pairing: bruce wayne x gn!reader
premise: An up and coming Gotham artist keeps running into trouble. Good thing there's vigilantes and awkward billionaires to help them out.
[a little slice of life slow burn with battinson- fluff and self indulgent soft touches abound]
warnings: very mild spoilers, some violence and cursing, attempted kidnapping and assault, blood and injury, stitches, mature themes
extras: reader is gender neutral, reader is an artist, Bruce Wayne is touch starved, Gotham has an art scene, probably ooc but i'm having fun
chapters: 5 // word count: ~24k
chapter 1 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5
The rest of the week passed by as usual. Emails, projects, finishing up freelance gigs and opening new ones. Sketch after sketch of those eyes. You hadn’t drawn so many eyes since the margins of your middle school notebooks. Your visits down to the Arts Center were frequent as you helped set up for the exhibition.
Mayor Reál, moved by her citizens, had turned her gaze to the Center and was publicly endorsing their organization and its impact on the community. She was even going to make a special appearance at the exhibition. With the mayor of course, came many high social figures who simply had to attend and show their support. The whole thing was turning into a gala and no one was more excited, or more stressed, than Pete.
“This could be big for us, y/n! I’ve tried for years to get the big wigs to care about what we do here.” he confided in you one late night, many of you staying to set up the installations after closing. “...But with so much going on surrounding the mayor…I just don’t want it to attract any unwanted attention. I couldn’t forgive myself if..” he had trailed off, looking worriedly around at all the volunteers. Many, like you, were his former students from the university.
“Hey, Professor,” you’d said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure the mayor is thinking the same. She’s bound to have her security beefed up from now on. It’s gonna be a great night, you’ll see,” you reassured, admittedly telling yourself as much as him.
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It was the night of the event and nervousness fluttered through you like a dazed moth. There’d be a lot of important people there tonight- people who could change things for you and for the Center. You’d worried your way through several outfits and finally decided on something bold but classy- much to the encouragement of your friends on video chat. You waited outside your apartment fidgeting with your collar. Soon, Dahlia arrived in her aunt’s van, squealing from the window at the sight of you all dressed up.
You laughed and got in on the other side, squeezing her close in an embrace before you set off.
“You look gorgeous, but I knew you would,” you smile, taking in her done-up hair and lacey gown, accessorized with handmade pieces, no doubt.
“We both look gorgeous, baby!” she said, cranking up the hype music in the car. “They better be ready for us!” she exclaimed, the two of you laughing and singing your way to the venue.
What an event it turned out to be. The party was in full swing by the time you and Dahlia walked through the doors. You’d never seen the Center so done up- cloths over the paint-splattered tables you knew so well, lights hung from the rafters, horderves in the meeting room, even live music. You were quickly swept up by friends and family members who had come out to see the artwork (and the local celebs). Amidst the chatting, you spotted your share of familiar faces from tv, all in finery and taking interviews- showing their sudden support, following in the Mayor’s lead.
All it seemed, except the enigmatic Wayne heir, who had surprised everyone by turning up out of the blue. He’d been dodging reporters all night you thought, never seeing him in rooms for very long.
You’d slipped away for a breather as they busted out the champagne, the band in full swing. You were passing through the annexed galleries and there he was, standing in front of your charcoal pieces. At Pete’s insistence that it was such an important night, you’d obliged with some of your renderings. Most of them were abstracted enough to pass as brooding studies but some would know the masked vigilante’s shadow anywhere. You secretly hoped he was the former.
Wayne…Bruce Wayne’s his name, you thought to yourself as you walked over to him. You’d seen him sporadically on tv but never for long. He was like some kind of local miserable-looking cryptid who rarely emerged into the public eye and when he did, he would always vanish as quickly as he came.
“They’re mine, “ you offered with a smile, gesturing at the pieces before you two. The center piece was one you’d done after the Batman had returned your book- his burning gaze staring up at you from the fire escape below. You had tried to capture the intensity and the sadness in them, but like every artist you knew, you couldn’t help but pick out a million mistakes in your works.
Mr. Wayne’s head had snapped to you, his eyes widening in surprise when he found he was not alone, but the expression slid from his face in a flash as he looked down, then back to your drawings. He was dressed in a sharp suit, though it was mostly obscured by the long coat he wore over everything- despite the Center being considerably warm tonight. The bags under his eyes and closed-off posture seemed out of place for someone dressed so impeccably.
“You have a good eye,” he said softly, suddenly looking as though he realized what he said was halfway to a joke and making a face like he wanted to die.
