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Denial.
“So, this is it?“
Damian looked at his father, at what was left of this once so imposing figure. Bruce Wayne had been sick for almost six months now, and yet it still didn’t feel real.
That someone as great, as big as his father could die.
No.
Batman’s shadow would never seize its endless presence, casting them in darkness. Batman would never stop being a legacy none of them could escape.
Damian was twenty-two. He was young – and yet there had been many times in his life, in which he had doubted he would ever reach his twenties at all. He almost hadn’t… Damian remembered what death felt like.
It hadn’t been like this.
When Damian left this earthly plane for the first time, it had been quick. Painful. Dirty. On his bad nights he still remembered the smell of copper clogging up his nose, the fire burning in his chest… he still remembered Grayson’s silent scream.
His father was laying in a comfortable bed, medical equipment surrounding him, soft light streaming in through the open window. There were cushions all around him, the comforter pulled up to cover the thinning frame.
His once steel grey eyes appeared blue now, something tired in them, Damian had never seen before. His father had never looked like this, as far as Damian could remember.
His father had always been strong.
For as long as Damian had been in Gotham, Batman’s frame had always swallowed him. Dwarfed him. And now… now his father was dying, and Damian couldn’t force himself to believe just that.
“This is it.” Father still sounded like Bruce Wayne. A deep baritone, comforting and warm.
It was a voice Damian had only seldomly heard, his father and he mostly communicating in silence and actions. But… Damian had known it existed – he knew it because Jason, Richard, Cassandra and Timothy had told him about it.
He knew it because even if their relationship had never been what it should have been… his father had loved him. Still did.
“It doesn’t feel real.”
“Hm…”
If Father had been a silent presence throughout his life, he grew basically mute in his death. It was hard to draw answers from the man – and Damian wasn’t sure if that was due to the illness and the medicine… or due to his father’s exhaustion regarding life.
“When I was growing up… you were this presence in all of Mother’s stories. You seemed immortal. I am still not sure that you aren’t just that…”
“We all die.”
“Yeah, but you are fifty-six, Father, not ninety. You shouldn’t die just yet.”
Damian wasn’t crying, but it was a close tall. Grief weighted on his chest like a physical thing, sorrow squeezing his heart tighter and tighter.
His hands stayed clutched by his side – he was afraid Father would vanish, should Damian dare to touch his paper-thin skin, or his skeletal looking hand. Maybe he would turn to dust as if he had never been here at all, and Damian would be left with an empty bed instead of a goodbye.
Father had always been so strong – now he looked like an old man, his nose more pronounced, his hair almost entirely white. Where had Damian been as his father slowly grew old? Where had be been, missing the transformation of Batman into an old man?
He had been away. Traveling. Finding himself. Thinking about going to college.
He was twenty-two. He never had a childhood – and just as he was trying to figure out how to get just that, how to find the Damian Wayne he wanted to be… the call had come.
Father’s health had been declining for months – years – at that point, but Damian had thought… he’d thought, there was still some time left. That… that he would get to know himself before he had to make a choice, before he had to return to Gotham.
But the tears in Richard’s voice…
Damian hadn’t been here, when the rest of the family got the bad news, but he was here now.
He was looking at his father’s slowly dying form and…
Batman couldn’t die.
He just couldn’t.
(and Bruce Wayne was Batman – even if he had never been his Batman)
“I’m sorry for leaving you… I am sorry for not being the father you deserved, Damian.”
“No. Please don’t say you are sorry, because… that would… please, just don’t say it. Say you’ll stay – say you’ll be a better father from now on… but don’t say you are sorry.”
Now the tears were running down his cheeks, now Damian was crying. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had sobbed like this – maybe when he thought Richard had left him? – but he knew his heart was breaking.
His father was dying.
And Damian wasn’t sure he would be strong enough to accept that.
“I love you, Damian. Never forget that…”
“I won’t… I won’t.”
Anger.
Jason had planned his visit carefully.
He made sure no one else was in the Manor, no nurse, no sibling, no cleaning personal. It felt a bit like old times, when he sneaked in through the window, careful not to trip any of the alarms. His relationship with the family was better, Jason hadn’t fought with any of them in years.
He could have used the front door, but he had always preferred windows.
