#the waynes collectively being the most chaotic family ever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bubblyani · 4 years

Text

Bail Out: 06

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne Multi Chapter Series

Chapter 06: The Wall

Summary: One fateful, drunken night gets you arrested for assault. However, once you get bailed out by Billionaire Socialite Bruce Wayne, surprising obstacles get in the way, forcing you to question all your choices in life, career, and in love.

Word Count: 5400+

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Violence

Author’s Note: Another challenging chapter but it was quite an experience indeed. Hope the wait was worth it. Enjoy!

CHAPTER LIST

Never were you so reluctant, to hear your own name being called out loud. Never ever. No one would, when it was simply an invitation to one’s own funeral.

A constant ringing noise lingering in your ears was a horrifying reminder of the gunshots that were fired rapidly and generously before, threatening and murderous at the same time. The noise questioned your sanity as you heard your own breathing in slow motion for a few seconds. However, time and speed returned to normal the moment his piercing voice called out for you for the second time. That voice, which were the bells of death in your heart.

“I KNOW YOU’RE HERE!”

Slender yelled, his voice and expression displaying equal forms of madness. Truthfully , his attitude tonight surprised you. Being the calm and collected assassin he was the last time, he certainly was expressive in access. Quiet as a mouse amongst the buzz and worried chatter of the crowd, you prayed his patience would run thin and hopefully give up.

“Playing quiet, am I right??” He began, with a slight amusement, “Well, suit yourself cause...If you don’t give yourself up now...I think I’ll take down everyone here until you do...” he added, “...one...at a time...”

His menacing decisiveness brought fear to the crowd, including yourself. It was fast as being splashed by a bucket of cold water. Speechless, you prayed for a mental reflex action. Looking at everyone, you saw the young folk holding onto each other. Their loved ones, their friends, their humanity. Being a woman of your position, you bore the responsibility for the well being of an entire work force in a billion dollar enterprise. Therefore, these strangers should not be treated any different. Even as a citizen, shouldn’t responsibility of life be of importance to you as well?

“NO?”

Slender inquired, effortlessly raising his gun, “Well...”he said, pointing at the crowd, his finger resting on the trigger, “...then you leave me no choice-”

“WAIT! WAIT!!!”

You heard yourself yell for your life, cutting him off. With both your hands raised up, you slowly rose up from the crowd, “It’s me! I’m here I’m here!” Your voice may have been loud, yet the control was evident, “No need to go that far...I’m here!”

With your hood pulled down, you took careful steps to walk towards Slender. A low groaning sound crept in to your ears out of nowhere as you walked. The closer you got to Slender, the clearer his appearance became.

Seemingly a young hispanic, subtle freckles filled his face while his head was home to curly black hair, tied up in a tight ponytail. If it were not for his black leather long coat and eye liner, he would have taken resemblance of an amiable youngster in a gentrified neighborhood. As you finally stood within his reach, you were prepared for a reaction. Except he surprised you, as he looked you up and down with utter confusion.

“Almost didn’t recognize you without your work clothes…” he remarked with genuine curiosity. Looking down at your attire, you sighed with relief. Suppose curiousity does not indeed discriminate amongst the good and the bad. The mysterious groaning emerged once again, hinting to be coming from close by, which confused you.

“Yeah, I get that a lot” you said, with a shrug, surprised by your relaxed attitude, “This makes me look younger apparently-Look!”raising your voice slightly, you finally captured his attention “ Now you’ve finally got me…” you continued, “Can you PLEASE…PLEASE let the others go? But most importantly…” taking a deep breath, you added, “…can you please…let me help that old lady out?”

You said, motioning your head towards your right. Slender turned to his left to see a female figure that lay face down a few feet away from you. Given the gray hair, attire and the wooden cane, you easily guessed where those mysterious groaning sounds came from.

“She seems to be hurt…” You said calmly, “Let me just take her over to the crowd…” you paused, “And then I’m all yours…But only if you promise to let them all go…” you demanded.

Your hands remained raised up high, it started to hurt. But you chose to keep it so in order to gain his trust. You wondered if you had to go further in order to do so, only to find him nod slightly.

“Fine…” His answer was quicker than expected. Relieved, you felt his gaze on you as you tip toed over to the woman. With shoulder length gray hair, the woman remained crouched, thus identifying her proved to be difficult. However, the tired groans continued.

“Ma’am?” You addressed softly, kneeling right next to her, “Here, let’s get you up, okay?” You said, slowly holding her by the shoulders. They seemed stronger than expected.

“T-thank you” her shaky, aged voice uttered, as she began to kneel alongside you. Leaning forward, you hoped to take a good look at her for any injuries, for not seeing her face made you more curious.

“That’s it...” You said, “…there we g-What?”

Your eyes widened upon what you just witnessed. It was no old woman. Frankly it was no woman at all. All you saw was pitch black. A sudden kick on your shin, caused you to land hard on you back with a yelp.

“Ow!!” Grunting in pain, you opened your eyes, “Ah-”

Gasps left you the moment the figure hovered, grabbing you firmly by the neck to hold you in place. With one hand, it skillfully pushed off the gray wig, and unbuttoned the baby pink coat, only to reveal it sporting black military gear and black chest armor. But what caused your pulse to race, was indeed the black skull mask it wore on its face. If Slender’s voice was the ring of death, this figure simply was the living embodiment of it.

“You got her, Alpha?”

Slender’s voice emerged, forcingyour eyes to wander. He stood next to the figure with a knowing smile on his face. All the sudden, he was not the raged maniac he was a few minutes earlier. The calm and controlled persona you remembered was finally back.

“Yes…it was so easy”

Alpha replied, the voice seemingly modulated through a voice changer. It was deep, unrecognizable and horrific. Before you could even begin to question, the leather grip on your neck began to tighten, you were being chocked.

“Who?-what?-why are the-?” breathlessly, you struggled with many questions.

“The more you try to talk, the harder it’s going to be for you...” Alpha answered calmly, proceeding to strangle you, “…not that I should care...” it said, shrugging with amusement, “Now…let’s see here…” it said, taking out an old phone from it’s pocket.

You squinted, when Alpha captured a photo of you, blinding you with its light. “Sorry about the flash…” Alpha said, casually apologetic whilst handing the phone to Slender, “but makes a convincing crime photo, ya know?”

You wished to reply, but how could you when its grip tightened even further. Holding its hands with your own, you made desperate attempts to take in as many breaths as possible. However, the warning signals your mind issued suddenly were pretty imminent. The signals literally begged you for one requirement only: air. It seemed pathetic when you could hear nothing but your own ghastly attempts to maintain a steady airflow when barriers are being set. Strange, how you heard nothing else. No screams of panic. Before you could even question, it was already answered when your eyes widened with shock. Every single person held hostage, all appeared slowly within your eye line, surrounding you, providing a human frame to your view of the Gotham sky that you were forced to stare at. Wearing blank expressions, not a trace of fear nor surprise was instilled in any of their faces, as they all stood there, watching you struggle for your life. Even the young man who was shot earlier, stood bloody without a single cry of pain. What was going on?

Overwhelmed, your body began to panic even more as you kicked your legs in desperation. In a hypothetical situation such as this, it was expected of the protagonist to be defeated in a loud and chaotic instance. But in reality, it was purely silent filled with your own desperate attempts to cry for help. Your vision began to blur out slow, could this finally be the end?? The more it was understood, the more you realized all that you regretted. You regretted not calling your family often. If only you made one single call to them tonight. You regretted not hugging your mother enough, for even if you were a grown woman, you were still her little girl. Loudly gasping for air, you regretted not telling your friends and coworkers of your constant appreciation. Ali, Lillian, you wished you told them how they were like your family.

