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It is a quiet night.
Nights like these are becoming more often in Gotham and it soothes something deep and caverness within Bruce to see so many more people walking outside at night with their families, all with happy smiles (or as happy of a smile was in Gotham City) as they walk with their head held high, no longer bound by fear when the Bat Symbol——his symbol——stand proud amongst the night sky. Even all of his rogues seem to appreciate the peace that had recently fall upon Gotham because none of them seem to be planning anything, all content to carry on with their lives as of now. Bruce would be worried and he always is but he has found nothing, even with Tim and Barbara's help. It is a surprise but truly, they are just going about their lives.
From his earpiece, he can hear his children (his beautiful, beautiful children) messing about, playing a Gotham wide tag that seems to be becoming more and more heated as time passes. Maybe time has mellowed his heart since back then, he wouldn't be allowing this but with peace comes children who grow bored and with so much energy that it can be dangerous for him, Alfred, Gotham and the Justice League. From his vantage spot on his favourite gargoyle, he watches as the deep blue sky slowly begins to lighten and he can see the barest hint of the sun peeking out from the horizon, casting an ethereal glowing from behind the buildings.
Oh, it is sunrise already. Has Bruce really been sitting here for so long?
It is rare that everyone stays for so long together. There are rotations and partners and with Duke governing the day shift, they have an efficient system going on but the school holidays are starting and everyone is here for once so Bruce had relented.
The radio in his cowl crackles and he straightens his back, he could hear the voices of his family slowly dissipate as a voice cuts through the radio static.
"Good morning, Gotham!", Vicki Vale greets but there was something odd about the cadence of her voice, a bit too cherry, even for her and a bit too wet at the edges where only the truly observant could detect. "We have just received intel straight from GCPD headquarters and the greatest news Gotham has ever seen. It's——". A sobs suddenly cuts through her words and Bruce jumps slightly in his seat, alarmed.
"Oracle, is Vicki Vale in danger?". He waits but no answer awaits him and the worry settles deep within his chest. Barbara is precised to a point, she usually answers within seconds. The rest of his children pit in, voices in varying degrees of worry. "Oracle, is Vicki Vale in danger?".
"N-No, she's fine. It's just, the news she had received. Gotham——".
"Last night, Gotham had its first night with zero violent crimes in fifty-four years".
There was a poignant, heavy pause.
And through the coms, Cass' sharp intake of breath is loud in his ears, the sound ricocheting agianst the walls of his head like a bullet.
"No fucking way——"
"Holy shit, actually?!"
"It happening, guys. IT'S FUCKING HAPPENING!!".
"Is this really true?".
"Nah, I've got to be dreaming!—".
Stephanie hollering wildly almost drowns out the rest of their voices and the static loud in his mind. Then, it sets a reaction and everyone is hollering and screeching as they whistle out their bird and bat noises for all of Gotham to hear. He hears Alfred mutter through the chaos, a low, befuddled. "Well, I'll be….". Distantly, he looks down to see people honking their horns loudly and getting out of the car to hug the closest stranger they could find. Windows were opened with heads peeking out to scream and spread the new with joy and those with balconies step outside in various states of clothes. For once, under the warm light of the rising sun and Gotham is alight with a joy never seen before as people flock around each other with the exuberance one might expect from Metropolitans. His Bat Signals lights the sky, barely visible in the morning light but still every citizen cheers as they see it.
It doesn't hit him at first, even with all these noises.
He ia still frozen, chest tight as he for some reason, continue to hold his breath, continue to wait for the shoe to drop, for the news to change and for a gun to be shot to leave another child an orphan because this was Gotham. She rejects peace like she rejects kindness and anything good. The crime rate and the violence of it all was so bad that even the American goverment and the world has turned their backs on her as they'd rather wiped their hands clean of any responsiblity.
"B?", Dick's (his first light) worried voice breaks through the haze and he flinches violently, like he had just been hit. Suddenly, the coms go quiet as the air shakes with a fragility that Bruce hates. "Tati, are you okay?".
And Bruce Wayne, Batman, orphaned prince of Gotham breaks.
He lurches forward with his lungs burning from the sudden, sharp intake of air as Bruce chokes against the tears and sobs, harder than he ever has in his life as one of his hands hold onto the the sides of the gargoyle for his dear life. The coms are loud with so many voices and Bruce's clumsy hands struggle to mute himself until finally he is left with silence.
