Work Text:
Bruce leaned his head against the stone wall, the small movement painful. Everything hurt from where his wrists were restrained to the many untreated bruises, fractures, cuts and burns across his body.
Not for the first time he surveyed his cell, clinging to hope that there was something he missed, some way to escape.
He knew there wasn’t, but he needed a distraction, from the pain and from the silence. The only sounds in the room were of his own body struggling, to breathe, to move, to keep going.
The cell was dark, the only light source were two candles just out of reach, both at their wicks end. They’d burn out soon and he’d be in total darkness. There was a staircase, he knew. They’d dragged him down it almost a week ago, now. If he could get there, stand and make it up the stairs he might be able to call for help, but it was pointless. The door would be locked, he’d be surprised if it wasn’t, but even still, he couldn’t. Not in his malnourished state. They hadn’t given him anything to eat or drink, that in itself wouldn’t be enough to dissuade him, but when mixed with his injuries and the overwhelming hopelessness of the situation…
They haven’t returned in days. He’s been down here for a week, roughly. The only real way to tell time other than his inconsistent counting was the deterioration of the candles, tall, scentless pillars of wax. They replaced one that was halfway burned when he got here, and now the ones in front of him are burning out. Once they’re gone he’ll be in total darkness, total isolation. In an hour, if he’s luck. He knows they’re not coming back, they’ve likely been captured by the league by now. That or they’ve gone on the run.
He supposes he should be glad he’s not being tortured anymore, but isolation in itself can be torture, even to him who usually enjoys being alone. At this point he thinks he’d rather have someone coming down to beat him every few hours, at least then he wouldn’t be left alone to drown in pain and his own thoughts.
He might die here, in this little cramped and disgusting cell. If he was going to be found, it would’ve been before now. The more time passes, the less it matters. All in all, it marks his end far sooner than he would’ve thought.
Bruce always thought he’d die doing something, in an invasion or something catastrophic. Not alone in a cell, in darkness and too weak to move.
If he dies he’ll leave them all behind; his family and the league, who in their own right have become somewhat like family to him. He’ll never see them again. Dick laughing over stupid jokes, Jason’s grumbling about his reputation, Damian leaving drawings out in a subtle ask for compliments, Alfred checking in on him when he works too long. No being annoyed by Barry, strategizing with Diana or catching up with Oliver.
Never again will he see his family, never will he get to fret over his team.
Bruce opens his eyes, unsure of when he closed them. He sees nothing. The candles have gone out. The lenses in the cowl have long since stopped working, and he’s left in total and utter darkness, not a shred of light. He’d be lying if he said he could see even an inch in front of him.
The darkness he usually loves is suffocating, his paranoia stepping up to yell at him. He can’t see a thing. If someone was in the room with him, he’d never know. It’s impossible, he knows that. He’d hear something, if someone was here. He’d have known beforehand.
Or would he?
He wants to scream, cry, thrash. Try to get out of his bindings, but he’s too tired. He’s already tried, many times, many different ways. He’s can’t escape, he’s stuck until someone either finds him or he dies.
He tries to accept his fate, that the family he so painstakingly built and mended after it broke to what should’ve been beyond repair, will collapse. His kids will loose their father. That idea hurts more than dying itself, that his kids will have to go through the grief of losing him, for most of his children it won’t be the first time they’ve lost a parent.
Will Damian go back to Talia? Will one of them take up the Batman mantle? He hopes not, he’s never wanted his kids to end up like him.
He feels his conscious waning. He doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to die. What if someone saves him now? It’s a desperate thought but he clings to it. He can’t sleep, he needs to stay awake.
Needs to live.
But in the end, Bruce never gets what he wants.