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“Have you heard from Batman?” Diana asked J’onn, leaning against the console while he worked controls.
J’onn wouldn’t quite look her in the eye, and that was Diana’s first clue. “He is in Gotham. Did you receive the message he sent?”
“All two words of it,” Diana said, crossing her arms and cocking an eyebrow. “Indisposed, indefinitely.”
J’onn shrugged slightly. “Yes, that was it.” He shifted back to the monitor and hit some buttons, looking as though the conversation were over.
“J’onn.”
He swiveled his chair toward her, red eyes flicking up to meet her gaze. “Yes, Wonder Woman?”
She put both her hands on the armrests and fixed him in a measured glare, which he returned, with slightly wide eyes. “You’re lying,” she said finally.
J’onn glanced down at her lasso where it hung unused on her belt, and opened his mouth to protest, but after another moment of unflinching eye contact, he changed tactics. “What Batman chooses to share with us is his business.”
“Did he tell you what was wrong?” Diana pressed.
“No.” The answer was immediate.
“But you know, don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question, but J’onn winced anyway, hands fiddling with the edges of his purple cape. “It’s…not my place to say.”
“Is he all right?”
When he hesitated to answer, Diana tensed, bracing for the worst. Batman was human, little as he liked anyone else to know or remember that fact. But Diana had watched him bruise and bleed and knew for certain that any business so dire as to ground him indefinitely had to be nothing short of a mortal injury. And if he was insisting on going it alone—
“He’s not dying,” added J’onn hastily, probably sensing her rising anxiety. “He is fine. Or—he will be, if—He is fine.” He sounded less sure of himself with every word that stumbled from his mouth. “Batman is dealing with…personal matters.”
“Personal…?” echoed Diana, stepping back, somehow more concerned now than she’d been a few minutes ago. “I’m going to see him,” she decided, turning on her heel and heading for the transporting room.
“Wait—" A slight breeze and flash of green and J’onn was hovering by her side, matching her speed. “I would not advise that. Batman does not wish for anyone to interfere.”
“You interfered.”
“An accident. He did not thank me for it. He doesn’t want to see anyone, I promise you.”
“Then he can tell me so himself,” replied Diana, stepping smoothly onto the transporter.
“Diana—”
She waited patiently.
J’onn’s typically serene face looked conflicted, with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. He sighed, lowering himself to stand on the ground. “Very well. Tread carefully.” He went back to the control panel to help her initiate the transportation sequence. As the world blurred and gravity tipped, and the last of her molecules made the jump to Earth, Diana realized what the emotion was.
It was sadness.
Whatever happened to Bruce had made J’onn deeply, terribly sad.
Diana decided to take the semi-direct approach, and headed for Wayne Manor via invisible jet. She parked it in the one lawn she knew was deliberately not shielded, buffeting nearby bushes and sending clipped grass flying, and hopped gracefully out. Her boots softly crushed the gravel as she made her way up towards the house, remaining alert in case she tripped any alarms or defenses, but guessing there would be more unassuming sensors and cameras surrounding the manor, as opposed to the gasses and traps underground leading to the Batcave.
She guessed correctly. As she floated up the marble stairs leading up to the grand double-door entrance, one of them cracked open and a familiar old face looked out. “Alfred,” greeted Diana fondly, landing on the top step.
The old valet tried to return her smile. “Princess,” he nodded, and Diana was stunned by the sag in his usually perfect posture, and the rumples in his uniform. The lines in his face appeared to have doubled from the last time they’d seen each other only three months ago.
“Alfred,” she said softly, stunned, the smile slipping from her face.
He glanced down at himself with a flinch, as though noticing his worn-out appearance for the first time. His voice wavered. “Oh—forgive me, we were not expecting—”
“May I hug you?” she asked, and without quite waiting for an answer, but carefully telegraphing her movements in case the man seemed uncomfortable with it, she moved to wrap Alfred in an embrace.
He froze, mouth dropping open, but stayed in place as she gave him a brief hug.