A soft laugh escaped your lips and you grinned, drawing his eyes back to you, if only for a moment. “Thank you,” you replied. “I’m set to do a mural this month,” you added, not quite sure where to steer the conversation. “Um…I just wanted to say thank you for coming out, Mr. Wayne. It really means a lot to us here. And the directors, oh man, they’re thrilled the Arts Center is getting the attention it needs.” you say, watching him stare at your work, the wall, the floor, not meeting your eyes. For a moment, you think you’re boring him with your small talk but he finally speaks.
“This place…means a lot to you all, doesn’t it?” He spoke so softly, it was like he was straining himself- like it hurt to even get the words out.
“Absolutely!” you responded enthusiastically. “People like Pete are the reason I’m here today, their encouragement. I was in a pretty bad way when I was a kid, and art really helped me climb out of it. It gave me somewhere to vent all those…awful, destructive emotions. I see it all the time in kids we take in around here, stories just like mine. We try and give them a chance to put something beautiful into the world, something that’s all theirs.” You realize with a start you’ve been going on and getting personal with this stranger. “Sorry! I’m rambling on, I’m just passionate-”
“You are passionate, and I really admire it,” he said earnestly, tugging his lips up into a small smile. “What's your name?” he inquired.
“Y/n!” you said, almost going to reach out a hand to shake but thinking better of it. He didn’t seem like the type.
“Y/n..” he repeated, eyes glued to your art. You liked the way he said it. “Bruce,” he gestured at himself, though the introduction was needless and you both knew it.
“I…haven’t been around as much as I should be. I’d like to help out organizations like this…ones who are really helping the community.”
You wonder at him. Did I get through to him in some way?
“I’d like to sponsor Gotham Community Arts Center.”
You stood frozen for a moment, then stammered, forcing yourself back into the moment and closing your open mouth.
“T-thank you Mr. Wayne! Oh my god, I mean,” you start, embarrassed at losing your footing so quickly- but he’d just dropped it on you! “That would help so much, the directors will be over the moon!” You beamed, hardly believing your ears. Pete was going to be dancing around the Center. Wayne was finally meeting your eyes, a small, but genuine smile lighting up his face beautifully. You felt a tug at something in you as you continued to look into those eyes. You could swear-
“Well, I have to be going,” he suddenly stated, his eyes dropping back to the floor and his posture drooping. “Tell your directors I’ll be in touch,” he said, flicking out a card from his jacket pocket and handing it to you. You remarked at long fingers and what looked like shadows of bruises on the knuckles.
“Should you…need anything..” he managed, that strained voice seeming to catch and barely slip out of his throat. You looked up at him, puzzled by his strangeness, but an easy smile came to your lips all the same. The two of you met eyes one last time and he turned to go.
“I will- thank you so much, Mr. Wayne!” you breathed, hardly believing what had transpired. You looked down at the card in your hands- black and embossed with raised gold lettering. You looked up again and Wayne was gone.
By the end of the night, all of the A-listers had cleared out and the regulars who were of age were drinking and carrying on in the corners of the main hall. Ties were loosened and shoes had long been removed. A rosy-cheeked Pete had to sit for a while after you told him the big news. Kim, another director, was chattering excitedly with him about plans as he emptied his glass. Someone had hooked their phone up to the bluetooth speaker and you cackled as Marcus tried in vain to learn the Cotton-Eyed Joe dance from Jamie who, despite downing White Claws like they were selling out, could do it perfectly.
You felt a happy buzz, a few drinks down and surrounded by your friends at what had turned out to be a really great night. You sat criss-cross and propped your head up with your arm, letting your tired eyes rest close for a moment. Something sparked in your brain suddenly. Wayne’s eyes. They’d stared at you solemnly earlier but there was an intensity behind them. And something deeply sad. Your foggy brain wanted to shut off as you probed at the thought, and it was whisked away as you felt someone shaking your shoulder.
“Okay, baby, time to get you home,” Dahlia admonished in the sweetest way. You let your friends help you up, walking out together after saying goodnight to everyone. It was a clear night and you breathed in the crisp air, the slight sting of cold feeling good on your flushed face. The stars you could see between the light pollution winked down at you.
“Brrr! Let’s go, y/n, chop chop. I’m freezing my ass off.” Dahlia chattered, hopping into the van and slamming the door shut. You followed, slumping into the passenger’s seat and closing the door.
“I talked to Bruce Wayne tonight…” you said, still trying to convince yourself.
“I literally can-not-be-lieve!” Dahlia exclaimed, slamming her palms into the steering wheel to punctuate each syllable. “And you said he was nice?? He’s actually gonna sponsor the Center?”
“That’s what he said,” you replied, lifting your hands up.
“Literally insane- what did you even say to him?”
“Nothing, I mean we were just talking!”
“Just talking huhhhh?” Dahlia waggled her eyebrows at you knowingly.
