#dc to

You say infront of Bruce in his study. His index finger and thumb were pinching the bridge of his nose as Jason put the trash bag filled with empty liquor bottles on his desk.

Bruce had all of the absence letter the school sent him in his hand. A whole stack of them.

On the other side of the desk were your past report cards. Straight F’s.

They had stripped your room, found a bunch of ashtrays, burnt weed vapes and of course — exactly sixty-two empty bottles.

There it was. Evidence.

Jason stayed for a moment too long until Bruce just shoo’d him away.

The walls shook as Jason slammed the door on the way out.

You look down at the desk, your heart pumping way too fast.

“I don’t understand where I went wrong.” Bruce starts off with. “You-.. You used to be a decent student, (name).”

“I’m just a bit burnt out..” you murmur and he glares at you with his piercing blue eyes.

“From what?” His voice had dropped a few octaves. “Living in a stable home? Having a good allowance? Being surrounded by family?”

Your face burnt, tears threatened to spill.

“Sixty two bottles, almost half are from my cellar.” He sighs and pinches his nose bridge again. His brow furrow. “Those thirty one bottles add up to 104,367 dollars and 35 cents. You’ve stolen that. From me, your father.”

He pauses and glares at you.

“I also noticed a thousand dollars missing from my wallet this morning. Where did that end up?”

You just shrug.

“In your mother’s pocket.” He sighs.

You wipe away some spilled tears.

He studies your face and reaches into his pocket.

The color drains from your face when he pulls out the blood-stained razor blade. The one that was hidden under your plant.

“You should have seen the horror on Alfred’s face when he saw this.” he murmurs.

You stare at the blade, trying to dissociate but failing.

“Where do you do it?” he asks, almost gently.

You shrug once again.

“Show me.”

You look at the man that’s supposed to be your father. The man who slept with some downtown trash bag and had the unfortunate happen. The man who had you.

You sniffle and feel all the rage that’s been pent up inside you for a very, very long time.

“Like you fucking care.” you wipe away some tears with your shirts sleeve, only for more to spill.

He glares at you. His face remaining stoic.

“I do care. You’re my child.”

“Im not your child.” you were full on sobbing, humiliated and angry. “You don’t even like me!”

He sighs, just sighs. He couldn’t admit that he loved you, cherished you. He didn’t find the words.

Before you could think your legs were straightening. As if on autopilot, you walked out of that study.

Bruce didn’t call after you.

You needed to get out of here, you only needed your jacket. The pockets were filled with cash and a cigarette pack. That was enough.

____________________________________________

Jason and Dick were still searching your room. Just in case there were other stuff you’ve been hiding.

“Found something.” Dick shouts and holds up a small, plastic bag with about ten white tablets inside.

Jason takes one look at the bag.

“That’s just spit up antidepressants, dumbass!” Jason says gruffly and lifts up your mattress. It’s awful but it was kind of fun searching your room. Though none of them would ever admit it.

Damian was standing by the doorway, a bit confused by the scene.

“Is (name) in trouble?” he almost grins. He overheard Bruce yelling at you in the study and assumed you did something bad. Which was kind of correct.

“No.” Both brothers say in unison. “Just get.” Dick adds and looks through your drawers.

Damian huffs and leaves, making sure they hear his stomps across the hallway.

“How can someone just hide fimps under the bed and not have the decency to get an ashtray?” Jason murmurs. “I swear if I knew I wouldn’t have bought anything..”

“YOU bought her the alcohol?” Dick glares at his brother.

“No! Just the cigarettes.. and the occasional beer.”

“Jesus!”

All they found was a bunch of old beer and behind your closet, a whole ton of cigarette fimps and two old lighters.

____________________________________________

It was pouring outside. The rain hit hard against the glass. You sitting on the bench inside the bus queue, just needing to escape the pouring rain.

Cars practically fly past you and the familiar sound of sirens was blocking out the noice of the rain.

It’s so stupid that a manor that big could suffocate a person like that.

You reach into your pocket and take out the cigarette pack. You use your thumb to slide up the hinged lid. The smell of tobacco overrode the smell of rain and straight up sewage.

Seventeen years. That family had seventeen years to acknowledge you, love you or even just treat you like a living, breathing person.

How come you only matter when you smoke, drink, slit your wrists?

The smoke filled your throat. Sometimes you liked to think of it as the smoke killing that lump in your airway.

You hear the splash of shoes stepping on puddles and the weight of someone heavy sitting down next to you on the bench.

“Where are you planning on going?” Bruce asks.

“I don’t know.” you murmur. “Maybe to mom.”

He sighs and grips the wooden bench.

“So the airport?” he asks.

“She’s still in that motel downtown..” you take a deep inhale of smoke to drown out the anxiety.

“You know what I think of you going downtown.”

“No, I don’t. You’ve never spoken to me about downtown. You’ve never spoken to me at all.” You flick the cigarette.

He stays silent for a bit but he reaches into his pocket and hands you a cut out newspaper clip and a photo.

It was your mom and Bruce, though much younger. The text under it was just gossip about Bruce’s playboy years and scandals. Nothing new.

“I saw this today.” he murmurs. “Thought you should have it.”

“Why?”

“It’s a nice photo. She was.. is.. pretty in it.”

You look at the photo. Yeah, she was. You had her nose and eye color but nothing else.

“And the gossip?” you ask.

“That’s not me, you know? It’s just a mask, (name).” he confesses. But it wasn’t like you didn’t know that.

“Your mother fell for the parts of me that are wrong. The parts I want to surpress. I never met a woman like that.”

“I thought she was just a hookup.” you murmur bitterly. After all, that’s what everyone said.

“That’s what I told the media. I couldn’t let them know that I was dating a drug-user. They would tip me to shreds.”

You look at him and if you squinted you could almost see the tiniest smile.

“I knew about you. I knew she was pregnant and.. I was there when you were born.” he admits.

If the tobacco didn’t numb you the way it did your jaw would be on the floor.

“When she started using again.. I knew I had to protect you. So I secured an acting role for her and sent her on her way.”

He looks back at you.

“I didn’t want to realize that you were like her. I couldn’t-.. I don’t want you to fall down that path. You’re my baby. You will always be.”

Either the rain had hit his face or there were tears running down his face. That you would never know.

“Then why am I always kept in the dark? What did you think was gonna happen?” You ask gruffly and inhale some more smoke.

“I was scared. I am scared. I’m constantly afraid.” he takes a deep breath. His coat was wrinkled, his expensive shoes practically destroyed. “But I want to help. I want to-.. to help you.”

“I don’t need help, dad.”

“You do. I’m sorry for not realizing it earlier.”

It turned silent after that. But somehow, just sitting there with your father, was enough. For the first time you were seen.

You didn’t need to explain to Bruce why you were the way you were, because he knew. He was the same way, just in a different form.

Rehab helped you realize that you only have one life. When you’re gone, you’re gone. There is no coming back. There is no return button. And instead of being afraid, you should enjoy life to the fullest, and that meant not living for a quick fix or a tiny moment of euphoria. But instead die knowing you lived as who you are.

A/N: I want to thank you guys so much for the support! My most popular fic, wow🥹 Check out @bunniebrains fic “Part time daughter, full time party girl” !!!