Who You Gonna Call- A Batfam Oneshot Collection

Piano

PROMPT: I just looked at my piano and was like : yes. time to be edgy and depressing and make myself and everyone else cry.

ANGST

I got an idea and HOPEFULLY by the time you guys finish reading this ff you are gonna be tearing up and hating me with all your heart

if not then screw you :)

CHARACTERS: Bruce Wayne, Y/N AS BATSIS, Batboys, Cass Cain :) , Alfie

E/C= eye color

WARNING: Angst, possible triggers, mentions of death

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It stood in the middle of the upstairs den, covered with warm faux furs and adorned with lit candles, yet so utterly cold.

Smooth ivory keys, yellowed music sheets that were worn from loving touches, books of bright concertos and mellow sonatinas sitting untouched in the storage of the piano bench.

Alfred made sure to light the candles scattered atop the shut piano lid every night as some sort of tribute to you.

He'd stand and stare and remember how those same candles used to illuminate your pretty E/C eyes, your adorable smile, your dainty fingers as they delicately danced over the keys. Alfred would reminisce alone, gently holding your favorite book of sheet music, closing his eyes as he strained to hear the bittersweet memories and songs that he held so dear.

Sometimes he could even hear the melodies faintly echoing through the room.

And then he'd blow out the candles, unable to stare at the grand piano any longer, unable to stand in a room deprived of the bright laughter that once rang through it. Unable to wipe the tears that would trail down his cheeks as he tried to replay that laughter one last time.

Nobody bothered Alfred when he went into the former family den. They knew why he went in there. It was the same reason the others tried to steer clear of the room and the memories that slowly flickered inside of it.

Memories of you.

Y/N.

Their Y/N.

A physical heartache would jolt through their entire bodies whenever any of the boys would step into the room in search of your presence, in search of your comfort; a morose reminder that you no longer would sit at the piano waiting for them.

Yet Dick visited every other night, racing into the old den with his mouth open ready to tell his darling older sister all about his day- but then would skid to a stop at the sight of the empty bench, at the feel of the empty air, fresh tears rolling down his face.

Reality would crash down on him, tearing away the hopeful fantasy that once curtained the eldest Wayne boy, and it would be too much. Too much.

Damian would hear Grayson's choked sobs, and turn away, holding back his own. It was hard though, and he often failed. How could Damian be strong when his big brother couldn't?

How could he be strong when everybody else could barely keep themselves together?

He couldn't. He couldn't. He felt weak, the complete opposite of strong, and Damian knew he was gonna feel that way for a long time.

The boy would always grab his katana and hurry to the edge of the garden, where a small strip of woods grew. Late at night, thuds and yells could be heard from the woods as he screamed and sobbed and begged whatever God was up there to send you back.