What Do I Put Here?

——

“Ah…” Bruce stilled, flinching at the sudden sting of pain radiating from his wrist.

Where was he?

Bruce looked around in confusion. His bathroom. Why was he in his bathroom? He can’t remember. He can’t remember his entire day, and judging from the sunlight glinting through his windows, it was just turning to evening.

“Shit… shit, shit, shit!” Bruce cursed under his breath, finally looking down at what had shaken him from his stupor.

He was holding a razor in his hand. Something Alfred had banned him from for the entirety of his early adolescence and late into his young adulthood for this exact reason.

He knew he was having a bad day, week, month, but he hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten till he unconsciously fell back on his old habits. Till his days were passed in autopilot, his mind a haze, and his thoughts growing darker and darker.

Bruce fumbled for the knobs of his bathroom sink, hissing as the hot water washed away the blood on his wrists and irritated his fresh wounds. His razor clattered somewhere on the tile floor, useless, like him.

“This is… this fine.” Bruce breathed, glancing at himself in the mirror and wincing at the state of his self. Fuck, he looked pathetic. But, not unsalvageable. “I can- I can make this work. I can fix this.”

If there’s one thing Bruce can do, it’s pretend. But… maybe in a household of detectives trained by him- no! No one would notice. He had hidden his mental state from his family before; this would be no different.

He was fine.

Bruce carefully finished bandaging his wrist before tucking it away under the long sleeves of his turtle-neck. He tested it, raising his arm and reaching for things across the counter, making sure his sleeve wouldn't accidentally slip down and reveal what he had done to himself.

“Master Bruce.”

Bruce flinched, biting down on his tongue and almost drawing blood just to avoid an uncharacteristic yelp of surprise from escaping.

“Yes, Alfred?”

“Dinner is ready. It is Friday, family dinner. Your children are waiting for you.”

“Alright, thank you. I’ll be out in a bit.”

And with that, Alfred left. Bruce waited, breath stilted and quiet, wondering if Alfred would suddenly turn around and-

Nothing.

He fooled him? Okay… okay, this was good. He could do this. No one would know. He was acting normal, and no one would figure it out.

Just keep acting like normal.

By the time Bruce made his way downstairs, his children were still rowdy and unseated, laughing and talking to each other about everything and anything. This was fine.

Just like usual, Bruce took his seat, waiting for even a tiny crumb of acknowledgment, yet nothing came. He couldn’t fault them; they looked as though they were having interesting conversations. Why would they want to include him?

Bruce sat, hands tucked under the table just in case his sleeve rolled up, waiting for Alfred to set the table.

And suddenly dinner was on its way. The smell was overpowering and assaulted his senses in a way that made him nauseous. Each bite Bruce took felt like a stone settling into his stomach. His throat worked against him; swallowing was a battle only aided by taking gulps of water to wash everything down.

No one talked to him.

No one asked him how his day had been, or the week when they hadn’t seen each other. No one asked him to pass the potatoes or the pepper. No one asked if he wanted a refill or if he could get them one.

Bruce wasn’t there. He didn't exist in their world.

Bruce blinked, and suddenly dinner was over. Half of his plate was still full, and everyone was moving on, going their own separate ways.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred’s voice was level, but there was a disappointed tone underneath as Alfred came over to take his plate.

He tried to relax his face and made sure not to look the older man in the eyes, which wasn’t unusual for him. “I ate earlier.” The lie slipped out of his mouth before he could think about it. "I'm just not hungry."

Alfred took his words with a simple nod before clearing his area.

Then he was alone.

So fucking alone.

There was nothing else to do but leave. Go back to his room and not exist somewhere else in the manor.

He felt his legs shake as he climbed the stairs that seemed to go on forever. Somehow, some part of him hoped that someone would come after him, to notice. To ask if he was okay.

But no one did.

Bruce felt tears sting at his eyes. No one had noticed a single thing. Not a look of concern, not a question of his quietness, not a glance at the tremble in his hands.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He didn’t want them to notice! He purposely made sure to act as if he was fine. He was hiding it; this was the best possible outcome.

Still, against his will, Bruce felt his throat start to close up and burn as an unwanted pressure built behind his eyes. His stomach turned.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-

Things were supposed to be getting better. Bruce tried to suck in a breath of air, but it felt as though his lungs were collapsing in his chest.

He clambered to close his bedroom door behind him, locking it with unsteady hands. Not that it would stop anyone if they truly cared. If they truly…

Bruce stumbled to the bathroom, vision going black around the corners just as it always had moments before he would pass out. No, just like it had moments before, he had a major panic attack, one that had branded him as insane for months in the media.