As she withdrew, he looked even more wrecked than she had upon arriving, clutching the doorframe as though he’d fall without it. Like a stiff breeze would knock him over. “I…thank you, my dear, I didn’t…” After a few seconds, he pulled the door open wide and gestured for her to enter. “Please, come in,” he said, trying to reconquer a professional demeanor.
“Thank you,” she said, gently stepping inside.
Alfred’s hand shook as he closed the door behind her, though she pretended not to notice.
The manor was dark. It always was, exempting the one or two fundraiser events Bruce Wayne had organized and invited the League to (generally with a secondary purpose in mind), but now more than ever. All the curtains were drawn, and only a few essential lamps were turned on. But there was something else that unsettled her about the manor’s interior, something that sent dread up her spine. She couldn’t put a finger on it.
“This way, Princess,” said Alfred, guiding her to a sitting room connected to the main hall. His head bent demurely in a way it had the first time they’d met, when he was only portraying the part of Bruce Wayne’s servant, rather than the confidant he truly was.
“Call me Diana, please, Alfred,” she said, touching his arm in order for him to meet her searching gaze. “We are friends, are we not?”
As Alfred studied her with now-attentive slate grey eyes, Diana had the peculiar sensation of being measured. Judged, in a way that went beyond placing trust or weighing merits. More…tested. It was an expression she’d seen in Bruce’s eyes a hundred times, behind narrowed white lenses. (They were so alike, sometimes.)
Diana didn’t waver, waiting for Alfred to arrive at whatever conclusion he would.
Finally he spoke again, and the ghost of a smile tugged at his face for an instant, shoulders relaxing microscopically. “…Yes, I suppose we are. Very well. Please, have a seat. Tea?”
She shook her head and eased onto a too-fancy armchair, while Alfred pulled up a wooden chair and winced as he sat down. “May I ask the reason for such a pleasant, if unexpected visit?” asked Alfred, folding his hands neatly together in his lap.
Diana pursed her lips. “I was worried.”
Alfred gave a slight nod. “I see.”
He didn’t offer anything else, and once again, Diana was struck by the familiarity of the exchange. The way both he and Bruce seemed to ration their words, guarding explanations. Even though Alfred had welcomed her in, and seemed to want, in some way, to accept whatever Diana had to offer, he wasn’t simply going to cave and tell her what was afflicting Batman, either.
Well, Diana was not one to skirt subjects. “Is Batman all right, Alfred?”
Alfred blinked, hesitated. “…Batman is fine.”
But she could hear the emphasis in the phrase, and seized at the thread it suggested. “Is Bruce all right? Tell me the truth.” At the word truth, the lasso glowed faintly at her side, but she made no move to use it. She knew she didn’t need to.
Alfred’s knuckles went white where they curled over each other, and his head gave a minuscule shake as he finally answered, “Physically, yes, but…”
His eyes were gleaming with a new sheen in the dim lights, and Diana had to restrain herself from lurching forward with another hug. “Alfred? Are you all right?”
When Alfred didn't answer, and his shoulders began to shake with barely contained emotion, it suddenly hit Diana what felt so wrong about the Manor.
It was silent, empty, and bare.
Silent in a way it hadn’t been since Bruce had begun to grieve Clark.
Empty in a way it hadn’t been since Dick had left to start college, years back.
Bare in a way that had left walls vacant of any pictures that Diana knew had once shown…
The idea occurred to her and she rejected it reflexively, because it was too awful to contemplate. Too impossible to consider. But—no, it couldn’t—
“Alfred,” whispered Diana, horror creeping into her voice, moving to kneel at Alfred’s feet, placing a gentle hand on his knee. He wouldn’t look at her directly. “…Where is Robin?”
Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands.
“No,” gasped Diana.
Alfred shook, and didn’t answer, and Diana could hear as the old man’s breaths turned into half-aborted sobs, as though he were trying his absolute hardest not to make a sound. Diana found herself pressing to his side with an arm over his slim shoulders, holding him as comfortingly as she could manage, a stream of quiet, stumbling words falling from her lips. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying, but became aware of tears dripping down her own face.
It felt like someone had pulled out the world from under her feet.
