“I hope you got what you wanted.” With whoever you'd like
Send me an angst ask and I’ll write a drabble on it!
Warnings; Language, if you don’t like angst I wouldn’t read it!
“Right this way Mr. Wayne.” Arkham Asylum was one of the last places Bruce Wayne wants to spend his time. Between the bright, overhead lights that give the entire facility an unnatural, otherworldly look, the smell of antiseptic that makes his nose burn, and the rough memories made in the endless labyrinth of hallways, the place just felt wrong.
With good reason of course. It was an Asylum after all.
The guard accompanying him leads him down a hallway labelled Solitary Visitor Center, and the bright overhead lights begin to dim and flicker.
As Bruce had learned, the further you go into the Asylum the more the quality deteriorates. Bruce’s frequent excursions as Batman escorting criminals in had given him quite an accurate layout of the building. It didn’t take much to see how escapes were so easy either. Between the lax security and structural problems, it wasn’t too hard.
They pause outside a locked metal door, and the guard hesitates before the latch.
“Are you sure you want to see him? He’s..unstable.” The guard gestures towards the metal, latched door before him. His confusion and disdain was evident, and Bruce regards it with a bit more ire than necessary.
“Yes. I already said I did.” The guard lifts his hands in mock surrender, unlatching the door.
“All yours. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The guard mutters the last bit, and Bruce hesitates for a moment.
Just a few months before, Bruce Wayne had been sitting in a hospital chair, watching his best friend fight for like for nearly three days. It would be the first time since the hospital that Bruce would see Harvey, and with his unsavory turn in career paths and attitude, Bruce couldn’t deny his slight, though appropriate, anxiety. Regardless of his anxiousness, he made a promise.
“I thought I said I didn’t want fucking visit- Bruce?” In the semi-darkness of the small cell-like room sits Harvey Dent, strapped to a chair across a fold out table.
At the sight of Bruce, all traces of anger and irritation seem to melt away from his partly scarred face, if only for a moment. His posture slackens and his shoulders cave in, confusion and nervousness evident in his expression. Bruce’s heart aches and swells simultaneously as he pauses before the chair.
“Why.. why are you here? Don’t- don’t look at me. I don’t want you to see me like this, I’m so-”
The guard at the door looks borderline appalled at Dent’s sudden mood change, and at the nonchalance at which Bruce shakes off his demands and moves to sit in the chair across from the super criminal.
“Don’t be sorry. I told you I’d visit in the hospital. I promised, remember?” Harvey’s eyes squeeze shut and he shakes his head, as though shaking off a painful thought. “I said I’d always come back.”
“And I said not to,” Harvey snarls suddenly, his head snapping back up and his knee slamming hard enough into the bottom of the table that the guard startles.
Bruce waves the guard off, seeming relatively unphased by the sudden outburst. For a moment, only angry and awkward silence spans between the pair.
Bruce watches Harvey shake his head, squeezing his eyes shut in a seemingly futile attempt to disorientatedly compose himself.
“How is Arkham treating you? Okay?” Bruce’s question doesn’t seem to register to him immediately, but when it does it’s obvious. His hands shift loudly on the table, and Harvey’s scowl deepens.
“It’s fucking peachy, thank you. What do you think, huh? Did you just come here to rub it in my face that I’m here?” Harvey’s voice steadily rises, and Bruce is the one to shake his head this time. His shoulders have begun to ache with the tension in them.
“You and me both know I’m not here to do that. I’m here to visit my friend. I miss you Harv.” For the second time, Harvey’s face goes slack, and he sags a bit. For a moment, it isn’t a duality obsessed crime-lord before Bruce, but a man, his friend, who was wounded and scared and needed help.
“Bruce..I’m so sorry I-” Bruce was pretty sure he could feel his heart shattering in his chest, unable to do anything but lift his hands and rest them on top of Harvey’s. He flinched back like Bruce’s touch burned him. Maybe it did.
“Harvey, please don’t be sorry, I’m h-”
“Five more minutes Mr. Wayne. Wrap it up.” The guard startles them both, and Bruce sends a quick nod over his shoulder.
“Don’t come back Bruce,” Harvey bites out, his hands clenching beneath Bruce’s. The raw emotion in his eyes is enough to make Bruce’s stomach twist. “Please.”
“Don’t. Don’t fucking come back. I don’t need you. Just don’t.” Bruce wonders if the snapping in his chest is audible. With how loud it is in his ears and chest, he wonders how it isn’t. Before he can even form a coherent argument, the metal door groans open.
“Time’s up Wayne.” An armed guard is quick to slip in and yolk Harvey up by his arm, leading him towards the door. Before he exits, he cuts Bruce a glance over his shoulder.
“Goodbye Bruce. I hope you got what you came for.”
Bruce was left alone in the musty cell, his face pale and his chest empty.
