ANGELS WEEP || bruce wayne

the eleventh

🦇

What's it like, knowing that there will be people you can't save?

"It hasn't happened to me yet."

But someday it will. Someone will die on your living room carpet and you'll have to mop up the blood. You'll have to drag the corpse to the funeral home, pray that this person didn't have any close relatives. Pray that you won't have to tell those relatives you were the person who failed them, who let them die; the person who they went to instead of visiting the hospital down the street.

Stacey stared at the street below, her legs dangling off the edge of the balcony. The railing was in between her legs and she gripped it with her hands, imagining what it would be like to let go of all her worries and sleep the day away.

Dawn came with baggage. The thought that she had only an hour of sleep spurred her to rest her head against the railing, absentmindedly watching a spider weave its web between the two bars a little further down from where she was sitting.

"Can't sleep again?"

She hummed her answer, turning her head to the side to see the Batman swing down from her roof and join her on the balcony.

Stacey pat the space beside her and the vigilante sat down, joining her in pushing his legs through the gaps in the railing and swinging his legs.

The red sun peeked over the horizon. This was one of those rare days where the morning sky wasn't dark with rain, and you could actually see the sun's bright eye blink open.

But as much as she tried to be excited about the dawn, its baggage still weighed her down.

After a long silence, she spoke. "What's it like, knowing there are people you can't save?"

He was silent, but she could see the gears turning in his head. His jawline caught the red light and she watched it spread across his face in a bloody glow.

After long nights he would join her on her balcony to rest, talking about their worries and their dreams. Though they had only met a handful of times Stacey felt as if she had known him in another lifetime; like he had known her. Their conversation flowed with ease, though he did take more time in between to formulate his responses. But Stacey didn't mind. They both had had a long night.

"It's hard. But you can't think about the people you didn't save, you have to focus on the ones you did. Gotham is smart, but they're not impervious to fear."

"Fear," Stacey repeated. "Yeah, that's something we need more of."

He didn't respond. He merely looked down at the cars as they passed, carefully taking off his gauntlets and gloves. Stacey looked at the flash of skin, his pale hands a stark contrast to the dark armor.

"And to think, this all started with you half naked in my bathtub."

He quirked his lips up at that. "I thank you for your service."

"And I thank you for not dying. Imagine what would happen if I had a big bad vigilante die in my bathtub. Dude, I have no idea how that would go."

"Would you call the cops?"

"Fuck no I wouldn't call the cops! Do you know who I am? Those douches are waiting for a reason to put me away with the rest of my family."

Stacey's joking smile faded as she glanced at him, awaiting his response.

"Your name is not the definition of who you are." He paid careful attention to his words, almost like he had practiced them.

She rested the side of her head against the bar and looked at him, swinging her legs. He didn't meet her eyes, staring across the way at the building opposite.