You regretted not living the life you should have lived, when you felt the final remnants of your air exiting your lips.

Until the sound of a Heavy Explosion reached your ears.

“SHIT!”

Slender yelled. The surprising effect forced Alpha to loosen its grip on you. Looking around, the crowd began to buzz with curiosity and gasp upon what they witnessed. Arming himself with his machine gun, Slender began fire to his right, a bullet rain possibly pouring down. Turning to your left, you were grateful as the crowd parted as you saw the bullets hit a certain humongous, black vehicle. Silence finally took over as the bullets finally ran out and the vehicle remained unaffected. All that everyone could do was to look around.

But not when Slender jolted as a sharp black throwing star hit him in the thigh.

“Alpha! IT’S HIM!!” Slender cried out in pain.

Him? For a moment you could only pray for that to be the one you expected, your savior. And as you found a dark familiar figure gliding from one building to the other across your eye line, a sense of safety came over you. It truly was him: Batman. No! Bruce Wayne, your heart cried out.

Like a swarm of bats, the crowd began to disperse in an instant, causing massive confusion to anyone who laid eyes on the street. You managed to catch the sight of Slender pulling out his exotic sword before charging towards Batman. Regaining air to breath, you hoped Alpha was intimidated enough by the entire scenery to be distracted. However, the moment you felt yourself being gripped tightly once again, it was evident it was not done with you yet. Smothered by its leather fingers digging in your flesh, you let out shaky gasps in sheer desperation, for the strangulation grew stronger and more aggressive. Moving your body in every way possible, you faced your biggest struggle. All the while you tried your hardest to look out for the caped crusader, who was in a heated battle. However, from what could be seen, Batman seemed to be winning.

“I didn’t want to do this but-”

Alpha’s voice made you shift your eyes back, as you found it taking out a small knife. Your heart sank. Could it be a possible surprise attack at Batman?

It was not. Instead, you felt it pull out your right arm, only to slash your inner wrist with much force. Before you could yell out, Alpha’s hands reunited with your neck, exerting much pressure on its grip, suffocating you while you were forced to watch blood spray out of your own hand like a garden sprinkler.

“LET HER GO!”

You heard Batman bellow. And as soon as an excruciatingly painful cry exited Slender, Alpha looked behind, only to disappear within a huge puff of grey smoke before Batman could even reach it. With Slender defeated, and Alpha gone, the street was quiet once again. Except all was not well. Especially when you began to question your pulse and the rest of your blood flow.

“YOU OKAY???”

Batman growled, appearing before you within lightning speed. His growl was desperate. Gripping your wrist, his palm pressed on it tightly in order to stop the bleeding. However, you wondered if it was too late. There was barely any form of life within you.

“Ba-” you began weakly, “Bat….” you inhaled with difficulty.

“SAY SOMETHING!” He cried out.

Suddenly all appeared darker than usual. The loss of air and the loss of blood certainly was taking a toll of you. Yet, through his black mask, you managed to trace out his eyes, those beautiful hazel green eyes, reminding you of the love you possessed for the man who owned them in the first place.

“M-Mr. Wayne...I-” You breathed softly. The moment those words exited, you realized your other biggest regret: Not telling Bruce Wayne how you truly felt about him.

Amidst his cries of your name, you found yourself being swallowed in to the black hole of life, where nothing was seen nor heard.

You were dying, you knew it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You may have been slow dancing with death earlier, but as it turned out, not anymore.

With your eyes fluttering open, you felt yourself inhale gently, slowly becoming aware of the presence of your entire being once again. The night sky did not greet you, but a beautiful high ceiling instead. The surroundings were exquisite and familiar. The mattress that kept you rested definitely proved itself to be the best mattress you have ever laid on. It was definitely the Wayne Penthouse.

Stirring slowly, you were surprised to have enough energy to sit up. Involuntarily drinking in the beauty and class, your heart felt alive the moment you turned to find Bruce Wayne to your left.

Sitting on the floor by the gigantic windows, he remained in his Bat Suit, with his cowl in hand, staring at the Gotham skyline. To find him in this position was certainly was a sight to see.

“Hey…”

You breathed. Though you were soft, he managed to hear you, turning to you in a flash.  

“Are you alright?” He inquired, to which you nodded gently. “Yeah...think I blacked out over there”, you answered shyly, rubbing your neck with your left hand. Finally you were aware of the immense pain that was inflicted in the neck muscles and your throat, bringing back the horrid memories for a millisecond. And as you bowed your head down, you finally caught the sight of your right hand, falling victim to injury once again as the wrist was bandaged, “ I must have been a mess huh?” You inquired in return.

“Certainly wasn’t what Alfred expected when I brought a girl home…” Bruce said. You chuckled.

“Poor Alfred” you murmured, getting up slowly. The image of Wayne bringing back a bleeding woman to the penthouse must have been horrifying.

“How did you know?”

You froze at his inquiry. You were no fool. It was evident what he really meant. Clearly it was justified for him to wonder how on earth you were certain to address him by his real identity in the time of crisis. Truthfully, it could not be helped, for death awaited you. Bruce did not sound cross. Taking a deep breath, you shyly took steps towards him. As your feet grazed from the fur rug to the polished cool tiles, your hands tied behind your back for you were deep in thought.

“Remember when that guy broke your mask?” You asked, forcing him to look at you with slightly wide eyes. “I thought I told you to go…” Bruce said with concern. “You did...” You answered quickly, “and I did leave…but” paused, you looked down,”Not exactly”. Still looking down embarrassingly, you drew circles on the floor with your big toe, “ I wanted to help, so I called the cops...” you said, “I-I didn’t mean to see it happen...it just ...it happened, I guess” you added softly. Chuckling softly with amusement, Bruce turned to the window once again, “It must have been a surprise” “Oh...” you began with a laugh , “…the biggest one so far, for sure...” You assured. Silence comfortable took over whilst you sat next to him with your legs crossed. The chill of the floor penetrating through your leggings. Revealing one’s secret identity in a position such as his, never was a safe move. You were compelled to provide some assurance. No one asked you. But you knew it was necessary. “Do you know what they call me at work?” You found yourself inquiring all the sudden. Bruce looked at you. “The Bruiser?” Shaking your head, you chuckled. “Now you’re being predictable...” You teased, bringing him over to chuckle town, “no…apparently…” your laughter vanished, “…they call me ‘The Wall’…Heh! Lillian told me that” You added. Though your eyes admired the view from the window, you managed to catch him watch you with curiosity. “Cause no matter what they disclose, it doesn’t go anywhere through me” you declared, “as if I’m the safest place anyone’s secret could ever be…”. You turned back to him, giving a reassuring smile, “…the same goes for you too, Batman”

Nodding mutually, you both resumed to watch the night sky. Whether your speech amused him or comforted him, you did not know. As long it protected his conscience, you did not care.

“But now that I think of it…” you began “…you bring a whole new meaning to an All Nighter, huh?” You jested, watching Bruce guffaw all the sudden. The more you laughed alongside him, the more it came to your realization as to how much you relished it. But as you began cough in effect, your laughter died down. The pain is your neck resurfaced once again. The smell of those leather gloves haunted you. And the moment you caught Wayne’s eyes, you could sense guilt and anger living in them.

