Title: It Helps a Little Bit
Summary: The times when Bruce Wayne and even the Batman needed comfort in a time of hurt. Because everyone needs a kiss to help ease the pain, even just a little bit.
I think I got this idea from when my brother got a splinter one day and was crying like crazy. Please review. Flames are accepted.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
XXXXXX
"Mommyyyyyyyy!"
Little Bruce Wayne ran through the Manor's corridors as fast as his short, little legs would carry him. Wet tears flowed down his rosy cheeks, and you could hear his loud wails ring throughout the hallways. The little boy stomped furiously on the carpeted floor, earning a "My goodness, Master Bruce!" from Alfred Pennyworth, the butler; but "Master Bruce" did not end his search for his beloved mother.
"Mommy! *Sniff* Mommy! Mommy!" he shrieked, opening a few large oak doors and sobbing all the more. "Mommy! Mo-" Bruce's calls ended abruptly as he turned a corner and bumped into said woman's legs.
"Bruce?" Mrs. Wayne stooped down to hug her crying son. "My dear! What happened?"
The three year old wiped away his still coming tears and held out his right index finger. "I g-got a boo-boo," Bruce sobbed between sniffles. He shoved his little finger closer to his mother's face, revealing a tiny splinter poking through his skin. Mrs. Wayne smiled and let out an amused sigh.
"It's not that bad. Is it Brucie?" she questioned, rubbing the cold, wet tears off of his sad little face. Bruce nodded vigorously, making the woman chuckle.
"You have to be a big boy."
"But it huuurts!" the heir of the Wayne's fortune shrieked. He squeezed his mothers hand and stomped on the floor.
"Here," his mother muttered. She tried to pry the splinger out using her painted nails, but Bruce immediately screamed and jerked his hand away.
"It huuurts!" he whined. He rubbed the tip of his finger and moaned loudly.
"But if I don't get it out, it'll hurt even more."
"Nooooo!" The hopped up and down then resorted to sucking his dear little finger. Mrs. Wayne let out a sigh, but it wasn't a frustrated or even angry gesture.
"Do you want me to kiss it?"
The young child stopped and stared at the woman.
"D-Does it help?" he asked after pulling his finger out of his mouth.
Mrs. Wayne chuckled, pulled the finger toward her face, and kissed it lightly.
"It still hurts," little Bruce whimpered, but he had stopped crying.
She laid a few more kisses on the finger and stared into Bruce's face. He was glaring at the splinter, as if musing over something extremely important. Satisfied at the response, Mrs. Wayne stood and walked away, leaving Bruce to ponder.
The boo-boo still hurt, and Bruce still wanted to break out crying. So the kiss didn't really do much of anything…
…but it helped a little bit.
XXXXX
Bruce Wayne, heir to fortune of the Wayne family, sat in the middle of the large living room scribbling on a sheet of paper and also pondering many things. He sat in silence, stroking with his crayon until-
"Ow."
Bruce glared at the fresh, new paper cut on the palm of his hand. Biting his lower lip, he silently inspected the cut. A stray tear plummeted to the ground, and a whimper so silent one had to strain to hear escaped his lips.
Before the incident, the child probably would have thrown a fit and scampered straight to his mother dramatically. Now, he had no mother to run to, not even a father. He wished he had one though. He wished to have loving arms wrapped around him and maybe even a kiss to help his paper cut, but he had neither. Or did he?
Bruce stood at the question, and he immediately left the room to search for the old Englishman in mind.
"Alfred! Alfred!" he called as he strolled throughout the corridors. If he was wailing, crying or running the search might have been like the one he had for his mother many years ago; but he wasn't. It felt different this time, very different; for Alfred Pennyworth was very different than Martha Wayne.
"Alfred! Al-" he stopped when he yet again turned a corner and came face to face with his person of interest.
"Yes, Master Bruce?" the butler asked with his trademark English accent and a duster in his gloved hands.
The child silently lifted his hand and presented his cut. "I got a paper cut," he replied gloomily, stating the now obvious.