Every part of his body aches suddenly and every time his muscle tenses from the force of his sobs, he could feel his skin pulling at his old scars. The sacrum of his spine, more metal than bones now pulses. As if every single cut, wound, scar and hurt he has sustained and endure over the course of these long (By Gotham, so fucking long and hard) years is awakened and the memories and pain that came with them are assulting him viciously. He shouldn't do this. Not here, not right now. Breaking apart and coming undone where all of his children can hear but he can't stop. He can't stop. It is as if great flood has crashed over him, like that flood that turned Gotham upside down all those long years ago and with it, the weight of everything he has buried and had tried to bury is all brought up to the surface and he is helpless to do anything but swim.
It feels like he has been swimming against the rushing current his whole life.
His body sways in the wake of his emotions and Bruce is suddenly so light-headed. "…I'm so tired…", Bruce says aloud, the words lost in the wind. He is so so tired. He feels undone, unmade and overwhelmed in a way he hasn't been in a long while. Distantly, he feels himself teetering over the edge and Bruce closes his tear-stained eyes, mind still full of static.
One moment he is falling, flying briefly and one moment, he is pulled back ashore into a grounding, warm hug.
"B", Dick whispers, tears leaking from his domino mask. "God, B, Tati. I've got you. I've got you, okay". Where has all the time gone? When did Dickie, his son, his best friend, his brother in arms and partner has grown enough that his arms are fully able to hold him? He remembers, all these years ago, holding onto those small scarred, angry hands and repeating over and over until the sombre night bled into an even gloomier day, "I've got you, chum. I've got you".
Bruce returns the hug, limbs finally moving the way it should be as he cups the back of his baby's head, even as his hands shakes and spasms because there is nothing in this world that could stop him from holding his children. His eldest son buries his face deep within the crook of Bruce's neck and the heat is so searing that it snaps him out of the fog that consumed his mind. "I'm sorry I scared you", he says finally, softly, the words barely even a whisper.
At that, Dick shakes his head. "Dad, Tati". He presses himself closer to Bruce, nuzzling against his neck and headbutting his temple like he is still that wrangly circus kid with no personal space. "You did it, B. You actually fucking did it!".
"L-Language", Bruce laughs wetly. Pushing his son back slightly, Bruce gives him a kiss on his forehead, slicking back his hair. "No, we did it". Something behind his son's back catches his eyes and his feels his lips curving upwards, a soft, joyful little thing and it pulls at the flakes on his cheeks from already dried tears. "We all did".
Dick turns around and Bruce feels that aching heart of his swell and beat to life, emboldened by his first baby's laughter. In this short timeframe, all of his kids has reached his location but maybe he shouldn't be surprised. He has trained all of them after all. The domino masks hides it well but all of them has tear streaks drying on their cheekbones but it is silly to see how each of them try to carry an air of nonchalance. Then suddenly, menacing smiles overtake their face accompanied by the infamous "Robin Cackles' that haunt the thugs of Gotham. Unfortunately, Bruce already have an idea on what they're going to do. Dick seems to realise it as quick as he does because his eldest backs up a bit, flailling his hands desperately. Bruce has already aceepted his fate the moment he somehow decided to have children. "Wait! You'll knock us of——".
He gets knocked off Gary the Gargoyle as someone slams into him particularly hard (Probably Jason or Steph) as he grunts, the world tilts over once more but this times his eyes are open as the Gotham's crisp morning air blows through him. Laughter and cackles fill the air followed by the rapid fire sounds of grappling guns being shot. Under the rare glow of Gotham's morning sun, he watches them—his precious family, how in the world did he end up with a family—as they are bathed in the glorious morning sun.
As he falls and falls, voices call out to him.
"B!".
"Batman!".
"Look, Mama. It's Batman!".
"It's the Bat!".
And many more. Before he could ever reach the ground, he flies the only way a bat could, gliding through his air with the help of his grappling gun. Ever so playful, the children make it a game to swing around him in circles. The sight below him was something to beholdOf people waving and hollering at him and the rest like he had seen other people in other cities do to bright heros like Superman, Flash and any of the Green Lanterns. He is Batman. He is the night and he is vengence, horrible and crude and ugly like the blood of the night he was born from.
