READER X BATMAN // Bruce Wayne X Reader
Summary: The sirens and screams of Gotham might as well be the soundtrack of your life. You're usually the one doing the saving, not the other way around. Except for this time.
AN: Helloooo. Here’s my 2nd ever fic :) trying to post more but swamped with midterms right now.
CW: Explicit violence, insinuated threat of SA
"Make sure you get home safe, Doll!" Michael, the security guard called as the hospital doors slid open for you. His thick New York accent made made you smile as you turned, tossing back an assured I will over your shoulder before letting the chill that never seems to leave Gotham caress your face.
It was raining, of course, and you didn't have an umbrella. Of course. You hastened your steps, pulling the hood of your coat over your head, determined to fight the heavy drops all the way to your apartment 5 blocks over on 183rd and Washington. You felt yourself shiver, the droplets managing to soak what parts of your scrubs that they could. Just another 20 minutes, and you'd be able to take a hot shower, drink some tea, and crash into your soft, warm bed. 20 minutes, and you'd be home.
You couldn't stop thinking about the older woman who passed today. She was 82, no family, and she had held your hand until the very end. You had cried in the break room when she'd finally gone, the feeling of her once warm fingers growing cold seared into your head. You had sang to her, softly, something your mom used to do—a song from so long ago, so distant you couldn't believe you remembered it until you were already humming.
You live your life, you go in shadows
You'll come apart and you'll go black.
You were only 23, and so much life had already happened to you. You wondered what you would be like, 60 years from now. Alone, just like the woman? Nobody but a strange nurse as you became part of the shadows?
Death, you thought, as the cold seeped further into your bones, is not the scariest thing. Life is.
As if you had jinxed yourself, as if by even thinking about it had somehow conjured the events that followed, death greeted you a few moments later.
You knew better than to get wrapped up in your thoughts. It didn't matter that you had worked a 12 hour shift and your feet hurt and you could still feel that woman's hand and the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment.
This was Gotham. This city had violence on every street, every corner. A young woman like you should know better than to let her guard down, even for just a moment.
And yet, that's exactly how they found you. Your guard nowhere to be found.
The first stepped out from behind a brick wall, coming from a dark alley that you almost always hesitated by. Almost.
The second man must have been following you. For how long? Maybe since the hospital. You were too caught up in the rain and your own thoughts to listen for another pair of foot steps. Would you have heard them? It's too late to think about that now.
The man who stepped out in front of you was holding a gun.
"Don't say a fucking word," he said, raising the gun. You had stopped dead in your tracks, too shocked to scream. His hand did not shake as it became level with your eyes. This was not his first time with his finger on the trigger.
You tried backing up, tried to turn to run, but you were met with the solid flesh of the other man. His hands came up around your mouth, just as you were starting to scream, having finally found your voice.
You could taste the thick wool of his glove as he roughly splayed his fingers across your lips, your jaw. Your tongue was forced back so hard you thought you might gag. His hand was cupping your nose, and you wondered briefly if you'd suffocate before they shot you. Which would be worse? Death by asphyxiation, or the sharp burn of a bullet.
You guess it didn't matter what the means were if they led to the same end, right?
No, you thought. You weren't ready to go. You knocked your head back as hard as you could, feeling the collision of your skull to the man's head. You could hear the sharp crack, the nauseating crumble of his nose breaking before the thud of his body. You had knocked him out.
"You bitch!" the other guy said before you felt the cool metal of the gun collide with your jaw, your knees buckling. You felt your palms scrape against the concrete, but the burn was pushed from your mind. It woke you up. You screamed so loud your voice cracked, going hoarse, before you were yanked up by your ponytail, your hood no longer protecting you from the rain. The cool metal of the gun was pressed against your forehead.
So, I don't make it to 83, you thought, bitterly. Now wasn't really the time to be making jokes.
You thought about your cat at home—a black tabby who you had rescued from a dumpster as a kitten just a few months ago. You had heard his meows from your window 4 stories up and had found him, cold and wet on a night just like this one. What would happen to him? It seemed sort of pointless to be worried about a cat when death was so close, but you worried anyway. You hoped your neighbor, the grouchy old man next door, would hear his cries after a few days and think to feed him. He seemed to have a soft spot for cats.
You hoped at least one of you survived.
"Such a fucking waste, when all we wanted was your wallet. But now, there's no way I'm letting you go," the man with a gun pressed against your head growled, pulling so hard at your hair that tears pricked your eyes. You shut them tightly, willing it to be over fast. Hoping that it wasn't a slow death. You were only 23.
You could taste the metallic tinge of blood flooding your mouth from where your teeth had bit into your cheek. Your jaw throbbed from where he struck you. You felt dizzy with pain.
Maybe, you thought, I'll black out before he shoots me.
"You couldn't just fucking cooperate, huh? Had to try and be your own hero. When will you little bitches learn—this is a man's world," he spat on you, his breath raw and disgusting. You flinched and felt more tears spill over.
"Look at me," he said. You kept your eyes closed. The rain was pelting your face. The gun cocked.
"I said," he knocked the gun against your temple again, "fucking look at me." He was hissing, his voice dark and evil and full of so much malice.