Maybe their relationship was better because Jason had hung up the guns on his twenty-eight birthday, starting a small side business in the Bowery instead. A business that helped the little people, the forgotten population of Gotham. People like Jason’s parents. People like him. For the past three years, Jason had helped built up this godforsaken part of Gotham from the ground up with his bare hands.
He was still fit. He was still dangerous. But he was no longer the Red Hood.
And now… now there would no longer be the Batman, either. Finally.
Hot anger surged in Jason’s stomach at the thought – he couldn’t exactly explain it himself, but the idea of Bruce dying made the rage living in his veins return.
Bruce was awake, when Jason finally stumbled into the room. He hadn’t been silent – he hadn’t tried to be. Big, blue eyes set in a gaunt face were looking at him.
Suddenly, Jason was reminded of a time in which Bruce had been his dad. Only their roles were reversed – in the early days Jason had been the gaunt looking kid, and Bruce had been the scary shadow who promised love and affection.
“So, now you leave us. Now, when we finally get along.”
“You don’t need me anymore, Jason.”
“Hah, don’t act as if this is a choice. This is years of abuse and trauma finally catching up with you.”
And I still need you. I will always need you, the part of Jason who was still – always – fifteen wanted to yell. He wanted to demand Bruce to pull it together, to get out of this bed and be healthy again… But Jason knew death when he saw it, and Bruce stank of it.
“So be it.”
“STOP BEING SO GODDAMN READY TO DIE!”
Jason hadn’t planned on screaming, yelling, crying – but now his chest was heaving, the entire Manor awake. Only… they were alone, at least in this room. They were alone, and Jason was crying. Crying, because his dad was dying – crying, because even after all this time, their relationship never fully recovered.
“What- What do you want me to say, Jason?”
“What I want? I want you to stop- to stop assuming we will just take care of everything! You are leaving us with a shitshow, Bruce! You are… you are leaving us. And you expect us to be okay. We’ve never been okay – why would we start now?”
“You’re all grown up… look at you, Jaylad… all grown up and strong… You don’t need me anymore, believe me…”
Jason recoiled. He hadn’t heard that name in years, the last time a week before he went and got himself killed. His heart ached for what could have been, his anger so strong, his sorrow so deep. Jason wanted that time back – he wanted his childhood and his innocence and his dad back.
He wanted to be fifteen again – instead, he was thirty-one, watching as his dad got ready to die.
“I look at you… and I am angry. Because how dare you die… how dare you leave us behind… how dare you love me, when you know it only causes me pain.”
“Oh, Jaylad…”
Jason was sobbing. His knees grew weak, and he sank down onto the floor, large, breathless sobs wrecking his body. If Bruce were strong enough… Jason knew, the man would climb out of his deathbed and comfort Jason with weak arms.
But… Bruce couldn’t – was already to close to this thing called death.
Jason cried alone – just as he had always raged alone.
Bargaining.
Tim looked up from his iPad to stare at Bruce. The man met his eyes.
“Maybe I could ask Ra’s if he’s willing to let me cash in that favor, he still owes me?”
“No, Tim…”
Bruce sounded exhausted. Old. He sounded as if… well, as if he was dying. Which…. Tim wasn’t going to simply stand by and let his dad die. Not again. Not if there was anything he could do to save him.
“If not a pit – maybe the Amazons have a health potion? I am sure Diana would give it to us, if only you asked. I am sure, Bruce.”
Their locked eyes never left each other, something heavy sitting on Tim’s chest as he watched the pain in them ebb and flow and come back. Bruce was dying – and even with the drugs he was taking, it was a painful process.
If Tim was a different man, he would ask Bruce if he wanted to start using morphine… but Tim wasn’t that strong. He couldn’t stand by as Bruce got lost in the drugs – not as long as there was any hope left.
(and Tim knew that Bruce would decline should he ask – Bruce wouldn’t take death laying down, even if he accepted his fate)
“Stop it, Tim…”
“No.”
Tim wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He had never learned how. All he could so was watch as Bruce drew in another breath and wish for some miracle cure to appear. If the devil were trading in souls, Tim wouldn’t hesitate even a second before he traded his for Bruce’s.