Robin was gone.
It was the only explanation, despite every fiber of her being rebelling at the thought. Robin couldn’t be gone. Not Jason, not—it simply wasn’t possible. First Clark, and now—
Diana’s thoughts turned into prayer, even as she cried and simply held Alfred while he fell apart beneath her embrace. How could this happen? she demanded, not knowing which god in particular she was supplicating, knowing they likely were not to blame for whatever unthinkable thing had befallen the boy. The child. He was a warrior, a true hero; how could—?
No answer could be enough.
Jason was gone, and nothing would be the same again.
Diana had no idea how much time had passed by the time that Alfred stirred, fumbling in his pocket. He drew out two handkerchiefs, and was already drying his face with one when he passed the other to Diana. She took it gratefully.
Alfred smoothed out his suit as well as he could, and took a deep breath, still not facing her directly or shaking off her grip. At the tension entering his body again, Diana backed off. After a moment of consideration, she touched the side of his chair gently. “I’ll be right back,” she said quietly.
It spoke to how thoroughly Alfred was wrung out that he said nothing, allowing her to fly to the kitchen unattended. She sifted through cupboards to find what she needed, and set a kettle to boil before arranging a handful of crackers and cookies on a paper plate.
It only took a minute before the water was bubbling. She took a packet from the emptiest tea box and set a cup to steep, and put it all on a tray. She flew slower this time, careful not to knock anything over. Alfred was still sitting where she’d left him when she returned. Diana felt a small measure of satisfaction at the startled and touched expression on his face when she set the tray on the coffee table.
“You needn't have…” He trailed off, and sipped the tea. “Thank you.”
Despite the flood of questions on Diana’s tongue, she did not want to push Alfred too far or too fast, and so it surprised her when he set the cup down and said, “Master Jason was killed in Ethiopia a week ago.”
Diana stiffened.
Alfred pressed on, voice almost entirely steady now that the more torrential part of his outburst had run its course. “He left, against Master Bruce’s orders, to track down his mother, who he believed to be in danger. It was a trick, set by the Joker.”
There was a loud rip as the handkerchief tore in Diana’s hands on accident, but Alfred paid no attention. Diana had only see the Joker in person once, and although she was very much inclined to believe in the goodness of humans, she had looked in his eyes and seen only evil. It was something less human than she’d felt in the pits of Tartarus. She had shuddered, at the time, to think that Bruce dealt with this creature on a near-monthly basis in some way. If only she had known.
“With that woman’s aid, the Joker lured Jason to a warehouse. Batman was in close pursuit, but arrived minutes too late. Jason’s body was…” Alfred’s voice caught, and he couldn’t finish, but he didn’t need to.
Diana rarely felt rage. She did now.
“Hera,” she said, voice barely manageable. “I’m truly sorry to hear that.”
Part of her wanted to fly out of the mansion and track down that bdelyròs and send him to Hades herself for killing the child of one of her closest friends. And that his own mother had been involved was beyond unthinkable. Diana had known Jason, played with him, sparred with him herself. He’d had stars in his blue eyes. She’d promised to teach him to fight on horseback one day, when he was taller, but now—how dare the Joker—
Which brought her to another important issue.
“…And Batman?”
“Blaming himself, of course,” said Alfred bitterly. “What else?”
“But what did he do? When he…”
The tension in the room thickened, and for a moment, Diana saw anger reflected from somewhere deep in Alfred’s face, making him look younger and more dangerous than she’d ever taken the man for. “The Joker was already gone when Batman arrived, and Jason and his mother had already died. Batman brought their bodies back, removed all the pictures from the main halls, sequestered himself. We held a funeral on Tuesday.”
Diana did not know what to say. Alfred stood, circled his chair, adjusted a nearby lampshade almost unconsciously. “After the funeral, I had a…less than productive conversation with the master. He has not left the cave since. I assume he’s still down there, doing the healthy thing and brooding himself away,” called Alfred out loudly, letting his words ring in the halls.
Diana cocked her head and looked upwards. “Is he…?”
