Chapter Text
Sometimes, it's really fucking hard to get out of bed. Sometimes I'd wished I was taken at that Gala instead
I know I'm asleep, I understand I'm asleep, but I can't wake up. I'm still 10. I'm still in that Gala. I feel the itchiness of that stupid Armani suit I wore to match my father. I sipped a little champagne from My Mom's flute and scrunched my face up. They laughed. They laughed so happily. It would be the last time I heard that laugh.
Their Mouths were covered before any of us knew what was happening. Forced into the center of the room and bound in leashes like dogs or cattle. Those people looked just like us, but with horrific masks covering their faces. Black satin wrapped around a circular mold and stitched onto the front was a yellow bat and red cross within it. "They who will remain". That's what they called themselves. They told us that the Lord of Night, Nocturnis would be our salvation, if only we give our lives to him. Like normal people, we all thought they were crazy. The police were bashing at the door with the battering ram. I could hear the wood splintering, creaking, and snapping, but I saw the Red on my mother first.
Red. I fucking hate red. My Mother looked wonderful in the peaches and creams she always wore, and my Father looked striking in Navy, A trait I follow. I never liked Red on them in any case. They once wore Red to celebrate the Chinese New Year celebrated in Southern Gotham, I hated the red there. It never occurred to me at 10 years old, how much red a human body has to offer. Their Throats were slashed open, red spilling onto the white floor. I wanted to throw up, greens, browns, and greys spilling up my throat, but I hated the blood, the red that rushed into my ears with every lurch of my heart. As the police burst through the door, those masked men plunged the same knives they used to spill my parents' blood into their own chests, more red spilled onto the floor. A much deeper red. I feel the burn from my nostrils when I couldn't hold my vomit in anymore. My father would have chastised me for making such a mess, but I couldn't stomach the sight anymore.
I finally open my crusted eyes by Alfred, kneeling at my bedside. He was saying something but I wasn't fully processing what. All I could hear was the blood pumping into my veins, and all I could feel was the hammering of my heart against my ribcage. I don't move a single muscle, still paralyzed as that 10 year old.
"Master Bruce" I finally hear Alfred. I use that tone to ground myself and bring myself back to the present. I slowly drag my eyes to meet Alfred's deep brown irises. His pupils were dilated, mixed with context of his creased brow implies stress. Judging from the rheum buildup in my eyes, I'd been asleep for approximately fourteen hours, highly unusual considering I barely sleep for eight. The second sensation I feel is a sore neck I presume is due to my current sleeping position. I groan and move up, feeling my Lumber vertebrae and my T12 groan and crack. I look over to the digital alarm clock at my nightstand; 10:34 AM. Jim is going to have me by the balls.
"You're lucky I had half a mind to call the commissioner and tell him you were feeling ill" Alfred swats by head with a handkerchief and then wipes my head down after feeling the sweat that's gathered on my forehead from the nightmare.
"Thank you Alfred. I should be fine to go to work, I'll just say it was just morning sickness" My voice is hoarse and out of habit, I feel my Carotid artery on my left side, over my jugular, then to my right Carotid artery and back. Alfred nods and moves back, letting me stand up and work out my stiff muscles
"Very well Master Bruce, I shall prepare a quick breakfast for you." I nod as Alfred leaves. I undress completely out of the opened button down shirt and boxers I wore yesterday. Clearly I hadn't even bothered to put proper pajamas on in my sleep deprived stupor last night.
I dress properly and leave my bedroom walking on a red and golden carpet down the hall to the kitchen, making sure the every thread of red remains untouched. Breakfast was, as Alfred had promised, quick. I eat, brush my teeth, pull on my jacket and head out the door. I feel for the keys to my Jaguar XK120, making a mental checklist as I go. Wallet, check, keys, check, phone, check, badge, check, gun that Jim gave to me that I still refuse to use, check, but it's in the glove compartment, gloves, check. I slide into the front seat and turn the ignition, letting the car growl as it starts.
