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1. Number One: Dick
Dick sat at the table in the middle of Gotham’s finest restaurant, and hoped, for Bruce’s sake, that the older man was severely injured. Because really, out of all the false promises Bruce had given throughout the years, this was the only one that Dick really cared about.
“You sure he’s coming?” Wally asked from across the table, tapping his fingers against the table. The man couldn’t stand to keep still even after all these years. Kori and Donna looked at him with concern. The rest of the Titans, well former Titans, kept their distance, mingling with the younger generation who had managed to show. Damian was in an argument with Irey in the back corner, while Tim was on his phone, probably checking on one of his video games. Barbara wheeled up to him, tapping Dick on the shoulder.
“Alfred said he went to work before he got back from the shopping,” she said. “He offered to radio him, if you want.” She held out her phone, a silent offer. Dick sighed, shaking his head, and pushing the phone away.
God. This was pathetic. He was acting like a child. It was just that…well… he was just so sure Bruce was going to actually show up for his thirtieth birthday.
“It’s fine,” Dick said, doing his best to smile at the whole room. None of them seemed to buy it. “Don’t worry about it.” He clapped his hands together, looking down at the big blue birthday cake in front of him. “Why calls dibs on the slice with the rose?”
“Me!” Stephanie chimed from the corner of the room. The party soon gathered around the cake, the candles blown out in one breath, and the large gathering broke into applause. Everyone soon broke off into different corners of the room, either to dance or to talk with their fellow heroes. Clark walked over to Dick, his brow furrowed. After becoming a father of two, Clark had become even more protective of the younger set of heroes. Even those who were long past being children themselves.
“Where’s Bruce?”
Dick shrugged. “On patrol. You know him. Justice comes first and all that.” He hoped his voice didn’t sound too bitter. “Something probably came up.”
Clark’s expression grew more concerned. “Are you sure? He seemed set on making it last week….I may have blackmailed him with watch duty,” Clark said after Dick gave him a skeptical expression. “It isn’t like him.”
“No, it is.” Dick thought better of voicing his opinion out loud. He got up, excusing himself and went out the side door, grabbing his communicator out of his pocket. he shouldn’t call. Bruce was doing more important things. But Clark’s words echoed in his head and well, it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to disappointment.
“Hey B,” He said, flipping on the switch. “You okay?”
The growl that echoed over the receiver was all Batman. No Bruce. “I’m fine.” And there it was. Bruce was fine. A dick, but fine. Dick considered hanging up right then and there, but a feeling in his gut caused him to press on.
“Clark wanted me to call. He thought you were in trouble because you didn’t show.”
“Show to what?” Dick squeezed his eyes shut, and pushed back the feeling of rejection. Somehow, Bruce forgetting was worse than him just ignoring the affair all together. He couldn’t even bother to feel bad about it. Dick tried to calm his voice down. Gotham came first, Gotham came first.
“My thirtieth birthday party. At the plaza? You promised us both you’d come.”
There was a long pause on the other end, a change from the retort that Dick had expected. His anger vanishing somewhat, Dick pressed down on the message button. “B? You there?”
“Yes.” Bruce sounded almost…unsure? “Sorry. I have to go.” The radio clicked off, and Dick stared at the device dumbfounded. Did he just hear a wavier in Bruce’s voice? Since when did Batman feel bad about missing his birthday for justice? Maybe something was wrong.
He turned on his cell phone, running through his contacts to see if there was anyone he could get on patrol at this hour. Maybe Harper or Duke could check on him in his place. However he paused, noticing a next text message from this afternoon. A message from Bruce.
“Happy 27th birthday.”
Dick stared. He’d seen Bruce forget birthdays before. Hell, he’d seen Bruce forget weddings before. But he had never seen Bruce forget anyone’s age.
Before he knew it, his was calling Doctor Thompkins.
Number Two: Tim
It was official; no one sulked more about being taken off patrol more than Batman himself. Even when Batman was rapidly losing memory due to too many concussions.
Tim had to give it to Bruce though. Even when he was benched he still was working on something. The elder man was crouched over the computer keyboard, rapidly scanning Gotham’s city plans. On the desk there were various texts about the human brain, memory loss, and concussions. Bruce took turns looking at both, multitasking at its finest.
Tim rolled his eyes. Only Bruce would try to cure his own illness. That was Batman for you. Stubborn to a fault.