Was he allowed this? This blatant affection and adoration. The people of Gotham are usually so reserved
He searches for the nearest exit but before he could leave, they swerve around him, all these kids he had taken in. Dick swings in front of him, smiling brighter than the sun itself. "Just take it in a little longer, B". Nightwing waves back at the crowd, spinning as he glided and showing off more of his skills. The rest of his siblings joined in, joking and egging each other as they did. There is a lecture ready in his throat, about keeping a low profile, about safety and all the other things his children has grown bored off but this time, he lets it go. They are all swinging and swerving fast enough, sticking close enough to the shadows that no cameras could truly capture them.
Somehow, it is a time for celebration.
Bruce takes his time and no, his eyes do not water at the genuinely cherry faces belowe, he has an image to maintain after all.
They dissapeared into the closest exit they could find shortly after.
Inside the extensive cave tunnel that streaches all under Gotham, Bruce sways, overwhelmed, the adrenaline finally left him and Jason (Precious, sweet, mirace Jason) catches him before he hits the ground, steadying him. "Easy, old man". Weak hands grip onto his son's muscled arms and it was jarring to see that small, small boy grow up to be so big, bigger than him. Big enough that he could handle Bruce's whole weight. With a gentleness that Bruce didn't deserve, his son set him down onto the ground, still keeping a hand on his aching back, warm and grounding.
Bruce's hands were shaking.
Slender fingers grasp onto his. Cass brings their intertwined hands close to her chest and a rhytamic, pulsing, gentle tap against his skin. "Breathe", she whispers and as soft as her words were, it still echoes inside the cave, revebrating in his mind. "Breathe, Dad". And he tries because that was daughter asking. He would do anything for his children. In and out. In and out.
Once his breathing evens, Cass smiles, very pleased. "Good".
Bruce takes in one more deep, long breath. "I'm sorry".
Damian steps forward. "Stop apologising, Baba", he says as he tucks himself under Bruce's arm. He pulls his legs up, resting his face against the knees. Bruce tries not to coo at the prominent cheek squish.
"Move a bit, pipsqueak. You're squishing my arm".
"Tch. Have you considered that you are fat, Todd?".
Jason leans forward, posture tight like he's about to launch at Damian. Before he actually could, Cass pulls him by the scruff of his jacket and scooches herself in between a very disgruntled Jason and a judging Damian. His daughter pokes his youngest son's cheeks, mouth a dissaproving frown. "No fat shame. Jason…friend-shaped".
Snickers adds to the eerie cave ambience as the rest adds to the playful sibling ribing.
"Friend-shaped? Puh-lease, I'm a bonafied crime lord! I can break every bone in a man in seconds".
His son is still wearing his hood but if he took it off, Bruce is quite certain that the tips of his ears would be red. Jason has always gotten easily embaressed. Hiding a smile behind his still rather shaky hands, Bruce hums. "You are still a sweetheart to your family, Jaylad. Everytime I fell asleep in the cave, I keep ending up in bed in the morning". Who else can carry his weight all the way up to his room aside from members of the Justice League
"Awww, Little Wing!! Look at you being such a good son. I knew you were still so sweet under all that angst!". Dick makes grabby arms, running straight to Jason and trapping him in his infamous octopus hugs. RIP Jason, that was payback for stealing every Red Hood dolls he has crocethed.
"Get off me, Dickface!!!!". And Jason lets out a shrill horrified scream as Dick attempts to bestow him with some cheek kisses with him desperatly trying to push his face away. "EW, EW, EW!". While trying to ward off Dick, Jason still takes the time to flip him off. "FUCK YOU, BRUCE. SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN TONIGHT!".
"I'm Batman. I always sleep with one eye open".
In an instant, all eyes are on him. He maintains an air of regality and blissful self-ignorance.
"Well, that just happened, huh", Duke laughs, breaking the silence, a bit frayed at the end, even he sways as he stands. Steph quickly comes to his side, pulling him down to sit too, weary smile on her usually bright countenance. "Zero violent crimes. Can't believe that's possible. Did that really happened? If my mom were here to hear this, she'd think that Gotham has finally lost it! If my mom was here to listen, she would think that the world's gone crazy!".
Steph joins him in the manic laughter. "Right?! I feel like I'm dreaming. Someone pinch me!". And instantly she yelps, jumping in air and almost causing Duke to fall when Tim pinched her sides.
"You fiend!". She pointed at him. Tim shrugs, raising his hands in mock surrender, joining the rest of the family on the ground. "You said to pinch".