“Who the hell was that ??” You breathed, referring to the incident earlier. “Possibly a group of assassins hired by Henderson” Bruce stated, “And that includes the two previous attacks” “That’s what Officer Blake told me” You added, to which he nodded “Do you know who they are?” You inquired curiously, still rubbing your neck. “No…” You were speechless. That answer was definitely a surprise, even from Batman, “ ...there’s nothing specific to tie them to any group” He said, “…they seem to appear completely anonymous” “The leader…” You said, bringing your knees to your chest, “…He was called Alpha or something....” “A temporary name to communicate, perhaps…” Bruce said, looking down at his cowl “I’ve never seen anyone like this before...” Given his genuine concern, You knew he was being truthful. With all the any villains he has faced, this certainly was a first. Sighing, you found yourself rocking back and forth. “Everything was just orchestrated so well...”you said, scoffing “…even the people seemed to have been planted ” you shook your head, “all that...just to kill me?” You inquired yourself, completely in disbelief. “Angering Henderson doesn’t really help anyone...” You heard Bruce reply, “I knew that well...”

“What do you mean?” You asked, as he kept his cowl on the ground and leaned against one of the sofa chairs.

“According to Gotham’s underworld, whenever they got a ‘clean up' job from Henderson, they knew someone has pissed him off…” He said. “Shit...” you breathed. Embarrassment sprayed over you as you covered your face with your hands. “The moment he didn’t press charges, I knew something was up” Bruce added. You looked at him. “So.. you knew” you muttered in amazement, “hehe…no wonder you were there every time. But…” you paused, “ …you didn’t know where I was...” You said with confusion. Bruce smiled softly, the smile that warmed your heart every time. “Guess I had to find ways to keep an eye on you...” he said. Those words, they held you by the hand, leading you to a road of memories that lived deep in your thoughts wondering. “The Black Box...” you began, raising your index finger, “…was that-” “A tracker? Yes” Bruce said, completing your sentence.

And with your eyes on a constant wide stance, you were in complete surprise when Bruce Wayne played storyteller without any hesitation. Answering questions that were not even asked, leaving nothing behind for it was evident you deserved an explanation. Your jaw dropped.

“So that means..” you began seriously, rousing his curiosity, “... at the Charity Ball, you didn’t have to tinkle…Hehe! Stalker…” you said cheekily, making him chuckle. “I was not-” “I’m kidding…” You assured him, “I’m not mad, really” you kept chuckling, “…not especially when you trying your hardest to save my life...” You said, the chuckles disappearing soon after. It was true. Why would someone as powerful as Bruce Wayne, bother looking out for someone such as yourself? That was when that poor heart of yours began to nudge you, poked at you to remind you of a matter of importance. A matter that would help you clean out a compartment of your heart and be done with it. Turning to him, you began: “Mr. Wayne-” “Bruce...” Gently, he cut you off, “just…Bruce...Please” “Bruce…” You uttered, after a deep breath. Funny how it seemed so challenging to address someone by their first name. But the moment you said, it seemed as effortless as feeling a gentle breeze leave your lips. “Tonight...” you said, “I was closer to death than I had ever been...” you breathed in deeply, “Truthfully I almost died, so that counts,” you added, feeling your neck and your wrist, “And I will regret with every inch of my body if I didn’t tell you this...” Why did facing death seem easier than this very moment? This very moment, was more horrifying than any test or any interview. With your pulse on high speed, you looked down. You stared at your hands that were on a wrestling match of their own. Slowly, you were compelled to take several breaths. “You okay?” You heard him utter with concern. “Yep! yep! I’m good” nonchalantly, you answered without looking up, “ I just-”

Exhaling deeply, your shoulders hunched up before slowly looking up. Surprised you were to find his amused face staring at yours, as if you were a child attempting to confess stealing a candy bar. You smile shyly with tight lips. Guess it was now or never.

“Ever since the day I met you…” you began, with your legs crossed once more, “I-I…” you chuckled, “ I couldn’t help but feel…things for you”, taking another breath, you continued, “I liked you…I-” pausing, you smiled, “I still like you…very much. I couldn’t help it, especially when you were completely not what I expected from Bruce Wayne. The way you were with me, all the time…I-” chuckling once again, “You know, Batman may be the hero to everyone…but” you said, nodding, “I would chose Bruce Wayne over Batman any day…” you said, looking straight into his eyes, “Because you were my hero…my hero without the mask”

With the weight finally off your shoulders, you quickly looked down in embarrassment. “That’s it! That’s all I wanted to say. I-”

You were interrupted the moment you felt him grab your right hand. A touch of spring was birthed in your body that reeked of winter. Bruce gazed at your hand with focus, for it was the hand that punched Henderson, the hand that bled. You would be lying if you did not acknowledge the chills that traveled down your spine when his thumb ran over your hand.

“Alfred...he...” Bruce began, “…he asked me…why I was so concerned over someone who punched Henderson in the name of Wayne”

“Exactly...”you said, smiling, “Why would you?” You inquired softly. The manner in which his eyes caught yourself, urged you it was no laughing matter.

“Cause that night… I didn’t see The Bruiser…” he said, “…I saw you” he added, “My very own savior” he breathed.

Suddenly the circus made its victorious return to your stomach, its power strong enough to expand to your heart. Those hazel green eyes confirmed the seriousness of his words, causing your heart to dash into an eternal sprint.

“And every time I met you, I couldn’t help but feel protective…” he said, “…or even...something more...” He added, “...something to hope for”

Those words were akin to warm honey to your ears. Disbelief was all you could be. And all this time, you were blaming yourself for feeling all this by your lonesome. The circus fueled you, and you were ready to fly over to the top of the world. At that moment, nothing else was of importance.

“But it’s just impossible...”

You froze upon those words. Suddenly you felt yourself trip from the peak, tumbling down thousands of feet. Patience and concern clouded you as he let go of your hand.

“What?” You said, “What do you mean?” Squatting worriedly as you continued. However, the moment you inquired, it was easily answered. Putting one’s loved ones in danger, seeing them suffer. Your incident clearly proved it all. Looking down, Bruce turned to his cowl.

“Men like me...” He began, “We just don’t get the luxury,....”

The luxury to be a free man, the luxury to love without boundaries and worry. They were the most luxurious indeed. On any other day, you would willfully empathize and understand this opinion. But tonight, you were tired. You were exhausted in every possible way. Your mind had finally decided to take a break while your heart took over. Scoffing softly, you shook your head.

“There’s no such thing...” You said in refusal. For your heart did not agree. You simply could not accept. Bruce chuckled.

“In whose world?” He asked. You swore, the sprint in your heart skipped to an extra mile.

“In mine...”

You breathed, voice almost breaking as you did so. For that was when you believed in it so deeply. And before you knew it, you found yourself doing the unthinkable, which you only dared to imagine in the deepest corners of your heart.

Kneeling, you moved towards him. Balancing yourself with one hand on the floor, you managed to wipe the loose strands of hair from his face, his beautiful face. All the while you studied it closely. Those captivating eyes of his, they exuded exhaustion, they exuded pain. Your fingertips bravely grazed his cheek, inciting shaky breaths between one another, all before you dared to press your quivering lips against his own for a kiss. Finally.