The old man nodded. "I shall go retrieve a bandage," he stated. Alfred began to walk away, but was stopped when Bruce's hand grabbed on to his suit's sleeve.
"No."
"Then what shall I do, Master Bruce?" the butler questioned as he turned to find the boy's lower lip quivering and eyes beginning to water. The small hand latched to his sleeve was shivering slightly.
"Would you k-kiss it for me… Please?" the child's blue eyes stabbed straight into Alfred's dark brown ones. "Just like how mother used to do… Please?" he asked with pleading eyes.
Alfred pursed his lips, feeling great sorrow for the young boy who just longed for his mother. After kneeling down to Bruce's height, he gently took the shuddering, little hand into his strong, firm one and kissed the cut palm, but Bruce didn't move at all. He only stared at his open hand resting in Alfred's.
"It doesn't feel da same," he muttered. The old man noticed a single tear sliding down the boy's face. Alfred found his own eyes beginning to water, and he squeezed Bruce's hand tightly.
"I'm sorry," he finally announced. "I am neither your mother or your father." The man paused a moment, trying to think up the right words. "And I will never try to be their replacement because no one can replace them in your heart. For when I worked for you parents, I felt they were more than just my employers, and I feel your loss as well," he said, laying a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I know it is hard, very hard. But never forget of the love they had for you… and the love I have for you. And I will always be here to help in any way I can."
The two smiled sorrowfully at each other, and Alfred left another kiss on the cut before leaving to retrieve a bandage. Bruce stayed there, standing in the middle of the hallway, pondering over that last kiss. The kiss was supposed to come from the lips of his mother, not Alfred's…
…But it helped a little bit.
XXXX
He woke up with a massive headache and pain shooting through his left side. Opening his eyes just enough to see, Bruce scanned the room surrounding him. He was lying in the bed. A thin sheet draped over him. The walls, floor, and ceiling seemed to be all metal. There were a few cabinets and one desk with test tubes, beakers, and paperwork scattered on top of it. But what had happened? Bruce didn't remember much. Fighting, screaming, blood…an explosion?
Bruce groaned and placed a sore hand on his aching side. The pain was so intense. For a moment, he felt like retching out blood.
The metal door in front of him screeched open, and a man and woman, both with dark hair and clad in blue and red, strode in the large room. Behind this duo, a green-skin man in a blur cape stepped through the passage and made his way to Bruce's side.
"How are you feeling, Batman?" J'onn asked
Bruce held his face emotionless and masked the pain swelling within him. "I'm fine," he lied in his usual monotone of a voice. "What happened?" The Dark Knight tried shifting in the bed. But it only made his side burn even more.
"You were almost caught in one of the Joker's bombs," Superman answered. Diana strangely remained silent beside the Man of Steel, who continued explaining his story. "I flew you out of the building before…" he searched his head, trying to find the right words. "before anything…serious happened," he finally replied.
Bruce nodded, all the while trying to subside the burning sensation he was feeling. The trio at his bedside continued to stare. Bruce decided to break silence.
"How long?"
"Hmm?"
"How long have I been out?"
Clark tapped his finger on the metal table top, seemingly scrutinizing the silver tiles adorning the floor.
"Two…Two…, er, almost three days?" he answered blankly.
Bruce sighed. Closed his eyes. Tried subsiding the growing burn in his side.
When his eyes finally opened, he aimed a very intense batglare at Clark's face.
"Then why are you guys acting like this. I've been hurt much worse."
The martian stared at him with those orange, unblinking eyes. Superman studied the floor with more vigor. Diana, who had been silent all this time, finally locked eyes with Bruce for the first time since entering.
"Bruce, your heart…" She paused, and Bruce wondered if she was stifling a cry. "…your heart stopped. If Clark hadn't- If only a few more minutes, maybe even a few more seconds, had passed," She choked on her words, "you would be dead."
The group stood in silence for a moment. Bruce turned his attention away from Diana's face and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. It didn't shock It didn't phase him. At most, he had expected it. How many times had he come this much closer to crossing into the after life?