"A night without crime…in Gotham". Dick suddenly jumps over him to the other side, using his other arm as a pillow, smile breaking at the edges. Worried, Bruce wraps him in a hug. "This is what we used to dream of and you would tell me almost every night as you put me to sleep that you'll make it come true. I don't think it has sunk in yet for me, B". Tears spills from his son's electric blue and Bruce quickly tucks his first light under his skin, instintively rubbing Dick's back "C-Can you believe it, B? It really came true! I-It really——".
The high finally comes crashing down. Bruce flares his cape open as his children take refuge under the darkness and with all the strength he can muster, he gathers them all in a tight hug, another wave of tears hitting him just as strong. Gently, he eases all of them to peel off their domino masks and hood. One by time, he takes his time and for once, undaunted by fear and insecurity, he peppers kisses onto every forehead and every cheek of the these young man and women, of this family that stayed with him for the better and worse, throught the thick and thin, who love and who are kind, kind enough to join him on this impossible crusade that was born from that miserable boy in the alleyway. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you", he cries. "You never had to join me. I would have rather all of you stay home and continue studying or whatever it is you wanted to do in your life before you met me. I can't ask you enough for your forgiveness, for every pain, for every fracuture, every broken bone——".
"Aw shush, B. What's a few broken bones? Bones heal, my dude and don't forget, we have Magic!".
"Stephanie, all of you were and are children".
Dick shakes his shoulder. "Bruce, what war spares the young?", he quotes, using Bruce's own words against him. "Besides, we shouldn't have become vigilantes but we definitely didn't give you much of a choice, me especially but instead of rightfully stopping us and locking us down, you gave me and everyone here the greatest thing you could have ever given us - a chance to do good, do something and fight back. You gave us autonomy, freedom and you didn't leave us alone either. You were always there".
"Sometimes, I'm too late". He glances at Jason, at Stephanie and Damian. Dead Robins. So many dead robins and so many close calls.
Jason huffs, rolling his eyes like he has said something particularly stupid. "Well, you're here now and once you got the chance, you didn't leave any of us alone did you? You snuck in so many fucking trackers in me and all of my safehouses, B! And yeah, sometimes you take your goddamn time but you're old now, Pops. That's why you got the rest of us here".
There's an argument lodged in his throat but Jason's eye were fiery, burning with a passion that far surpasses Bruce's own self-loathing. Even so, this kindess is far more than he deserved. Tim then crowds his vision, capturing his attention. "Dad", he calls and Bruce's heart flutters, even after so many time hearing that word. "You saw something in all of us and you gave us a chance. You gave us a home, a place to belong and a purpose. I won't ever let you be alone in this, B. We're stuck together".
"Like a parasite", Jason adds.
Cass shakes her head. "A family".
Damian nods sagely. "A Bat-Family". Dick pouches at him and Damian reluctantly allowe his brother to nuzzle him with his cheeks. "Oh Dami!".
"Right". Bruce smiles through the tears. "A Bat-Family". His children let him pull them into one last hug before Jason bounces back up, shuddering in disgust.
"Alright, that's enough sappy shit to fuel a lifetime. Come on, B. Let's get you back to the cave. Alfie's waiting".
"Language, Jaylad". He paused. "Do you….Do you think he will be proud?".
His children all shake their head in tandem, staring at each other like they're currently questioning their life decisions. Tim pats his back, getting him back on his feet with his siblings. "World's Greatest Detective and you're still asking question with obvious answers".
Cut him some slack, Bruce is nervous, alright?
/|\ ^._.^ /|\
Though they try to distract him, the closer they get to the cave, the more quiet Bruce becomes. He has travelled the world, training with the worst of the worst to learn how to control himself, to not let himself be swayed by emotions like the common man but even so, this rattles him to the very core and the nausea settle in his stomach, unsettling and real. For many, many times, he has thought of this day, of the words he would say to the man he owed everything too.
None of them felt right, felt enough.
"Master Bruce, children", Alfred smiles, standing in the middle of the cave. "Welcome back".