Your eyes shot open at the sound of the click of the gun.
"Such pretty green eyes for such a fucking bitch," he said, staring down at you. You were on your knees. Blood was dripping down the side of your mouth, and you thought to scream again, but fear had lodged itself in your throat—it was choking you. This was Gotham. Who would hear you anyway? Screams were just another echo of the soundscape here.
The man was tall and skinny. He wore a beanie, an old, stained sweatshirt, and his teeth were yellow. Rain was dripping in streaks down his face, accumulating at his nose and other high points. He looked like he was on drugs, his pupils blown so wide his eyes looked black.
A drop head, probably. You treated a lot of them lately.
"Maybe it won't be such a waste after all," he said, his black eyes glimmering as he licked his lips, yellow teeth flashing. "Would be a shame if I didn't see what that pretty mouth could do before I blow your brains out," he hissed, again.
Before you could gag, or scream, or think of what he would really do to you, there was a movement from the shadows and the quick sound of boots thudding toward you. In a flash, the cold of the gun was removed from your temple, the grip on your hair released. The darkness had stepped out and tackled the man holding you hostage.
Suddenly, the sharp sound of a gunshot rang out in a brilliant flash of light, and you crumbled, desperate to avoid the line of fire.
There were groans, and then almost silence. The man was beaten unconscious by a wall of black, the fluttering of a cape and fist meeting flesh the only echos in the dark alley. You could feel your ears ringing, the throbbing of your jaw forgotten in your fear of the gun and mysterious figure.
You couldn't think to stand, you were frozen—paralyzed. Your hands had caught you, your palms scraping more against the rough asphalt below.
You would need some serious disinfectant.
Before you could move, the wall of black had turned to you, rain obscuring your vision. Were you next? Had you escaped one danger, just to fall into the hands of another?
"P-please," you finally stuttered, scrambling backward from the dark figure approaching you. Your voice was raw and strained. You wanted to cough.
"Please I don't have anything to give you." You screwed your eyes shut, waiting for the violence to reach you. You thought again, of your cat, alone and waiting for dinner. Of the shower you had promised yourself. Of the hand of the woman who died today.
"I'm not going to hurt you," a deep, but soft voice fluttered toward you. The footsteps slowed, and you allowed yourself to open your eyes.
"Are you hurt? Can you walk?" distant sirens could be heard in the background. Your blue scrubs were torn at the knees, the blood from your scrapes mixing with the rain.
"I think so," you whispered, finally meeting the eyes of the person who saved you. When you finally met his masked face, you gasped. You would recognize that armor, that cowl, anywhere.
"It's you," you whispered, amazed, as his gloved hands came to steady you. He didn't respond to your recognition, his mouth falling into a flat line. You could hear the sirens getting closer.
"Where do you live," he said, gruffly this time. You rattled off your address before you could think of the consequences of giving out your home location to a total stranger. He did, in fact, just save your life. What was he going to do, strangle you in your sleep?
"You're not going to strangle me in my sleep are you," you slurred. The sudden combination of dizziness from standing and your head wound had caught up to you, the adrenaline leaving just as quickly as it came.
"No," he said. Darkness was threatening your vision as you swayed on your feet. Before it swallowed you whole, you heard, "I'm taking you home."
You awoke with the swaying of your head as warm, firm hands carried you upstairs. The world was tilted. You were in your apartment complex. Your head and body felt heavy, like you had been sedated, but the iron taste in your mouth persisted. The pounding in your head swelled and the ache spread from your jaw outward, like a flower blooming.
You struggled to move your head—to blink wearily up at the face of the man holding you. From what you could see beyond his mask, he was a picture of stoicism.
His eyes flittered to you as you blinked more, struggling to take him all in. It shocked you—the startling blue of his irises. You had assumed they were as black as the kohl smudged around them.
"You have a concussion," he murmured. You thought back to your training. You would need to check your pupils with a flashlight, and to set timers to wake every few hours.
Maybe I should call in sick tomorrow.
"Your eyes are blue," you said. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth.
It wasn't the response he was looking for, his mouth tightening into a frown. He stopped, climbing the last step and reaching your apartment door. In turn, you reached for your keys, trying to lift a heavy limb, but before you could, you were lowered to the ground as Vengeance swiftly unlocked your door, the jingle of metal alerting you that he had already retrieved them from your coat pocket.
His arm was still around your waist, steadying you, but you mustered up all of your strength to take shaky steps forward, hearing the meow of Zeus as the door swung open.
He was probably wondering about dinner.
You stumbled to the kitchen, looking for the tuna that you kept in the top cupboard.
"I'm sorry I'm late, baby," you slurred, still trying to reach the top shelf. Your mind was cloudy, but you knew your cat was hungry. It had to be late, right? How long had it been since those men jumped out at you, a few short blocks from here?
Suddenly, you felt his presence behind you, grabbing the can from the top shelf and placing it gently on the counter.
You had forgotten all about your masked hero, but you froze, looking up at him once again. He towered over your small frame. He had to be well over 6 foot and broader than the doorway.
