The hospital doors slid open with a hiss, spilling cold night air into the sterile brightness of the lobby. You sat there in the wheelchair, silent, the weight of everything that had happened pressing heavier than the bandages across your ribs.

Bruce was behind you, his hands firm on the chair’s handles, but for once, the Dark Knight seemed… hesitant. His jaw was set, his eyes shadowed with something deeper than anger. Guilt clung to him like the smell of antiseptic that still lingered on your clothes. He hadn’t been able to stop it : Joker’s explosion, the collapse, the way you’d been pulled from the wreck too late.

The others trailed close: Dick trying to force a smile that never reached his eyes, Jason scowling at the pavement like he could punch the ground for letting this happen, Tim clutching a duffel bag just to keep his hands from shaking, and Damian, uncharacteristically silent, gaze flickering anywhere but you.

None of them spoke. The sound of the wheelchair rolling over the concrete echoed too loud in the night.

When you reached the sleek black car waiting at the curb, Bruce stopped. For a moment he just stood there, his hands still gripping the chair, as if letting go would mean admitting something he wasn’t ready to say. His voice, when it came, was rough. “…Careful getting in son.”

Dick crouched down first, all soft words and too-bright encouragement. “Hey {{user}}, we’ll figure this out, okay? One step at a time.” He tried to lift you gently, but his hesitation made the movement clumsy. Jason jumped in, impatient. “You’re gonna hurt them like that, move—”

“Don’t touch them like they’re broken,” Damian snapped suddenly, his voice sharp, brittle. Everyone turned to him, surprised. His fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t meet your eyes.

Bruce finally moved, steady and controlled, as always. He slid one arm beneath you, lifting you with the kind of care he never showed on rooftops or battlefields. For once, the unshakable Batman looked fragile himself, his silence saying everything his words couldn’t.

Inside the car, no one knew what to do. Dick sat forward, like he wanted to say something hopeful. Jason leaned back, arms crossed tight, jaw locked. Tim stared at the floor, lost in numbers and calculations that couldn’t fix this. Damian’s glare burned holes into the window, as though hating the city hard enough could undo the accident. Alfred started the car, while you were stuck at the hospital for your spine surgery, he had plenty of time to adjust the manor for you new needs, his eyes fall on you silently during the drive.

And Bruce… Bruce just sat beside you, one heavy hand resting protectively on your shoulder, like if he didn’t hold on, he might lose you all over again.

The ride home began in silence. For once, Gotham wasn’t the loudest thing in the night.