It was only fair. Bruce had taken him in, after all, all those years ago. Bruce had given him Robin – Tim had taken Robin, but Bruce had let him keep it. Bruce had watched as Tim grew, as Tim became a person, instead of just a trophy for the Drakes to keep.
Of all his siblings – besides Damian – Tim was the only one who bore the name Wayne. Because Tim had made a choice, a choice he had never allowed himself to regret. He was a Wayne – and he would save his dad.
“I am dying… I am dying and I want to say goodbye…”
“Why won’t you let me save you? I have connections, Bruce! I can do it! I can make sure you have another ten years… maybe even twenty. You could- you could meet your grandkids. You could be by Dick’s side when he finally manages to tie the knot… you could- you could be by my side when I do.”
“Because I know my time has come… I can feel it in my bones. They are tired. I am tired.”
Angrily Tim tore his gaze away, squeezing his eyes shut, to keep the tears at bay. He wouldn’t cry. Crying meant defeat. Crying meant accepting that Bruce was dying. Again. This time for real. This time… to never come back.
Tim couldn’t… he wouldn’t…
A world without Bruce didn’t sound like a world Tim wanted to live in. He had changed the path of time, the last time fate had tried to take Bruce away from him… Tim could do it again. He could change destiny and save Bruce. If only… if only the man let him.
“Please… please, Bruce. Let me help… let me save you.”
“No… I love you too much for that.”
“Hah! You have no idea what your death would do to me!”
Desperation colored Tim’s voice, and Bruce’s eyes brimmed with understanding. Bruce had always understood Tim best – they shared the same wavelength, shared the same brain. Tim couldn’t fathom losing that.
“I am sure you will be alright. You are… you are a hero, Tim, don’t get lost in the darkness of my death. It was a long time coming.”
Tim had been Falcon for years now, had stepped out of Robin’s shadow a long time ago… but nothing Bruce could say, would ever keep one thing from being true: Bruce was his Batman – and Tim would always be his Robin.
“I don’t want to lose you…”
“I know… but sometimes that in inevitable… sometimes you have to let go.”
Tim couldn’t look at Bruce as the tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. Instead, he focused on the window – and the sunlight that had graced them.
Letting go had never been his strong suit.
Depression.
Cass was familiar with death. It clung to her hands, and it colored her soul heavy, even years after she had last taken a life.
Once a killer, always a killer.
Only that Bruce had never seen it that way. Bruce had looked at her, years ago – over a decade ago – and seen a frightened child. Bruce had saved her… and now he was leaving her.
He was asleep when she entered the room, the blanket covering his chest only rising and falling the tinniest bit, whenever he managed to draw in a shallow breath. It wouldn’t be long now.
Soon, Bruce would be gone.
Soon, Cass would be alone.
Some part of her – maybe it was her logical side – knew that she wasn’t alone. She had her siblings, all of them waiting in the pallor. She had Steph and Harper and Babs. She had that insurance company guy, who liked to call her just to ask about her day.
Cassandra Cain wasn’t alone.
And yet… it felt as if she was dying alongside Bruce.
The man had done so much for her, had offered her peace and language and a home… Bruce had been the one to look at her deadly hands, at her violent feet… and he gave her ballet. He gave her dance and beauty and movement and poetry.
He would take her heart with him the moment his last breath left this earthly vessel.
There would be nothing much of Cassandra left, after Bruce died. She would be hollow – she could already feel the sadness pry her open, detach her soul from her body…. The sadness was preparing her for the inevitable.
The sadness would make it easier to leave everything behind.
Maybe Cassandra wasn’t alone – but she didn’t want to exist without Bruce. She didn’t want to go into the unknown without her dad by her side.
(and it wouldn’t even be the unknown – Cassandra remembered the first time Bruce died, and how horrible the world had been… she remembered losing everything. She wouldn’t do it again)
“Hey, darling…”
The voice was so silent, Cass almost didn’t hear it. But when she looked up from her folded hands and the pain hidden in her fiddling, Bruce was staring at her. His eyes were heavy with the weight of dying, his mouth drawn tight from all that pain.
He was suffering. But he kept holding on. Just for her. Just for them. His family.
“Bruce.”
“Don’t cry… it will be alright.”