Alfred sighed. “Listening? Perhaps. I truly don’t know. Would you like to try talking to him, then?”
She stood and pushed her hair behind her shoulders. “Yes.”
Their steps echoed as Alfred led Diana to a study filled with an impressive set of bookcases and a massive grandfather clock. “To anyone else, I would advise caution, but you are Wonder Woman, so I will simply wish you luck.”
“Thank you,” said Diana, giving Alfred room to turn the clock hands to a particular time she chose not to pay attention to and swing open the entrance. “I shall do what I can.”
Alfred inclined his head. “Even if he doesn’t listen, I appreciated the visit. It has been…most difficult.”
As dark as the upstairs had been, the cave was even darker. Diana urged her lasso to glow as the clock entrance clicked shut behind her. One look at the staircase convinced her to fly down the winding spiral rather than walk it, and as she rounded the last bit, she could see the familiar pointy-cowled silhouette silhouetted by a massive glowing monitor, surrounded by smaller, matching blue screens. Everything was black or grey, steel or rock, and though Diana had visited the Batcave before and seen it countless times in the backdrop of Batman’s video calls, it had never felt more like a cave than now.
She landed softly about three meters behind him on the main circular platform, watching him carefully. He didn’t even twitch, but Diana doubted he was sleeping. She was proven right when the familiar growl rose up.
“You’re in Gotham.”
It sounded less human than ever. Whether it was the work of a voice modulator, irritation, or dehydration, Diana wasn’t sure. She felt a slight shiver; not from fear of him, but rather, fear for him. Hera, help me, she prayed, hoping she’d find the words.
Not that there were words. Not for this. To lose a child…Diana could not imagine.
“I was worried for you,” she explained. He’d hate that explanation, she knew, but it was the truth.
Nothing. Not even a disgruntled ‘Hn’ like she’d grown used to hearing. He simply sat there, facing away, nothing but a menacing swath of shadow.
“Alfred explained,” Diana started, taking a hesitant step forward. “Bruce, I…”
“Shut up,” Batman hissed, and Diana’s brain short circuited.
Did…did Bruce silence her? Had she heard him correctly?
“…What did you say?” breathed Diana, rising into the air and approaching another meter.
“I said…shut up.” Bruce began to slowly rise to his feet, hands still braced against the console, cape falling around his feet in an inky pool.
Never, not once in the six years they had worked side by side, had Bruce once said those words to her. From the time they first met, he had demonstrated respect and sought her insight over and over again, and it was only knowing him on that level that enabled Diana to maintain composure. “Look at me, Bruce.”
He didn’t move. Every inch of him radiated menace.
Fine. “Bruce, I am so sor—“
“GET OUT,” roared Batman, whirling around, hitting his chair and sending it skidding onto the next platform over with a metallic screech. Swarms of bats rippled to life throughout the cave, screeching and flapping. When Diana didn’t move, Bruce’s arm swung out and Diana felt a breath of air as a batarang missed her cheek by an inch.
She allowed it to fly past without blocking or moving, knowing that he’d aimed to miss, and that it couldn’t have so much as scratched her skin in any case. It clanged uselessly against stone far behind her. It was meant to unsettle, make her angry, put her on the defensive. Instead, Diana found her fists unclenching, her sharp brows easing into something sadder.
He was terrified, she realized.
She sighed, and settled on the ground. “Bruce. I’m not leaving. If you don’t want to talk, that is fine, but I came to see you, understand?”
Bruce’s shoulders were still heaving a bit. The white lenses in his cowl were slits. “You’ve seen me. Now leave.”
Stubborn to the end. Diana shook her head and walked to a nearby chair, half-expecting a few more batarangs to come slicing through the air as she sat. “Alfred is worried about you.”
Bruce growled. “I’m serious, Diana. Leave. Now.”
Not for the first time, Diana missed Clark, and wished she had his way with words. One thing most people hadn’t realized about Superman was the way she and Batman depended on his ability to build bridges with words. People thought of her as the ‘nice’ one, sometimes, but they confused compassion with sweetness. She was a warrior, not a diplomat. She spoke the truth as she saw it; that was all.
