. I found out too late to stop them in Bludhaven, so I followed them here. I didn't want you to find out about them the same way I did. Those things hurt." He opened his eyes at the silence that drew out following his statement and found both of the older men staring down at him. "What?"

"You were shot and you didn't call for help?" Bruce growled.

"…We were fighting," Dick admitted, a little sheepishly.

"Master Wayne, if you would be so kind as to put pressure on this, I'll fetch Master Dick a painkiller before I begin sewing," Alfred slipped in, sensing that the other two needed a moment. "The other injuries are relatively minor, considering what you've both come back with in the past," he tried to reassure as Bruce came around the table. "I'll just be a moment, Master Dick," he added, resting his hand on the wounded man's shoulder briefly before leaving the pair alone.

"I thought about calling, I just…"

"Didn't want me to think you couldn't handle it."

"…Yeah."

He searched the bared skin in front of him for clues. "Is this one of them?" he asked, fingering a fairly fresh scar just above his collarbone.

"…Yeah. It was fine, I took care of it. Getting the bullet out was a bitch, but it healed fine."

"You didn't go to a hospital?"

"I like the circus, but the media circus can go to hell."

"You should have called, Dick."

"Like I said, we were fighting."

"That doesn't matter. That never matters. I don't care how angry you are with me, or how angry you think I am with you, don't you ever not call for help again when you need it. Especially when you've been hurt."

"Aaaaand now we're fighting again," Dick sighed, his words ending with a cough.

"We're not fighting."

"I don't get it, Bruce. I've been out on my own for three years, I cleaned up Bludhaven, I lent a hand – successfully, I might add - on a couple of JLA ventures, and you still don't think I can do this. Everybody else gets it, so why don't you?" He tried to push the older man's hand away from the wound in his side, determined to take over for himself, but was met with too much resistance. He gave up after a moment, tired from blood loss and the emotional drain of arguing again. Everything had been so great these past few hours, working together again to take down those gun runners, an even better oiled team than before. Just like old times. Now he could sense it slipping away, and the thought forced a tear to slide down his cheek.

He started a little when Bruce tenderly reached up and removed his mask, the one part of his equipment that Alfred had not bothered with. Heavy fingers swept his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead, resting there for a moment before sliding down to cup his face. Dick remembered this ritual from so many nights growing up as Robin, nights when he had been too tired or injured to deal with undressing himself. On those nights Bruce would take his mask off with the same care, would touch his skin in the same sweet manner. It had been a long time since he'd felt that caress. He had missed it. He opened his eyes and found Gotham's famed billionaire leaning over him.

"I know you can do it, Dick. I've never doubted that." The younger man gasped slightly at the admission, but Bruce continued. "But you could have died from that wound, and probably from some of the others you got while you were working by yourself. Even when I've worked alone, I've always had Alfred. If I was injured, all I had to do was get home. You had no one in Bludhaven to turn to, though; even if you had called us, we were still two hours away here. That scared me. You have no idea how much that scared me. I would read all about your exploits one day, and then there would be nothing for days, weeks sometimes, and I trembled, Dick. I shook thinking that you had been hurt in the previous fight and, having no one to help you and not wanting to call us, had gone home and…and…" He stared down at his son, willing his tears to not overflow and coming closer to failure with every second.

"I'm sorry," Dick whispered, moved by the obvious emotion in the other man's expression. "I…I really wanted to call, so many times. I did. I just…" He shook his head, angry at himself. "I just couldn't get over my own pride enough to pick up the fucking phone and do it. So stupid," he moaned, slamming his fist into the table in frustration and turning his face away in shame.

"Hush," Bruce calmed him, levering his head back up so that he could see the brilliant blue eyes that had completely captured his heart from day one. "It wasn't entirely your fault. I…I said plenty of unfair things. Untruthful things. I've spent the last three years trying to figure out why I said what I did, and I think I finally know. I should have told you how proud I was of you, I should have told you every day, but I was afraid. I thought if I told you, you would get over confident, and you would get yourself killed as a result. I should have known better; you've never been one to get a big head over compliments. I never imagined that my nightmares of losing you could get any worse than they were those last few months, when we were fighting so frequently with one another. I was so wrong, Dick. So very wrong. The things I have watched be done to you in my sleep since you left…" he shuddered, giving in to a small sob.

