Chapter Four: Desolate Days
Heiress of Gotham
Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader
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Summary: It’s time. The funeral has finally come around. While the expected have shown up, will the unexpected lead to loose threads in your life? It'll certainly raise questions, that's for sure.
Words: 3.7k
Warnings: Funeral, Depression, Threats, Crying, Angst,
Mentions of: Death, Bodies, Trauma,
A/N: While this chapter is angsty, and the next one contains some twists and turns, I promise it'll actually start to become more fun around chapter six once the reader gets settled into her new life!
It wasn't easy, not by any means; a week full of setting up a funeral, at fifteen, for your mother... the only real family you've ever had. Sure, there were close family friends in your life, but they weren't a constant presence, not like her. All that flew out the window when you'd been orphaned, and now, who knows what will become of those relationships. You figure, only time will tell.
As for the actual events, tonight is the viewing, followed by a dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant you guys used to love, and tomorrow morning is the burial. While there'd been lots of talk about who would come and what it would mean to them, and you, the conversation never fully came to any certain conclusion.
You don't know and aren't close with your new siblings, and while from a publicity standpoint it makes sense they should come and show their support, your Father is really the only person who knew your Mother. Even then, how well did he truly know her? The question stands. With all this in mind, you know that Bruce is accompanying you tomorrow, and by extension, Alfred too. That much you're clear on.
Money is a tough subject. Isn't it for everyone? While you weren't rich growing up in Bludhaven, you also weren't in the degree of poverty that some are, either. Nevertheless, funerals you quickly learned, cost a lot of money. You'd think it'd be one thing to bury someone in your backyard (if you had one, that is), or even toss them in the dumpster (not that you'd do that), or even set them afloat on the river and nearest ocean (that either), yet, the government wants their money. That's always what it boils down too, doesn't it? Regardless, Bruce had been suspicious when you brought up paying for the funeral. He offered, and while you'd argued for a good half hour, you'd finally compromised with him.
He wants to pay for the funeral, and you can keep the money you--somehow--have for college. Apparently, he expects you to do that now, as well. Not that college was outside of the question before, but... you still have three years to think about it, don't you? All in all, he let you pick out what you thought your mother would like, which, ultimately sort of became what you'd like... right? Besides the preferences in her will, there was still the matter of some sort of plaque or headstone, obsidian or silver... the works. Trying to keep money in mind, you didn't go crazy, but you did let him deal with it while still trying to give her at least something fairly nice.
It all happened so fast, really. Picking out everything, setting things up, and sending out a message so your family friends would know when and where to show up to pay their respects if they wished to do so. Not many people knew about your recent transfer of guardianship, or rather, to who. And while there had apparently been somewhat of a civil kerfuffle with your mother's best friend in an attempt to waive Bruce of his fatherly duties, Bruce apparently decided to claim custody of you. That's what social services naturally thought was the best fit for you.
"You don't have to go in if you don't want," Dick speaks up from behind you.
Standing outside the doors to the funeral home, you know that all too soon the doors will open up for her viewing and you won't be able to escape. Regardless of how many people show up, you'll be met with stories, jokes, emotions, conversation, and things you're just not ready to handle. Staring at the doors, Damian walks past you, soon followed by Tim as they make their way to the door.
"Sure she does. Maybe not now, but sooner or later you have to," Tim offers you with a sympathetic smile, "otherwise you'll never forgive yourself."
"That's just his regret talking," Jason accuses as he straightens the lapels of his black vest and follows the younger boys. "You do what you want, kid." A pat on the back, he too heads inside, leaving you there, Dick still lingering over your shoulder.
"It's your decision," the Detective reminds you with a sympathetic and encouraging smile before pushing open the doors to the funeral parlor.
Standing there in your short black t-shirt dress, the hem whips in the wind as a storm brews in the distance by the Fawcett-Bludhaven border, eventually destined to head your way, closer to the ocean, no doubt. Though you're adorned by a simple black headband, the accessory doesn't keep your hair from hanging around the frame of your face, eyes glued to the fancy sheen of your church shoes: a pair of black mary-janes.
"Are you second-guessing?" The gruff voice of your Father emanates from your side and you raise your eyes to meet his face. There's a forlorn and distant look in his eyes as he stares ahead at the double doors leading toward the place you know the two of you will be met with a familiar face.
