quitebizarre asked: 38, Bane and Blake.
tdkr bane blake drabble smugrobotics
Talia is dead. Bane knows this because he, himself, is alive. The bomb was set to go off four minutes ago, and as Bane is not currently a heap of ashes and charred bone, he can only assume Bruce Wayne stopped it.
Talia would have protected the mission until her dying breath. Bane is not naïve enough to believe she allowed herself to be captured.
His body is wracked with pain, the sort he hasn’t felt since those last, hazy, red tinted months in the pit. Bane sucks in deep, rattling breaths, but the mask is broken. Only the smallest amount of anesthesia makes it into his lungs.
He’d managed to drag himself into the cellar of the building. The street above is chaotic – shouts and cheers and the sound of sirens, all the louder for their silence the last few months. Bane closes his eyes and tries to tune it out. Eventually, he sleeps.
When he wakes, he is still alone. This is not surprising. The League is in tatters, nobody will be coming back for him. The pain still lays over Bane like a lead blanket, pressing down each time he tries to move. He doesn’t try very hard. He crafted this fate. He deserves every bit of it.
The next time Bane wakes, it’s to a surprised, quickly cut off sound. He opens his eyes and sees a man – medium height, slim build, dark haired with fierce, angry eyes – standing over him.
They stare at each other.
Bane does not know if this man is a friend or enemy, if he brings death or salvation. Bane doesn’t care either way. For better or worse, he at least is not alone any longer.