“I’m serious!!” you laughed, but your eyes darted away sheepishly. “I mean…he is kinda handsome, don’t you think?”
“Bitch!” she squealed, reaching over and shoving your shoulder as you cackled, “Lock that shit down!!” she laughed, “Yes baby, go for the rich ones- sugar daddy’ll help pay that rent!”
“Oh my GOD!” you cry, going in to shove her back.
“Ahhh!! I’m driving, I’m driving!” she cackled, inching away, knowing you’re one to fight back. Your face hurt from laughing by the time she dropped you off.
“Goodnight, Dahlia,” you called, giving her a wave.
“‘Night, y/n! Sweet dreams of millionaire playboys!” she called out driving off and giggling with glee. You chuckled and shook your head as you let yourself into the building.
That night, you did dream- but not sweetly. You found yourself atop a great cliff, the sky dark and gloomy, the salty mist from the ocean peppering your face and sending a shiver through you. Hearing the sounds of a struggle, your head whipped around, searching for the source. You scrambled to the edge of the cliff, looking below to find two figures locked in a heated battle. It was the Batman and- Bruce Wayne? The two of them grappled one another, fighting for leverage and looking to throw each other from the side of the cliff.
“Stop!” you screamed, seeing how close the two of them were coming to the edge, but they seemed unable to hear you over the roar of the wind and the ocean. You looked down and swallowed hard, the rocky sea swirling dizzily below you in your eyes. The rocks jutted out from the cliffside haphazardly, but you could see a potential path- if you were very careful. You gritted your teeth and grasped the ledge with trembling hands, lowering yourself down to the first foothold. Making your way along felt painfully slow, the wind whipping past periodically and forcing you to shut your eyes and latch onto whatever you could until the gust had passed. The closer you got, the more you could hear the two men struggle, cries of pain ringing out against the roar of the waves.
“Stop it, please! You’ll both fall!” you screamed when you finally came within earshot, almost to their platform. Batman had Wayne dangling from his jacket, hovering dangerously close to the ledge.
“Please,” you tried one more time and both of their eyes’ locked onto you- and they were the same. The same identical burning gaze, the same sea of stormy gray-blue, boring into your very soul. You were so transfixed that you misstepped, your foot dropping onto nothing but air. Everything happened in slow motion- your eyes widening, your hands clawing at rocks, your feet scrambling for purchase- and the two men before you staring in horror as they tripped over themselves to get to you. But it was too late. Time revved to a shocking speed as the platform zipped up and away from your view, the rocky sea hurtling up to meet you.
You woke with a gasp, feeling that awful tingling of post-dream falling spread throughout your body. Breathe, just breathe, you said to yourself. You’re alright, it was just a dream, you repeated again and again, hugging your knees to your chest for a few minutes, the details of the dream already starting to blur and fade.
You gazed out the window at the pinkish hues beginning to touch the lightening sky. Disgustingly early. But you didn’t feel like going back to sleep after that dream. You yawned and yawned, rubbing your eyes. Guess it didn’t hurt to try and get an early start, you thought, groaning your way out of bed. Besides, you had to be a person today and get the mural started.
After a shower and some breakfast, you donned your paint clothes, oversized and splattered from years of projects. You shouldered your backpack full of brushes and rollers and made your way to the Arts Center, grabbing van keys from Pete’s office and heading over to 15th with stacks of paint buckets rattling around in the back of the vehicle.
Leah and her pals had been kind enough to get you set up with scaffolding in the midst of the exhibition setup craziness. You breathed in the cool, morning air as you stood before your canvas. The huge, blank brick wall stared down at you imposingly, but you knew the drill by now. You don’t scare me, wall, you thought, hands on your hips. You had a plan- and it was gonna be cool as hell.
You set to work on your outline, amusing yourself that you were essentially making your own huge paint-by-numbers. Curious onlookers made you grin all day, content in your work as you prayed for no rain before you could seal things.
You passed the week this way, happy to have a bit of a schedule after being cooped up in your apartment for so long- and even happier that it involved doing something you loved.
By the middle of the second week, you’re working in the details, your paint clothes covered in countless new splashes of color. You’re so driven by your progress one evening that you end up staying long past when you’d usually call it a day, your area of focus illuminated by bright lamps clamped onto the scaffolding.
You sighed, brushing an arm over your forehead and assessing your progress. A casual passerby would've thought the mural complete by now but you were annoyingly particular when it came to your own pieces. It just needs… -you ponder, taking in the piece and feeling your body ache from the day’s work. Another deep breath- …a break. You will yourself to leave it for now and come back tomorrow with fresh eyes. You tarp everything up and pack your tools and paints into the van.