When you kissed him, it was gentle, akin to pressing one’s lips against velvet. You made sure all your love, all that was sincere and appreciative were included. Suppressing your greed, you provided yourself with only a few seconds. Pulling away, you pressed your lips, hoping to seal this kiss forever. Pulling away, your eyes was in a dire attempt to express the same. For you knew, you would regret for the rest of your existence if you did not. For regrets were what you did not wish to keep with you.

But when you felt Bruce pull you back by the waist, settling his hungry lips on yours, it was clear he did not wish to regret either.

Bruce Wayne was certainly tired of the torturous waiting, and his kiss translated it perfectly. Without a doubt, you could heartily empathize. With your weight on him, you managed to put your hands on his shoulders, only to wrap them tightly around his neck whilst straddling him with ease.

For a moment you wished this kiss had a better backdrop. If only he could have kissed you in your beautiful, white dress. You wished to be the lonesome beauty standing on the hotel balcony, only to find him rushing over to you breathlessly, pouring his heart out in confession, kissing you with passion. What a sight would it have been, especially with his hands roaming over your curves, feeling the softness of the silk dress, while the pleasing sounds of the water fountain below infuse with the jazz piano inside.

But then again, the reality brought the comfort you never expected. The reality that both of you had shared tonight. First kisses do not exactly magically spawn on the most climactic points of anyone’s lives. It could unexpectedly spawn on the most random moments. Most importantly, on the moments you chose to have it. With you in your leggings and hoodie, and him in his bat suit, both tired and convincingly injured, in the most intimate moment whilst tearing each other’s barriers down, taking the opportunity to display each other’s affection, all in each other’s privacy. Truthfully, the reality was certainly more perfect than any fantasy imagined.

Bruce kissed you long, yet they were sweet. With you in his arms, you felt treasured, for his touch was gentle. As if you were a porcelain doll. His lips may have been desperate, but his touch proved his empathy to your body’s current weak state. And it certainly strengthened your greed for him even more. His kisses intoxicated you, to the point they could be your home for eternity. But the sudden ring of your phone proved otherwise. Pulling away with a groan, you dug into your hoodie pocket.

“Ali?” You answered breathlessly, frustrated to part from his lips. Especially when he watched you, panting.

“Sweetie? You okay?” Ali called with concern: “You’ve been gone for longer than an hour…And I was starting to freak out-”

“Ali! Ali…I fine…” you cut her off, “really…” you chuckled. The fact you still remained comfortable in Bruce’s lap suddenly caused you embarrassment. Mouthing an apology to him, you attempted to get off during the call. But his iron grip on your waist, kept you firmly in place. You blushed instantly. His look of desperation could easily be translated to his fear of losing you somehow, or even to his fear of never indulging in your touch ever again. You did not blame him. The wait all this time was equally cruel for the both of you.

“I’m fine. I just had a detour, that’s all” you told her, “In fact, I’m perfectly safe…safer than ever actually” you added, eyes desperately holding on to his. Deliberately lost in his gaze, you admitted they were dangerous magnets, along with those lips of his that you were tempted to revisit always.

“Sweetie, you’re being very dramatic, you okay?”

“Huh?” You said, awakened by Ali’s inquiry. Clearing your throat, you continued, “Yeah I am, I’ll see ya later, okay? Bye! ”

Hanging up, you sighed, looking down shyly as you put your phone back.

“I should get you home…” Bruce muttered deeply, to which you shook your head quickly.

“No! it’s okay…” You said, “You need rest…” Stressing it, you added,“I’ll get a cab-”

You were instantly silenced the moment he cupped your face. And it was no issue at all. For his touch had power over you. Great power.

“At least…” he began, “…let Alfred drop you…” “Of course…”

Before he released you from his touch, you were tempted to kiss him once more. And you did, ever so gently. And your heart ignited with a gentle flame the moment he reciprocated eagerly.

“Now…” you began, as you got up, “…as much as you look real sexy in that…” You said, pointing at his Bat Suit, to which you both chuckled, “you should still freshen up…”you advised, “…get some sleep…”

Smiling warmly, he nodded in agreement. When you smiled back, your liberated emotions finally managed to reflect through your gaze, finally. After all this time. “Goodnight, Bruce ” “Goodnight...”

A greeting that finally contained true emotion. For it was true. You truly wished him safety, you truly wished him a well deserved rest. You truly wished him peace. For now you knew, and he knew that you knew.

You could not stop smiling as Alfred Pennyworth walked you to the Rolls Royce.

“I know I’m asking for a lot but…” you began, “… could you make sure Bruce gets some rest tonight?” You said, looking at the elder man. 

“Not at all, Miss”Alfred answered warmly, opening the passenger door, “I’m happy to oblige, for Master Wayne’s sake”

A shared understanding between the two of you brought you relief, as you got into the car, ready to head on home.

“Oh! Alfred…I need a favor...” You said, as he started the vehicle.

“Yes, Miss?”

“Do you mind if we stop by an ATM?”

——————————————————

Chapter 7 HERE!

Tagged: @tealaquinn @ladyerina @kittenlittle24 @wholesumm @everyday-imfangirling @depressed-comrad @works-of-fanfiction @bale-is-a-babe @badsext @maddistyles17 @truly-insatiable @gooseyhouse @artsymaddie @quarterback-5 @mamooska8 @strangerliaa @jensen-impala @lilyofthesword @woodencupcake @fonduebitches @soullesstaco @spicybellinger

Lemme know if you wanna get tagged.

Check My MASTERLIST for More :)

#christian bale #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bale!bruce wayne #bale! bruce wayne x reader #batman #the dark knight #the dark knight rises #nolans batman #batman begins #Bail Out #chapter 6

159 notes · View notes

anhed-nia · 4 years

Text

BLOGTOBER 10/7/2020

I missed THE GOLDEN GLOVE at Fantastic Fest last year. It was one of my only regrets of the whole experience, but it was basically mandatory since the available screenings were opposite the much-hyped PARASITE. As annoying as that sounds, it was actually a major compliment, since what could possibly serve as a consolation prize for the most hotly anticipated movie of the year? Needless to say, I heard great things, but I could never have imagined what it was actually like. I'm still wrapping my mind around it.

Between 1970 and 1975, an exceptionally depraved serial killer named Fritz Honka murdered at least four prostitutes in Hamburg's red light district. Today, we tend to think of the archetypal serial killer in terms of ironic contradictions: The public is attracted by Ted Bundy's dashing looks and suave manner, and John Wayne Gayce's dual careers as politician and party clown. Lacking anything so remarkable, we associate psychopathy with Norman Bates' boy-next-door charm, and repeat "It's always the quiet ones" with a smirk whenever a new Jeffrey Dahmer or Dennis Nilsen is exposed to the public. The popular conception of a bloodthirsty maniac is not the fairytale monster of yore, but a wolf in sheep's clothing, whose hygienic appearance and lifestyle belie his twisted desires. In our post-everything world, the ironic surprise has become the rule. In this light, THE GOLDEN GLOVE represents a refreshing return to naked truth.