He stands in front of Alfred, head bowed even as he towers over his father in all but blood. Something flutters in his stomach, a nervousness that seems far beyond someone who has fought through clowns, monsters, alien and more. This is familiar and Bruce fiddles with his hands like he did back then when he had a report card full of As and was anxiously awaiting Alfred's reaction. His mouth opens but no words come out. He tries again yet his throat won't work. Alfred is still standing there, posture immaculate and sharp but eyes all tender and patient as he stares at Bruce with such fondness that even someone as stubborn as him could see it plain and simple. Still, it was quite mortifying to be so shy at his age and he feels heat gathering around his face. He flinches slightly as someone slips their hands into his. Bruce squeezed Dick's hands as his son beams at him, guilding him like he always have. And soon he hears all of them stepping in front to stand with him, heads held proud and high. Tim steps by his side as he always does, never willing to let him be alone. Cass slips under one of his arms and Damian the other, his little, kind, warriors. Steph salutes at him when she catched his eyes as Duke gives him a sharp, confident nod. Barbara appears (How did she get here so fast from the Clocktower?) wheels herself to Alfred's side, giving her signature self-assured, stern look.
Bruce takes a deep breath."Alfie".
He lifts his head head, finally looking at the his butler, his closest comfidant, his father. Years ago, he has stood here at the exact same spot, donning his suit for the first time as he pledged to the man who wouldn't leave him that he will rid Gotham of its rot, that he will makes things better.
That there will be no more orphans if he could help it.
'Gotham had its first night with zero violent crimes in fifty-four years'. By Gotham, those words are still so surreal.
"Alfie, I did it", he says with bated breaths. Ever the penchant for drama, Alfred takes his time with his reply and each second that passes makes his skin crawl.
"That you did, Master Bruce. That you did", he says, short and succint.
There are questions, many questions in his mind, questions he wants to ask. Is this enough? Is this good enough? Can one whole day and night without crime, without orphans atone for his sins, his many many mistakes, for his parent's death? Can he do this again? Can he make another miracle? Would they be proud? His parents, his many many illuustrious ancestors, has he honoured them?
Now that Gotham is healing, is he still needed? Is there a place in the world for someone like him?
The clicking of oxford shoes echoed in the cave, and it jolts him out of his thoughts. By instinct, he backs away, suddenly so very afraid. If Alfred won't agree——yet he is locked in place as his children hold him, gentle. Their touches always gentle. He has faced his fears day by day but now, he shuts his eyes, afraid of what's to come. Now, he feels like a little boy close to tears. "My boy, it's quite alright now. You can open your eyes now, love".
Gloved hands settle on his face, cupping his cheeks but Bruce barely registers it still stuck on that word that Alfred so rarely use. Love. Love. Love.
He opens his eyes.
"There you are. Not so bad now is it". And he used to say that often, whenever Bruce has to faced his fears when he was younger or whenever he gets himself scratched. When he was a child, Bruce was afarid of horses and after a long amount of coaxing, he finally got on and Alfie would say 'Not so bad now is it?' as he pats his back. Alfred smiles, not the small polite ones he usually wears but wide and honest and with how close they are to each other, Bruce could see the hints of grey in his steel blue, glistening with tears and the way it flickers under the light "I'm proud of you". Steady, always steady hands move to embrace him and rub his back and suddenly, he is back. He is eight and his world has been crushed but crooked, warm hands settle a cup of warm Earl Grey tea in his bloodied, sinful hands like there's still some good worth caring for. He sags to the ground and easily Alfred follows as he always did, letting someone like Bruce drag him down to filth.
"Sorry. I'm sorry I—-".
Alfred shushes him gently. "Oh, my lovely boy", he croons. Bruce buries his face in the crook of Alfred's neck, letting himself sink deeply into that warm, amazing hug. "Children, do you mind setting the table for breakfast please?", he hears Alfred say. Murmurs of agreement wash over him and the children leaves, softly patting his back and shoulders as they do.
"A-Alfie". He pressed himself deeper into Alfred's skin because he feels like he's falling and Alfred has never not catch him before. He's there. He's always there.
He's here now.
"You did good, Bruce. You did good. You were amazing". Alfred pushes him back slightly, gently combing his hair back with his hands and pressing a kiss on the sweet spot in between his eyes before he thumbs the tears still on his face.
"I keep crying, Alfie", he whines.
"Master Bruce, if I may. Only a fool wouldn't cry at receiving such news".
He tucks himself back in Alfred's neck and his Father cups the back of his head in return. "It…It really happened, Alfie. Nobody got hurt yesterday".
"Indeed, my boy".
"And nobody died".
"Indeed".
Bruce swallows back his the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry for scaring you all these years, Alfie".
"And yet, quite remarkably, I would do it all again". And oh, Bruce is gonna cry all over again. What happened to British stoictism?