Brushing the dust and debris from your hands, you make your way to the driver’s side of the van, failing to notice headlights flick on further back on the road. It isn’t until you pull into the dark Arts Center parking lot that you let yourself admit that you’re being tailed.
“Fuck..” you grumble, hand already hovering over the emergency call number on your phone as you make sure the van doors are locked. You needed to be somewhere public, now. You went to put the van in reverse but two large cars had come sliding into the parking lot behind you while your eyes were down. “Fuck!” you cry, cursing yourself and debating whether it was wise to make a break for the Center.
Just then, a man walks into your vision, illuminated by the headlights of the van. The man with the barbed wire tattoo. You’ve got to be kidding me, you groan under your breath, hardly believing your luck. You tapped the call button and the phone rang in your lap.
“Oh, you can call the police!” Barbed wire’s voice rang out sharply from outside the van.
You eyed him down, leaning back into the seat and giving the woman on the line your information after a few deep breaths. She promised a dispatch would be there in minutes but you shuddered, seeing the man start to move closer.
He walked up slowly, coming to pause right next to your window. “We’ll be gone by the time they get here,” he smirked, his voice muffled behind the glass. “But first you and I are gonna have a chat, little Picasso.”
You swallowed thickly, looking forward and away. You felt sick to your stomach, a cold sweat trickling down your back. Your trembling hands gripped your phone tightly.
“We seen where you work, where you live. These little art projects are gonna stop if you know what’s good for you and all the other little queers who hang out around here, okay princess?” he punctuated his last words with a palm on the glass, making you jolt in your seat. He snickered cruelly.
“Hey Mack!” came the shout of one of his cronies, “We gotta go!”
Police sirens could be heard coming closer. Mack rapped on your window, pushing his face in before sprinting away to one of the cars, both soon revving away from the scene, two police cars breaking off from the group and following them. The other two pulled into the parking lot to meet you.
You gave all you could in descriptions, possible license plates, locations. The whole thing felt crazy and futile. The cops promised an effort would be made to quell this and recommended you stay at a friend’s tonight, offering you an escort. You declined- the last thing you wanted was to involve anyone you loved in this- anyone in the city and close to this. You’d grab an Uber or something to your cousin's place upstate. But what to do about this whole insane affair? Call Pete? You couldn’t bear the thought of that sweet man caught up in this. The Mayor? She had plenty to worry about on her hands and besides, who knew if you’d even be able to contact her. Your mind scrambled for options until it landed on the most impossible- a small black card in your bag.
“I’ll get a ride,” you insisted to the waiting officer. “Could you just…wait until it gets here?” you added, not wanting to be left alone.
“Of course,” the man nodded matter-of-factly. “I’d recommend you remain in your vehicle until it does.”
You nodded in response and thanked him, getting back into the van and shutting the door as you fiddled with the app. It was late and the estimated arrival time was 25 minutes. You sighed and slumped back in your seat.
Your hand reached to the front pocket of your backpack in the seat beside you, finding the business card easily. You turned the smooth cardstock over in your hands, nervousness radiating through you. This is stupid, you thought to yourself. He’s probably forgotten who you are by now. He did say should I need anything…and this definitely involves the Arts Center so he may want to know.
You reason and unreason away in your mind, hands already tapping out the number on the card. It’s late so there probably won’t be an answer anyway, you reassure yourself, the sudden thought that this incident might deter Mr. Wayne from donating his money stopping you cold, hand hovering over the ‘end call’ button. But before you can, a voice comes on the line.
“Hello?” The voice is accented- English and well spoken. Definitely not Wayne.
“H-hi, hey um,” you fumble for your words, “is this uh, is this Mr. Wayne’s number?”
“His private number, yes, now state your business.”
“Please, I promise this isn’t a joke,” you say quickly, willing the voice to stay on the line. “It’s y/n. I’m…in trouble. He.. he gave me his card at the gala and said if I needed anything..” you begin to ramble away, your emotions getting the better of you. “I can’t go home,” you almost pleaded, “we need to do something..!”
“Alright now, alright.” came the voice from the phone, sounding softened. “Just give me a moment please, dear, don’t hang up.”
You heard silence from the line as he put you on hold. The inside of the van felt stuffy and quiet, your ears filled with ringing and the thudding of your own heartbeat. Just when you think he’s left for good, the man on the line returns.
“Right, I’m coming to get you. Could you give me your location?”
“Wh- the Arts Center, but-”
“Stay where you are- I’ll be there in nine minutes.” The line went dead.
You stared in disbelief at your phone, the screen going black and your own shocked reflection staring back at you as if to say, what the hell? Your Uber estimate still said 17 minutes. The man on the line would get here first. Who the hell was coming to get you?
