#dead! reader

Bruce stared into the mirror. His appearance was less like his 'Brucie' persona and far from how he'd look as Batman. It looked more like a man whose been haunted by the past in a way that leaves a person looking half dead and on the brink of insanity. But he wasn't looking at him, no that's the last thing he wanted to do right now. He was looking at them, the thing that stood behind him.

This thing that wouldn't let him go. Wouldn't just let him grieve like normal. No this thing had to cling to him like a parasite, haunting his every waking moment. He couldn't look in the mirror anymore without seeing them behind him, taking on the appearance of his late child. The very same child who he was too late to save.

It was an accident, honest to god it was. It had been raining, raining wasn't anything to write home about considering it's Gotham and Gotham always rains, but tonight it was different. There was a nagging feeling in his gut, something that was forcing him on edge. But he just couldn't understand why.

What was wrong tonight? What was putting him on edge? What had he forgotten? Who had he forgotten? Dick was in Bludhaven, Jason was in some warehouse near crime alley, Tim was at the cave like usual, Barba was in the library, Steph was doing her own thing with Cass, Damian was probably with Jon or with one of the animals, and Duke had taken some time to go hang out with his friends. So who was missing?

Bruce felt his stomach churn, an uncomfortable twist that made him want to heave a little. Fine. He'll go out on patrol, something to put his mind at ease. Perhaps that would help. Right?

It went as well as you'd expect. First thing he did was stop some robbers trying to break into a hospital which saved a single mother who was working over time with her son. Then he went on to stop another mugging that was happening in the middle of an undisclosed location.

It was fine really. It was something putting Batman's, or rather Bruce's, mind at ease. Until Damian called. He voice sounded...quiet, upset, and a little bit angry at something. "Robin, what's wrong?" Batman responded with ease, used to doing things like this. You could even call it a habit at this point.

"It's....it's [Name]....I found them bleeding out in an alleyway. Of course I've fallowed all instructions as needed. First aid, called the authorities....however they had lost too much blood before I arrived."

And in an even smaller voice, one that sounded like it was teetering on the edge of tears or a manic break down, Damian continued. "They're...cold. I don't think they'll make it..."

Oh...so that was what the feeling was about.

"...I'm on my way." And as fast as he could he ran over. But by the time he got there it was too late. There was too much blood. It was like someone dropped a jar of tomato sauce and it exploded all over the kitchen floor. Surely this had to be a joke?

There's no way Reader would have bled out here, the very same Reader who spent all their time inside? He hasn't seen them since they were young considering he just...never had the time. Or that's what he'd like to tell himself considering he hasn't visited them since their mother passed.

Bruce wouldn't say that he hated them...it's just that...how could he ever bare to look them in the eye when all he saw was his late wife? Well guess she wouldn't be the only one haunting his dreams at night.

Knowing that if he had noticed just a bit sooner they could have lived really does take a lot out of someone. Especially for Gotham's greatest detective and long time Hero.

After that night Bruce threw himself into work. From boring projects for Wayne enterprises, much to the dismay of Tim considering he was supposed to be the one managing it at the moment, to the plenty of cases meant for Batman to handle.

And it worked. For a small moment Bruce forgot about Reader's passing, their lifeless eyes, how they looked so gaunt and sickly from how they isolated themselves in the manor. Everything about them he forgot, just for a moment. And then reality came crashing down the moment he had time to think.

His thoughts were like a sickness. It always circled back to how he let his child rot inside these walls. How he never went looking for them, claiming they were fine on their own despite the fact that they never interacted with anyone else and choose to be hauled up in their room.

Readers funeral was small. They didn't have much friends so who would Bruce invite? There was no one outside the family who knew of them, not even the ruthless media who was starved for any type of Wayne drama knew about them. It was just Bruce and the rest of his children.

The funeral was a mess. It started raining, thundering even, and the casket fell. Jason had picked a fight with Bruce for "Letting another child die alone". Damian had remained quite, eyes to the floor in silent mourning, which was to be expected considering he's the one who found them. Everyone else was crying, or watching the fight between Bruce and Jason go down.

Which brings us back to now. The hallucination Bruce had somehow conjured up in the middle of one of his "episodes". They didn't say anything, not yet at least, and all Bruce could do was weep silently as they walked closer in the reflection of the mirror.

"I am the one who waited. And now you act like you don't give a damn?" The ghost was speaking to him now. Wonderful. Can you tell he's being sarcastic as he's trying not to cry? It's not helping though, he's still tearing up at their appearance.

"But I know you know who I am." The voice of Reader's 'ghost' came out warped. Like they were speaking from a distant dream.

"No" His voice wobbled, his hand coming up to muffle a sob. You can't do this to him. You can't. Anyone but you.

"I know you know who I am" Their voice repeated as they stepped closer to him, one step at a time.

"Can't you just leave me alone?" Bruce closed his eyes shut as he sunk to the floor, not bothering to pick up the products he knocked off the vanity.

"I know you know who I am" It was mocking him by now. Repeating that one line like it was the only thing they could say to him.

"Why didn't you go with her?" Bruce sobbed at this point. His hands clamped over his mouth so he wouldn't alert the others of his ongoing break down.

They looked so sickly, their shirt was covered in blood near the stomach from where they were shot. Blood was dripping on the floor from each step they took and Bruce couldn't bare to look at them any longer.

That was his child. His baby. He was there for their birth, they were supposed to outlive him. He was there for their first steps, their first school dance, their birthday parties, their silly emo phase, everything. He was there for everything and now they were six feet under and he was powerless to stop it.

Fate was a cruel thing. If he could turn back time he'd help them, spend however much money it took to save his wife so his child wouldn't feel the need to hide themselves away and wither like a corpse.

He wasn't man enough to take the blame for this. He was only a father. A father who had failed his children.

Sorry this seems so rushed, I've had this sitting in my drafts for a hot while and I just couldn't find the motivation to finish it until today. I, personally, think I do all my best work when I'm tried and manic at 12 am. Do let me know if you enjoyed it!