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Bruce often felt isolated.
It was of no fault of anyone's, simply a side effect of who he was—what he was—that was unavoidable. Even surrounded by pod and those he cherished, it was a lingering feeling. He's had it since he was small, floundering in fins that he had not yet grown into nor learned to properly control, his parents dulled the ache. Having his parents, Bruce had a sense of belonging. He had his mother's blue eyes and his father's coloring, both of them having black and yellow tails. His mother's tail was slightly different, white where his was yellow but it reminded him of ice that would form on the surface. Winters weren't harsh to them, he got to be cradled by loving arms and intertwined with familiar fins.
The following winters after their deaths weren't as warming.
Bruce knew he was lucky, in a way. The surrounding mer pods loved the Waynes, they treated them as if they were leaders—for reasons neither of his parents understood, and he still didn't—and when his parents were killed, nothing changed. Alfred cared for him in their two person pod, and he stayed in the cavern he had always knew.
Perhaps the world never seeming to change was why he left at 18.
He just, needed something to change. It felt as if Bruce's parents didn't make a change, that their deaths didn't make a change. He loved Gotham and it's waters, but it felt as if all the love it had for him was gone with his mother and father.
The following few years passed in a blur, especially in memories. He was taught to fight—not just hunt—and had distant images of a woman who he had loved. She had pulled away from him when she had miscarried. Bruce couldn't fault her, if anything he felt guilt. He was the last of his kind and it was no wonder why if most pregnancies outside of the species ended like this. She deserved better.
Better than him.
Returning to Gotham's waters was tough. Tough in a way he had not expected for a place that he had called home for 21 years. Crossing the border and immediately tasting the difference was… like being welcomed to a place that you didn't recognize.
Gotham was just as harsh as ever, but after being outside of the oceans borders he could tell why it was fierce to outsiders.
During his travels, Bruce had never seen so many fish, in Gotham the food sources were desolate. Often leading to inter-pod conflict and especially skirmishes between other pods. He had never seen it first hand, being provided for either by Alfred or by the pods of Gotham.
He wonders why he had never questioned why.
He hadn't even questioned it when adopting Dick. The poor boy, reflecting so much of what Bruce was to himself. Bruce hadn't even truly thought it through before he suddenly had another person in his pod since he was 8. It hadn't solved the ache, nor did Bruce ever think anything would. Being the last, that was his price.
Dick was part of a traveling pod, and most of the time those pods were beloved within communities, bringing goods or stories of other oceans. Clearly though, someone did not share those beliefs.
It, unfortunately, took a long time before Bruce had enough information to figure out who it was. And by then, the smart, lovely, little boy he had taken in knew who. Dick was determined to get revenge on his parents killer, Bruce couldn't find it in himself to truly fault him for it either.
Except, a memory. One of the very few clear ones Bruce had of his parents.
The Waynes lived by interesting rules than the rest of Gotham's ocean. While killing other mer was frowned upon, it was not inherently wrong. The Waynes—Or rather, Bruce's parents—had thought differently.
Bruce had never met his grandparents on either side, their pod stayed small. He now wondered if it was because they were ashamed of his parents' ways.
Martha and Thomas had decided and taught to their son, that once you killed another intelligent creature, you would not be the same. It would rot you from the inside out. There were better food sources in Gotham, they just weren't plentiful.
Bruce didn't want that for Dick.
He didn't want him to think for a moment that he was anything less than light.
When Bruce had gently put a hand on Dick's shoulder, the boy looked confused. Even after having explained it to him, Dick looked more confused by Bruce being the one to say them. Perhaps that should've tipped him off, but when Dick had slowly nodded and flung himself into Bruce's arms, he found he didn't care.
He had a son to care for, after all.
As Dick grew up, they had more and more fights. Bruce supposed it was natural for it to happen, Dick needed to leave the pod and learn the world much like Bruce had. He just hadn't wanted his son to leave on bad terms with him.
The cavern felt empty.
That is, until a fiery young boy had started stealing Bruce's prey. Bruce hadn't minded, he knew how harsh Gotham was after all and if the boy needed food he much rather he get it than not. Though, Bruce tried to confront him so he could just hunt it for him instead of the boy following him out where there were predators.
Come to his surprise, was how fearful of him the boy—Jason—was. Hidden under all that fierce anger and wit was a scared, young boy. Scared of him, of Bruce.
When questioned—because Bruce's chest suddenly felt tight at the mere idea of anyone in Gotham being afraid of him—he learned they all did. And wasn't that a tidal-wave. Jason carefully told him all he knew from being in earshot of all gossip, nobody looks for the guppies, and it was relatively all the same.
Bruce's species, was a killer type. They weren't exactly spoken well of, and most myths or rumors about them had said they weren't close to mers in their mental capabilities. That they were mindless monsters who only killed to survive.
It explained a lot.
Explained how his parents and him were treated as if royalty in waters that did not care for crowns. Explained why who had taught him to fight had also taught him to kill, as if it was the most obvious thing for him to know. Had been surprised when Bruce vehemently refused to.
He wondered if that was the true reason his species died out. Consumed by the need to kill and went after each other.
Seeing his devastated expression, Jason had realized Bruce hadn't known. About any of it.
Maybe that's what got the boy to trust him, or the promise of a cavern to stay in where he wouldn't drift away in the ocean. Bruce hadn't even considered adopting Jason until he was already practically living with him and he realized that he was pod either way.
Even with the new knowledge, the ache wouldn't go away. But it was dulled by his two lights.
After that, things get brighter. His once two mer pod is doubled, then tripled, and at some point he stops counting and starts living. Living and loving with the only people who could lighten the burden of being the last. Bruce taught them all the same principles he lived by, even if he now knew that they were taught to him with different reasons.
Dick had come back at some point, and they had talked out the issues that had started to tear them apart.
Bruce couldn't help but feel hurt when Dick told him he had known, known that Bruce's species was considered monsters by most mers. He had reassured him, that he hadn't known Bruce hadn't known. Either way, Bruce was just glad he had his son back.
What he had not expected was to one day wake up with a familiar scent in the water. One he hadn't smelled in years, decades maybe. He could barely feel the rushing water against his fins until he was before her.
And beside her, was a small boy. With his mom's eyes, green and fierce. But his tail was what made him feel stabbed.
It was his mother's. Black and pure white, tail too large for him since he had not grown into it yet.
The argument that spiraled into a fight hadn't been pretty. In the end, he was left with a son, a hybrid, Talia had said. As if it made a difference. As if that would mean his newest son was less or more than his others. A hybrid.
Bruce almost went belly up with the relief that crashed into him. He was no longer the last. Not entirely. Sure, he might've been the last pure one of his species, but he wasn't the last. It felt as if the weight he had been forgetting was lifted off of him.
Then the guilt overwhelmed it.
Who was he? Who was he to feel this relief? As if all of his sons hadn't worked to elevate the isolation, to help their father. How could he merely ignore all of that in favor of blood? Bruce had spent so long convincing others that species did not matter where love did, and now he threw it away?
He wondered if Talia or Ra's had done it on purpose. Had known his struggles with being the last and wanted to tear his pod apart.
Of course, it had nothing to do with Damian—his name was Damian—and everything to do with Bruce. The boy would need to be properly taught, not with whatever the Shadows had poisoned his mind with.
In moments like this, it was when Bruce missed his parents most, and the guidance they could've given him.