He didn't let his thoughts linger on the subject a second longer. Instead, he changed it.
"I don't remember much."
J'onn immediately nodded and answered. "That is expected." He paused and studied Bruce. "Are you hurting? Do you need anything?"
Bruce shook his head, eyes still fixed on the bland ceiling. "Mm-mm."
A little more fidgety than usual, Boy Scout forced a small chuckle and turned to the door.
"I'll tell the others you're okay. They've been worried." With that, he left. J'onn slightly nodded and followed him. Diana stayed put to Bruce's left. The door slid shut, and she laced her thin fingers together in front of her. Her piercing stare never left Bruce's.
"What, Diana? I'm not going anywhere, if that's why you're still here."
She reluctantly dropped her gaze.
"Don't do this to me again," she whispered.
"Do what? Die? It's not my decision."
"No," she shook her head gently and stared at him once again. "You don't remember?" Her head shook again. "Of course you don't remember."
"What? I remember an explosion. Is that it?"
She once again shook her head. "Joker had bombs planted around the building, maybe about fifteen." Diana paused and fidgeted a bit. "You saved me from one of the explosions but got caught under a beam of some sort while doing so."
Bruce pretended to not care as much but nonchalantly felt the ever so aching wound at his side. He still didn't remember a thing.
"I wasn't able to pull you out quick enough. Too much fire. Clark came, but you were already unconscious." She stood there, seemingly fighting off sobbing. "You almost died because I wasn't quick enough."
"…And?"
"And you don't understand. It would have been my fault if you died."
"It would have been no one's fault!" he snapped, but noticed his tone when Diana jumped ever so slightly. He softened it, but not too much. "Do you think I go out dressed as some bat fighting some punks out in the alleyways every night without knowing the risks? I chose this life knowing that I just might lose everything. More than I have already lost, and I'm willing to take that risk any day." Like a father chiding a young child. Ridiculous. Bruce shook his head and glared at the Amazon Princess once again.
She stood there, with her head bowed. Dark locks of thick hair draped around her face, covering part of it. Her red boots were stationed close together, and her hands were still folded in front of her. Wet tears freely fell down her cheeks.
'A pouting little girl," Bruce though. 'That's what she looks like: a little girl. No, a princess.' He softened his glare. 'My princess.' He quickly shook off the though before any other ridiculous ones found its way into his head.
But it's true, Bruce.'
"I don't want to hurt you Diana," he found himself saying. That annoying burn was coming back again, and he couldn't help but wince. "You can't keep worrying about me."
She had walked closer, until her arm was touching the railing around the bedside. "It's different, Bruce." Diana looked up to meet his face. Worry was etched onto all of her facial features. "Are you okay?"
It was then that he noticed that he was scrunching up his face in pain. "Sorry, I still hurt a bit."
Diana stooped over, until her face was only inches away. He hand reached out and touched his arm. The feeling fell strange. He figured he had been scorched all over. Another wince cam and he tried to stop it but she had caught him and knelt down closer.
"Would this help?"
Her lips touched his cheek and lingered there for a moment or two. Before Bruce knew it, they had found its way to his own, instantly interlocking.
The two stayed in that position, savoring the moment until human nature kicked in and forced them to separate to find air. Diana's face was still extremely close to his own, and Bruce felt more burning, but this time it was in his face as well.
'She's my princess.'
She stared at him longingly until she stood up and turned to the exit way.
"Get better, Bruce."
He had closed his eyes before the swish of the door was heard and the clicks of Diana's heels disappeared. His thoughts immediately reeled back to his mother, and then Alfred; and his heart ached for them.
Bruce lay there, contemplating over what had just occurred. His head throbbed, and it seemed like Hell itself was eating away at his body. The urge to call J'onn back in nagged away at his mind, which seemed to be tearing apart.
And yet the thought of Diana managed to still linger there, within him. Physically, he felt tortured. Everything was falling apart. So in a way, the kiss had done nothing to ease his pain, but, in another way, it had seemed to accomplish something else. It was supposed to come from the lips of his mother, yet it didn't…
…But it helped a little bit.