There's an odd silence at the precinct. No one dares to make eye contact with me and quiet down when I walk near. Assuming this was just because of me being late, I march on to Jim's office. I don't bother to knock and open the door. Jim and I have been friends since the academy, I know when he doesn't want to be bothered
"I hope there's still coffee, I'll have it cold, don't give a fuck right now. What do we have toda-" I stop dead in my tracks as I take in the room. I see photos on the board with that same symbol, that calling card of those murderous freaks. The yellow bat and red cross. Jim steps in between me and the photos
"Bruce! Hey, Alfred said you were sick, why are you at work?" He tried to sound concerned, but I know he was just trying to block my vision. I push past him anyways, I'm not 10, I can handle fucking pictures. "We..." Jim starts "We have a new attack done by Those Who Will Remain. They've ben dormant, or at least clever about their tracks for years, why are they loud about it now?" I observe the photos of the victims, Carotid artery slashed end to end with a knife about five centimeters into the skin and judging by the serrations, the blood splatters, and the way the blood moved down the neck, slashed left artery to right by someone left handed specifically. Jim pats my shoulder. "Everyone was worried if you'd go into panic mode like last time"
I remember the last time I figured out they were behind an attack. I was so distressed, I physically bombarded myself in one of the precinct breakrooms for eleven hours, paying a lot more than I'd like to admit in property damage. Of course I've had multiple psyche evals since then and am now medicated, so the feeling wasn't that strong. I turn to Jim. "Put me on the case. I'm not saying it because it's personal, I'm not asking for vengeance, I'm asking because I know first hand, how they move, how they act. Please Jim" I meet his eyes, giving a subconscious glare I've been told puts most on edge. Jim sweats but reluctantly agrees. Handing me some files
"You'll be partnered with a woman named Selina Kyle, a former thief turned investigator for us. you'll be called to investigate the crime scene and leads tomorrow. For now, I want you evaluated before I do the transfer paperwork" I huff, but I can see the pure worry in Jim's eyes. I can't fault him for anything really, he's a good friend to me and wants nothing more for my head to be in the right place dealing with these bastards. I agree to do the psyche eval which went fine enough and spent most of the day working on data archival for old cases.
It's around 3:30 in the afternoon when a woman sits on my desk. She's short, about 5'5'' with brown bobbed medium length hair, wearing a leather jacket, a pink tank top, and a skirt over leather tights and heeled boots. She grins at me, but I catch it as a non-Duchenne smile since it doesn't meet her eyes. They're a bright emerald and hold a deep intelligence. I turn back to my work silently. "Selina Kyle?" I ask. She slides off of my desk, sliding her middle finger from the top of my left shoulder to my right. "Bruce Wayne," She replies "I was told we'd be partners for this investigation. Who would've thought the pretty boy billionaire would also be a cop?" I pull away from her touch and my computer, looking at her flatly "I did." That Cheshire grin never falters from her face as she holds her hand out "Look forward to working with you tomorrow" I take her oddly positioned hand and shake it, watching as her smile falters for half a second. "Usually men kiss my hand, but not you. How rude." She fake pouts before returning to that grin and leaving me to my own devices.
I get home at 8:45 pm accounting for the Gotham traffic, trudging through the door. Alfred sat at the other end of a long, lonely table, still polishing up his food. "There are more portions for you in the kitchen Master Bruce. Shall I reheat them for you?" Alfred stands at the ready. but I just shake my head. "No thank you Alfred. I had something to eat before driving home. I'll take the leftovers for lunch tomorrow though. I move past him and head to my room. The dread of the lingering case weighing down on me.
As I lay in bed, I look over at my phone, that weight still on my chest. I haven't talked to him in years, I doubt he would ever want to speak with me again. I try to talk myself out of it, but my body moves on its own, opening up the chatroom I could never bring myself to delete.
Messages with: Ollie Queen
Ollie: Bruce please
Ollie: I didn't mean what I said
1 missed call
Ollie: Please pick up
1 missed call
Ollie: I'm sorry.
The messages make me feel sick to my stomach. I take a breath and let my fingers fly over the keys before I can stop myself
Bruce: Hey
Bruce: You wanna beat the shit out of each other like we did when we were kids?