Perfectly Ordinary~ Batbrothers

Chapter 33

Camilla POV

Wayne manor had never seemed so vacant.

The few times she'd visited during her relationship with Damian there had been a low thrum of energy all around them- like the manor itself possessed a type of overwhelming power that demanded to be recognized. But now, when every Wayne had vanished and she sat alone in the same room she'd spent hours reading in with Damian close by her side, she realized something.

It was never the house that made you feel like every step you took was being analyzed, like there were a thousand desperate unspoken words scrawled out on the walls around them, it was the people who lived there.

The Wayne's carried themselves with a different type of energy than the rest of Gotham, a power that they couldn't even begin to fathom. Something she doubted anyone really understood.

It was hidden in the dark lines of their emotionless expressions, the way their eyes lit up when they thought no one was watching, it was in the rough texture of the paintings which littered the hallways of the dozens of people before them, each smiling like they held a secret, one that they took with them when the memories of their lives faded and all that remained as proof that they had ever walked the earth turned to a canvas on the wall.

It was these things that allowed her to come to the realization that these people were cold, had all been cold. Even the ones that were no longer alive and breathing had found more warmth in death.

Their torture was hidden behind their straight postures and bags of money, their secrets kept safe in the pockets of their expensive suits. But even though they were cold and closed off, they were not inhuman, and they loved and hated like the rest of them.

Her bare feet dug into the thick carpet that seemed to stretch on for miles, back resting against the Italian leather couch behind her. The only light in the room spilled from the fire place and from underneath the closed door, which didn't stay closed long.

She didn't look back at the sound of it creaking open and closing again, or the sound of footsteps that echoed around the room before they stopped and the couch dipped behind her as someone sat down.

She didn't want to talk, her mouth felt like a graveyard of words that had died on her lips before they could travel to the curious ears of onlookers.

Those remaining in the house thought that she was pulling back and out of reach because she was afraid for Damian's safety, but what they didn't know was that she was horribly aware of something they were not.

There was a sudden pressure of pleasant heat pressed up against her arm and she hesitated before taking the cup of tea Alfred was offering. He didn't try to talk like she expected him too, didn't place a comforting hand on her frail shoulder. Instead he sat back and gazed around the room, taking it in as if he'd never seen in before, pale blue eyes alight and wondrous, traveling like a lost tourist.

She cocked her head and tried to see what he saw. Walls, a floor and a ceiling. That would've been the basics. Large book cases stuffed with reading material of all genres, covers of all shapes and sizes and leather couches with burning red throw pillows and neatly folded blankets, a fire place and mantel made out of old gray stone.

But then it hit her, when she saw this room her mind traveled immediately to the memories she had there, why shouldn't it be the same for him?

In her minds eye she tried to imagine what he was seeing. Maybe Dick as a child, climbing onto the mantel to prove he can do two back flips off it and Alfred insisting he comes down before he gets hurt, maybe a young Jason devouring book after book of literature and moving all over the room to get comfortable, stacks of reading material at his feet that he wanted to tackle next and claiming that he'd read just one more chapter before going to bed, maybe Timothy with a laptop that he couldn't believe Bruce had bought him perched in his lap, reading one case over and over because he swore their was something he was missing. Or maybe even a young Damian sitting in front on the fire wearing a dark expression that no thirteen year old should have to wear, thinking thoughts no thirteen year old should have to think.