Your question would be answered in exactly nine minutes when a shiny black town car pulled into the parking lot. The cop got out of his vehicle, standing warily by the side of his police car. You waved him the ok and tentatively stepped up to the vehicle, unable to peer through the tinted windows.
A short, sturdy man stepped out. He wore a pinstripe vest and crisply pressed slacks, looking exceedingly well kept, especially next to your paint-stained clothes.
“Y/n I take it,” he said politely, reaching out to shake hands, which you did so disbelievingly. “Alfred Pennyworth, at your service,” he stated with a slight bow of his head. “Master Wayne has instructed me to bring you to Wayne Manor for the night. You’ll be safe there,” he said reassuringly.
Your mouth drops open. “Wayne Manor?? For the night?” you repeated, not sure you heard right.
“Indeed, he insisted,” Alfred went on, gently taking your backpack from your limp arms and placing it into the trunk. “Are these all your things?” he asked politely.
You nod instinctively then shake your head, holding up your hands as your brain catches up.
“Okay, wait wait wait- you’re telling me, the Bruce Wayne is insisting I stay over at his place tonight? Is this some kind of joke?? We met once and-”
“And he gave you that number in the event that you’d need it for anything. Master Wayne is a man of his word. I know this may seem strange but I assure you, this is what he wants. You’ll be safe there, I can promise you that.”
He said it so earnestly that your worries almost vanished- almost. “Just…give me a second, please.” He nodded. You weren’t a complete fool and you weren’t about to get rich people-kidnapped and hunted for sport or something.
You turned away and texted Dahlia, telling her you’d been jumped, but that everything was okay. You were going to stay somewhere for the night but if she didn’t hear from you by morning, you wanted her to call the police. You were met with confused and concerned texts, your phone buzzing like mad. You reassured her as much as you could, saying you were staying with a guy you’d been seeing recently and you just wanted to be safe. She was placated for now- but swore up and down for you to give her an address and that if she didn’t hear from you, she’d come busting down doors. You chuckled at your phone and thanked her. You took a breath and canceled the Uber before turning around to face the man.
“Okay. Thank you…I’m ready,” you said.
“Very good,” he smiled and opened the door for you. You climbed into the clean exterior sheepishly in your messy clothes, not remembering the last time you were in a car this nice.
“The paint’s all dry, I promise,” you insisted.
Alfred gave a laugh from the front seat, “Not to worry,” he assured you, “..this car’s seen its share of wild nights. Though the culprit was usually champagne..” he chuckled.
“Champagne?” you grinned, “I can’t imagine Mr. Wayne being the party type,” you admitted.
“Oh, not the young master,” Alfred chuckled, shaking his head. “The Waynes before him, his parents. Yes, they sure liked to have a good time,” he said almost wistfully, and you imagined the backseat glittering with their finery. You heard Alfred sigh from the front seat. “Such a shame,” he said softly, shaking his head. You were quiet in the backseat. Everyone knew the story, but it was suddenly put into perspective what kind of hole it had left, these torn open lives.
“But that’s why…things like this…are important to him.” Alfred said, almost carefully. “He’d want to see you safe, is what I mean.” He cleared his throat, eyes fixated on the road. You watched him in the rear-view mirror, There was something sharp in his eye that betrayed his look of mild-mannered butler.
“Well…please tell him thank you,” you said, staring out the window at the passing streetlamps. You were grateful for the company and conversation- even if it did make your head spin a little.
In no time, you were standing in an opulent entryway, waiting as instructed as Alfred made up your room. You craned your neck to stare up into the rafters, hardly believing that there were places with this kind of architecture in Gotham that weren’t museums. The whole place was darkened, lit only by ambient lighting in other rooms and the light of the city from far away windows. And it was all terribly quiet.
“This way, if you please.” Alfred said, walking briskly past you and down the hall, your backpack in his hands.
You trail behind him, your eyes wanting to explore every painting, statue, and carving that lined the halls and walls- it reminded you of a darkened Beauty and the Beast castle before things got bright and cheery again. Not wanting to get lost, you picked up the pace, striding past sitting rooms that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years and coming to a long hallway that ended in a grand set of double doors, a carved “W” on the stone above them. Alfred turned to the right, a few doors from the ones at the end of the hall, and let you in, placing your bag on the fanciest chair you’d ever seen.
“Right then,” said Alfred, clasping his hands together and surveying the room. “En suite bath is all yours. Please make yourself comfortable,” he said kindly. “Can I get you anything? I usually put on a pot of tea before bed…”
“Tea would be wonderful,” you say gratefully, Alfred nodding with a smile. “Um..” you start, unsure. “Are there…any clean clothes I could borrow?” you ask shyly, looking down at the state of your things.