He needed… he needed-

The toilet seat slammed open, and Bruce was already heaving. He needed the heavy dinner to get out. He couldn’t keep it down any longer. He would die, he would fucking die.

He had been so good. He had promised Alfred he wouldn’t go down this path again, but… but even with that, here he was again. Alfred wouldn’t get mad, would he? He’d spent so many years being good, he could slip up just once.

Bruce grimaced at the bitter taste of bile and puke coating his tongue. Instead of feeling lighter and getting rid of the hole in his stomach, he felt… dirty…

Why couldn’t he just be fucking normal?

Why was he like this? He was supposed to be better, to be fixed, to be perfect, not only in public but in private as well.

Everything would be better if he weren’t around. His children would be happier, Alfred could finally go home and leave Gotham, and his parents… they would still be alive if it weren’t for him.

Everything would be better if he were just fucking dead.

The visceral thought shook Bruce from his spiraling, with how intense it was. He hadn’t thought that way in quite a while, at least, not so bluntly.

Bruce shakily stood and looked at himself in the mirror.

Yes… he needed to…

Bruce glanced down at the abandoned razor he had dropped hours earlier, still coated in his dried blood.

He picked it up slowly and stared.

If this… if this would fix his family, then he would do it. If this is what it takes.

Bruce had sworn since that night in the alleyway that he would do anything to protect the ones he loved, no matter what. If that meant taking himself out of the equation, so be it.

He’s always known it would come down to this.

He was a disease, a pestilence on those around him. He needed to be taken care of. To free the world of his cancerous form.

His first stop is the old man's study, likely to have some bucks in here somewhere. Walking into the room, he's hit with a wave of nostalgia. He can practically hear the echos of his laughter from younger years, when life was easier. Jason can swear this room used to be brighter, it felt like a castle rather than a dungeon. When Bruce felt like a king than a jailer. No matter how many fights and awful words that are said, he still yearns for those times. When bruce would smile freely, when his laugh sounded like angels singing. Jason's favorite memory's of his childhood where of making bruce howl with laughter.

He can't remember the last time bruce smiled.

Shaking his head, he pressed on, rounding the grand desk to riffle though the drawers. When he didn't find anything, he looked inside the books surrounding his desk, again nothing. He spends a good 15 minutes trying to find anything, since he really doesnt want to go to the other room. But once it becomes obvious there isnt anything in the room, he puts on his big girl panties and makes his way to the master bedroom.

He puts his ear to the door and he can hear water, a loud rush, too big to be a sink so it must be a bath or shower. Perfect, easy distraction. He twists the knob but its locked. Really Bruce? A locked door in this family might as well be an invitation. Jason easily picks the lock, the old man should really update his security, its almost like he wants someone to break in.

Slowly he opens the door, peaking in, he sees no one. The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar and he can hear the water clearer. Feeling confident he swiftly and quietly walks in, zeroing into the wallet on top of the nightstand. Bruce always carrys a lot of cash so he snags a couple hundred, enough for his bike and some groceries.

He turns around, about to make his escape when... he hears something. A.. whimper? From the bathroom? Feeling curious he stalks closer to the bathroom and strains his ears to listen past the noise of the water. The first real noise jason hears is a strangled breath, and then some mumbling. The hell is the old man doing?

Oh god.. please dont be doing anything gross. He thinks he'd have to die again if he hears. Nope. No. Not thinking about that, just going to run away. Right now.

"Dirty... can't... clean...disease..."

What.

To say Jason was confused was an understatement? If hes not doing.. that, what is he doing? Why is he talking about a disease, alone, in the shower? Bruce is weird at the best of times but this is a bit extreme, even for him. Jason probably should check on him, just a peak to make sure he isnt actively dying. If hes having a psychotic break he'll just tell Alfred and dip, easy.

He quietly opens the door, oh so slowly and he sees-

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

It's on the floor, on the counter, the sink. Its even smeared on the mirror, like someone trying to hide their reflection. And in the center of this macabre spiderweb, is Bruce. He's sitting on the edge of the tub, hunched over only in his underwear, mumbling and crying to himself with the faucet running to its max behind him. And, dear god, the blood is coming from him, its coming from everywhere. The man has a razor and hes going to town, mauling his body.

There's cuts on his stomach, chest, legs, his damn neck. The most concentrated are on his forearms and inner thighs. Those looks like a damn warzone. Everywhere looks like a warzone.