“It wasn’t your fault, Bruce.”
His hands were hidden within the folds of his cape, but Diana was nearly certain he was genuinely debating whether or not to attack her with other weapons hidden in his belt. “You weren’t there. You have no idea.”
“True,” acknowledged Diana, and he went still at her concession. “I was not there. I don’t know what happened. I cannot imagine what this must be like for you, or the horrors you are facing. I knew Jason, but he was your son.”
Bruce actually flinched. “Don’t say his name,” he said, and it was probably meant to sound like a threat, but years of friendship meant that Diana could read the desperation there as keenly as a plea.
“Why not?” asked Diana, folding her arms. “He was a brave warrior, and should be honored. He deserves as much.”
“I can’t…” started Bruce, and shook his head a bit as though he hadn’t meant to say those words. “This isn’t your business.”
“You are my friend, Bruce; you are my business.”
Batman’s voice was hoarse as he took a step toward her, angrily. “No. I won’t—I—“
He swayed then. Actually swayed in place, and staggered, and Diana was out of her chair and catching his forearms as he fell halfway to the ground, head dipping. “Batman!”
“Head rush,” he muttered, almost inaudibly, as she coaxed him back onto his chair, where he bent over with his head between his knees, catching his breath which had grown alarmingly shallow.
Diana kept a hand on his back, light but hopefully grounding, as she watched him with sudden fear. “Bruce, by the gods, if you’re hiding an injury again, I swear I will—”
“ ‘M Fine,” mumbled Bruce from between his knees, tugging at the cowl clumsily until it slipped off. “Just…tired.”
Tired.
Starving himself, too, most likely, and Diana saw nothing resembling a water bottle within a hundred yards. Even under her light touch, Diana could feel a tremor she suspected had just as much to do with his physical state as his emotional one. The fact he hadn’t shaken her off yet was proof enough. She sighed. She remembered what Alfred had told her once, after she’d learned the history behind Batman. He’s never been particularly good with grief, Alfred had whispered.
“Fridge?” she asked.
Bruce didn’t answer immediately, threading his hands through his matted black hair like he could squeeze out the light.
She pressed his back a little more. “Batman. The fridge, please.”
Finally, he gestured. She went and retrieved a couple granola bars, a yogurt, and a plain water bottle she found there. The yogurt was a couple days past the expiration date, but it would likely be all right. She set them on the console next to Bruce and knelt in front of him, feeling a sense of Deja vu. Now cowl-less, Bruce still did not look directly at her. Like father, thought Diana grimly.
“Listen to me. You know I would not lie to you, yes?”
He didn’t nod. Didn’t do anything but dig his hands a little more firmly into his hair.
“Then there are two things you must know. First, this was not your fault. I swear to you. If there had been any chance of stopping the Joker, or saving Jason, he would still be here, because you are you. If there had been a way, you would have found it. I believe that, because I know you.”
Bruce’s eyes were so tightly shut. His muscles tensed, coiled like a spring, sunken as though the weight of the sky were upon him.
“Second, you must know that you are not alone. No matter what you did or did not do, there are people who love you, and will go on caring about you whether you wish it or not. Alfred. Dick Grayson. Me. We are here for you, Bruce. Always.”
Bruce shook his head slightly. Instinctively.
“I am going to touch you, okay?”
He barely resisted as she tugged his hands away from his face, loosely cupping the back of his neck and touching her forehead to his. His eyes opened and focused on her, and the hollow, agonized look to them drove a javelin through her heart. He looked so terribly old, yet young at the same time. The rest of his face went impassive, but his eyes stayed the same. Broken. Torn apart.
“Jason loved you very much,” whispered Diana, fighting a lump in her throat. “He would not have wanted this. He would want you to honor him with your life, not punish yourself because someone else ended his.”
She knew Bruce would not cry. Not now, in front of her. His body simply would not let itself do so. But the way he closed his eyes and did not shake off her hand was far more than she expected. She swallowed and gathered up her courage for one last assurance. “You…are acquainted with grief and sorrow, I know. You are no stranger to death. That makes you no more prepared for this than any other man, nor should you expect yourself to be. No parent should have to bury their child.”
