Bruce getting amnesia, but still can't shake off his fatherly instincts.
"What do you mean Bruce has amnesia?!"
Dick's voice echoed in the Batcave, hands buried in his hair as he gaped at Leslie.
"It was an incident with Killer Croc, I believe," She flipped a page on her clipboard, eyeing a scanned image of Bruce's brain. Dick had to take a sharp inhale, the information shouldn't be surprising given their line of work, but if Bruce's memory had been completely depleted—his father, mentor, best friend, leader, Batman—God, he didn't want to think about it now.
"You should go in there. Alfred has been asking for you." Leslie nodded towards the med bay.
Dick rushed over, and was taken aback when he spotted Bruce awake, sitting at the edge of the stretcher, and Alfred tirelessly attempting to put him back against the pillows.
"Master Bruce, please—"
"I need to know, are they okay? Is the boy okay?"
As soon as Dick shut the curtains, Alfred's head lifted.
"Master Dick, I am superbly glad to see you."
Bruce stopped struggling. His gaze shot at Dick, eyes wide like how it usually would whenever he was polluted with fear gas, pupils dilated in different sizes as part of the head injury, but nothing screamed terror in his face. No, something lit up.
"That's the boy."
"Yes," Alfred quickly said with a huff. "Master Dick, if I may, your father's been relentlessly asking for some 'boy'—"
"Is the boy safe?"
"He's right here, Master Bruce."
Dick was hesitant, and so was Bruce. He sided by the stretcher, where Bruce finally relaxed.
"Hey, B? Still remember me?" Dick warily asked.
"Are you okay?" Bruce kept asking.
"I am but are you okay?"
"I am, yes." He clearly wasn't. His head was bandaged, and he clearly could not stand on both legs nor even look at Dick with steady eyes. Alfred inched closer to lean into Dick's ear.
"He woke up asking this continuously. I asked if he could remember the names of his children. He could not."
"But he knows he just has them." Dick continued.
"That he does."
Bruce eyed the both of them with this certain daze, alas, he was incessant.
"How about the other ones? The girl, you said I had a daughter as well, is she okay? Where are they?"
Dick sat on the chair beside the bed. He gently took Bruce's hand, a frail attempt at comforting him.
"They're fine, B, they're coming here to see you, so don't worry."
Bruce seemed to believe him. He glanced at Dick's hands. His knuckles were wrapped in bloody bandages. He narrowed his gaze, "I don't think you're fine." He grumbled.
"I'm fine, Bruce," Dick patted his hand fondly. "I'm alright. And for the record? I'm not a boy anymore."