To say that writer-director Fatih Akin's version of the Fritz Honka story is shocking, repulsive, and utterly degenerated would be a gross understatement. We first meet the killer frantically trying to dispose of a corpse in his filthy flat, wallpapered with porno pinups, strewn with broken toys, and virtually projecting smell lines off of the screen. One's sense of embodiment is oppressive, even claustrophobic, as the petite Honka tries and fails to collapse the full dead weight of a human corpse into a garbage bag, before giving up and dismembering it, with nearly equal difficulty. The scene is appalling, utterly debased, and yet nothing is as shocking as the killer's visage. When he finally turns to look into the camera, it's hard to believe he's even human: the rolling glass eye, the smashed and inflated nose, the tombstone teeth and cratered skin, are almost too extreme to bear. Actually, suffering from a touch of facial blindness, I had to stare intently at Honka's face for nearly half the movie before I could fully convince myself that I was, in fact, looking at an elaborate prosthetic operation used to transform 23 year old boy band candidate Jonas Dassler into the disfigured 35 year old serial murderer.

Though West Germany remained on a steady economic upturn beginning in the 1950s and throughout the 1970s, you wouldn't know it from THE GOLDEN GLOVE. If Honka's outsides match his insides, they are further matched by his stomping grounds in the Reeperbahn, a dirty, violent, booze-soaked repository for the dregs of humanity. Though its denizens may come from different walks of life, one thing is certain: Whoever winds up there, belongs there. Honka was the child of a communist and grew up in a concentration camp, yet he swills vodka side by side with an ex-SS officer, among other societal rejects, in a crumbling dive called The Golden Glove. The scene is an excellent source of hopeless prostitutes at the end of their career, who are Honka's prime victims, as he is too frightful-looking to ensnare an attractive young girl. These pitiful women all display a peculiarly hypnotic willingness to go along with Honka, no matter how sadistic he becomes; this seems to have less to do with money, which rarely comes up, and more to do with their shared awareness that for them, and for Honka too, it's been all over, for a long time.

Not to reduce someone’s performance to their physical appearance, but ???

To call Dassler's portrayal of Honka "sympathetic" would be a bridge too far, but it is undeniably compelling. He supports the startling impact of his facial prostheses with a performance of rare intensity, a full-body transformation into a person in so much pain that a normal life will never become an option. His physical vocabulary reminded me of the stage version of The Elephant Man, in which the lead actor wears no makeup, but conveys John Merrick's deformities using his body alone. Although there is an abundance of makeup in THE GOLDEN GLOVE, Dassler's silhouette and agonized movements would be recognizable from a mile away. In spite of his near-constant screaming rage, the actor manages to craft a rich and convincing persona. During a chapter in which Honka experiments with sobriety, we find a stunning image of him hunched in the corner of his ordinarily chaotic flat, now deathly still, his eyes gazing at nothing as cigarette smoke seeps from his pores, having no idea what to do with himself when he isn't in a rolling alcoholic rampage. The moment is brief but haunting in its contrast to the rest of the film, having everything to do with Dassler's quietly vibrating anxiety.

Performances are roundly excellent here, not that least of which are from Honka's victims. The cast of middle-aged actresses looking their most disastrous is hugely responsible for the film's impact. These are the kinds of performances people call "brave", which is a euphemism for making audiences uncomfortable with an uncompromising presentation of one's own self, unvarnished by any masturbatory solicitation. Among these women is Margarete Tiesel, herself no stranger to difficult cinema: She was the star of 2012's PARADISE: LOVE, a harrowing drama about a woman who copes with her midlife crisis by pursuing sex tourism in Kenya. Her brilliant, instinctive performance as one of Honka's only survivors--though she nearly meets a fate worse than death--makes her the leading lady of a movie that was never meant to have one.

So, what does all this unpleasantness add up to, you might be asking? It's hard to say. THE GOLDEN GLOVE is a film of enormous power, but it can be difficult to explain what the point of it is, in a world where most people feel that the purpose of art is to produce some form of pleasure. This is the challenge faced by difficult movies throughout history, like THE GOLDEN GLOVE's obvious ancestors, HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER, MANIAC and THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE. Describing unremitting cruelty with relentless realism is not considered a worthy endeavor by many, even if there is real artistry in your execution; some people will even mistake you for advocating and enjoying violence and despair, as we live in a world where huge amount of movie and TV production is devoted to aspirational subjects. (The fact that people won't turn away from the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies, no matter how monotonous and condescending they become, should tell you something) How do you justify to such people, that you want to make or see work that portrays ugliness and evil with as much commitment as other movies seek to portray love, beauty, and family values? Why isn't it enough to say that these things exist, and their existence alone makes them worth contemplation?

A rare, perhaps exclusive “beautiful image” in THE GOLDEN GLOVE, from Fritz Honka’s absurd fantasies.

You may detect that I have attempted to have this frustrating conversation with many people, strangers, enemies, and friends I love and respect. I find that for some, it is simply too hard to divorce themselves from the pleasure principle. I don't say this to demean them; some hold the philosophy that art be reserved for beauty, and others have a more literary feeling that it's ok to show characters in grim circumstances, as long as the ultimate goal is to uplift the human spirit. Even I draw the line somewhere; I appreciate the punk rebellion of Troma movies as a cultural force, but I do not enjoy watching them, because I dislike what I perceive as contempt for the audience and the aestheticization of laziness--making something shitty more or less on purpose. A step or three up from that, you land in Todd Solondz territory, where you find materially gorgeous movies whose explicit statement is that our collective reverence for a quality called "humanity" is based on nothing. I like some of those movies, and sometimes I even like them when I don't like them, because I'm entranced by Solondz's technical proficiency...and maybe, deep down, I'm not completely convinced about "humanity", either. However, I don't fight very hard in arguments about him; I understand the objections. Still, I've been surprised by peers who I think of as bright and tasteful, who absolutely hated movies I thought were unassailable, like OLDBOY and WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN. In both cases, the ultimate objection was that they accuse humans of being pretentious and self-deceptive, aspiring to heroism or bemoaning their victimhood while wallowing in their own cowardice and perversity. Ok, I get it...but, not really. Why isn't it ever wholly acceptable to discuss, honestly, what we do not like about ourselves?

The beguiling thing about THE GOLDEN GLOVE is that, although it is instantly horrifying, is it also an impeccable production. The director can't help showing you crime scene photos during the ending credits, and I can't really blame him, when his crew worked so hard to bring us a vision of Fritz Honka's world that approaches virtual reality. But it isn't just slavishly realistic; it is vivid, immersive, an experience of total sensory overload. Not a square inch of this movie has been left to chance, and the product of all this graceful control is totally spellbinding. I started to think to myself that, when you've achieved this level of artifice, what really differentiates a movie like THE GOLDEN GLOVE from something like THE RED SHOES? I mean, aside from their obvious narrative differences. Both films plunge the viewer into a world that is complete beyond imagination, crafted with a rigor and sincerity that is rarely paralleled. And, I will dare to say, both films penetrate to the depths of the human soul. What Fatih Akin finds there is not the same as what Powell and Pressburger found, of course, but I don't think that makes it any less real. Akin's film is adapted from a novel by Heinz Strunk, and apparently, some critics have accused Akin of leaving behind the depth and nuance of the book, to focus instead on all that is gruesome about it. This may be true, on some level; I wouldn't know. For now, I can only insist that on watching THE GOLDEN GLOVE, for all its grotesquerie, I still got the message.

#blogtober #2020 #the golden glove #fatih akın #heinz stronk #jonas dassler #margarete tiesel #difficult cinema #horror #slasher #serial killer #period piece #adaptation #historical #biopic #fritz honka #i may have been watching a lot of powell and pressburger movies recently #sorry...

