#batmum

Nothing was more meditative than listening to the muffled sounds of the crickets chirping, as the cold night air filtered though the high ceiling windows. The opposing warmth exuding from your husbands form as he pulls you in closer. Melting around your napping figure.

His airy breath tickling your ear, nuzzling further into your neck.

He’s taking his time, holding you close, breathing in your scent as he presses chaste kisses to your shoulder slowly waking you from your bliss dream into his blissful arms.

Not a single word is spoken, both just enjoying the romantic lul.

But of course, this is the Wayne Manor, where any number of things can happen that leads to loud and rambunctious events.

“Ma! I need a hug!” Dick shouts outside the door, a quick twist of the door nob and the door is slammed open, destroying any sense of peace within your shared bedroom. “Jason is being Jason again!” Dick jumping into a swan dive, aiming to land in the middle of the bed where you and Bruce are currently huddled.

Bruce quickly slides out of the way leaving Dick to land perfecting in the centre of the mattress, he rolls over wrapping his arms around you. Cheek pressing against your arm making his lips press into a pout just like they always did when he was a young boy clinging to you for comfort.

You look down at your eldest son with a warm smile. Eyes almost sparkling at his cute demeanour, even as an adult, Dick will still be your sweet child.

Bruce, however, is feeling other feelings.

“For some silly reason, I assumed that when you boys grew up. You’d finally stop seeking your mothers comfort. In MY bed.” He grumbles irritatedly which only makes Jason’s hulking figure shake with laughter as he takes a quick snapshot of Dick snuggling up to his parents like the man child he is.

“Seriously bro? You go cryin to ma because I wouldn’t share my sandwich with you?” Jason muffles with a mouth full of bread.

He strides towards your bed, stepping up onto the mattress ignoring Bruce’s refusal to move, he shoves himself into the small space left between Dick and the almighty Batman.

Bruce grumbles irritably as he accepts his fate.

Your heart couldn’t help swelling at the sight of your two grown boys, still behaving like the naughty trouble makers.

You still remember a younger Dick, crawling under your sheets so that he could finally sleep though the whole night without being awoken by his nightmares.

Often the young boy would have reoccurring and vivid nightmares about his parents, and would more often then not, come to your bed seeking comforts.

Slinking up the centre between your sleeping forms, Dick would snuggle up towards you as your sleepy arms encircle around Dicks anxious form.

Whilst Jason was already a grown pre-teen when he came into your home. However, when traveling around South-East Asia, Jason caught an aggressive parasite from stagnant water. He was so Ill and weak, you were too nervous and tired to leave him alone, so he slept between you and Bruce until he made a full recovery.

Now you look at your boys, they both lay between you and Bruce, arguing, elbowing and shoving eachother. You look at your husband sweetly, as if silently discussing how this scene warms your heart.

When Bruce lost his parents, he had lost the spark of life.

Everyday was a battle to get out of bed in the morning. What reason was there? There was nothing to do, nothing to look forward to. What motivation does he have to even open his eyes?

As the days dragged on, Bruce grew more isolated from the world and it was painfully apparent that the world would never be the same.

The day of the funeral had came and Bruce could barely stand it. With a painful and heavy heart, Bruce was, in his own way, ready to celebrate the lives of his beloved mother and father, but instead Bruce was greeted by faux pitied glances and half hearted condolences passed on in awkward smiles from strangers he never met or never remembered meeting.

Despite all of that, every single one of these bastards in the room seem to have taken his parents funeral as a networking opportunity.

Business cards flying hand to hand as deals or meetings are struck.

Bruce wasn’t sure what to expect from this funeral, but this certainly wasn’t it.

Bruce felt nauseous at the disgrace of the state of this funeral, nobody is celebrating the life his parents had, no one is crying, no one is overwhelmed with grief. Did no one have a heart? Could they not see their son standing amongst the crowd more alone than ever?

Seemingly the world had no empathy to spare.

The worst part was when his parents coffins were loaded into the car only for all of the guests to seemingly not notice their departures, too caught up in their conversations.

“I’m sorry for your loss, they were wonderful people. I hope you know how special they were, and how much they touched the lives of other around them.” You spoke to him so gently, as if your words may shatter his soul, but instead, your kind words only warmed his cold heart.

You felt so sorry for this boy, who seemingly was all alone at the funeral. You made sure to be by his side and listen to every detail he had to share about his beloved parents.