With a subtle nod, he mirrors your action, a clearing of his throat as he straightens his tie. "I can't say I blame you. Though, I can make you an offer," he proposes. As he turns his head, you're met with knowing blue eyes, a hint of what you swear is mischievousness behind them. "If you ever need to bail, why don't we have some sort of code? A code word, what about that?" He expands, the furrowed brows on your face cluing him onto your thoughtful mentality.
"I have to think about it," you respond quietly, eyes roaming the property. While Bristol is an eclectic part of Gotham for sure, this part of town feels somewhat desolate. The nearest and nicest open-plot cemetery to Bludhaven, it was a compromise on everyone's behalf. Not far enough from Bludhaven to feel unlike home and lack a means of public transportation for those in need, and not one of the buildings in the city that are more mausoleum-like, an option you hadn't wanted to consider. She deserved something better. A rumbling of thunder echoes throughout the landscape, the sky growing dark in the distance; eyes brought to the weather, your mind churns. "What about... 'Blizzard'?" It wasn't totally innocuous, yet it wasn't entirely improbable either.
"It'll definitely be interesting to see how we manage to work that into conversation naturally," Bruce jokes, to which you offer him a quiet chuckle, the inkling of a smile working its way onto the corners of your lips.
"Is that okay?" You ask, unsure if he approves.
"Blizzard it is," the Billionaire agrees, stretching out a hand in a semblance of kinship. With a moment of consideration, it doesn't take long for your hand to meet his in conciliation. With a firm shake, you both turn to enter the parlor side by side.
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Hand clutching the prized middle-school graduation gift you'd received from your Mother, a golden chain necklace with a teardrop image of La Virgen on it, you subtly run it back and forth along the chain where it rests on your sternum between your collarbones. Despite uncomfortable conversation and questions, you hadn't needed the code word. The attempt to try and visit your Mother before the service was unfruitful, people having shown up earlier than expected, others wanting to set up and you consequently helping like the obedient little girl you often were. Nevertheless, even now with only family members remaining, you still stand at a distance where only her hands propped up on her waist are visible.
Bruce had gotten by through making conversation, trying to get to know you and your acquaintances through their association and knowledge, though their questions often turned on him. Upon the revelation that you're not only now, but always have been a Wayne dawned on them. The natural questions would tend to follow. 'How well did you know her? Were you close to her?' As much as the Playboy would love to admit he didn't know your Mother on the level it would seem most people assumed, he also knew that sort of answer might tarnish any image of your Mother that these people already had in mind. Hence, he tended to use his usual tactics of evasion in a similar manner to any gala he'd attend.
The boys ended up doing recon in some sense, all in their own versions. Damian had intended to simply find a nice corner to sit in and text Jon about the plans for their next hangout and fill him in on the dreadful activities he's been put up to on the behest of his new 'sister'. If he could even call you that. Tim hadn't been filled in on the situation concerning your little expedition with Jason and what the elder had found during that time, so when Dick naturally seemed curious and a little too snoopy for his taste in concern of the event, it was only upon questioning his brother that he found out about the circumstances.
Dick went into this with the hopes of finding out information on your family, on what you all knew, the type of people you were, and what they knew specifically about you and your Mom. That much cash laying around even with the excuse of not trusting banks, in Bludhaven of all places, was ridiculous. Especially for the job he dug around and found out your Mother had. Therefore, he took to subtly interrogating people under the guise of attempting to get to know his new little sister better.
Jason had intended to go only on the purpose of supporting you, and watching his family in suspect, considering they've all seemed dubious of your Mother and your family's involvement in some sort of criminal activity. While he'd been curious, watching you, talking to you, he's found that there's probably not much further whatever 'secret' your family is hiding goes. Sometimes people do things they need to do to survive, and if he's heard any stories about your Mother this evening, he'd suspect that's it.
Damian eventually caught wind of Grayson's not-so-subtle tactics of questioning people, and decided his evening would be much more fruitful doing exactly what his brother was doing, only in a more professional manner. After all, once he'd rounded the parlor he'd seen his Father doing the same thing in his own fashion, therefore, he can't be mad at them for doing the same when he's the one who's supposed to be setting the example, right?
Oblivious to your new family's motives, you try and work up the courage to say goodbye to her... to her face. Evading the happy images that filter through wild transitions on television's slideshow to the right, you run a thumb over the memorium card you'd taken. Even if they were for everyone else, you still wanted one. Room practically empty, you finally take the leap and close the space between you and the open casket.
