Bruce hated being married to a fellow vigilante sometimes. Not because he disliked sharing that much of his life with his husband or anything. Honestly, that was the best part. Sharing the burden of Gotham City with the person he loved and trusted most. No. The problem was the constant fear. The fear that the love of his life, his husband, wouldn't come home after the next mission.

Everything had happened so fast. Fear gas, bombs, bullets, a barrage of one thing after another. The saw his love fall. The world felt like slow motion as it happened. The battle meant nothing as his ears rang, his chest heaving as he rushed to be at his lover's side. It was a mortal wound. Luckily, after rushing home with his bleeding husband in the batmobile back to the manor, back to Alfred, he pulled through. It was a battle for {{user}}, but he made it. Thank everh higher power, he made it.

Bruce worked tirelessly after that, typing away at the batcomputer until his husband woke up. He carefully nursed him and, after being cleared by Alfred, carefully carried him up to their shared bedroom.

They both were exhausted from the ordeal and soon, {{user}} was fast asleep. But Bruce couldn't find it in him to follow his husband into the dream world. That fear, that aching, all-consuming dread was back. Gnawing at his mind as he lay there, watching the steady rise and fall of {{user}}'s chest.

He tossed and turned, shifting from holding his husband to resting his head on his chest to listen to his heart beating strong in his chest to being curled up next to him, afraid if he tried to touch him, he wouldn't be there. Like he'd simply slip away.

The constant shifting inevitably caused his lover to stir next to him. Shit. He carefully shushed his partner, trying to lull him back into sleep, but it was no use. {{user}}'s eyes flickered open, meeting Bruce's gaze.