Never used to death || Bruce wayne x reader (+ platonic!batfam)
— Bruce Wayne had lost a lot of people in his life, but nothing compares to you, in any way. or your ex-husband and children don't know how to react to your death.
!!: HEAVY ANGST no comfort. major character death. gn!reader. batparent!reader. no use of y/n. English is not my first language. 906 words.
You weren’t going to come back.
But Bruce couldn’t accept that reality.
He had lost too much during his life. He had lost his parents right before his eyes. He had lost Jason by The Joker. He had lost Alfred. And now, he had lost you too.
This was not like previous times, back when you both decided that getting a divorce was better than having to deal with each other’s grief after losing your second son.
Back when you came back for the first time, because you didn’t want to let down Tim, and still left some years after because things between Bruce and you weren’t the same anymore and your relationship wasn’t working.
You came back for a second time. This time was the final one. You were going to stay. Because you loved your children, and because Bruce had changed for good and he was still the man you loved with every fiber of your heart, and he loved you with the same intensity. You couldn’t give up on him.
But now it was all gone and you weren’t going to come back.
This was not like the last two times, because during those breaks he saw you. He heard the news about you. He saw your face in the cover of magazines almost daily; and it broke him every time, seeing you looking like a literal angel, but without ‘Wayne’ on your name.
Because you were once his, and now you weren’t even yours.
Dick had been the one who found him first. In the middle of Robinson Park. Holding your broken and cold body against his chest, warm and alive. Your blood engulfing his arms, impregnating his suit like a memory, a statement. You will always be with him, the permanent stain that would never go away, the ghost that would haunt him until the end of his days, like Bruce Wayne didn’t have enough ghosts.
You hadn’t left him by choice that night; you had left by chance. You had died—brutally tortured and murdered by the Joker—and reporters had been forced to televise it.
Bruce’s mind kept repeating—like a broken mantra—how this was his fault. Not Dick’s, because he never got to arrive on time. Not Jason’s, who unfollowed every rule just to get to you, but Poison Ivy got him first. Not Tim’s, nor Damian’s. Or Cass, or Steph, or Duke. Not even Barbara, who was crying of frustration, while trying, without success, to end your death’s livestream.
It was all Bruce’s fault.
He hated himself. He could save a million people, but never the ones he loved. Never his parents. Never his son. Never the man who had stayed with him since the very beginning of his life. Never the love of his life.
Dick didn’t hug Bruce that night. He froze on his spot the moment his feet touched the ground. The sight in front of him felt unreal, and it shattered every nerve of his body. Overwhelmed by anger and sadness he just stood there, with a blank expression.
Tim commanded the others to return to the cave, while he watched the interaction from a distance.
Everything had stopped that night. Your heartbeat. Bruce’s life. Gotham streets were silent for once—traumaticed by the event.
It wasn’t until Jason arrived that the clock started ticking again.
“I will kill that bastard.” He said. And for once, Bruce didn’t scold him, he chose silence. He chose to stay those very last moments he had with your body in silence.
Not because he needed time, but because your two sons needed you and didn’t know how to show except through their mere presence.
Dick didn’t move an inch. He didn’t talk, or breathe properly. He was just taking in the sight. This was definitely not the first time he’d lost a parent, but it was the most crude one.
On the other hand, Jason. Oh, your sweet Jason. The one who swore he didn't cry, at least not in front of people, let the first tear fall from his eyes. He cried in silence, the loudest silence anyone had ever witnessed.
And from above, Tim made his appearance, falling right next to Bruce, next to you.
Your three boys, all there for you, for your death. And Bruce—the man who would have moved heaven and earth just for you, to see you happy, to try again, to have you back—was holding your lifeless body like delicate flowers—because he knew you could shatter this time if he held you tighter.
The four men mourning your loss.
And in the batcave Barbara cried, Cass cried while Steph, trying to hold her tears, hugged her. Duke waited, he waited for Bruce to come back with you, just so he could thank you and say goodbye to you one last time.
And Damian. He had left the batcave. In between bouts of weeping, he had made his way up to the manor, to his father’s room—your room. He got under the covers and just waited. He waited for you to come back.
Damian Wayne Al Ghul. The son of an assassin, the boy who had been trained to kill, the one who understood death better than anyone. He stayed under the covers, waiting patiently for you to arrive home—radiant and alive—and kiss him goodnight. Your strange habit he swore he hated was now his deepest desire.
So he waited. But you never came.
A/N: everybody say thank you to my toxic ex for giving me all this sadness. Hope you guys liked this. As always reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶🏻
Bruce Wayne taglist: @princesstrunkz @currentblasphemy @planetevermore @astraeasworld @andraax2
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