Immediately you have to avert your eyes. It's... too painful. Yet, another curious part of you tempts you to take another look. Upon second glance it simply appears as if she's sleeping. Peacefully. There's no lacerations or marks, no sign of any sort of ill-wrought event, and yet, you know the wiser. "I hate this," you whisper through your teeth, jaw clenching in an attempt to keep your tears at bay. "It's not fair. I don't know why... why it had to be you." With a sniffle and a heavy sigh that bobs your shoulders, you reach out and place a small hand on her larger, and eerily cold hand. "I wish I could ask you, that I could talk to you- that you could tell me why- why you never told me! I don't- I don't want to do this but I know I have to, and he's giving me... all you ever wanted for me. I-" Breath coming quicker, you have to force yourself to speak the next words, determined not to break down in front of everyone. "Te quiero mucho, mamá, te extraño, y vas a recordar para siempre." With a gentle squeeze to her hand, you turn and head for the doors, eyes downcast as you avoid everyone.
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Somehow, the universe always reflected its events; while it’d been mostly thunder and heat lightning the night prior, this morning the dark clouds have been pouring rain. Alfred had gotten you up, though really you hadn’t slept much in anticipation of what today would hold. Having been dressed for some time now, all you’ve done is sit at the window seat and stare outside, watching the rain pelt the earth repeatedly, unyielding in its triumph. You can’t help but think it’s like life, forceful until the end, when it eventually wanes and succumbs to a stop. Maybe you’re overthinking, but with everything that’s been going on… you don’t think you can help it.
“Hey,” your Father’s voice calls from the door, a gentle knock on the wood follows as he continues to open it and step through the threshold. “Are you ready? Breakfast is waiting, and then Alfred’s gonna take us,” he informs, “the boys are going to join for breakfast, but then it’ll just be us, alright?”
Before he can get too far into the room you rise from the window seat and tear your attention away from the gardens. With a nod, you meet him halfway and follow downstairs.
Breakfast is mostly silent, as you’re sure no one is quite certain what to say. If they could say anything, that is. Hell, even Damian doesn't have a snarky remark, and Dick doesn't try and make meaningless conversation. It all comes and goes far faster than you'd imagined, though the food was delicious. With your departure and solemn looks from your newfound siblings, Alfred pulls the Rolls Royce up to a gentle stop before the Manor's fancy double doors.
It was hard to believe she was in there. Yes, you'd picked out the coffin, yes you'd seen her at the viewing, and yet... this is your Mother. The woman who birthed you, who fed you, who took care of you year after year, and was there for you no matter what. And now... she's gone.
It doesn't feel real. The rain pattering against the umbrella Bruce holds up over you. All the people who sit and stand opposite of the priest as he goes about his rites. Of course there came time for the eulogy, and while there was the option of making one yourself, you couldn't find it within yourself to do so. Like Tim had mentioned, this could be something you may regret later, but in this moment it feels like too much. There's a dull queasiness that never leaves your stomach as you stand, eyes cast downward as your hands lay clasped before you. Rain, muck, and mud cling to your black mary-jane shoes, the ground now beginning to flood as the soil's beared all it can soak up for the next coming weeks.
People come and go, they give their well wishes and hopes for your sake, and yet you can't really put any of it to mind or manner as all you can focus on is the growing emptiness within you. This isn't how things were supposed to go. You weren't supposed to be burying your parent... not this soon. That's not how it works!
It's the call of your name that stirs you from your thoughts. Eyes raising to the familiar face, you can't help but feel your eyes widen with the shock and astonishment that they had the audacity to visit... to stay. Yes, he wasn't a stranger; yet an acquaintance isn't necessarily a friend. The boy lifts his hands to cup one of yours between his. "I'm so sorry to hear what happened, Mi Amor, I'm always here for you, sabes," Saul says. Though there's a sympathetic look in his eyes, you don't trust him one bit. Not after he'd taken one opportunity after another and gotten trapped up with the man behind him: Antonio 'Angel' Marin. Sure, you'd dumped Saul before he'd become affiliated with the notorious Bludhaven mob boss, but it didn't do him any favors holding company like that.
As Saul leaves you and heads toward the line of black cars along the cemetery road, you dread the man next in line. "It's an unfortunate thing, losing a mother," Angel speaks, "looks like luck had its way with you though, getting you out." From the outside it might seem inappropriate, or perhaps simply a mistaken and poorly judged comment, but you know better. Lips pursing, jaw tightening, you don't dare let your hands form into fists as you meet the man's eyes.
