A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this took me so long.. I had a bunch of All-State/All-District Clinic stuff I've been super busy with this past month. I'll try to get back on a weekly update schedule for Agony and His Boy. Feel free to leave input on either story, and let me know how I'm doing! Thanks guys! You know the drill by now, or so I hope. ~G
Warning: Self-harm is VERY prevalent in this chapter. I will not be offended if you decided not to read this story because of it. I just want to warn you if you are one struggling with this. As one who has struggled, I understand. If you do struggle, I promise it will be okay someday. Life does get better. Now, onto the story.
"What?" Detective Jim Gordon asked Detective Harvey Bullock, perhaps a little too loudly.
"You heard me! The bust is tonight. This could be our biggest case in months!" Harvey whispered tensely. If word got out about this major crime stop they were about to pull, you'd have every police officer in Gotham wanting in on it. Thanks to an anonymous tip, they had information on illegal dealings involving the Maroni clan going on in Falcone's territory. If they could pull this one out, the pair would most definitely get a little extra at the end of the week.
"When?" Jim sighed. He hated getting involved in Falcone's dirty business.
"Tonight, 11 p.m.," Harvey rolled his eyes. He had already told Jim twice. "Meet me at the littler bar on the corner of Blanc and 45th."
"Wait," Jim sighed a little anxiously. "What about Bruce?"
"What about him?"
"Well.. I don't want to leave him alone."
"He's a fourteen-year-old boy!"
"With very severe emotional problems!" Jim fired back.
"He'll be fine for one night! We have big fish to fry."
"I made a promise that I wouldn't let anything happen to that boy, and if something happens and-"
"Blah, blah, blah, you made a promise, and you're a class act and the best guy on the whole damn planet," Bullock looked at Gordon with little to no sympathy, earning a hard glare in return. When he saw Jim refusing to budge, he sighed and shook his head. "And also the most stubborn. Look. All I'm saying, is that the kid should be fine for, what, three hours? Just make sure he's asleep and he'll be fine."
"I don't like this," Jim grumbled.
"Yeah and I don't like brunettes with my bourbon but I settle," Harvey said, picking up his jacket and standing up.
"That didn't even make sense!"
"C'mon, you have a job to do," Bullock smirked and led a dumbstruck Gordon out of the police station.
.
.
.
Scrape.
Clink.
Clatter.
Bruce and Jim ate in silence, other than the noise of their silverware scraping the plate. Jim was okay with the noise, however, because it meant Bruce was actually eating.
"How was school today?" Jim asked.
"Fine."
"Homework?"
"Done."
"Plans?"
"No."
"Alright, then," Jim coughed awkwardly. He hated when Bruce got in these moods. He would just stare into space, not acknowledging anything except when Jim tripped over him when he was in the floor; at least he was eating this time, though.
"I think I'm going to head to bed."
"Alright, then. Do you need anything?"
"Sleep."
"Oh.. Alright. Well. Goodnight, Bruce."
"Goodnight, Detective Gordon," Bruce said, somewhat distant. He headed towards his bedroom and closed the door, much to Jim's dismay. He hated when he couldn't see what Bruce was doing. It worried him. He never would understand that kid.
These were the nights when Bruce needed him most, though. He hated leaving him in this state, but he would just have to make it quick. He could not leave Bruce alone for long - that he knew for sure.
.
.
.
"Where are you going?" Bruce questioned when Jim turned the light on in the living room.
"Holy hell!" Jim gasped, unaware of Bruce's presence in the room. "What did I say about sneaking up on people?"
"Hmm," Bruce chucked, "you sound like Alfred."
Jim coughed awkwardly. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was."
"Why'd you get up?"
"Why were you leaving?" Bruce countered.
"I'm leaving," Jim stated as he grabbed his jacket off the hook.
"Why."
"Because this is my house and I can leave when I want to."
"Police business?" Bruce raised an eyebrow.
Jim sighed and nodded. "Will you be okay?"
Bruce smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah. I'll be fine."
"Alright.. Please try and sleep, at least?"
"I'll try."
"Thank you. I'll see you when I get back."
"Okay."
"Okay."
Jim closed the door and walked down the hallway of his apartment, his mind far from the upcoming investigation. He just can't shake the thought in his mind. Bruce will be fine.
Won't he?
He'll be fine.
.
.
.
To young Bruce Wayne, Detective Gordon's apartment seemed even bigger than the manor without him there. Everything was so big; it was so empty, so dark. It was cold, Bruce noticed. So cold. It felt just like his insides when Alfred..
No.
He can't go down that road, not tonight. Detective Gordon isn't here to stop him.