He takes a moment to recalibrate himself before breaks out of the hug, despite wanting to stay in the butler's steasy arms forever. He would love to but there are things he needs to know. "Do you think—Do you think they would have been proud, of me?".
Alfred's hands come to rest on his shoulders and he gives them a firm, passionate squeeze. "There is not a world where I imagine that they are not anything but proud. You have made a home and a family out of your friend. You have guided beings far stronger than you in a battle and have saved and continue to saved the world countless of times. You fought demons and monsters, of the literal kind and the unseens ones in your mind and won and you have never given up. Bringing their foreheads together, Alfie sighs, all fond and exasperated. "And your love, for the better or worse, have never run out". As he pull back, he murmurs. "You're the most perfect boy, Master Bruce. What parent wouldn't be proud? That'd be bollocks, I tell you".
"I think you're being a bias".
"Nonsense", he states firmly before continuing, "but perhaps, your parents are due for a visit from you, young master". Seeing Bruce's hesistation, Alfred offers, "Would you like me to come with you, love?".
He takes his time to think. Alfred waits for him like he has for Bruce's entire life, eyes always gazing at him with a patience that never seems to end. For years and years, he has waited for the shoe to drop, for Alfred to be finally and rightfully done with him, for him to sever their ties because Alfred has never asked to be a father and all Bruce wanted was to be a son to someone, especially to him - the man who bakes him cookies and made him tea and thumbs his wounds whenever he would fall. He has never left though and perhaps Bruce should stop being so afraid of his own heart and his own family.
"No", Bruce decides finally. "I should tell them myself, right Alfie?".
"Quite right, sir". His father pulls him up, brushing off whatever lint and dush Bruce has on his batsuit. "Do run along to the showers first, sir. You must look impeccable to go see the late Master and Madam. I have prepare some clothes for you in advance. In the meantime, I shall endeavour to keep your reckless chlidren entertained until it's time to eat breakfast together".
"Is it a suit?".
"Of course not, Master Bruce", Alfred tuts. "I have prepared something that will bring your parents much joy and nostalgia".
/|\ ^._.^ /|\
Alfred has a deadly sense of humour.
Bruce fiddles with his shirt, oversized and draping over him just the way he liked it, letting his finger flither across the print of a black silhouette of Zorro riding his horse in the sunset as he treks through the small hill far within the manor. It is a bit crude, wearing the shirt of the movie his parent's watched before they died but the he supposes that at the very least, Mama would very much find it funny. She and Alfred used to bond with dark humour, much to the horror of Papa, who would cover Bruce's ears to try and shield him. His pants are definitly too big though and Bruce has a inkling that these belonged to Jason instead. This outfit is more suited for sleepwear.
Well, it's true that counting the fast the he stayed as Batman the whole night yesterday, he hasn't sleep in…a while?
On que, he yawns. It would be nice to have a sleepover with the whole family.
Just a few walks away is the grand oak tree that has been in his family for centuries. Bruce's ancestors had planted that tree when they first bought the land as a symbol of strength of longevity and now, it guards his Mama and Papa's grave, giving them shelter just as they have given him one, full of love.
He takes a deep, deep, trembling breath.
"Mama, Papa, Alfie gave me the shirt so you can't be upset with me, Papa. Mama is probably laughing right now. It's been a while since I've visited. I'm sorry, I've been a bad son". Gently stroking the headstone, Bruce presses a kiss onto each of them before sitting down in seiza in front of the two graves. He sighs, a long, honest thing. "Sometimes, I don't know if I've ever been a good son. At least, not one deserving of the two of you".
A oak tree branch ominously falls onto his head from above, splitting into pieces as it hits the ground. It was thin enough that it would leave anything lasting impact but a slight twinge on his head. Rubbing his head, Bruce smiles, letting out a small, wet and flabbergasted chuckle. "Alright, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said something like that". Leave it to his parents to scold him from beyond the grave. He runs his fingers through the soft earth bellow him, the blades of grass gently tickling the surface of his skin and it soothes him, calming him down until he's finally ready to talk again. "I don't know if you've heard but last night, Gotham had its first night with zero violent crimes in fifty-four years".
He chokes on another sob and by Gotham, Bruce is getting so sick of crying but he couldn't stop. "Nobody died, Mama, Papa. Nobody was shot and nobody got left behind". He crumples onto the ground, kneeling in front of his parent's grave, forehead pressing against the ground. "It took a while. It took so long but I did it and I wasn't alone. I finally did it and maybe—maybe this is a one time thing but it happened, Mama, Papa. It really happened".
