Work Text:
Bruce Wayne was familiar with grief. He had grieved his parents at a young age, and he had grieved the life he lost when they died. He grieved the loss of his son, and then grieved the loss of their former relationship when he resurfaced as Red Hood. What he wasn’t familiar with was the uncertainty of hospitals and near-deaths.
Nearly every time Bruce had grieved, he had been certain that he would never get back what he had lost, and he had been correct. Nothing stayed the same. This time however, he was grieving someone still alive.
Watching (Y/N) lay still, almost lifeless, on the hospital bed almost killed him. The wires keeping her alive seeming sprouted from every inch of her. Bruce didn't know that so much machinery went into this process, it all seemed so cold and sterile.
Bruce felt like he was sick from the thought, but he couldn't help but find it oddly fascinating that all of this preventative measures was caused by a small bullet. The metal fragment was small enough from him to roll in his fingers.
Alfred had brought the boys around to visit (Y/N), he said it was important for them to see her like this. They had taken on (Y/N) as a surrogate mother figure of sorts, just as they had done to Bruce. Damian had taken the biggest liking to the woman, their bond was something beyond what anyone had come to expect capable for the boy.
Damian's visit to the hospital was the first time Bruce had seen him cry. He couldn't blame the boy though, if he could manage it Bruce would also cry but he just felt numb.
There was nothing that he could do, he was powerless in this situation. The helplessness he felt as he watched the heart monitor's repetitive beeping, signalling that (Y/N) was still alive. He could only watch and grief for something he may not even lose