Worse Then We Thought (pt.2)
Worse Then We Thought
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In the quiet hours of night, well past evening in the Wayne family estate, no one slept within its many walls.
One week has passed since Jokers latest broadcast across Gotham, which made it one week since Bruce and the family watched as you were beaten senseless and one agonizing week of waiting for the right moment to finally talk to you.
Bruce had wanted to contact you right away, wanted to show up at your apartment or work or Gordon’s house apparently, the whole family had, but they just couldn’t find a good moment. Alfred had informed them all of past… incidents. Coming home from school late near daily, roughed up and bruised, but every time the butler had pressed for information it always resulted in massive blow ups and self isolation how self inflicted was it really? if no one else ever noticed. Bruce had made careful mental note of possible anger issues after that conversation.
Too add to his ever growing list of you, Bruce was pacing the length of your old and rather cramped room in the manor, he still couldn’t fathom why it was on the other side of the building from the rest of the bedrooms. The family had first found it when the news broke of you adopting that little girl and it has since become a sort of makeshift meeting room for them.
Dick was currently lying at the head of your old bed, legs stretched up and rested against the wall where the headboard lay, eyes squinting at whatever school year book of yours he’d chosen to skim through this time. He’s been heavily invested in them after learning you were, in fact, no longer a high school student and hadn’t been for many years. He particularly enjoyed all the club photos, the words, ‘little over achiever’ was often heard fondly whispered into the quiet.
Tim was at the foot of your bed, nearly hanging off the side as he surfed through your social media accounts for what was likely the hundredth time that day. So far he’d found all your friend’s accounts as well as a sparsely used account from Commissioner Gordon. when asked, Barbara denied having any hand in its creation. It seemed you kept a rather active presence online, though recently you’d gone dark.
Cass, having slipped out a while ago to grab some things from Alfred, left the music sheets she’d been reading scattered across the floor where she’d been lying down. She’d been rather taken with your music since Tim showed her old videos of you on your friend’s accounts doing short dance routines. Bruce was seriously wondering just where you found the time for these hobbies of yours.
Jason, Stephanie, Barbara and Duke, weren’t here, the former three having taken up tonight’s patrol instead, no doubt also taking the time to peek in on your apartment, meanwhile Duke slept before he had to get up for his own patrol in the morning.
Damian however, was sat at a desk that’d been tucked under the single window of your room, littered with all sorts of arts and crafts. Long abandoned in the wake of your absence.
“Tch, hundreds of different pens and brushes but no work to show for it? Father are you positive there’s no sketchbooks anywhere on that forsaken bookcase?” Came Damian’s grumble through the silence. Ever since he’d found out you did art other then the taxidermy lining your walls and filling up at least two other storage rooms, what a shock finding all that was, Steph found them hilarious though, even claiming a chipmunk in a fez and bow tie as her own, he’d been on a war path looking for any of your unfinished work to see what your process was. Bruce admittedly found it quite sweet.
“I’m afraid not kiddo.” Bruce, still pacing, his eyes glued intently to the bookshelf that’d taken up almost an entire wall of your room. The books hadn’t contained anything note worthy though, much too his disappoint, he’d hoped to maybe find a diary or at least a journal in all the clutter. Instead, all he found were true crime novels, taxidermy guides, anatomy manuals, and the occasional year books here and there. Basically, not a single thing they’d been hoping for. Though Jason did find your taste in murder mysteries very intriguing and had taken them to read on his downtime.
“We’ve searched this room top to bottom at least fifty times in the last week alone, we’ve even checked the rooms [Reader] used as storage. They obviously took all that stuff with them because those things were the most sentimental.” Tim spoke up, barely glancing up from his screen, which looked to be zoomed into a group photo of you and your friends. Scoffing, Damian turns in his seat to face Tim.
“If you'd put to work more than a single brain cell and twelve cups of coffee Drake, you’d be asking why nothing else here made the cut of ‘sentimental’. Why not take any of their supplies then? Or their ugh…grotesque animal configurations,” Damian points to small mouse placed on the edge of the desk, posed in an imitation of a pole dancer, tiny dollar bills scattered around its feet, Bruce still wasn’t sure how or even why you had made it, “Or any other number asinine trinkets and tchotchkes scattered around this room, if you can even call it that…”
That… wasn’t the first time Damian had taken issue with the rooms size, often comparing it to that of his own closet. Bruce really hoped he wouldn’t jump into that tirade again. He wasn’t sure he could handle the shame.
“Just because you like having an over sized bedroom and a closet that’s too big to fill doesn’t mean (Reader) does. Maybe they just like smaller spaces? Not everyone has your insane standards.” Tim shoots back, swiping away from the group photo and moving on to one with a tall, dark haired woman giving you bunny ears.
“Uuugh, can we not do the whole ‘room-closet-thing’ right now? It’s getting really old,” came Dicks groan, thankfully speaking up before Bruce had too, “besides, when [Reader] moves back in we’ll just move them too a bigger room in the family wing.”
The certainty this was said with was unsurprising, the family had talked about this exact subject at great lengths many times in the past few weeks, though Dick seemed to be the only one convinced you’d happily move back with little resistance, the others, Bruce included, not so much.
“We still don’t know if they’d even be open to moving back in, I mean they haven’t even visited since they moved out.” Tim says as he uses one arm to prop himself up and look over at Dick. Bruce was inclined to agree, as much as he admires his oldest’s boundless optimism, his own cynicism kept him from siding with Dick entirely.