Cass hadn’t even realized that she was crying. The fire running down her cheeks, could just have been her pain, the pressure building on her chest, the suffocating sorrow. But, no, Bruce was right. She was crying.
It was a silent affair, and Bruce looked at her with love.
“I don’t want to lose you… not you. The two of us belong together.”
“You won’t lose me… everything important will stay right here.”
“But you will be gone.”
Cass wasn’t sure how she could explain to him, that losing him felt a bit like dying. How could he understand her, if he had never been saved the way he had saved them? Bruce had lost his parents at a young age – and he had kept all of them from falling into the same pits he had been forced to conquer.
He was her dad. And he was her savior.
“But your memory of me will stay. My legacy will stay… all of you… all my children will still be here. And that is all I can ask for… really.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“I know… I know, darling, but I promise you… it will be alright. You will be alright.”
“Are you afraid of death?”
Cass had never feared death, had grown up with it, its smell never leaving her nose for as long as she could think. Even now, as the closest thing Gotham had to a Batman, the touch of death never really left her… maybe that was why it was so soul crushing, to see Batman – to see Bruce – succumb to the call of the eternal after.
“Not really… I have… I have seen so many things, death really feels like a small adventure in comparison.”
“Will you miss us?”
“Unbelievably so… but mostly… I don’t want to see any of you again for a very long time…”
He was smiling, the expression soft on his prematurely old face. He was asking her to stay. He was asking her not to follow. He was… he was begging her not to die.
Cass hoped, Bruce had no idea how big that favor he was asking from her was.
Cass hoped, Bruce didn’t know how desperately she wanted to go with him.
“I promise. I will… I will keep them safe. And I will keep myself safe.”
Bruce’s smile grew:
“Thank you.”
Acceptance.
“Huh, so this is it?”
“This is it.”
Bruce looked old in a way Dick had never seen before. There were wrinkles around his eyes, hard lines drawn deep into the skin surrounding his mouth. His eyes were giant, the gauntness of his face amplifying every small detail…
For most of his life Batman had been immortal, and yet Dick knew better than most, that Bruce could die.
No, that Bruce was dying.
His own back ached, when he sat down on the chair one of the nurses had prepared for visitors, and he felt his own age when he looked at Bruce. He was thirty-six, not an age many would consider old, but Dick could feel his body give.
And judging by Bruce’s careful gaze, the man could see it too.
“You should take better care of yourself, Dick…”
“We both know I am not made for sitting still.”
They fell silent. It wasn’t a heavy silent or a stifling quiet… it was comfortable, full of understanding and a shared history. In the end, after Dick watched Bruce draw in a few breaths, it was the younger man, who continued:
“I always thought you would die out in the field. For the past few years… whenever you got hurt, I thought ‘this is it. Bruce is dead’ but… you surprised me. Dying in bed… not what I expected.”
Maybe that was too blunt, too harsh, but Bruce only smiled, before he breathlessly answered:
“Me too, chum… me too.”
“Are you mad about it?”
It was an honest question. Dick knew, he would want to die doing something, saving someone. Dying in bed like this… it felt like his worst nightmare. But then again, Bruce had managed to get to the age of fifty-six, a number Dick couldn’t see himself reach even in his wildest dream.
“No… you know why?”
“Please do tell.”
“This way I got to say goodbye. If… If I died on a mission, I would… I wouldn’t get a chance to…”
Bruce’s breath ran out. But Dick understood him even without the remaining words – had always understood Bruce, even if he really didn’t want to. It made sense… the entire family had come back to Gotham to talk to Bruce one last time, the Justice League young and old frequently using the Cave to gain access to the Manor.
It was hard to get a moment alone with the man, the great loner Batman beloved by so many, the nurses had to create a waiting list for visitors.
“Don’t get to comfortable on the other side… and keep a spot warm for me.”
“Don’t you dare… if you die, Dick… I will kick you out of whatever follows… and make you scrub the floor with a toothbrush…”
Dick’s heart was aching with a fierceness, he had come to know well. Many people had died in the years Dick was alive – grief had always been something Dick was uncomfortably familiar with. Losing Bruce… hurt. Horribly.
But Dick couldn’t find it in himself to be distressed. He was sad – but he was also surprised. In his mind, Batman had died years ago. The age Bruce has reached? A miracle, if you’d asked Dick.