With a speed he didn't know he was capable of, he rushes the man and rips that damn thing away from him, throwing it into the sink. With a heaving chest, Jason looks to the older man, completely losing it.

"What in the FUCK do you think your doing?!" Jason yells, shaking with rage and fear, he knows they joke about Bruce being suicidal but not like this. The man in question tries to take back the razor, but with all the blood loss and being in the middle of a mental breakdown, his reaction times aren't the best.

"No no no, i need that. I need, it will make it better. All better. Please baby, please let me fix it." Bruce begs nonsensically. The man must be having a panic attack because hes not making any sense. When the man starts to claw at his own wounds, Jason finally does something. Grabbing the hoard of towels, never feeling more greatful for the billionaire being so extra, he starts pressing them to the gashes. He yells for Alfred, but with the water, no one can really hear him.

Even in a break down, the man's smart enough to not be found. Although with the intensity of his wounds, it would be found out rather quickly. So does he not want it to be found or he does? Or... hes hiding away.. but screaming for help. Jason manages to turn the water off while fighting to keep the towels on and pin Bruce.

"ALFRED!" Jason screamed, making his voice as loud as possible. He can distantly hear what sounds like glass breaking and several sets of foot falls all converging on his location. This is going to be a shit show.

"Baby please, it will all be better, just, I need. It'll be better for you, if I do it. Let me fix it, please, let me fix my mistakes" Bruce sobs, becoming more and more hysterical. Its so slippery, hes struggling to keep his grip. Seeing his... his father in such a state of distress is indescribable. How can they fix this? Can they?

The first person to make it to the bathroom is Tim, thankfully. Jason may give the boy shit but hes got his head screwed on straight.

"Tim. Don't let Damian see. Ok? Keep dami away!" Jason orders, doing his best to spare the youngest bat from this horror. The boy practically worships his father, and while they've gotten better about that, this is too much. Immediately understanding why, Tim turns to grab damian before he can see. The boy screams and yells but they quiet as the pair moves to somewhere else in the house.

The next person to enter is Cassandra, which, also not great. She's very skilled and also a good head but her and Bruce have a deep connection. Its like they're telepathic, outside of dick, no one can get their father to do anything as well as her. Jason knows this is going to gut her, he wishes all of them left to their respective households than have a sleep over. Cass rushes over to his other side, helping put pressure over all the wounds.

"No no no" Bruce blubbered, shaking his head violently. Continuing to try to escape their hold. "If I go, then you all, you'll be a proper family! I wont be there to ruin everything. Please, let me. Let me fix this" he wailed. At this rate, a sedative is going to be on the table. Its a sensitive topic for the whole family, but bruce needs to calm down.

Finally, Alfred comes to the door, the most frantic Jason's ever seen him. He looks absolutely stricken at the sight, aging 20 years before their very eyes. "No.. not again. He'd been doing so well..." Alfred whimpered. Again? Again!? This has happened before? When??

With the three of them, they get bruce up and start to head down to the cave. Walking threw the hallway, the rest of the kids, save for Tim and damian, pop out of their rooms, seemingly not hearing the initial cry but the subsequent commotion. Duke looks gobsmacked, like it never occurred to him that bruce could become this hurt while inside his own home. It didn't take long for the boy to peice together why, it was painfully obvious. Stephanie stepped out of Cass' room, tears immediately welling in her eyes.

And Dick. He looked like he wasent even there, like he was younger, in a tent wearing a gymnasts uniform. While their father being hurt isnt new, they've all prepared for those things in the field. But they aren't in the field. Within these walls, every member of this family is supposed to be safe. Everyone helps get Bruce downstairs and into the medbay.

Alfred shoo's them away while he works on sowing bruce back together, and Leslie shows up at some point, muttering about 'not again' and 'i thought they where done with this'. Did everyone know except him? When their father doesnt look like an active crime scene, tim and damian join them as well. The littlest bat glaring in Jason's direction, but he doesnt have the energy to care.

All the kids are huddled together, completely silent. What could they even say, this was unimaginable. Some of them were crying, some just staring. But all think about what they could have done. Said. Tried. This doesn't happen over night, this is systematic ignorance to their father's pain. While jason knows that bruce has been through a lot of shit, its never really occurred to him that it could actually affect the man. That the man could struggle.

Bruce had always seemed so untouchable, a foundation of stone that would never crack. But it did, in fact it shattered. Maybe hes been holding on by a thread for so long, they didn't know what stable looked like on him. Isnt that a horrifying thought.

