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The darkness of the night enveloped the cold city of Gotham. It could be argued that the dark covered the night like a thick fog, rendering the many dim lights of streetlights and buildings useless. Bruce didn’t mind the darkness, it was one of the many quirks that came with living in Gotham. It seemed to follow him anywhere he went, shrouding him in it and allowing him to use it as a tool. When light was in fact useless, Bruce learned to make do without it.
This night was not unlike all the others, Bruce had stayed out late in the night. He let it consume him, blending with him so that he was unseen and unheard. There had been no activity tonight, other than the loud crash of a trash bin when a cat had used it as a step to get over a short wall. But Bruce was not one to miss any crime that could pose a threat to his city, the lack of activity did not stop him from staying out until early in the morning.
It was four in the morning when Bruce turned in for the night, letting his tired legs carry him home. The tread of his boots was heavy and bordered on unsteady, yet the bleary lights that lit the cave gave him some sense of safety when he arrived. He heavily dropped himself into a chair, batsuit still fully equipped. The squeak of the chair and shuffle of movement as he settled cataloged themselves in his mind before he could stop them. With a sigh, he reached back and pulled off the cowl. The cool air of the cave hit his bare face, cold against the sweat caking it. The cowl, while useful for concealing his identity, provided no comfort against its heat and suffocating nature. His dark hair was wet with sweat, the usually sleek hair messy and unkempt from wearing that cowl for hours on end. He briefly considered getting a drink of water, but that meant moving which sounded awfully taxing at the moment.
He sat there in silence for what must have been an hour, the sun peeked over the horizon and began its daily job of lighting up the grimey city. Not that Bruce could see that from his cave hidden under the manor. His body felt heavy covered in the bulky suit, the weight just enough to deter him from wanting to escape and return to his day life. His brain was already calculating the time it would take him to get presentable, and there was no time left over for any sleep. Of course today was the day he had to make an appearance at a meeting. He had noticed connections this corporation had with Carmine Falcone, and he had to get closer to get any solid evidence for this claim. He couldn’t risk oversleeping like his body urged him to do, so he would skip sleep altogether and deal with the consequences later. He was Batman, he reasoned that was enough to keep him going on zero hours of rest. If only the world had been kind enough to offer him another hour between five and six o’clock.
Finally, Bruce heaved himself up from the seat. He groaned at the mental effort it took, this meant he had to start the day. He really didn’t want to. With a few clicks of latches and buttons, he removed the batsuit, letting it fall off him and onto the concrete ground of the cave. He was left in his black tanktop and shorts, feeling considerably lighter now that the pounds of suit weren't weighing him down. Now he just felt gross, he ran his hand through his hair only to be reminded of the sweat and knots in the dark mess. Begrudgingly, he forced himself to walk out of the cave and up into the main part of Wayne Manor. He found his way to his room first, purposely avoiding the sight of his soft and inviting bed. Pulling a change of clothes out of the drawer and leaving the room quicker than he had arrived. He would take the morning one step at a time, as painful as it was.
He unceremoniously placed the clothes on the luckily clean floor of the bathroom. The tiles reflected the fluorescent lights, making his eyes burn more than they already were. This had to be the brightest room in the house, other rooms were lit by chandeliers and warm lights, only the bathroom had the white fluorescent he hated. He made a mental note to ask Alfred about changing them, but the reality was that Alfred would refuse since it would make the bathroom unsafe. Then Bruce would remind him that being Batman was more dangerous than potentially slipping in the bathroom. Alfred would sigh but not change his mind, he was determined to keep his boy as safe as he possibly could.
Bruce turned the shower on, letting the water run until it became warm. Stepping into the shower, he hissed as the hot water hit his body. As he rubbed shampoo through his hair and cleaned himself off, his eyes became heavy as the warm steam surrounded him. Realizing this, Bruce quickly pushed the shower handle over to cold before he could think that hard about it, letting the cold water wash over him. The water shocked him into waking up, he shook his head to clear it as he washed the suds out of his hair. He switched the water off, gasping at the cold water that ran down his back from his sopping hair.
Grabbing a towel, Bruce dried himself off and stepped out of the shower. He pulled on some dress pants and a black turtleneck, slipping on a pair of Batman pattern socks that would be hidden by his shoes. Bruce wiped the sheen of fog from the mirror and looked at the reflection of himself for the first time that morning. The first thing Bruce noticed was the eyeshadow dripping down his face. He had obviously forgotten to remove it and the combination of sweat and shower water had caused it to begin to run. Beyond that, his hair was still a mess, though now clean instead of soaked with sweat. His skin was pale and almost sickly, his tired state reflected in his face. He reached across the countertop and pulled out a makeup wipe, rubbing it over one eye. He grumbled, the eyeshadow smudged as he slowly worked on removing it.
Once the eyeshadow was removed, Bruce could see his dark eyebags. Though that could be easily fixed. He rummaged through the drawers until he found his makeup, using it to cover up any tiredness and bringing a bit more colour to his face. He then pulled out a comb and brushed back his hair, struggling through any knots. When he looked back into the mirror, the man who stared back looked more alive. This man was ready for the day. This man had definitely had a good night's sleep.
He stifled a yawn. If he let himself, it might remind him how tired he truly was. He pressed his palms against his closed eyes, and when he pulled them away they were covered in unset powder. He swore and reapplied it, this time setting it before he could wipe it away accidentally.
Checking his watch, he noted that the morning was creeping along to six o’clock. Grumbling, Bruce opened the door of the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen. His meeting was at eleven, much too early for his liking but what could he do about it. Alfred wasn’t awake yet, being slightly more sensible than Bruce and sleeping until seven each morning. If Bruce was awake before Alfred, it was because he had pulled an allnighter. Bruce might be a thirty year old man, but Alfred would still complain that Bruce wasn’t sleeping enough. Once, after a week with little to no rest, Alfred had called Clark on a last attempt to get Bruce to sleep. Clark had shown up minutes later and basically carried Bruce out of the cave and locked him in the bedroom, telling him that it was for his own good from the otherside of the door. Afterwards, Bruce did not speak to Alfred for a week, pouting about it like a child.
He flicked on the light, which glowed considerably warmer yellow than the bathroom lights. Alfred would be up in an hour, but Bruce wasn’t willing to wait for Alfred to get up to eat. Bruce hadn’t eaten for hours, missing dinner and having no time for snacks throughout his patrol. A poorly slapped together peanut butter and honey sandwich would have to do. He knew if Alfred saw this he would be disappointed in him.
It was almost seven by the time he had eaten breakfast, having to make another sandwich added to that time. He returned to the cave before Alfred could wake up, turning on the computer to go through the file he had put together on the company. His brain was still sluggish and for once he longed for sleep. But there was always something that needed his – no, Batman’s – assistance.
Besides, how much could one night of no sleep hurt him?