It wasn’t long until the sky grew dark, and it was evident that your conversation will be wrapping up soon as the wake hall slowly started to dwindle in numbers.

“You probably have to get going now don’t you?” You looked into this boys face whose eyes held nothing but longing, almost begging you to wave off his words and stay a little longer.

In your pity, you did just that.

“Hm, well I am hungry… how about we go out for dinner? I’ll take you to my favourite diner.” A smile just about bursts on Bruce’s lips as you drag him by his sleeve towards to exit.

After dinner, you both retreat to the limo, waiting to pick Bruce up.

His face slowly drawing down to a stern frown. “It’s awkward to admit, but I use to love it when I had the manor all to myself, but the first night when they- well - it’s suffocating being alone, knowing no one else is there.” His hands grip tightly around the ends of his jacket.

Your sorrow filled heart now brimming with woe.

“I don’t know if I’m over stepping here, but would it help if I spent the night with you?” His eyes light up quickly waving away your self consciousness.

“No, no, please stay- I mean, your welcome to spend the night…”

It was an unusual start to a friendship.

One does not typically become friends with someone at her parents funeral. 

Your sleep over quickly became a week which quickly became a few weeks bordering onto a month.

You have both spent an awful amount of time together.

The long nights spent in each others presence as you talk and bond through experiences, understanding each other wholeheartedly. It didn’t help that you would fall asleep in the same bed as exhaustion takes you both, Bruce holding onto your frame throughout the night, scared that he would wake up alone again.

He would be woken up with his head being stroked and a mug of coffee left on his bedside for him.

The shared breakfasts, before you both take your leave that morning.

Bruce would always come and pick up you to bring you back to the manor to have dinner with him.

Your weekends spent together shopping, reading in silence, sight seeing.

His days were filled with adventure, a necessary distraction from the emptiness he was feeling inside

Someone was bound to catch feelings.

Bruce remained steadfast, scared to loose his only friend. The only person keeping him sane in this lonely world.

You were incredibly conscious on how outing your feelings may afflict Bruce negatively. He is just barely recovering from the loss of his parents, you didn’t want to burden him further considering his attention is solely focused on overcoming his hardships.

You had become adamant to admit your true feelings when Bruce was in a more comfortable position. When Bruce isnt pressured into being with you but being with you because he wants to.

But months became years, and you became skilled at keeping your hearts desires away. One day, Bruce will be ready to hear your admission

But all of these desires came to a crashing holt when Bruce said he was too sick to pick you up and he would see you tomorrow.

It was very unlike him.

Concerned for his health, you go to check on him with a large container of soup left on the kitchen counter only to hear a long groan and grunt soon to follow.

These didn’t sound pain ridden, but anxiety crippled your common sense only throwing you into panic.

Racing to the door, you throw the door open,

“Are you okay Bruce?” The scene before you was gut wrenching to say the least.

Bruce was on top of a girl, her legs spread wide.

The vile scene that played before your eyes would haunt you forever.

All you knew was your heart was ripped from your chest, a sense of betrayal from someone who never promised you anything.

“Wait, Y/n!” Covering your mouth, you make a mad dash for the exit.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t — I was just trying—” Words struggled to escape so instead of focusing on formulating a sentence you left.

It would be the last time Bruce saw you.

Sitting in the Batcave, Bruce remains slumped in his chair, his signature frown pressed upon his face as he scrutinises the old news articles discussing your disappearance.

‘Trouble in Paradise? Insiders Report Y/N’s Teary Departure from Wayne Manor!’

‘Run Away Heiress Last Seen Dashing From Wayne Manor’

‘20th Anniversary of Run-Away-Heiress Missing Persons Case. Here’s what we know.’

Bruce has read the contents repeatedly. He could recite the article off by heart.

But there’s always one quote he reads religiously.

‘Sources cite that the heiress admitted she still holds a flame for Bruce Wayne— a man she swore as a friend’

He sighs, looking off to the side where an empty soup container sat. The very item that brought you to that manor on that faithful day.

“Father, what are you doing?” Damian asks, looking up at the screen of new articles that Bruce is flicking through at rapid speed. Bruce grumbles, about to tell Damian off— to go back to his room, but nothing could prepare him for what he said next.

“Why are you looking at articles about Aunty Y/n?”