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schizoauthoressTitle: Tearful
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none; everyone knows that Bruce Wayne's parents are dead.
Prompt: An anonymous person on Tumblr asked me -- "Crying" for the fanfic prompt thing?
Warnings: death allusions, the "anger" stage of grief, a poor response to trauma from Mr. Pennyworth
Word Count: 272
Summary: After the night that changed everything, Bruce is having trouble coping.
Word of the Day: crucible, noun:
1. A severe, searching test or trial.
2. A container of metal or refractory material employed for heating substances to high temperatures.
3. Metallurgy. A hollow area at the bottom of a furnace in which the metal collects.
Tearful
Bruce cries for days after… After.
Everyone is just so concerned, everyone is just so sorry, and he can’t handle it. He hides in his room, just so he won’t have to see any people — all the wrong people, not the two who he wants, with all his heart, to see — and Alfred lets him.
Alfred lets him do a lot of things. When Bruce decides that he wants to break things and scream, Alfred guides him away from the antiques and into the kitchen. He passes down the everyday dishes and mugs, and Bruce throws them against the floor and the cabinets, screaming about how he hates everything. Alfred doesn’t seem bothered. Bruce doesn’t feel better — doesn’t stop crying — until he’s smashed all the tea plates, half the mugs, and all but one of the dinner plates. Alfred picks him up and sets him on the counter, like he was still a little little boy, and uses a tea towel to wipe his face.
Alfred doesn’t ask if he feels better. He just gives Bruce a glass of water and goes to get the broom and dustpan to clean up Bruce’s mess. Bruce drinks the water slowly, as he watches Alfred sweep up the off-white shards. He glances up at the cabinet. Dad’s favorite mug and Mom’s special plates are still up there. Of course Alfred wouldn’t have given those to him.
Alfred takes good care of him, Bruce decides, with the simple (and limited) understanding of the situation that his eight-year-old’s perspective gives him.
He sets the empty drinking glass in the sink very carefully.
*-*-*-*-*
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none; everyone knows that Bruce Wayne's parents are dead.
Prompt: An anonymous person on Tumblr asked me -- "Crying" for the fanfic prompt thing?
Warnings: death allusions, the "anger" stage of grief, a poor response to trauma from Mr. Pennyworth
Word Count: 272
Summary: After the night that changed everything, Bruce is having trouble coping.
Word of the Day: crucible, noun:
1. A severe, searching test or trial.
2. A container of metal or refractory material employed for heating substances to high temperatures.
3. Metallurgy. A hollow area at the bottom of a furnace in which the metal collects.
Tearful
Bruce cries for days after… After.
Everyone is just so concerned, everyone is just so sorry, and he can’t handle it. He hides in his room, just so he won’t have to see any people — all the wrong people, not the two who he wants, with all his heart, to see — and Alfred lets him.
Alfred lets him do a lot of things. When Bruce decides that he wants to break things and scream, Alfred guides him away from the antiques and into the kitchen. He passes down the everyday dishes and mugs, and Bruce throws them against the floor and the cabinets, screaming about how he hates everything. Alfred doesn’t seem bothered. Bruce doesn’t feel better — doesn’t stop crying — until he’s smashed all the tea plates, half the mugs, and all but one of the dinner plates. Alfred picks him up and sets him on the counter, like he was still a little little boy, and uses a tea towel to wipe his face.
Alfred doesn’t ask if he feels better. He just gives Bruce a glass of water and goes to get the broom and dustpan to clean up Bruce’s mess. Bruce drinks the water slowly, as he watches Alfred sweep up the off-white shards. He glances up at the cabinet. Dad’s favorite mug and Mom’s special plates are still up there. Of course Alfred wouldn’t have given those to him.
Alfred takes good care of him, Bruce decides, with the simple (and limited) understanding of the situation that his eight-year-old’s perspective gives him.
He sets the empty drinking glass in the sink very carefully.
*-*-*-*-*