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candid-confetti · 3 years

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Batfam x Batmom!Reader - Bruce Wayne Dies Imagine

Warnings: None. Angst I think? Bruce Wayne dying. Nothing really, if there is something I apologize and if you can please let me know and I’ll add it to the warnings.

Word count: 1727

This is a self indulgent fic that I made up in my head and decided to share cause why not?? (I make way too many AU’s in my head) Lol I’m in pain and I made the outcome, someone recc me more Bruce Wayne and Batfam angst pls. I live for this shit. You may point out my mistakes just please be nice about it. (This is an unedited fic so its bound to have mistakes.) Oof I repeated the same words like at least 5 times yikes and I want to be an English Major?! Lol whos idea was that?!

EDIT/IMPORTANT NOTE: Ok I somehow left out THREE ENTIRE SECTIONS of the story. Because I originally wrote it in tumblr then it got deleted cause I accidentally posted it before it was ready. Then deleted the post then realized I couldn’t get back my deleted post...🤦🏻‍♀️ Anyway— I updated the word count and added the three missing sections. They start with an asterisk. *

Breathe in. Out. Again. You focus on your breaths trying to calm the racing of your heart and the dread in your gut. Breathe just breathe...

Someone— Dick squeezes your hand. You feel some of the dread ebb away with his warmth. You’re not alone. You open your eyes and your kids sorrowful gazes are on you that you know is only a reflection of your own.

“You don’t have to do this Mom,” Tim says gently. But he knows you can’t walk away. He knows you must. Having done the calculations in his head, having monitored the several emails to Wayne Enterprises, and to you, all the calls, emails, messages. The condolences that weren’t heartfelt as they tried to get a reply to get anything. Some sort of grip on a story. They only increased by the day, and they were sure to get worse.

He ended up having to cut the line as a reporter had called, and in the midst of your grief and anger, you answered. Screaming at them and their audacity to call and ask for an interview when it hadn’t even been three days. A day was not enough. Three days was not enough. A week would never be enough. A month. A year. Five. Ten. It would never be enough. You don’t know what you said exactly. It was all a blur of tears, anger, grief, numbness. The gaping hole in your chest having taken over. You don’t remember Jason and Dick running up the stairs at your broken screams, or Damian grabbing the phone from your hands, though the line had already ended, or Cass grunting as you collapsed to the floor, in an attempt to catch you.

*It would only get worse. Evident by the number of legal cases Afred had been filing for slander and breach of privacy on the Wayne family- as articles had piled up from photos of the scene. The scene that you still couldn’t look at. Hear about. You weren’t ready yet. But they didn’t care. The press had started to spin their own twisted fairytale before you could even say a word. Hence why you were now here.

You look up to Alfred in the mirror, making eye contact giving him a small nod. He gets out of the car. You allow another breath of air to fill your lungs and as you exhale the door opens. You step out, Dicks hand still comfortingly in yours. The kids following closely behind you. Heels clicking against the steps you stop, confronted by the sign of the Hotel that Bruce first brought you to for your first gala as an official couple. With its neon lights and the mockingly optimistic sun beaming on your face, your mind flashes back to a memory that had bubbled to the surface. A murmur, a laugh, a twirl. The first gala you attended together as an official couple, and the night Bruce announced his love for you to the public. Ironic how you were now here to both confirm and announce his death.

You were so nervous, you were cool and collected in the car, the only sign of nerves was your foot anxiously tapping as Bruce rubbed his thumb over your knee soothingly. You arrived late. Fashionably late as you called it, for ahem *reasons.* His hand in yours, you exited the car, making it to the steps stopping at the sign that sent reflective sparkles of your dress onto the steps. You turn to him, looking up at his tall frame, “I’m a terrible dancer,” you confess abruptly. He doesn’t show any sign of surprise just raises a groomed eyebrow at you. Your foot begins to tap again, and he leans in towards your ear murmuring with a heated breath, “Well you certainly know how to tango, my dear.” You blink in surprise, heat flooding your cheeks, your previous activities before the ride here flooding your mind, you dismiss those thoughts with a whack to his arm shaking your head with a laugh. He gives you that smile the one that you swear makes his eyes glow brighter than moonlight, grasping your hand and giving you a quick twirl. Your nerves had been replaced with pure glee as you spun...

