(FIC) Ghost Bullets
Written weeks ago in class, surrounded by people unaware of just what goes through my head. The old cliche of being alone in a crowded room and all that.
Fandom: DCU
Character: Batman
Rating: PG15
Warnings: Suicide themes
Word Count: 400+
Summary: It all adds up in the end.
AN: Jen made me think about what would drive my Bruce to suicide. Doesn’t hurt that animated Bruce totally has a death wish, and he doesn’t think it counts as suicide if it’s for the greater good.
The shadow of the thought keeps flicking elusively through his mind.
He hasn’t thought about it in a long time, and whenever the idea raises its ugly head, it makes him angry and sick.
Death doesn’t solve anything.
Still, he can’t seem to find a solution.
He’s tired. He hasn’t slept properly in… he struggles to remember the last night he didn’t lay awake thinking he would be doing more good if he was working than by laying there.
‘More good’. Ridiculous.
It’s been a while since he last felt like what he was doing was good, like he was accomplishing anything. Pain and failure and meaningless successes pile one over the other, and he can’t see the use of doing it anymore.
He still pushes forward every night. He collapses from exhaustion every couple of days, and sleeps until the nightmares start creeping around the edges of his slumber.
He has been doing this for so long that no one notices anymore. The tired stance, the short temper, the sad eyes. He’s still getting everything done, so no one needs to worry he’s going to slip.
He finds himself thinking about the bullet he never took more frequently. The bullet one man failed to fire almost thirty years ago. Thirty.
God, he feels old.
He wonders what would the life of those around him would have been if he had died that night, many years ago. He wonders if they would have been happier, if they would have found better ways to help others, since his way seems to have brought so much pain to their lives.
He worries about his city, what would happen to her if he left her. He knows the city doesn’t *need* him, and that she will go on without him, but he wishes he could protect her, save her, make her… better. Not knowing what is better for his city, his heart, makes him feel powerless.
He hasn’t felt this powerless in many years.
J’onn touches his mind, a gentle caress. Bruce almost breaks in his hands, but J’onn is ever careful. ::We need you down here,:: J’onn whispers in his mind, and Bruce isn’t sure if he hasn’t heard his storming thoughts all afternoon. ::We have a situation with Grodd.::
“I’m teleporting to your coordinates. Batman out,” he speaks into the commlink. Maybe he’ll find it in himself to change today. Maybe his demons will vanish in the light.
Maybe today he’ll hear the bullet he’s never heard before.
Fandom: DCU
Character: Batman
Rating: PG15
Warnings: Suicide themes
Word Count: 400+
Summary: It all adds up in the end.
AN: Jen made me think about what would drive my Bruce to suicide. Doesn’t hurt that animated Bruce totally has a death wish, and he doesn’t think it counts as suicide if it’s for the greater good.
The shadow of the thought keeps flicking elusively through his mind.
He hasn’t thought about it in a long time, and whenever the idea raises its ugly head, it makes him angry and sick.
Death doesn’t solve anything.
Still, he can’t seem to find a solution.
He’s tired. He hasn’t slept properly in… he struggles to remember the last night he didn’t lay awake thinking he would be doing more good if he was working than by laying there.
‘More good’. Ridiculous.
It’s been a while since he last felt like what he was doing was good, like he was accomplishing anything. Pain and failure and meaningless successes pile one over the other, and he can’t see the use of doing it anymore.
He still pushes forward every night. He collapses from exhaustion every couple of days, and sleeps until the nightmares start creeping around the edges of his slumber.
He has been doing this for so long that no one notices anymore. The tired stance, the short temper, the sad eyes. He’s still getting everything done, so no one needs to worry he’s going to slip.
He finds himself thinking about the bullet he never took more frequently. The bullet one man failed to fire almost thirty years ago. Thirty.
God, he feels old.
He wonders what would the life of those around him would have been if he had died that night, many years ago. He wonders if they would have been happier, if they would have found better ways to help others, since his way seems to have brought so much pain to their lives.
He worries about his city, what would happen to her if he left her. He knows the city doesn’t *need* him, and that she will go on without him, but he wishes he could protect her, save her, make her… better. Not knowing what is better for his city, his heart, makes him feel powerless.
He hasn’t felt this powerless in many years.
J’onn touches his mind, a gentle caress. Bruce almost breaks in his hands, but J’onn is ever careful. ::We need you down here,:: J’onn whispers in his mind, and Bruce isn’t sure if he hasn’t heard his storming thoughts all afternoon. ::We have a situation with Grodd.::
“I’m teleporting to your coordinates. Batman out,” he speaks into the commlink. Maybe he’ll find it in himself to change today. Maybe his demons will vanish in the light.
Maybe today he’ll hear the bullet he’s never heard before.