"Hi," you mumbled, once again. His eyes were narrowed.
"You have a concussion," he said, repeating himself. All you could do was nod, scrunching your nose as you poured the tuna into Zeus's bowl, the cat slinking between your legs, purring. You hated tuna.
Your hands were shaking. Actually, your whole body was shaking.
"I think I need to take a hot shower," you finally said, your back ramrod straight. The room was spinning. "Thank you, for everything. You saved my life." You knew the words were coming from your own mouth, but they sounded far away. Like it was happening to someone else, somewhere else. Did all of that really happen?
"You have a concussion, and you're in shock," came his response. He was still standing too close, the warmth from his body radiating outward despite all of the armor and the chill of the rain. Your scrubs were sticking to your skin.
You nodded, watching Zeus eat for a few more seconds before turning to walk to the shower. No footsteps followed you.
Batman is in my apartment, you thought absently as you grabbed a towel from the linen closet. Wet drops pooled around you as you entered the bathroom, shutting the door softly.
"Batman is in my apartment, but he will be gone after my shower," you said to yourself in the mirror. Your green eyes haunted you from your reflection and dried blood had caked the corner of your mouth. Where the gun had hit you was starting to swell and turn purple. You were sure your face would be bruised forever. Where the gun had hit you.
You reached out to prod at it, just to see if anything felt broken. Your long dark hair was plastered to your cheekbones, having come somewhat undone from being yanked. You tried not to think of the pinpricks of pain that radiated all over your head as you stared deep into your own eyes. Like little tiny needles piercing your skin. Like someone was throwing a bowling ball against the inside wall of your head, waiting for it to finally crack open.
Still, looking at yourself didn't feel real. The cold from the rain had settled so deep in your bones that you didn't even register the chattering of your teeth as you stepped into the hot shower, every part of your body stinging from the sharp transition of cold to hot. You were barely in there for a few moments, just enough to scrub away the blood, when the steam from the shower started making you dizzy as your head began to pound even more. Your vision started to go black, the floor rushing up at you.
You stumbled, knocking over the bottles of shampoo and conditioner and body wash, trying to grasp anything to stay upright. Just as you felt yourself go, the bathroom door slammed and suddenly the glass door to the shower was yanked open, leather gloved hands curling around your naked midsection.
This is embarrassing, you thought.
You were unconscious before he could shut the water off.
You awoke in your bed, the covers wrapped around your body tightly. The lamp on your nightstand illuminated part of the room, coating everything it could in a soft, gold light.
You tried to sit up, clutching at your jaw. The pain had subsided a little, but the pulsating feeling of blood swelling at the surface hadn't. You tried to shift, moving to place one foot on the ground.
"Don't get up," came a gruff voice from the corner of the room, still drenched in darkness.
You jolted and gasped, turning to face the shadows that somehow evaded the light. The movement made your head hurt.
There he was, sitting in a chair he must have grabbed from the kitchen.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. Was it possible that his voice was softer? Was Vengeance capable of softness?
"You're still here," you said. You remembered the shower and the feeling of gloved hands wrapping around you.
"You saw me naked," you blurted out, clutching the sheets tightly to your chest. You were dressed, now. An old faded NYU shirt and shorts. No underwear. Had he dressed you?
You waited for a response, but the Batman had gone stiff and quiet, as if he was holding his breath.
"I didn't see anything," finally came from the dark. "You fainted in the shower. I told you. You have a concussion."
He must have lied to save your dignity, but you nodded anyway.
"I'm sorry," you mumbled. You didn't know if you were apologizing for fainting, or for the whole night. The small part of you acknowledged that you had kept Gotham's hero from the rest of his duties, but the other, larger part was thankful that the shadows had remained, watching over you.
"I don't—" you struggled to find the words, overcome with emotion. You choked back the tears. "I don't know how to thank you. You saved my life," you finally whispered, your hand still cradling your jaw as you stared into the darkness, willing yourself to see the blue that you had encountered in the stairway.
His eyes shone in the dark.
"You need to make sure you wake up, every few hours," he said, ignoring your thanks. He was monotonous, controlled. There was no hint of anything in his voice, just apathy. Still, energy, unnamed, radiated off of him toward you. You felt your joints go stiff with the seriousness of it all.
"I don't have any hemorrhaging," you said, recounting the way that your pupils responded to the light earlier. "I'll be okay."
"Are you a doctor?" It was less of a question, and more of a statement.
"Trauma nurse," you answered, looking away from him. You had seen and stitched and survived far worse in your line of work. In your life. This would be nothing in a week. Gotham was a city of pain and suffering. You were just another statistic. You tried not to think of the cold barrel of the gun against your temple.
Suddenly, a thought presented itself like an award winning idea.
"I know I will never be able to repay you for saving my life," you said, looking down at your hands. Your nails had dirt and blood underneath them. You never went to bed this dirty. "But if you ever—I mean I know you're a skilled fighter—but if you ever need help, you can always come here. It's not like Batman can just walk into a hospital," you said, exhaling.
You expected a response, even if it was a rejection, but when you looked up the chair was empty and the shadows were just shadows again.
Any and all feedback is appreciated :) x