Tears mixes with dirt and fresh grass as he rubs his face, trying to clean himself of tears. "I hope you're proud of me. I did this all for you. All of this started for the two of you. I have so many reasons to continue now but all of this was for y-you two".
And the wind suddenly picks up, blowing harsh enough that he feels compelled to lift himself up from his bow and it could be his imagination but it almost felt like the wind is circling around him, wrapping him in what feels like the impression of a tight, heartfelt hug. Leaves gently land on his face before being blown away and quickly replaces with new ones, everytime a new spot and the light presses of leaves against his skin is reminiscent the barrage of kisses both of his parents would pamper him with when he was younger.
Everything stops and the words quiets once more as Bruce smiles, a small, wondrously earnest smile. The guilt will never go away but Bruce can accept now, just a bit, that maybe he isn't that horrible of a son as he thinks, at least, his parents vehemently disagree and that he has always been and will always be loved.
And maybe, just maybe, loving him isn't such a bad thing, isn't a curse as he always think it is.
(Alfred is not impressed with him returning with a face covered in dirt, leaves and grass. With a damp napkin, he cleaned Bruce's face like Bruce is an overactive toddler and not a grown-ass man coming into his 4os. As usual with his children, they make fun of him for it but then Alfred proceeds to clean all of their faces so in the end, Bruce clearly wins the battle. He is truly Alfred's favourite son. They sit together for a late breakfast and he is pulled towards the movie room where everything has been set for a sleepover or a dayover? (his children does not like that and he is promptly pushed onto the matress and buried alive in plush pillows and the accumulated body weight of 8 people) alongside every pet in the manor, yes, even the bat-dragon and the cow with him falling asleep a quarter through The Legend Of Zorro movie. The one last thing he felt before fully succumbing to sleep is gentle hands rubbing some soothing cream onto his aching back and sore joints before he is embraced once more).
/|\ ^._.^ /|\
He's been here before.
Sometimes, it feels like he's been here forever, in this rotten alleyway. He can almost smell it, the musty, damp stench of overflowing trash, mixing with asphalt. The burning, wretched aftertaste of gunpowder and the coppery tang of blood that sticks everywhere, into the deep crevices of his skin, stainning his cuffs and pants and clinging stubbornly to the very back of his throat where no amount soap and water could wash it down.
There is a boy there as there's always been.
He is sitting in the middle of a large pile of blood, face blank but eyes unbearably wide as tears stream down from his eyes, endless like a riverstream. Red mars his hands and that boy would forever hate his own hands.
The scars on Bruce's wrist pull at his skin, a reminder.
He steps forward, a being made of darkness and shadows and the boy looks up, finally something alive in those dead snow-blue eyes. The gentle moonlight washes over Batman's, over Bruce's towering figure, softening the harsh edges of his face, his body and in turn, the boy's posture relaxes. For eternity, they look at each other, taking in each other's appearance, of the orphaned boy with too many sins to bear and debts to pay. And him, the man who spent the rest of his life trying to atone.
The boy then whispers. "Will we ever be forgiven?".
Bruce takes a moment to breathe.
"…Last night, there were no orphans, no dead parents". Is the answer he gives. They can never forgive themselves, even after forever has passed. There is no use lying but this is the olive branch that Bruce can give, to himself and to the boy from so many years ago.
"R-Really?". And his entire small body leans forward towards Bruce, shaking so terribly that a gentle gust of wind can topple hi down. "No dead Mamas and Papas?".
"No, no dead Mamas and Papas".
"…And no more Bruces".
The dark knight swallows down his heart that stuck itself in his throat as he kneels down, sitting knee to knee with the boy he once was. "No Bruces", he concedes, voice a low murmur.
"A-and everybody in Gotham is happy?".
"As happy as they could be". He thinks back to those wide smiles that graced him as he and his children glided through the sky, at the joy and relief in everybody's faces and he amends. "They are happier now".
The little boy's mouth trembles. "Then are we happier? Will we ever be happy after Mama and Papa died?".
A single tear trails down Bruce's cheek and he envelops his younger self in a tight hug. He lets his hand cup the back of the boy's messy, frazzled hair and his other one rest on that small back, small enough that Bruce's hand almost covers it and he can feel the thumping of the kid's (By Gotham, he is just a kid) heart, a gentle buzz against his palm.