After several hours, alfred and Leslie are finished with patching bruce up and giving him blood transfusions. And it took 3 days before bruce woke up.

~~~

Bruce had a horrific headache, migraine at this rate. He feels utterly exhausted, in a way he hasn't in a very long time. He doesnt know how long it takes for him to gather the willpower to open his eyes. And even longer for his eyes to adjust the blinding lights of the... medbay? That can't be good. He must have gotten quite the beating if he thinks those lights are too bright since they're designed to be very dim for this purpose.

He blinks his eyes open and... oh. Oh no. All his kids are here, and theyre all looking at him. Not good. He tries to take stock of his surroundings, hes bandaged everywhere, and a IV in what little of his arm isnt wrapped. His brow furrows, trying to rack his brain and remember. What happened? What happened. What hap-

Fuck.

Fucccckkkk.

What has he done. What the fuck did he do? He's ruined everything.

Why can't he just be normal!?

He can't remember everything, and that only makes it worse. He looks at his kids and he can see it. The tears, the worry, the fear. He did that. He put that there. God, what awful, horrible father can do that to his kids. He's a monster.

And as if he hasn't done enough, he can feel his eyes well with tears. Just cuz why not add to the shit cake. He needs to fix this, back track. He needs them to stop looking at him.

But he can't seem to open his mouth, only letting pathetic, manipulative tears fall to speak for him. He can't do anything right can he? He can't just be a good father, and good protector, can he even call himself a man. He's nothing. Just a parasite that feeds off of the happiness of his family.

"Dad? Hey can you hear me?" Jason coaxed. Bruce glanced up to his miracle boy standing at his side. Shame tears threw him, god even jason, who hates him, is here.

"..Im sorry... im so sorry... I shou-shouldnt have, oh god, I ruined everything." Bruce whined. Hiding his face in his hands like the coward he is. He continues to blubber apologies, like that will fix seeing your father ripping himself to peices. He should have just went for the neck rather than being so dramatic.

"NO! No dad, that would have been so much worse!" Tim cried. Great. He said that out loud, hes upsetting the kids more. Which inturn upsets him more, a horrible feedback system.

And then, he hears footsteps from outside his view. He knows that gait. Its alfred. Bruce immediately holds his breath, desperately trying to quiet his wailing. He quickly wipes his eyes as well, least he be reprimanded for being unpresentable. While he knows it be founded, hes far too weak to handle such things. Bruce keeps his head low while alfred checks over all his equipment and wounds, refusing to be the one to break the silence.

Alfred grabs his chin and tilts his face up, examining him. With a deep sigh, he huffed "What have you done, boy". And God, if that doesnt make everything worse. It must show on his face because his kids are quick to intervene.

Notably dick puts a hand only alfreds shoulder and sternly tells him a quiet 'not now, not ever'. Bruce cant even defend himself, or alfred. Its not like the older man is in the wrong, what had he done. But alfred stands down, and the kids focus on him again. Yippee.

"Dad, first of all, this isnt your fault. I know i know, it feels like it is. That you did this, and made everything worse. But its not like that." Dick declared, looking towards the other kids who nod and give affirmations. "You've been in a dark place and no one in this family noticed until it was almost too late. You asked for help in the only way you could, for anyone else, they might not have caught it. But us? You taught us to catch it." He insisted.

The group before bruce seemed to shrink at the words, guilt etched into all their faces. No, that wont do. It was his fault.

"Babies, no, it-im the one who couldn't handle my emotions. Its not yo-" Stephanie interrupted him. "No Bruce, maybe not individually but as a group, someone should have said something. There were definitely signs, but we all just ignored them. Bystander effect or something." She concludes. It be a convincing case if it wasent him at the center, he knows better.

"Baba... you told me that its ok to have ugly emotions. And sometimes you do things that you wouldn't normally do because of them. You said that those feelings were ok because I had a loving family around me, and they'd be there to pick me up when I fell. Why wouldn't that apply to you?" His little damian challenged.

When had he gotten so big? Bruce didnt have an answer. He thinks logically they are right, but everything in him is telling him its wrong. He's just so tired.

"Dad, get some more sleep. We will be here when you wake up. We love you" Cassandra promised. Looking at all of his kids again, he cant help but wonder what he did to deserve them. And when his eyes flutter shut he thinks maybe, just maybe, things might be ok.

[This got out of hand... again... im bad ok? I love bruce whump and I love to write.]