“Of course!” Alfred said quickly, seemingly incredulous that he’d failed to offer. “Master Wayne’s clothes might be a tad large on you…” he began, looking you up and down with a hand to his chin, “...but I’m sure I can find something suitable.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth,” you say sincerely.
“Alfred,” he says with a smile, “Just Alfred is fine. And you’re most welcome. I’ll leave everything outside your door, alright? You won’t be disturbed tonight. And should you need anything, I’ll be right down the hall,” he gestured, stepping out of the room and closing the door with a gentle click.
You settle yourself down on the enormous canopy bed and breathe slowly, looking around at the exquisite room. Is this really happening? You were spending the night at Wayne Manor- at the request of Mr. Wayne himself.
Your mind wondered at where he could be and what he could be up to as you fiddled with the shower, the bathroom soon filling with steam. You peeled off your grimy, paint-stained work clothes and let the scalding water wash everything from the day away. It was a goddamn great shower, with one of those extra spouts that rained on you from the ceiling. After losing track of time, you stepped out onto the cool marble floor, feeling a bit light-headed from all the steam.
You pushed your wet hair back and stared at yourself in the mirror, wondering at how you ended up here. The feeling of needing to be on your guard had all but crumbled away after the luxurious shower and the onslaught of tiredness that came with it when you peeked out your door wrapped in a towel to find a tray with your tea- still piping hot- and a shallow box with folded clothes within. You scootched the two of them inside, working gingerly while attempting to keep the towel hoisted around you.
Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw movement down the hall. Probably just Alfred, you quickly thought. Hopefully. You pulled the door shut and after a moment’s pause, turned the lock. You felt a little silly, knowing they definitely had a key- but it made you feel better all the same.
As you sipped your tea, you looked out your window and down toward the city below. Not a bad view. But so far removed. The whole city in his eyes, but he was unable to touch it. No wonder Wayne could barely carry a conversation- he had locked himself away up here in his tower. Must be a lonely life.
After brushing your teeth- Alfred had kindly left all manner of toiletries for you, the godsend- you began pulling clothes out of the box to see what you were working with. Alfred had been right- they were going to be huge on you. But that was just fine for sleeping, you thought, pulling on one of Bruce’s large white shirts. Bruce’s shirt. The thought couldn’t help but make your heart flutter a bit. It smelled cool and clean, with the barest hint of lavender. You folded the rest of the clothes neatly back into the box as your stomach did flip flops.
Crawling under the impossibly soft sheets and into the magnificent bed made you realize just how bone-tired you were. You let your body settle into the mattress and were out like a light.
More stormy gazes cut through the fog of your dreams, strong but gentle hands taking your own or cradling your head, drawing traces down your skin. You hear the low rumble of a far away ocean, waves crashing into a rocky shore. Footsteps by the door. Footsteps? You drift in and out of slumber, wondering at what’s real. You hear soft, hurried voices talking, one Alfred’s, saying something along the lines of “..they’re fine…promised…wouldn’t be disturbed…” and a low rumble counter with a response. The footsteps soon fade and you’re pulled back into a deep and restful sleep.
Hours pass and the sky lightens, warm rays of orange and pink quickly being snuffed out by clouds that blanket Gotham in its usual paper-y gray. Your eyes blink open and you squint against the glow from the windows.
Your gaze whips around the room as you orient yourself, memories from last night tumbling back into your head with dizzying speed. You were followed, threatened- scared out of your wits. Then a single call had brought you somewhere entirely unexpected.
Sitting up and stretching, you checked your phone and saw it was well past noon. You’d really been wiped from such a day. You texted Dahlia that everything was fine…for now at least. Creeping from the bed and stepping softly on the huge ornate rug, you gazed out the window at the dreary city below. One thing was for sure- you felt safe here. The whole place was like a fortress. A lonely castle up in the clouds.
One more thing was for sure- you were starving. Your stomach felt twisted up inside you as you realized you hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning.
You steeled yourself, taking a breath, and unlocked the door to your room, peering out at the marbled hallway. Silence. Maybe everyone was out for the day? Your stomach growled as the tantalizing scent of breakfast food hit you, drawing you down the hall and toward what must be the kitchen. You knew you were a guest in this house but you were determined to stay quiet, padding softly across the cold floors, not quite feeling at ease yet.
The kitchen was the brightest room you’d seen yet, speckled marble and black cabinets, the whole place lit and warm with heating lamps built into the overhead of the stove. There were eggs, bacon, fruit, silver dollar pancakes- you felt your mouth water and only hesitated a moment before seeing a note to the side on the counter.
“Help yourself! -A” it read in neat handwriting.