You had gone as far as to move out without telling anyone, minus Alfred, and had been independently living on your own for years now. The likelihood of you moving back anytime soon was slim to none. Of course, that didn’t stop Bruce from hoping though, sue him, he likes the idea of having all his kids under one roof.
“What?” Damian turns in the chair fully now. The look on his face one of complete bafflement, “Of course they have, they attend the families monthly dinners.”
At Damian’s statement, Tim flips over on the bed, sitting up to face the younger boy, while Dick finally looks up from the year book, both exclamations jumbled together as they voice their astonishment.
“No way, I always join those, I would have noticed that!”
“You’re kidding, are you sure Dames?”
This was news even to Bruce, those dinners had been going on for years, having started as team bonding outside of training, surely he who have noticed you being there, right?
…right?
“Of course I’m sure! They show up every three months, how have neither of you noticed that?” Throwing up his hands in disbelief, Damian looks about ready to blow a fuse.
Bruce watches as awkward glances are shared between Dick and Tim before they look away. Dick slowly pulling the book down to cover his face as Tim seemingly finds a crack in the wall particularly interesting.
“They sit next to you, Richard!”
“Oh geez…”Bruce swore he could see all five stages of grief flash across his oldest son’s face, even under the book.
Damian turns to Bruce “Father please tell me you at least noticed!”
“Oh, umm...” Now Bruce found himself avoiding his youngest accusing glare, accidentally making eye contact with the glass eyes of a squirrel dressed as a cowboy, tiny pistol aimed high. He couldn’t tell if that was better or worse.
“Tch, and you call yourselves detectives.” Damian huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Tim stands, phone forgotten on the bed as he rounds on Damian.
“Oh like you’re any better! You didn’t even like them until two months ago!”
“You wouldn’t even know about this room if it weren’t for me or Pennyworth. At least I acknowledged their existence, which is more than I can say for you, Drake. ” Damian bites back, standing to meet Tim half way in the middle of the room. Fights between the two always escalated this quickly, so Bruce moves to break up the impending fist fight before it can begin and out of the corner of his eye he can see Dick setting the year book down as he stood to do the same. Unfortunately, neither are quick enough as Tim spits out his next words.
“At least I didn’t stab th—“
A single push and Tim’s flat on the floor, much to everyone’s shock. The shove, while still harsh, was hardly more than that, just a shove. Not something that would have someone as skilled as Tim sprawled out on the ground.
Stunned silence fell over the room, Damian recovering the quickest, shocked expression quickly morphing into a smug look.
“Hmph, not only are you losing your wit, you’re now unable to stay upright after a simple shove? Pathetic.”
“I am not- it wasn’t- the floor moved or something!” Sputtering, Tim seemed just as flabbergasted by his own lack of balance. Damian snorts at that, muttering something along the lines of ‘unbelievable…’
“You gotta admit Tim-bo, that does seem a little far fetched, even for you..” Dick now stands next to Damian, bending down to offer a hand to Tim, hoisting him up to his feet. This comment, of course, results in another full blown argument between the three about the possibility of moving floors.
Sighing, Bruce decides now is probably the best time for them to all separate and go to bed. Though just as he moves to put an end to the squabbling of his three sons, a tap on Bruce’s shoulder draws his attention away from the bickering, to Cassandra.
She had at some point slipped into the room without his notice, but before he could mentally kick himself for his lack of awareness, Cass points to the floor boards where Tim had fallen.
There, just before the wood meets carpet, was an ill fitting panel, just a quarter of an inch short of what it needed to be to fill the gap. Evidently, it seems Tim’s insistence on the floor “moving” had been more than a little accurate.
“Damian.”
The bickering cuts off, Damian looking ready to be chastised and while under normal circumstances Bruce would, far more important things needed doing. With an outstretched hand he says, “I’m gonna need your knife.”
With only a confused look, Damian fishes a knife from inside his shirt sleeve, and hands it to Bruce without a word.
Kneeling down, Bruce jammed the knife in between the seam of the boards, ignoring the quiet 'what…?' from behind him, and nudged the blade under the wood, using the palm of his hand to push his weight into it and with a swift flip the board was turned over.
Underneath was a treasure trove of personal artifacts. At least, that’s what it felt like to the bats in the room. Three shoe boxes stacked in a row lay before them, each a different color, black, yellow, blue and decorated with haphazardly glued on magazine and newspaper clippings.
Bruce gingerly lifts the black box out of the hole in the floor, handing it off blindly to whoever was to his left. He runs his fingers over the yellow box before picking that one up too, this one being far heavier than the black one. The last, blue, box was the lightest of the three, barely weighing anything at all compared to the first two.
“Dick I need you to call in Jason and Stephanie, Tim go wake up Duke, and Damian go find Alfred. We’ll take these down to the cave to look through.” Quickly the three boys were off, knowing that the quick they get everyone together, the quicker they’d find out what’s inside.
Cass, having been given no task, stayed with Bruce in your old bedroom, holding the black box delicately in both hands.
Tucking the blue and yellow boxes under one arm, he rests a hand on her head, smoothing down her hair as he leaves a quick peck to her temple, “Good eye sweetheart.”
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~Masterlist~
……heyyyyyyyyy eheheh…. Long time no seeeeee ('◉ ∇ ◉’) uh. I’ll be honest, this was supposed to be longer but I got way in over my head with this one so I am cutting it into two parts. Also also since the second half is ‘almost’ completely written it should be out a lot sooner and not in uhhh, 3 months… owie (´ε｀`' ) but y’know I’m not constantly under the stress of keeping two kittens away from the brink of death now (officially 3 months old in like 5? Days. yay) And yes, I AM an affectionate girl dad Bruce Wayne truther—