23 notes · View notes

mary-macdonald · 4 years

Photo

“ With everything that has happened to you, you can either feel sorry for yourself or treat what has happened as a gift. Everything is either an opportunity to grow or an obstacle to keep you from growing. You get to choose. ” — Wayne Dyer

nickname→ mare bear, mar, mary current age → twenty faceclaim → sydney park birthday → march fourteenth, nineteen-sixty alliance → order of the phoenix occupation→ bartender / aspiring social worker

— she has been described as ;

+ hardworking, magnanimous, insightful - overprotective, headstrong, anxious

— biography ; tw violence, tw death

Siobhan and Thomas had nothing very exceptional to their name, small town farmers, yet they felt truly blessed. They made a home and shared it in their own way. Instead of choosing to start a "traditional” family, they opened their home to children from all walks of life through the local foster care system. While the MacDonalds left a mark on almost a dozen of foster kids, four of those kids found their forever home. Liam and Kayleigh made a strong impression, twins in their terrible twos and Siobhan knew she couldn’t give them up to another family for adoption. Hercules came into the chaotic home a few years later, an intelligent and somewhat awkward preteen. Mary had bounced around foster homes since she was two weeks old. Left at the church by her biological parents, she never had a home. At least, not until she found herself at the MacDonald’s farm. For the first time, she had found a place that felt like home. She had been their final addition and only after a few days of having her at home, the couple knew there was no next stop for her. The MacDonalds appreciated everything they had in their lives and taught their children to do the same. Mary and her siblings were all treated with love and respect. Weekends were filled with football matches, farmer’s markets adventures, volunteering as a family, and hours of exploration in the fields behind their backyard. The only strict rule in their home was “you eat, you cook”, a rule which sparked no objection from Mary. From a young age she was poking her nose onto the counter to see what her mother was doing in the kitchen. Siobhan and Thomas did their best to teach their children that happiness and success did not come from money, it came from the bonds you created in the world. The minute she was old enough, Mary played both baby sister and older sister. Taking strongly after her mother, she would check on her siblings well being constantly. Despite their annoyance with their baby sister following them around, no one ever denied how adorable she looked with her play doctor kit. Nothing too strange had ever happened to the small family, at least until Mary’s Hogwarts letter arrived. Mary’s little eyes opened wide at the site of mail for herself and what she read in the inside only heightened her glee. There was a lot of ruckus in the MacDonald home that night. Her brother’s accepted the explanation rather quickly, claiming there had always been something magical about Mary. Kayleigh had some reservations but warmed to the idea over the next few weeks. Despite the shock, Siobhan and Thomas - after some convincing from a ministry official that magic was indeed real - assured their daughter that they loved her, magic and all. That September, Mary left Ireland for the first time. She was filled with butterflies at the thought of the unknown and of leaving her family behind. After all, it had taken her years to find home. The idea of leaving it, being alone in a new world entirely, terrified her. The giant castle walls and ever changing pathways did little to ease her anxiety. Feeling small, Mary wandered over to the Gryffindor table where she quickly found a second home. With a gentle push from her peers, her vibrant smile and warm energy quickly drew positive attention from her classmates. Before the holidays approached, Mary had expanded her family infinitely. Mary barreled into friendships, quickly turning acquiescence into friends she would call family. Her own family had been a collection, a mish mosh of people who had found each other. This was no different in her eyes and after a few months, it was clear how desperately some of her peers needed that found family. Class became her least favorite part of Hogwarts. She always got above average marks (well, except for dueling) - she was a naturally intelligent girl - but class could hold only her attention for so long. She spent a good amount of her free time exploring the castle. Adventure called out from every corridor, out onto the grounds. She dived into every day asking herself one question; what she could stick her nose into next? Her favorite spots quickly became the kitchens, the small hidden couch in the back of the common room, and the pitch. Her little hideaways where she could get a little peace and quiet in between adventurers. They also served as places to hide, in later years, when her blood status drew her negative attention. In the summer between her second and third year, Mary’s family took a big loss. Liam, the youngest boy of the family, passed away at seventeen. Losing him almost tore the family apart. The first two months of summer were filled with quiet, the once serene areas of her home filled with uncomfortable tension and pain. Mary found small places to hide and grieve alone behind their home, but this was truly the point in her life when she took it upon herself to take care of those around her. She put the pain of her family before her own. She tried her best to fill the shoes of being the oldest child, despite always being the baby. Her mother’s strong will, however, was in the end what got her through that awful summer. MacDonald’s were strong, she would tell Mary, and we will survive. And they did. They all held on even tighter after that summer, to everything. Mary had seamlessly become both the idiot child and the mama bear of the lion’s den. She had a knack for getting into trouble and an even better knack of getting out of trouble, something that infuriated some of her housemates when she got out of a well deserved detention. Mary was extremely affectionate with those she considers her friends, whether it be holding their hands in the hallway or curling up beside them on the couch. She was never one to shy away from affection. Unapologetic, she was never afraid to be loud or take up way more space than one would think the small girl ever could. This brought more trouble to her than she could imagine. Once she realized the prejudices held in the wizarding world, she did not shy away from voicing her opinions. Her parents had taught her to never stand for injustice. She talked about muggle culture constantly and she did not skip a beat in the face of bullies who had enjoyed trying to tear her down. The faces of the first year muggleborns was more than enough motivation to be brave.

In her fifth year, hwoever, she became a target of Mulciber. A rather nasty bully who had a problem with how she carried herself. For a few months he quietly tortured her, threatening to harm her closest friends if she said anything about it. She slowly withdrew from everyone around her, losing the light in her eyes almost permanently. Only about three months before his graduation her sixth year did the torture stop. Mary was found unconscious in the astronomy tower. Word traveled quickly and before long everyone knew. Despite the negative attention Mary fought viciously to regain her confidence and spark. She would not be a victim – she was a survivor. With the help of her friends over the next year Mary built back her strength and sense of security. She still suffers from flashbacks and nightmares at times, but through support she learned to get back on her feet and live again. Mary spent her last year at Hogwarts trying to create a new normal and to enjoy every moment she had with her friends. Her grades picked up immensely and she had even jumped near the top of her class. Mary even tried out for the Quidditch team, making seeker after years of practicing on the pitch. Not naturally athletic, a majority of her free time was spent on the pitch getting skilled enough to join the team. When not on the pitch, Mary joined her friends once more in partying and prank wars - assisting Marlene in getting back at Potter any chance she got. She would never tell Marlene, but occasionally she would help him as well. After all, all’s fair in love and prank war. Her life returned to some semblance of normal - at least, as normal as she could find. The nightmares from her past still haunted her and the fear of the future that waited after graduation proved more daunting than her memories. As the inevitability of war grew, Mary focused less and less on her career path. Her thoughts turned to the war. Mary never once questioned her decision to join the Order. She saw her family once after graduation, wishing them goodbye until the war was over for their own protection. One of the hardest decisions she had ever made. Since graduation, she has worked as a bartender for at The Leaky Cauldron. Her night owl nature plus her people skills helped her excel while she had the freedom to dedicate time to the Order. She has taken classes and wants to eventual work in the Ministry as a social worker. She specifically wants to create a better program for integrating muggleborn students to Hogwarts and providing assistance for their families. She hasn’t committed to the career path yet though and most likely won’t until the war is done. Her main focus now is protecting her friends and innocent bystanders. She spends her free time reading on all subjects, specifically defense against the dark arts. Her loft has become a rest stop for order members, despite the place being small she welcomes the company. There is always a place to sleep, and a warm meal for anyone who needs one. Her friends are her family and she is doing all she can to keep them alive and emotionally stable. As one could imagine, the task is daunting as they scramble to recover from the loss of their leader.