You grabbed a plate from a small stack nearby and did just that, perching yourself on a bar stool by a huge window. It almost felt like you were staying at a hotel- that was also a museum- that was also completely empty.
Okay this was spooky as hell, you thought, grateful for the daylight making this vampire house a little less imposing.
After finishing breakfast and putting your plate in Wayne’s super fancy dishwasher, you couldn’t fight the urge to wander. Sitting rooms, parlors, a billiard room- rooms you couldn’t even define the use of. You ran your hands over intricate carvings and statues, over old banisters and knick knacks and chairs. If this place could talk, you thought through your wanderings, almost in awe. You appreciated that they hadn’t remodeled. You’d honestly thought most rich people these days opted for the stark white laboratory-grade houses. This was spectacular.
You felt like a ghost drifting through an old castle, exploring your way through darkened rooms- some completely covered up and draped in sheets. One at the back of the house showcased floor to ceiling windows and a large balcony that looked out upon open gardens on the lower levels and the bustling city below. Enormous chandeliers draped in cloth hovered above an empty expanse of floor.
Of course Wayne had a ballroom.
It was like a dream. You imagined the sparkling parties that had taken place here- sconces lit and the chandeliers glimmering as couples glided across the floor together, their merriment spilling out onto the balcony and into the night.
Music and laughter had filled this room once- and now it was as quiet and dark as a mausoleum.
You found yourself stepping your way across the room, imagining yourself a graceful dancer at one of the Wayne’s beautiful parties. You bowed and curtsied to invisible partners, unable to contain a quiet laugh as your socks caused you to slip around on the smooth floors. You spun your way to a window to look out over the gardens, wondering if you’d get the chance to stay long enough to explore them as well.
A lone grand piano nestled into the corner of the room caught your eye, hidden under a sheet. You padded your way over and ran a hand along the edge, pulling the cloth back slightly to reveal its slick black surface. You lifted the fallboard gingerly and sat down on the bench, running your fingertips over the pristine keys. There was a time you would have considered yourself decent at piano, but those days were long past. As if you could afford a piano of your own- let alone fit it in your apartment. Your fingers found a familiar pattern, plinking a soft and slow attempt at Clair de Lune.
Out of the corner of your eye came movement and you jolted from the seat, sending it scraping back against the floor.
“Sorry- I’m sorry,” came a low voice from the entryway, a tall figure making its way into the soft glow of the room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Mr. Wayne,” you said, embarrassed and wondering how long he’d been there. Your feelings were only heightened as you looked down at yourself, realizing you were still just in an oversized shirt and socks. His shirt for good measure. Running around his manor like it was some sort of slumber party.
Wayne almost seemed to pick up on your thoughts, his eyes never holding on you for too long- as if he was unsure if he was allowed to look at you like this.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, I’ve…just got back.” He stood before you in pressed trousers and a crisp white button-up shirt, the first few buttons already undone and his tie seemingly discarded.
I’m- I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, “...I shouldn't have been wandering around, I-”
“It’s okay,” he said quickly, meeting your disbelieving face. “Really,” he assured, letting a small smile show through. “These rooms have been empty for too long anyway,” he added, looking around at the grand room like he hadn’t seen it in ages. “It’s nice to see someone brightening up the place.” His words were so soft, tinged with a deep sadness- like Alfred speaking of days long past the night before.
You felt touched by his words. You were also pretty relieved he wasn’t upset, the heat at your neck calming.
“It’s…beautiful,” you breathed, taking in the space. “This whole place it’s…” you chuckled, truly at a loss for words.
“Thank you,” he said, albeit awkwardly- like he wasn’t used to having these kinds of conversations.
“Oh! Thank you for letting me stay the night,” you said quickly, the whole situation sounding absurd to your ears despite your place within it.
He nodded, “Of course.” That was sincere.
“I felt a lot safer here than I would’ve back at my place,” you say, trying to keep it light, but a shadow crossed over Wayne’s face as you said it. There was that pained look in his eye.
“Yes…I’d like you to tell me exactly what happened…When you’re ready,” he added.
You nodded, remembering why you were here. You couldn’t let the Center and its members suffer at the hands of these bullies.
“Right, um…” you began, “just let me change,” you said sheepishly, needing to be in real clothes before your embarrassment set you on fire.
“Course,” he mumbled, seeming to step away from you slightly. “I’ll um…be in the study when you’re all set.” He turned from you and made his way back down the hall and out of sight.
It was already driving you crazy how you just couldn’t pin the guy down. One moment he’s stepping around conversations like landmines, the next he’s locking you in with that crazy-intense stare and you don’t know why your heart’s pounding.
