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Bruce remembered the day of his parents’ funeral vividly. He dreamt it every night for over two months before they started to become reoccurring nightmares of that night in the alleyway. He recalled the flowers that decorated the hallways and the floral scent that was almost so overwhelming that Bruce wanted to yell at Alfred to take them away to the nearest trash facility. But he’d sat there for hours, in a room full of flowers, and watched people, family members, and high-end acquaintances rummage around the manor as if it were just another social event.
He could remember wishing that it had been any one of them instead. That it didn’t have to be his mom, his dad who had to die just days before. Alfred had checked in on him, making sure that he was okay, and looked after him. But no one else bothered to say anything to him. The boy who was closest to the deceased. Except… For one man. He was older, Bruce wasn’t sure of his relation, but he seemed military. He’d assumed one of Alfred’s friends or perhaps someone his father did business with once, there was a time that Wayne Enterprises did contracts with the military for prosthetic limbs. This man was missing his right leg, and he walked with a cane.
When that man sat down with Bruce, he thought he was in for some speech about moving forward, or how he’d lost someone too in the war. But he sat there, just sat there. He didn’t talk, but he didn’t get up to talk with any of the other adults that were drinking and talking about ‘Good ol’Thomas’ or ‘breath-taking Martha’ or ‘poor little Brucie’.
The man sat.
Bruce was sure it was hours later. Alfred had checked on him ten times in that span and didn’t seem inclined to tell the gentlemen to leave, not that Bruce wanted him to leave at all. The man was a… comfort. He sat a respectful distance away. He kept his gaze at a chess board that was sitting nearby, and when that seemed to get old the man pulled a widdle from his pocket and a piece of wood. Alfred had supplied him with a trash can.
He watched him work. The man said nothing. Bruce cried for the first time since it had happened. The man put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder and just… Let the poor child grieve without useless words that weren’t going to bring back the two people who were his entire world.
“It doesn’t seem like it. But grief becomes easier to manage with time. I hope to see you get there someday.” That was all the man had to say when Alfred showed him to the door after everyone else had left. Bruce asked Alfred who he was and the butler was… Unsure. Friend of the family. Bruce didn’t much care. He wishes he’d been the only person to show up for that awful day.
The man occupied his thoughts. He’d wondered what happened to him, Bruce thought that surely, he was passed on by now. He’d hoped it was a good life for him. He wonders if they’d ever seen one another in passing if he would be proud of Bruce and the leaps and bounds of his grief journey. He wonders if… He was sad for him when Jason was announced dead if he wished he could have been there again to comfort a boy now a man who seemed to be surrounded by torment and misery.
With Jason back, the world feels like it has oxygen again. The man is far from his mind and Bruce wonders how many times grief will creep up on him in his lifetime. This was not the same as that…
Janet had found a judge that was willing to look into her case. Alfred was sure that she’d bribed the poor fellow, 60-year-old judge close to retirement, and he did it only to have a better retirement at the end of his career. Bruce didn’t deny it but he didn’t feed into the idea either. The emails, the letters, the pleas to the court to dismiss the case were all denied. The courts hated separating families, and if the Drakes were willing to put out an Olive branch, then the courts would give them a chance.
Even with a hushed case file that has clearly written, criminal neglect.
Bruce wanted to punch a wall, but he phased through them instead. He refused to step into lighted areas so much anymore from the amount of anger he felt at the damn woman who was trying to rip his son away from him. Even if it was only for ‘visitation’ rights, it was a very low simmering comfort that the courts were not even considering taking Tim away from Bruce. He’d consider that a victory in all of this.
Light burned him currently. He’d found himself curled up in a ball in his study a few days ago when the morning sun had flashed in through his study windows. He hid where he could and waited it out. Damian had discovered him. For a moment he was just glad Tim hadn’t decided to seek him out at that moment. A hint of guilt panged at him for that.
Bruce kept his study lit only with candles or the overhead light. He implored Alfred to keep the blinds shut when he could. He told him in confidence that he was sure his abilities were inhibiting his ability to step into the sunlight. Alfred assured Bruce that he would do his best. The manor was strangely dark, in a way that Bruce didn’t think he’d ever seen before.
It was not something he wanted to continue.
Now, however, he was up in the Watchtower. Taking the halls that did not have windows as they were on the side that did not have the Earth blocking the direct light of the sun. Bruce as sure that Superman would be very pleased and took every corridor that held a window.
When he reached the meeting room there were not many of the founders present. It was going to be a small meeting with a few coming in through video call. Namely Hal, and Oliver. They were on a mission that they could not currently step away from to get a zeta beam up to the watchtower.
He took a seat towards the head of the table, just to the right of Superman’s own chair. The table was round, yes, but Bruce knew that for some reason, when he, Superman, and Wonder woman all sat in those seats it felt like the table was more like an oval. Keeping them at the head of it.