"Bruce," he breathed sadly, reaching up and placing his hand over those still pressing into his side. When it didn't seem to help, he spoke again. "Dad." That got his attention, all right, and Dick couldn't help but smile at the surprise on his face. He didn't think he'd ever called him that before tonight. "It wasn't your fault. I should have listened to you more. I know I was difficult. Alfred probably would have killed me himself if he'd heard some of the things I called you. The things I said." He blinked hard. "I never hated you. I know I said it, but…please, you have to know that I never really hated you. I was just-"

"A teenager," Bruce finished for him. "You were a teenager, and I should have been an adult. Even when I was out of costume, I went into Batman mode. I stopped listening to you, insisted on my way or the highway, and you chose the highway. Alfred tried to show me what I was doing, how I was smothering you, but I ignored him too. Telling you to leave was the absolute worst decision of my life. Your capabilities were so far beyond what I was letting you do, and I should have treated you as my equal, because you were, but I failed. I failed you." His voice dropped.

"You've never failed me," Dick insisted.

"I did fail you," Bruce repeated. "But I have no intention of letting it happen again. I just need to know what I can ever do to make it up to you?" His last words were a plea, begging his son to let him back into his life. "Even just a…a phone call, even if it's just once a week, just something to let me know that you're safe and happy. Just that, please?"

"I think I can do better than that," the wounded man whispered, his voice fainter than it had been when they started. "Do you think…I mean, we kicked ass tonight."

"We did," the billionaire nodded, stroking his son's cheek and looking at him worriedly. He hadn't missed how tired he sounded, and it was obvious that he'd grown pale during the course of their conversation.

"Maybe…" he paused, not sure how Bruce would take his proposition. "Maybe Batman and Nightwing could join forces more…permanently? I mean, I'm not saying that we'll never disagree again, but at least now we know how much it sucks to be so distant from each other, so it might temper our…tempers." He screwed up his nose at the clunky sentence. "You know what I mean."

"You want to come home?" Bruce asked, dumbfounded. "You would really want that?"

"…It's all I've really wanted since I left. Even when I was mad, part of me ached at not being here. Bludhaven will probably need Nightwing again sometimes, but it can deal with the day to day stuff on its own. Gotham's always been more screwed up, anyway," he laughed. "No offense."

"Bludhaven is no paradise, but it was much worse before Nightwing showed up. Don't sell yourself short. You've helped a lot of people there." He straightened, wiping his eyes clear with one hand. "I would love it, Dick. I really would. But there's something you need to know."

"What's that?"

"There's a new Robin." He saw his son's eyebrow arch, and a bolt of fear passed through him. He wouldn't be able to blame him for being upset about some unknown taking his old alter ego over, but he desperately hoped that he could get over it. The idea of Batman and Nightwing patrolling the rooftops of Gotham – and, occasionally, of Bludhaven – side by side was more than he had dared to hope for over the past thousand days, but now that the suggestion was there he knew he wouldn't be able to get over it until it happened.

"Is he good?"

"I'm still training him. He's only ten." Glancing around to make sure that Alfred was still out of earshot, he leaned close. "He's good, and he'll be even better, but – and I never told you this, remember that – he's got nothing on you."

"So I have a little brother in need of training." Dick rolled that around in his mind for a minute. Looking up to see Bruce watching him with hopefulness carefully hooded in his eyes, he grinned. "Sounds like fun. Do you think he'll like me?"

"How could he not?" Bruce murmured, something akin to joy rising in his chest.

"Here we are," Alfred broke in, injecting a painkiller smoothly. From the barely disguised grin wreathing his face, both Bruce and Dick could tell that he had heard enough to know that the duo of Batman and Nightwing would be hitting the streets of Gotham together from here on out. "I'll take that back over, Master Wayne. Why don't you take a shower in while I take care of business here?" Bending down ostensibly to adjust his patient to a more suitable position for suturing, he whispered in his ear. "Welcome home, Master Dick. You have been very sorely missed."

"Sweet dreams, son," Bruce wished, gripping his hand tightly.

"They will be, now," Dick murmured, slipping into sleep as the morphine kicked in.

Alfred was preparing to place his first stitch when he looked up to find Bruce Wayne still watching his sleeping child. "Sir?" he inquired gently.

"We got our boy back, Alfred," the billionaire said fiercely.

"Yes, Master Wayne," the butler agreed, happiness evident in his voice. "You did."