Although. That would make it so much easier. He could just slip away into darkness, no one there to stop him. No one would be there - it would be a breeze, really. Detective Gordon could find his cold, lifeless body. They could have the funeral in the little, but nice, red church on the corner of 25th and Beale. He could finally join Mom, Dad, and Alfred.
It would all be so easy.
Bruce shivered. It was so damn cold. It never ended. The darkness alway found a way to creep up on him.
And the cold.
Shiver.
God damn it. Bruce tripped and fell trying to get to the thermostat on the wall.
What could he do anymore? He couldn't stop it.
Shiver.
He should just end it now. It'd make it easier.
Shiver.
So much easier.
Shiver.
So much easier.
That's why, when Bruce made his was to the kitchen, he was not surprised. He welcomed the sound of the drawer opening, the feeling of the cold - shiver - metal on his skin.
He smiled as the metal sliced his newly healed skin on his arm open, the blood running out of his system in a fresh stream. The sweet release of an old demon comforting him.
He fell into a pool of his own blood due to his legs giving out; he was too weak to stand by that point. A sadistic grin lay upon his face though.
The pool of his blood was warm.
So warm.
.
.
.
The amount of policemen on the corner of Blanc Ave. and 45th Street rivaled the number of that in the police station on that dreary night. You could point them out on the sidewalk, little wires sticking out of their ears here, a flash of a badge in the moonlight there. It's a wonder that the light grey car with the tag "K1S5MG1M6" didn't turn around as soon as it drove into the established meeting place.
"Remember, don't move until you see the third flash from a flashlight," Detective Harvey Bullock reminded Detective Jim Gordon for the third time. He knew his mind was somewhere else.
"Yeah, alright."
"You alright, Jim?"
"Doing fine."
"Alright," Harvey sighed, "just be ready." Jim rolled his eyes. With the amount of cops here, even if he slipped up Don Maroni's men didn't stand a chance.
The car door slammed and the first light was flashed.
"One," Bullock jumped.
"Don't pee yourself, Harvey," Jim attempted to lighten up.
"Shut up."
The second light.
"Two," Jim stated this time. One more.
"Three!" Harvey shouted, and thirty-nine officers of the Gotham City Police Department ambushed four of Maroni's men, without any casualties. After two minutes of firing back, the four men surrendered.
"We got them!" Harvey shouted. Jim smiled, emptily.
He couldn't shake this feeling in his gut. He felt oddly cold inside.
"I'm gonna head home."
"You sure?" Harvey asked, "Drinks are on me."
"I'll take a rain check, thanks," Jim chuckled slightly.
"Your loss," the old detective shrugged.
It took Jim exactly fifteen minutes and three seconds to get home after the cold feeling in his gut.
.
.
.
Fifteen minutes and three seconds after Bruce Wayne landed in a pool of his own blood, Jim Gordon opened the door to his dark apartment and turned on the light.
He aimed to be quiet coming in as to not disturb Bruce, but he ended up knocking over the coat rack in the process. The detective cursed and set it back up, placing his coat on the rack and heading into the kitchen for water.
He turned the light on and dropped his keys.
"Bruce!" He screamed and ran to the boys sighed. He checked for a pulse on the lifeless body. It was there, just barely, but it was there.
"God damn it, Bruce!" He swore and picked up the phone. "Hello? Yes. This is Jim Gordon, I need in ambulance. Right now. Thank you." Bruce groaned next to him.
He took the boys head and placed it in his lap, cradling it for dear life.
"Please Bruce, please stay with me. I made a promise, don't leave me now," Jim whispered into the boys ear. "Please, stay with me."
For the first time in a long time, Jim Gordon felt tears well up in his eyes. He was beginning to realize just how important this boy was to him.
The two a.m. screaming. The sleepless nights. The painstaking hours of therapy. The takeout runs at ungodly hours. The late night conversations that he could never even dream of having with any other human being. Jim couldn't imagine a world without all these things, that were just unmistakably Bruce. He couldn't let this boy die on him now.
He had to be okay.
It was Jim Gordon's turn to sob.
.
.
.
Sitting in the hospital waiting room next to Selina Kyle - he had at least managed to make her aware of the situation in all his haste - Jim Gordon was distraught. He didn't know what to do.
"He's okay. The cuts weren't bad, but they bled too long. It will take him some time to regain his strength," the doctor interrupted his thoughts.
"Thank you!" Jim sighed in relief, and Selina whisperer something incoherent.
Jim couldn't shake the thought, though. This boy.. He kept trying to die, when all he really wanted was to live.