“He wasn’t my…” murmured Bruce, voice barely a scratch in the air.
“He was,” said Diana, willing Bruce to read the sincerity in her dark eyes. “You know it. And you will grieve him as such, for as long as it takes. But it won’t always be like this. I promise.”
Her lasso flickered slightly with the last word, reminding her that certain things, she could not guarantee. But she could hope.
With that, she eased back, withdrawing her hand slowly so he could track her movements. She took the water bottle, opened it, and put it in Bruce’s hand. He just stared at it while she unwrapped the granola bar, making it crinkle.
“Drink,” she said.
He took a sip. His nose wrinkled at the probably stale taste, and he took another sip. Fortunately, he accepted the granola bar with less hesitation. She sat back quietly and began to study the cave, silently indicating she wouldn’t leave until he’d finished both.
He didn’t thank her, or apologize. They simply sat there in silence while he sipped and nibbled.
When he was almost done, he said, “J’onn?”
Diana shook her head. “He told me nothing. I…had a feeling.”
“Hn.” Bruce took a final draught of the water bottle, emptying it.
He looked…
With his cowl now off, the light from the screens illuminating rather than silhouetting him, curled up in on himself in his chair, he looked exhausted. Shattered. It reminded her of the one time she’d seen him asleep at the Watchtower, after the attacks from Dr. Destiny had left the rest of the League jumping at shadows.
“Rest,” she said gently, and rose to her feet. “There is no victory in suffering. Goodbye, my friend.”
She readied herself to fly, but Bruce caught her by the elbow. “Diana.”
She waited.
“…Goodbye.”
A small smile touched her lips. She surged into the air, startling a bat out of hiding as she left, hair whipping with the wind. Upstairs, Alfred surprised her with a beautifully wrapped basket of cookies, and they exchanged a few words about how the conversation with Bruce had gone before he accompanied her to the door.
The night sky greeted her outside, and for once, Gotham’s polluted haze had cleared enough for a shimmer of stars to peek through. Diana turned off the radio in her invisible jet to meditate on the drive home, but before leaving the city, she made one important stop.
She thumbed the slip of paper Alfred had given her, the directions thoughtfully specific and written in his clear, compact cursive. Her boots hardly made a sound in the dewy grass as she made her way across the grounds, passing names and statues and stones. She knew she cut a conspicuous figure in the graveyard, and even at this hour, there were one or two others paying their respects at other spots in the cemetery, but she didn’t care.
When she found the right one, her stomach dropped, and her throat grew tight again. She removed her crown and slowly lowered herself to one knee, clasping a fist to her chest with the other behind her back in a bow. “Jason,” prayed Diana, “Wherever you may be, I want you to know that…”
Words. There weren’t any adequate ones, not in any language.
Clark would’ve written a magnificent eulogy, she thought wryly. She missed him too.
She exhaled, and lowered her knee to sit on her heels and fold her hands in her lap, looking at the crown in her hands. Jason had asked to try it, the second time they had met. It hadn’t fit, but he’d worn it for ten minutes anyway, and blushed and stuttered when she’d complimented his work as Robin. “You were valiant, Jason. Your father…”
Wishes it were him instead, she thought.
“…Loved you, very much. He will miss you always, I think. I will miss you as well. You were special.”
Diana listened, just in case, but felt no messages come to her mind. Spirits and gods rarely responded directly, but that did not mean they weren’t listening. There was one last thing she wanted to say. She touched the headstone, ran her finger along the J of Jason’s name. “I will watch over them,” she promised. “You have my word. Bruce and the rest. Farewell, Jason. May we meet again.”
With a final prayer in her own native tongue, Diana put a cookie on a napkin next to the vases of flowers at the base of the headstone, and left.
Later that night, as he fell into his own bed for the first time in a week, Bruce received a message from Diana. He didn’t need to translate it to know exactly what she meant.
When you track down that phlyaros, tell me. I will come.