His oily face and ratty mustache meet your gaze, and you suddenly feel anger beginning to simmer in your gut. Though you're not sure why. While there'd been a time you may have considered him a family friend, a protector, a genius, and a revolutionary... those times have gone. He hadn't done your family wrong, in fact, he'd done nothing but try to help you and your Mom out of poverty, and yet... there were always strings attached. Neither of you had seen them at first and once you'd wanted out, you'd luckily gotten out without too much of a fight. Thankfully, unlike some of the stories you've heard, and yet, somewhere within you the anger persists. Maybe it's the smug look on his face, his taunting words perhaps, but whatever it is, he irks you.
"Don't go gettin' into any more trouble, ya hear?" His thin voice lets out a wry chuckle and he lays a pat on your shoulder before you can dodge it. Watching him leave with his trail of two or three choice goons behind him, you can't help but feel like he'd only come here for one thing, and one thing only... to taunt you. Was it a warning? A sign? A way of telling you that without his protection you were doomed? Leading a life toward failure? Only to end up like your Mother? No... no, that can't be it. There has to be something else, that can't be it.
"Do you know him?" Bruce asks, finally speaking up for the first time since the service ended. He'd seen the whole interaction, he knows who that man was... but he doesn't know if you do. Not truly, anyway. Even if the grimace and shiver that'd run up your spine was visible from the way you attempted to evade the evil man's touch. Eyes peering down at you, he's disturbed by the lack of eye contact you make. Maybe he shouldn't be... you haven't been talking or interacting as much as you had been in the days leading up to this, something that's normal, he can only imagine.
"Once," you respond faintly. Eyes coming back to the rolling hills of the cemetery you watch the rain continue to pour. Life doesn't seem to stir here, no sight of sneaky intruders like squirrels, doves, or robins, no other patrons coming to visit their loved ones on a day like this. Thunder cracks overhead, and the diminishing sound of tires on gravel signals the Angel's departure. With a thick swallow, your hands finally ball up into fists. A single tear finally breaches the confines of your eyelid and slips down your cheek. With a heavy sigh you turn, meeting Alfred who stands a few feet behind the both of you. Stomping over to him, you grab the bouquet of flowers you'd all picked up on the way. "If you want to say anything... here," you announce over the sounds of the thunderstorm. Undoing the plastic and rubber bands from the store-bought bouquet, you hand both the men a single flower. Determined that the rest should belong to you, you head over to the grave, uncaring if you get wet any longer as you're no longer under their umbrellas.
Though your teeth hurt from the way your jaw is clenched, you can't help it as the tears start to flow more freely. With everyone gone, you don't mind being here alone. Placing the flowers atop your Mother's casket, your hand lingers on the polished wood while your free hand hangs onto the necklace your Mother had given you. "I can't do this without you," the words come in a whisper, your head almost meeting the wood before you think better of it. You don't want to appear a broken-down mess in front of the men watching. "I don't know what t-to do."
Raindrops soak your hair, coat your dress and shoes, your socks have splashes of water and freshly cut grass, not to mention that your face is covered in a mixture of raindrops and tears. A few moments of silence is all you need before you finally gather the courage to say one last goodbye and turn away, heading down the hill back toward the car before the storm gets worse.
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"Dick... there's something you should know," Bruce mentions quietly. It's obvious from his behavior that he's upset, that this won't be a long conversation. "Antonio Marin was at her funeral. He came up to her and spoke something cryptic. I asked her about it and she said that she knew him once. I know I asked you all not to dig around, but, this is in your territory and I thought you should know." Evading his son's eye contact, he straightens his tie and sniffs, still clad in his tuxedo from the funeral. "I'll see if I can get any more information out of her, but... I don't want her caught up in this... I don't-" he sighs, finally turning to meet his son's gaze again with a look he's only seen once before, "-I don't want her getting hurt."
"I... understand." With a nod and a sympathetic look upon his face, the younger man stretches out his hand to lay it on his Father's shoulder in a small form of comfort. He knows Bruce well enough to know that anything too grand would steer him away, and while the thought of another child getting hurt at his behest unburies all the trauma Dick knows Jason's death had brought him, Dick knows they can't change the past. "I- we won't let that happen. I promise you that, Dad."
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