The others trickled in, giving greetings but Bruce paid them no mind. Clark took a seat next to him, “Howdy B.” Howdy… He just went to Kansas to visit his parents, didn’t he? Bruce looked up and sure enough, there was pie in the center of the table. Clark always got more of his midwestern drawl when he went to visit his ‘folks’ for a break from Metropolis.
Instead of greeting the other back, Bruce used the shadows to cut himself a slice of pie and put it in front of him. Clark seemed to be amused by this and grabbed his own slice. “I knew you couldn’t resist ma’s apple pie.”
“Your mother is better at American pies than Alfred, but you will not tell him that I said that.” Bruce pointed his fork accusingly. He had not forgiven the Kryptonian for his mentioning that Martha made good pancakes that were heavens better than Alfred’s, and had not known that Alfred attempted to make pancakes for the better part of a month each morning for breakfast. Each attempt only made the British man angrier and it wasn’t until Bruce told him, i.e. lied, to the man who raised him that the pancakes stopped.
Though that wasn’t entirely true. Jason hid the pancake mix and insisted to Alfred that they get protein in that morning and they all were much better for it.
Clark’s face grew a shade darker, “Still mad about the pancakes?”
Bruce did not grace that question with an answer. His steady silence was enough. Clark ate his pie quietly, and when Barry finally got sat down with his mountain of snacks, and his own slice of pie he got started with the meeting.
It was items that Bruce was already aware of. He’d read the agenda, meaning he wrote it, and he didn’t think there was much more to add. He and Clark had discussed this beforehand some weeks ago before they decided what it was that the JLA needed to know about. It was part way through the meeting that Hal Jordan just had to open his mouth. “I can’t do that mission, I have a special ops thing I have to attend.”
“Then skip it, we need you on this mission.” Bruce injected.
“Spooky, I can’t cancel this last minute. I got people relying on me for this thing.”
“When you signed up to join the Justice League you know to expect inconvenient missions that would not always fit into schedules. “
“This has been planned for over six months! The HECK SPOOKY?” Clark looked over at the Dark knight and raised a hand to quiet him. Bruce glared hard at the other. “I’m not canceling, I’ll send another Lantern.” With that, Hal logged off. Likely so that Batman didn’t tell him that he could not send someone who was not already a part of the roster. The room was awkwardly quiet for a few minutes before Clark called it and they all started to get up to leave.
Bruce was aware that many of them were staring at him, giving him a wide berth so that they didn’t get caught up in the coming conversation between him and Superman. When Diana finally stepped out and the door shut Clark rounded on him with a glare of his own. “What was that Bruce? You never blow up on a member like that, not even Hal. He told us about that engagement over a month ago. He followed protocol.”
He turned his head away and stared at where an apple pie once sat. It was just crumbs now, and it turned in his stomach now that he was looking at some of the leftover filling that didn’t look quite right after sitting out so long.
The silence was deafening. Clark was able to wait Bruce out most of the time, his stubbornness was almost as bad as Bruce’s when he put the effort in. It irked Batman to no end that Superman knew how to get him to talk when he really didn’t want to.
Another two minutes passed.
Another.
Another.
Another.
Another.
…
“Tim’s parents want visiting rights.”
Clark blinked a moment and just… Stared. “The Drakes?”
“Yes. They emailed me a month ago and now they have a judge willing to look at their case. I don’t want to put Tim through that again, I know that they’re doing this for publicity, the anniversary of Tim’s adoption is coming up and they always have a drop in the stocks when it comes around, but I can’t convince that to a court because they want families to be together… BUT I’m not convinced that they understand that Tim never felt like that with them. That he resents how the treated now after we got him through therapy. The court won’t…” Bruce put his head in his hands, he felt the shadows around his chest again. “What’s worse than I… I almost hit Tim with my shadows the other night. It’s been quiet. Quiet isn’t good in Gotham. I was angry. I lost control. I don’t lose control, Clark, you know this.”
“Yeah, I know B.”
Bruce could almost cry. He didn’t want to but the entire situation just had his head spinning. When he felt the hand on his shoulder, Bruce’s mind flashed back to the man at his parent's funeral. To the comfort that he’d felt in that moment.
When he looked up, his friend's eyes were compassionate. “You’ll figure this out B. The courts will figure out that they aren’t fit to raise a child. And I’m sure Tim isn’t holding that accident against you. You’re new to this abilities thing, we all have had our hiccups now and again.”
“Not like this, Clark. I almost put it through his chest.”
“But you didn’t, and that’s what matters right now.” Clark took a seat again, hand still on his shoulder. “Tim won’t want to leave you. And the courts will want what’s best for him, and if Tim is vehemently against going back to his parents, then… They’ll respect that. I’m sure they will.” Bruce wanted to believe it. To believe what the sign of hope was saying to him, but Bruce was a man of practicality.
The churning in his gut got worse.
Silence in Gotham.
It was never a good sign.