"We'll be happy, happier than we ever thought we could. You'll have friends you can't imagine. Some who can fly and shoot fire from their eyes. Some who can stop bullets with their bracelets, who are so fast they can break the speed barrier and children who will make you into a better man".
Small arms wrap around him, fists clinging onto his cape. "We'll be a papa too?".
"We will". He rubs the boy's back. "We're not that good at it. We'll make so many mistakes but they'll love you. They love you enough to stay in spite of everything".
Bruce feels a smile break through his face and it feels like the coming of dawn. "And together with all of your family and friends, you'll help Gotham heal".
That little boy stares up at him with trembling, glassy eyes and Bruce knows what he's looking for. He is looking for the fractures, for the sign that what he has just said can be true so Bruce returns his gaze with a kindness and tenderness that he rarely gives himself. Moments pass when suddenly, a whimper breaks through his mouth and in Bruce's own arms, little him cries, out of grieve, out of relief and from the discovery that something so good could befallen something like the both of them.
Rocking the boy from side to side, Bruce promises one last thing to himself as the dream begins to dissolves.
"It will be alright".
Everything shatters as light, bright and warm like a weighted blanket, swallows them both whole. Just before they are fully engulfed, little him pulls at the cape.
"But why're we dressed as a bat?".
Bruce laughs. "Because they can be scary".
The little boy grunts, thinking and it was jarring to see for himself, the way he furrows his brow and the slight purse of lips like his family always said he did. "Bats are cool", younger him says decisively. Bruce nods, pulling the boy close into one last hug. "Bats are cool".
Those little arms squeeze him. "Thank you".
.
.
.
"Baba?". A small, scarred hand caress his cheek and Bruce opens his eyes to the sight of his children crowding him. Everything in the room is drenched in vivid gold as the day comes close to ending. Like a pull he can't resist, his eyes fliter towards the windows. Even from afar, Gotham, his precious, beautiful looks beautiful in the warm colours of sunset and even now, The Bat Signal stays alight. Damian pats his cheek again, thumb gently rubbing his tears away. "Baba, are you alright?".
"Another nightmare, Bossman?". Stephanie leans towards him, peering down on him as her gorgeous blonde hair shimmering under the glowing light as the ends tickle his face. His youngest shoves her aways and in turn, she flips her hair in his face like the gremlin she was. Bruce smiles, "No, it was a nice dream".
His children exchange looks with each other before Jason sighs, flopping back onto the mattress. "You're getting wayyy too sentimental, Pa. Wait till we have to stop another gang shooting tonight—-OW!".
"No negative. Enjoy present now", Cass huffs, fingers twitching as a warning.
"Yeah, where's your optimism, Jason?".
"It died when I exploded, Timbers".
"Dude", Duke sighs. "Get over it, man. The joke is as expired as your body woukd have been without the Lazarus pit".
"Oh, I'll fucking show you expired——".
Dick throws his arms out. "Guys, can we please not do this today?".
"Shut up Dick!", all three of them shouts.
Aghast, his eldest dramatically puts a hand on his chest as he cries. "Hey, why are you ganging up on me?! Holy agression, baby brothers!".
The word 'baby brother' causes all of his younger son's eye to twitch and Bruce could tell the anger and indignation rising from that those two words and Bruce can't help it. Before he can help it, he is all giggles, laughing so hard that he lies back down, dragging Damian who is clinging onto to him, down with him. It is enough to break everyone and soon enough, everyone in the room is losing their breaths from almost hysterical laughter. Hearing the commotion, Alfred pops back into the room, standing with impeccable posture at the door with his eyebrows raised sassily. It only made all of them laughed harder and Alfred shakes his head at this, the edges of his mouth curling upwards slightly at their antics.
When the laughter finally died down, Babs asks, face resting against her palm as she gazes at Bruce with a fond glint in her eyes. "It must be a really good drea, if it got you all giggly like this, Bruce".
He pulls his family together into a big hug and the smile on his face only grew wider when he feels his shy children reciprocating. "Yeah, it really was". Bruce closes his eyes, content.
Maybe this is a one time thing. Maybe tonight, another orphan will be made and two more dead, adult bodies will be found nearby, ready to be buried but if a miracle like yesterday can happen, maybe Bruce can do it again. If he tries harder, works even harder, maybe even something crude like vengance can make the people of Gotham smile like that, like they come from somewhere bright and sunny like Metropolis. He can change things for the better.
And he wouldn't be alone.