You were spinning, you were going to hurl. You wanted to hurl. Letting go of Dick’s hand to grip the railing, the other gripping your stomach. You had refused to eat before you came, having had a muffin for breakfast, the dread filling your stomach. Tim offers you a bottle of water, likely from Alfred, and you nearly refuse it but the look in his eyes makes you take a sip. Then another. Until you finished a quarter of the bottle. You hand it back to him and he caps it, and you let out a breath, standing up straight. Jason's hand goes to squeeze your shoulder and it spurs you a step forward. You push open those glass doors and enter the Lobby, making your way through the halls towards the ballroom.

You can hear the chatter before you reach the doors, each reporter and every goddamn news outlet in the city and beyond were called and invited to write a story of the circus of you and your family's grief. Outside the doors though is quiet, and you give a moment to yourself. You open your arms, and your children come huddling around you in a warm embrace. You lost your love and husband, but your children also lost their father. Silent save for the chatter inside, as you all give yourself a moment of comfort before the parade of press and questions. Fighting back tears, you grip Jason and Dick’s shoulders as they’re at your sides and they release you, though Tim, Damian and Cass are still clutching you. You give them a squeeze and they at last let go, though Damian stays a second longer. Alfred stands at the door and you approach him giving him a warm hug, “Thank you,” you say. For taking care of you, your kids, Bruce, the lawsuits. For supporting you through this time. Alfred also lost a son, and with that thought you tighten your arms around him a little tighter for a moment, then letting go. Once you pull away he’s then wiping stray tears that managed to escape from your eyes with a handkerchief. Even in the midst of his own pain and grief here he is taking care of you. Flashing him the smallest of smiles you can manage, you turn towards the doors, smoothening out your dress.

*Later there would be Style articles analyzing what you exactly wore to this press conference. Some saying you looked elegant and strong in the midst of adversity, others wondering if you could even afford new clothes as your outfit was clad with pieces you wore from past events. The worst and most absurd saying that perhaps the family was going bankrupt as you could not afford new clothes and perhaps Bruce’s death was at the cause of underground Mafia business or schemes and he got caught in the crossfire. None of them, not a single one of them knew that everything you wore today contained a moment, a memory, that he had given you. The dress you wore was one from your 7th wedding anniversary, the heels from the first gala you attended together and you stepped on his toes enough times for him to label them as “killer heels.” The small statement piece necklace that he had given to you on your birthday, the chain nearly choking you with yet another memory.

*You felt it slip off your neck as the chain came loose, as you leaned over the railing at the Santa Monica Pier, for a much needed family vacation. It had slipped off, and you dived for it, nearly falling off into the ocean, Bruce caught you in time of course, and thankfully you had also caught your necklace. You had earned a scolding from both your husband and your kids as they told you to be careful. It ended up being an inside joke over the years between the family. “Don’t go diving off any Piers now,” Alfred had said to you after saying your farewells to your kids and husband at the door, departing on a girls trip with Lois and Diana. The kids were hysterical chiming in with, “Yeah Mom!” You had shaken your head, hauling your suitcase to the car with a laugh and a wave…

The chatter dies down to hushed whispers that remind you of the crash of waves alongside a beach, a peaceful serene sound but so different than the one you heard now. Whispers and subtle gestures, some outright pointing as you entered the room. Paparazzi taking several photos as you entered those doors, and you know some journalists will begin to spin and twist your quotes and make their own narratives, and though you were about to open up a part of you that you were not ready to share… They would not know that you chose this place, your dress, shoes, accessories to give you something— anything for you to make you feel like he was here with you. Memories and gifts, things left behind were something that you could hang onto. Your kids, Aflred were people you could hang onto. And as you take a step, step by step towards that table at the back of the room on shaky legs you find yourself gaining that footing some sliver of confidence as you walk. You could do this. You had to do this. You take a seat. Your kids standing behind you as an adamant wall of support. Alfred is off to the side and he will be the one selecting the reporters with eagerly raised hands. “Damn vultures.” Mutters Damian. If the situation weren’t as it was you may have laughed, and chimed in with your own retort. But you say nothing, Jason squeezes your shoulder, Cass grasps your hand, and you look towards the crowd. Your gaze snags on Lois, she offers you a sympathetic yet encouraging smile, and you begin to speak. “I’d like to thank you all for coming here today, on behalf of me and my family. Thank you for your heartfelt condolences and prayers. I’m sure you’re all curious to know what happened.”

AAH OK FIRST LIKE FIC EVER!! I’ve never done this before. I’m nervous as heck posting this. Please let me know your thoughts, feedback, all of it please. I might make a part 2? Just for the heck of it. I also wrote this at like 3am? I did this for me because its been playing in my head for the past few hours and I’m like well I wanna write it. Please, please, let me know your thoughts? I tried my best and I’m now rambling cause I’m nervous AAH—

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