#[ she could make you see how the world could be ; musings ]#[ bio ]

8 notes · View notes

rxdshood-a · 4 years

Text

the ghost of you // self para

WHO: Jason Todd & Stephanie Brown. Mentions of Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake.

WORD COUNT: 3159 words.

LOCATION: Wayne Manor.

GENERAL NOTES: Jason comes to visit Steph finally at the manor. Steph tells him what she knows. A self para with a sprinkling of technically self-interaction! Jason angsts. We all cry.

WARNINGS: Mentions of past death, injuries, anxiety, past trauma, violence, blood.

Jason hated being in the manor more than anything. There were too many ghosts. Too many foggy memories that made his chest tighten with a storm of emotions that he didn’t want to name. It loomed over him like it did back when he was a foot shorter and daunted by the fact that Bruce could change his mind at any moment. Even older and taller than he was back then it still feels daunting, the anxiety was already threatening to make him turn tail and run, but he had to do this. If not for Steph herself, but Tim.

The mere thought of Tim made Jason grimace, like poking at a sleeping bear with a stick his anger was reignited with a fury. The green that always lingered in the back of his mind seemed to perk up, circling like a shark. He had to take a few even deep breaths, fingers curled up into two tight fists before he could feel the anger and green smoke recede back. The combination of his unresolved anger at his brother’s disappearance and the anxiety and bad blood the manor brought was likely a disaster waiting to happen. Regardless, Jason trucked on. He had to. He would.

Opening the door to the manor Jason surveyed the long, seemingly quiet hallways. It was like getting slapped in the face with nostalgia. Half memories he could somewhat recall. There were some happy ones, like trying on the Robin suit for the first time. Him jumping out from behind the batcomputer and scaring Alfred, laughing in utter excitement and claiming it was the best day of his life. The nights he would sit in the kitchen and read while eating whatever cookies Alfred had made. The feeling of finally belonging. There were bad memories too. Screaming matches with Bruce, too many ‘I’m not Dick!’s thrown around. Too many plans made with Dick that were left abandoned, Jason hoping and staying too close to the phone only to be met with silence. Lashing out at Dick as he reached the end of his very short line of patience with him, going as far to break formation in their sparring session to bite the older Robin’s arm.

Dick still had a scar on his arm from the incident.

The anxiety stayed a constant presence, each step up the long manor stairs feeling all too dread inducing. The silence in the manor was something that Jason hated more than anything, even as a kid. It was so big and so quiet. The silence was always broken anytime Dick actually visited, whether it was broken by his squabbles with Bruce, or the pair of them actually laughing and enjoying video games or movies together. Other than that the silence was broken by him, making his presence bigger and louder. Constantly he was yelling, being reprimanded by the butler for shouting at inappropriate times, the laughter whenever he and Alfred would cook dinner together. If he didn’t make extra noise then Jason would drown in the silence, the cold the silence brought as the cavern between him and Bruce grew and grew, all before he even had died and it had become a grand canyon between them.

It was just one foot after the other. Simple, right? Wrong.

Each step brought ghosts, memories he didn’t want. Flickers of memories that haunted the man every time something triggered it. Passing the library, days and nights spent in there, reading all he could and perking up anytime Bruce entered, giving him a book suggestion. The time spent there together, reading in silence and feeling the smile that would play at his lips as he did, constantly aware of the man’s presence. It was their own form of bonding, it didn’t leave Jason no matter how hard he tried to forget it. The hope it gave him that led him to believe he actually could have a father. A family.

A shudder wracked through Jason’s body and he pushed forward, trying not to linger outside the library. A closed, all too familiar door, had him stopping in his tracks once more. His stomach lurched as he found his feet bringing him to the door, hand laying flat against the cool wood and staring at the doorknob like it’d open itself.

His room. His old bedroom. If it wasn’t locked, Jason was sure that if he opened up that door it would be just how he had left it before it all. His clothes all folded and tucked away in the wardrobe drawers. His textbook lay on the desk collecting dust. The mere thought had Jason grimacing and staggering back, immediately looking away. Ghosts. It was a thought that had made itself repeatedly known the moment he stepped onto the Wayne Manor grounds. There was a piece of this place that wouldn’t ever leave him, no matter how far he traveled. It’d always be a part of him, as much as he despised it.

Jason knew what room Steph was in, had been lamenting on it, whether he wanted to even do this, but ultimately pushed through. It wasn’t hard to figure she’d be holed up in Tim’s room. It didn’t take the skills of a Robin to know that she’d be in his room. As far as he knew of, Steph hadn’t seen many people save for those in the manor currently. Refusing to see anyone, staying silent on the groupchat end. He didn’t blame her. This trauma was something Jason was entirely too familiar with.

(The sound of maniacal cackling echoed in his head, phantom pains of bones breaking and sticky blood beneath his body caused Jason to shudder.)

It wasn’t something you could get over within a few days. Months even. She was grieving and processing trauma she endured all in one sitting. That could knock even the most trained bat kids on their ass. There’s only so much you can compartmentalize before it's all spilling over and you’re cracking and breaking at every seam. Maybe it comes out in anger like it did with Jason. Or maybe it came out in agonizing sadness. Whatever Jason was about to walk into, he was more than wary to see what state the Gotham girl was in. Scared that he may just see entirely too much of himself reflected back in her.

Approaching the door, Jason hesitated in his approach. He didn’t like feeling like this, off balance. The manor did that to him, left him unstable and on shaky ground that never stopped moving underneath his feet. A heavy sigh left the man and he scowled, finally making a decision and moving forward, turning the doorknob in his hand and entering the bedroom. The sight of the evidence walls was what Jason registered first, entirely too amazed at how chaotic Tim’s brain seemed to work. He was constantly analyzing, thinking, moving. That was reflected in the evidence thrown up on his walls. Then his green eyes moved to the unmoving lump buried under the comforter on the former Robin’s bed, a tuft of blonde hair sticking out near the pillows.

“Your footsteps don’t sound like Alfred. Too light to be Bruce’s, but too heavy to be Dick’s. So I can only assume it’s Jason.”

Steph’s voice startled Jason slightly, hand gripping the doorknob entirely too tight as he stared into the bedroom and hovered in the doorway. He didn’t know what to say. What do you say in these situations? You would think he’d be an expert on this, how to deal with trauma from torture and yet.

“Look at you. You still got those Robin trained ears.” Jason’s voice sounded stilted against the silence of the room.

“Not Robin anymore, or Batgirl. Or Spoiler even.”

Jason frowned at that, finally fully entering the room and shutting the door behind him quietly. He grabbed the desk chair at Tim’s unoccupied desk and sat down, wheeling it closer to the bedside but still staying a slight distance away to give her the space she may want. Her back was still to him, unmoving, not even shifting to look at him when he sat down.

“What does that mean?”

A sharp sigh, irritation bleeding into the girl’s tone in an instant, “what do you think it means, Jason? I’m nothing. I’m hanging up the suit. I’m burning it, whatever I can do to get it away from me. What good am I as a vigilante, as some makeshift hero, if I can’t even save Tim?” The tremble was clear in her voice now, body seeming to follow suit in the way it was now shaking beneath the covers. “I was like a lamb sent to the slaughter. I made it so easy for them to get me and use me as a pawn so he could get to Tim. How am I supposed to believe I can help people like that? I let Tim get sent off to his death, Jason.”