The same part of Dick’s heart that was now… dealing with Bruce’s death, was convinced Dick himself wouldn’t attain Bruce’s age.
Dick was weirdly okay with that.
“Don’t act surprised Bruce. I’m old.”
“You are thirty-six.”
“And the only two active heroes with more experience than I have are Diana and Clark… I am ancient, face it, old man.”
“You could always stop.”
And Dick heard it for the plea it was. Bruce wanted him to stop, just so he could die in peace. And maybe… in other circumstances Dick would have lied, would have soothed Bruce in his last moments… but that just wasn’t the two of them. Dick owed Bruce his honesty – he owed him the truth.
“We both know I can’t… so, don’t grow too comfortable, B. And greet my parents from me.”
“Oh, chum… what a mess we are…”
Silence bathed them once more, Bruce’s ragged breaths the only thing audible. They had known each other for almost two decades… they had been many things. Father and son. Mentor and prodigy. Batman and Robin. Guardian and ward.
But they had always been something else as well: friends.
Through all the ups and downs they survived, throughout all the pain and the fights… at the end of the day – at the end of life – the two of them were equals.
Equally tied to the life of a vigilante. Equally tied to each other.
“Look after your siblings… they won’t… they will act all tough, but they’ll need you. So, don’t you dare leave them too soon. You better make sure they are okay first.”
It was a familiar weight of responsibility, Bruce trusted him with, and Dick would do everything to carry that burden. He would be there for his family; he would offer them comfort. It was his job after all – and one he rather enjoyed.
“I love you, B.”
His eyes were wet, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this was it… the last time they talked, the last time it would be just them. Bruce and Dick. Batman and Robin. Father and Son.
Dick would miss him.
Just because Dick had accepted death as a part of life, didn’t mean Goodbyes got any easier.
Bruce was smiling, something serene on his face, when he answered, tears of his own glinting in the corner of his eyes:
“I love you, too, chum… and I always will.”
When Dick left the room ten minutes later, he knew that this was it. This was his goodbye.
Death.
Bruce could feel Death coming for him.
He could feel it in the weight on his chest, and in the burn of his airways. He could feel it in the tears running down his cheeks, and the numbness crawling up his arms.
The kids were gone. One of the nurses – Bruce hadn’t bothered learning their names – had sent them out of the room to clean Bruce… the nurse was gone now as well, Bruce all alone. But from what Bruce could gather, his children had decided to fetch some lunch together - help was never far away, and they needed the companionship.
Collect some energy before they were forced to deal with the realities of life. Of death.
Bruce could feel Death coming.
There was darkness in the corner of his eyes, and there was light in his heart. He was tired. He was ready.
He was alone – no one would go with him. And when he was gone… they would have each other to lean on.
Bruce let his eyes fall closed, he let the numbness wash over him, he let… a breath escaped him, a woosh of air being expelled from his lung.
He didn’t draw another one in. He didn’t even attempt to breathe in… instead, he stopped.
Death had come for him.
When Bruce opened his eyes, he was no longer tethered to his body. He was free. No muscle ached when he swung his legs over the side of the bed, no bone complained about Bruce’s quick movement. He was… whole again. Young again. Alive again.
He was dead.
Death stood in front of him.
Alfred smiled:
“Good day, Master Bruce… long time no see…”
“Alf…”
“Will you go with me? Come home?”
“Yes.”
And when Bruce’s hand slipped into Alfred’s waiting one, he was ten again, and Alfred had just saved him from loneliness. He was ten again, small for his age, and caught up in his head. Alfred was so big next to him…
Bruce remembered being ten. He remembered losing his parents. Before he could ask, however, Alfred spoke:
“Would you like to see your mom and dad again?”
Bruce smiled, leaving the Manor behind. He smiled, and he was young, Alfred by his side. He smiled, and stepped forward, pure joy thrumming through his body:
“Yes.”
“Then so be it, my dear boy.”
They left – only Bruce’s still body remained, the curtains of his bedroom drawn open, the blankets pulled up to his chest. The sun was painting mandalas on the carpet, dust glittering in the air. The room was silent. Bruce was dead.
Time of death: 1:12pm, Sunday the 19th of September.