You sigh and place the cover gingerly back onto the piano, retracing your steps as well as you can before coming back to that familiar hallway and your room- the only open door amongst them. You shut it and assess the clothing situation. Nothing of Wayne’s was going to fit quite right, but you figured clean was a bit more of a priority than sizing. You opted for your paint-splattered pants and one of Wayne’s button-ups, attempting to own the oversized look by tucking in the shirt to the high-waisted pants. You were unsure if it was working. Letting out a small groan of aggravation as you messed with your hair in the mirror, you decided you had already been taking too long and that it was fine, you looked fine.
You rushed from your room, walking briskly down the hall and then stopping in place. You had no idea where the study was. Who even called it a study- what was this, a big board game of Clue? How cool would that be… Focus! You chastised yourself, glancing through doorways and archways to try and find what looked like a study.
After ending up in the kitchen for the second time, you sighed, laughing to yourself at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Mr. Wayne!” you called loudly, full on giggling by the time he’d rushed to you. “Which one’s the study?” you laughed, seeing a chuckle bubble up within him as well.
He leads you to a cozy room illuminated by the light of a window behind a large desk and several squat lamps on side tables beside their respective reading chairs. Bookshelves lined the walls, all manner of old tomes stuffed into their slightly sagging shelves. The room smelled of old paper and leather.
You nestled yourself into an armchair and told Wayne everything, all the way back to the beginning when barbed wire…Mack and his boys started to notice you putting up symbols around the neighborhood. And then to last night’s incident.
“I’m just worried about everyone at the Arts Center- I couldn’t live with myself if something were to happen,” you sighed, head in your hands. “I just can’t believe I got trapped like that,” you said angrily, your hands balling into fists. Now that the residual fear had been shoved to the back of your mind, you were aggravated with yourself.
Wayne’s expression, which had been darkening with each detail you gave him, now stared at you, shocked.
“You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that..” he said in a low voice.
“You’re absolutely right, I shouldn't- but that’s the reality here, Wayne. This city’s full of bullies like them, people who stopped caring about others a long time ago. The only way we can make things better is to make people realize they have the power to do something about it.”
“You need to be careful-”
“I’m not about to stop what I do just because someone’s trying to tell me I can’t,” you feel your voice getting sharper.
“So you’re just going to keep putting yourself in danger like that?” he asked, his voice rising to meet yours.
“If it means spreading the message to others then yes! What kind of choice is that?” You’re getting exasperated- this is rich coming from a man high up in his ivory tower.
“I told you to stay away from all this!” he practically shouts, getting up from his chair.
You can’t help but be shocked. It was alarming to hear his voice rise above its usual low murmur. You’re taking a breath to retort in kind when something in his voice stops you cold.
“I’m- I’m telling you...” He says quickly, turning from you, the pain in his face telling that he already regretted raising his voice. “...Next time…you may not get so lucky.”
You sigh. “Look at me. I’m not a fighter. I don’t have any money. This is the only thing I have and I gotta do something.” He stares you down, backlit by the great window. You stare back into that intense gaze for as long as you’re able. “People around here need something to hold onto. We can’t stop the momentum now.”
He’s crossed his arms and is looking out the window, clearly working through something in his mind.
“Mack…that man with the barbed wire tattoo,” he begins, his voice back to a low mumble, “...he’s part of a larger cell. Him and his boys may be some low-level thugs but they’ve got some powerful friends. They may have even been tied to the Mayor’s attempted kidnapping a few weeks ago.
You stared up at him, something dreadful and cold pooling in your stomach. You hug your knees to your chest. “Oh god…” you murmur.
He makes his way over to your chair, reaching tentatively as if to put a reassuring hand on you- but deciding against it at the last minute and resting a hand on the armrest, folding his tall frame into a crouch so he can meet your eyes.
“You’re right. People do need something to hold onto. And you should be right there to help them see it. Hey…” he said softly. He reaches to you, tilting your chin up to look at him with the barest whisper of a touch. Your breath catches, skin tingling where he touched.
“It’ll all be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”
He said the words with a finality that made you nervous. There it was, that cold-as-steel glint in his eye. An iris so stormy with the gloom of the day it reminded you of- Batman. Your drawings. Your obsession was reaching new heights, you internally groaned. Wayne was up and typing something into his phone before you could make any inquiries.
“You should stay another night. I don’t think it would be wise to go back home tonight,” he said the words slowly, carefully. You feel yourself drawing inward, frightened by that intensity that seemed to simmer just below the surface. “Please,” he said after a pause, softening.
“Don’t worry…I’ll be diplomatic.” His eyes burned and you were at a loss for words.
A moment of silence and then he stood. “Alfred will sort out dinner. Please…make yourself at home.” And with that, he turned and left you in the study, head swimming with questions.