Her words had Jason alarmed in an instant. Death?

“Stephanie, you didn’t do anything. Ra’s al Ghul is one fucked up old ass man with a lot of experience and power at his fingertips. He would’ve done something, anything, to get to Tim one way or another, even if it meant not using you to get to him. You didn’t send him off to his death, I don’t—” Jason let out a harsh breath, running his hands through his hair and causing entirely too many strands to stick up every which way in a chaotic mess. “How would you have sent him off to his death? You didn’t do anything to cause that, Stephanie. We will find him. You know we won’t stop until we do.”

The silence grew, tension palpable in the air of the room and then finally, the lump that Jason had been talking to moved. Steph hissed and shifted to turn to look at him head on, tugging the blanket down and moving enough that she was propped up somewhat against the stack of pillows behind her. Jason took in the purple and yellowing bruises on her face, the bandage covering her cheek. The finger shaped bruises that were healing on her chin and neck were enough to cause his stomach to roll, a flare of anger igniting in his chest. There was a peak of a bandage from the collar of her sweater that was laid over her collarbone. Ra’s clearly did a number on her, it made Jason grimace. The poor kid.

“He took him, Jason.” Steph started, swallowing hard and tears shining in her tired eyes. “He wanted him. He kept going on about his obsession with Tim, that he wanted him and that’s why he used me. That Tim would yield to him because—” a broken sob left Stephanie’s mouth and before Jason registered it, his calloused fingers closed around hers and squeezed, her smaller hand trembling in his. “—because he wanted to save me, a girl that he thought he could have even though...even though Ra’s had already ‘laid claim’. He’s with him, Jason. Wherever Ra’s is, that is where you’ll find Tim.”

She looked exhausted. The words having taken a toll on her already bruised and battered body. Jason’s mind was going fast, taking in all the information the girl had offered up to him. His hand squeezed her own and he swallowed hard. That was more information than any of them had. He could work with that. He could get Tim back, or try to at least.

“He’ll expect you.”

Stephanie’s words had Jason faltering, looking at her face with a furrowed brow, “what do you mean?”

“The bats. I’m sure he’ll expect us. We’re his family. Of course we’d go after him. We’re just some trained vigilantes he’s come up against before. He has his knowledge on us already, I have no doubts about that. So how do we get around that? How do we get an edge against, as much as I fucking loathe to admit, an incredibly intelligent man?”

The thought posed a good question, Jason at a loss of an answer and merely shook his head, looking to Steph to see where she was going with this.

“Would he be expecting powered individuals who care just as much for Tim as we do?” Steph finally asked and in a moment it clicked, Jason sitting up fully with wide eyes.

“You want to have his old team help save him.”

Steph nodded. It was a valid thought. It was the bare bones of a plan, an idea barely if he was honest. Despite the clear anguish and pain in the girl’s features there was a fire that burned in her eyes, one he recognized in his own gaze, in Tim’s. It came with the territory of being a Gotham kid, of seeing this city in all its ugly glory and still loving it with everything you had in you. No matter how many times it beat you down, unrelenting and merciless in the pain it dealt upon you, you still came back. You still called it home, nowhere would compare, no matter how hard you tried. It was different for those who weren’t born here, grew up in its grungy streets and was brought up in the belly of the beast.

Sure, Dick grew up there to a degree, but he didn’t really get it. Not in Jason’s mind at least. Tim got it, of course he did. He was a Gotham boy, born and raised, but he and Steph understood it differently. They saw the streets, the ugly and violence that you had to wade your way through, trusting yourself before anyone else. Jason came out jaded, guarded and all too quick to throw out harsh and angry words to keep people at arm’s length. Steph on the other side of the coin was warm and loud, personality filling up a room in an instant to fill up the emptiness she felt and mistrust she quietly hid behind big smiles and sarcastic quips. That mistrust stayed with you, no matter how long you hadn’t been fighting your way through Gotham’s shady underworld.

What also stayed with you was a fire that no matter how dim it got, stayed lit. Gotham could break your spirits, your bones, your everything, but you’d still come back kicking and screaming. All Gothamites did. That was the fire that Jason saw in Steph’s eyes, the determination that was attempting to trump the trauma and fear she clearly felt. Despite how much pain and emotional trauma she had been put through with her time spent at Ra’s hands, she was still determined to get Tim back. It was a sentiment that Jason could return.

The thought of being anywhere close to the man had shivers running up Jason’s spine. The thought that they both shared the pit rage and the effects of it made him sick. He never wanted anything in common with that man. To think that he could lash out in a similar way to the villain painted a grimace upon his face. There were nights he wondered if the old fuck ever agonized over it like he did. If he felt out of control when that green haze crept to the forefront of his brain and took over, painting everything an angry, ugly shade of green that made him go charging in like a bull. Probably not. Jason hated that part of him more than anything like he had been broken and put together wrong when he came back. There were jagged edges that stuck out still, cutting even those he cared for the most despite himself.

Looking at Steph, Jason saw too much of himself. She was falling apart, doing her best to keep it together enough to tell him what she knew, the only way she thought she could help in her state. His fingers squeezed hers and his lips pulled up the faintest bit in a smile. He was never good at this part, being comforting. He wasn’t Dick who comfort seemed to come to all too easily. His comfort was stilted at best, unsure and awkward, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Even when he was Robin there were far too many times Dick had the right thing to say to quiet the fierce anger that raged inside of him. It was one reason he had looked up to the first Robin so much, he was just so good at everything he did while Jason felt like everything he touched turned rotten and crumbled beneath his fingertips.

“Thank you for telling me, Steph.”

Was that the right thing to say? Sometimes...sometimes Jason wished he could ask his brother for advice without the immediate urge to take it back, to lash out in unresolved anger he held towards the older man.

“I know this is hard to talk about, that you’re having a hard time with this, but this will help. We’ll find him. You know we will.” Jason said firmly, the former Batgirl’s fingers trembling in his own and a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I hope so. God, I hope so.” Steph’s breath hitched and a sob fell from her lips, pulling her hand back in an instant to cover her face with both of them.

“Hey, you did good. You did great, even. Come on, lay back down. You talked enough for one day.” Jason soothed, standing up and pushing the desk chair back to gently wrap his scarred fingers around Stephanie’s arms and squeezed.

He eased her back down into a lying position, hating the way her sobs and hiccups tugged painfully at his heart. As much of a pain in the ass she was, Jason had grown fond of the girl who stuck around the bats and had heart eyes for the boy he once loathed for replacing him, now a little brother in his eyes. He pulled the blanket up over Steph’s trembling form and tucked some of her hair behind her ear.

“You tell anyone I was this nice to you, I’ll kick your ass.”

A startled laugh left Steph, it obviously surprised both of them if her eyes widening a beat later was anything to go by. Jason’s lips pulled up into a wry smile and he patted her shoulder.

“Get some rest, kid.”

Stepping back, Jason looked at the larger than life girl who now seemed entirely too small and reluctantly moved out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence in the manor halls weighed down on him. Jason had vital information now, but no plan. He hardly ever was the man with a plan, that was Tim, even Dick. Now he had to be that man to save his little brother and bring him back home. He had no idea how in the hell he was going to do that.

#int: self para #self para: 002 #self para: the ghost of you #int: stephanie brown #stephanie brown: 001 #blood tw #death mention tw #trauma mention tw #violence tw #injury tw #anxiety tw

10 notes · View notes