|The D.C Collection | Imagines, One-Shots, Preferences, and More |

Pinkened Water | Bruce Wayne x Reader

Description: You make a mistake that Bruce pays for.

Request: bruce wayne x reader fluff (and a tiny bit of angst) where she takes care of him after he had thrown himself in front of her when they were fighting if you can? tysm

Words: 989

Notes: Just something short from the requests. My writer's block is KILLING ME.

_

He is wordless. Not in the kind of way where he has nothing to voice, nothing to comment on or even grunt out in response. Bruce is wordless in the way where he is brimming with words, words that will begin arguments and words that will end them, desperately trying to drink them down before they overfill him and spill out.

Alfred is absent for a number of reasons, but the main one relating to Bruce being an ass, Alfred worrying about him, and then Bruce continuing to be an ass. So the butler jumped at the chance for a fortnight's vacation at your imploring. That left you with a few scratches and bruises to repair (Jason making lunch after you gave him 30 bucks. Damn, that boy can cook), and another argument arising with Bruce Wayne.

The marks on his flesh are horrendous and jagged and everywhere. When you run your hand down his back your skin molds around rough and uneven marks, and some are as old as his nightlife, others from yesterday evening. Tonight's issues are just that... issues. It had become more and more common for Bruce to come home bleeding and clutching an open injury, but tonight's patrol had gifted him with something special. Or rather, it was trying to gift it to you, if Bruce hadn't jumped in the way.

Surprises weren't uncommon, and that's why Bruce carried an entire arsenal with him wherever he went. The utility belt was stocked with all sorts of tools and weaponry, but not even it can prepare for things something an insane mind could produce. All he can do is improvise. So when a goddamn harpoon is shot at your heart, he shoves you out of pain's path and comes out with a giant piece of shrapnel lodged in his shoulder. It had taken Dick and Jason's combined strength to pull it free, and then an hour of cleaning and stitching on your part to repair it. X-rays came somewhere in between. Somehow, he was lucky enough to retain the use of his arm (after it healed anyway), even if it was dislocated.

Now, you dipped a wet towel in pink water dyed by blood, steadying Bruce's back by holding his good shoulder."This might sting," You warned him, softly. But then you realized that was stupid, because he had practically bled out on the cave's stalagmites after having a harpoon pulled from his skin. Not to mention the process of relocating his shoulder.

You gently wet the longest scar on his skin, wondering just why Bruce hadn't asked for Arthur's assistance with dealing with the rogue Atlanteans that had invaded Gotham City. But your mind must be muddled from its over-activeness during patrol—Bruce Wayne is... Bruce Wayne. Of course he wouldn't ask for help.

Bruce doesn't even tense. You're unsure if his eyes or closed or not, but his head is hung and his hands are keeping him upright on the temporary operating table. You continued to clean the cut, debating if you should speak yet. Bruce, surprisingly, comments first.

"I'm not going to apologize, if that's what you're waiting for." He clipped.

You shake your head and sighed."Who said I wanted that? As much as I dislike it when you put your life before my own—you did save my life... If anything, I'm sorry for not paying attention and avoiding it in time."

"Good." Bruce declares, only mildly surprised by your confession. He's so accustomed to arguing. With his children, Alfred, even with himself. Maybe that's how you've managed to not grow tired and agitated with him yet; you happened to be very good at avoiding disagreements to your liking, especially ones involving Bruce. His shoulders tense and relax in a battle that's fought intensely for someone so attuned to the battlefield."Because I would do it again. And again. I always will." Bruce promises. And he's certainly a man of his word.

He only has seconds to review what he has said, but he dictates it as coming off too rough, especially if you are healing him. Bruce sighs, adding softly,"But it's... you don't have to apologize."

Bruce hears the rag gently hit the surface of the cleaning water, and he watches it sink as you wrap your arms around him. You rest your cheek against his good but still marred shoulder, your lips brushing the coarse skin."You're still hurt. And I know that apologizing doesn't change anything, but it's still my fault, so I'm going to change. I'll get better. I'll pay more attention."

Bruce's fingers comb over yours. It settles over your arm protectively, and there's a pause where you fight over who's leaning on who, but Bruce wins as he is the injured one. You feel him relax under your hands,"Everyone makes mistakes, Y/N. That's why we work together. That's why I'm there, that's why you and the others are there. So we can help each other with our mistakes."

You smirk,"Hold on—can you just repeat everything you just said into my phone? Because that was basically an "I need you" confession and Jason won't believe me unless I have evidence—"

Bruce scoffed, causing you to break into laughter, your body shaking with mirth against his still one. The sound is more than just welcome. Bruce finds the pain fading to the outskirts of his attention, where you are drawn to the center of his universe as you always seem to be. He used to call you a distraction. When he said or thought the word he'd spit it with an unrivaled bitterness. He couldn't be distracted, not from his job, his mission. Now, Bruce Wayne realizes and corrects his error; sometimes, distractions are needed to keep moving. Even if that distraction is a harpoon to the shoulder or beautiful laughter. Beautiful, beautiful laughter.