“Any luck on finding the hidden tunnels?” He asked, stepping up to the computer. Bruce just grunted, flipping back to another set of plans. Tim looked at one of the routes, tracing it in his mind, and tapped Bruce’s shoulder. “You think the one on the West might be it?”
“Could be if the flooding has drained out,” Bruce said before relaying the same information over to Dick. He typed in another set of keys, opening up a few more windows. “What are you doing here Tim?”
Tim sat in one of the chairs by the desk, grabbing a map of Gotham and opening it flat. “Helping play Oracle.” He held up his hand which was firmly wrapped in bright yellow cast. “I sprained this yesterday, so it looks like you have a personal assistant for the next week or so.” Though, Tim had plans of computer duty past a week. With Barbara working for the league and Proxy working for the Titans, someone needed to help out on the side. And Tim had always liked computers.
Bruce glanced over the cast and returned to his typing. “Shouldn’t you be at home?”
Tim visibly winced. The cave seemed to grow all the more colder. He had been staying at the manor more lately, partly to pick up the slack since Bruce has been benched, and partly because he was rather tired of living in a lonely apartment all by himself. He was tired of sitting at an empty kitchen table. And apparently, Bruce was tired of sitting across his. It made sense. He was in his 20’s. Maybe Bruce wanted him to spread his wings a little.
But he didn’t have to be so rude about it.
“I guess I can go do that there,” he said, feeling a bit unsteady. “But, that’s….that’s harsh Bruce.” He rose out of his chair, trying not to yell, and walked towards the exit. It was only Bruce’s next sentence that stopped him.
“How is it harsh for me to send you home to spend time with your Father, Robin?”
Number Three: Damian
“Father,” Damian said, stepping into the room that now had become Bruce’s lair of sorts. There were books strewn all over the floor, opened and in various states of disarray. Bruce was sitting in a chair in the left corner, doing a crossword puzzle. “How would you announce your intentions to court a young lady?
Bruce looked up from his crossword, his eyes peering just over his reading glasses. The Dark Knight of Gotham had been forced to get them two years ago when his vision began to worsen. He took the process just as well as expected (terribly). “Court? You’re only fifteen.”
“TT.” Damian crossed his arms. Despite being a teenager, he hadn’t grown out of his vocal habit. “I am more than a suitable candidate for her affections, and my maturity is ready for such a step. “
“Perhaps, but don’t you think this will interfere with your work as Robin?” Bruce asked, his voice more Bat than Bruce. Damian raised his head, a sneer on his face. If anyone got to judge his abilities to balance his job and his social like, it was Batman herself (Cassandra had taken the cowl when Dick took over for the Justice League).
“I take offense to your assumption of my abilities. I would never let a girl get in the way of my work.”
“Except when you’re mixing them. Batgirl is a part of your work and keeping that-“
Damian seemed to be choking on air itself. Did his father know him at all? “Brown? You think I intend to court Brown?” He sputtered, clawing at his chest like he was about to collapse. Brown was old. Brown was engaged. Brown was…Brown. “What in God’s name gave you that idea?”
“I didn’t say anything about any Brown girl, Dick,” Bruce said. Damian felt the color drain from his face. “But I do have eyes, and you and Barbara Gordon are rather close. It’s a bad idea.”
Damian opened his mouth once then closed it. He felt rather lightheaded all of the sudden. “Yes. Thank you Fat-“ He cut off, noticing the confusion in Bruce’s face. “-Bruce.”
Bruce nodded and Damian retreated out the door, closing it behind him. He leaned against the hallway wall, slowly sliding down to the ground. Titus walked up towards him, whining softly and Damian pressed his finger in his fur. He remembered when he barely was taller than the dog. When he was 10. When Bruce smiled down at him and called him son. Now, he towered over the hound. Now he was a teenager. Now Bruce didn’t even remember his name.
“Good boy,” he said combing his fingers through Titus’ fur. “Good boy.”
Number Four: Jason
Jason hated visiting Bruce. He hated it more than babysitting Dick’s kids when they had the flu. He hated it more than patrolling in the sewers. Hell, he hated it more than his own nightmares. Because visiting Bruce? It was reliving his most frequent one.
“Jason,” Bruce said, his face stark white as the younger man entered the room. Jason didn’t glance at him, placing a tray full of food down at the main table. “You’re not real.”
Jason reached into his bag, pulling out a box of tissues and other things they were running low on. For the last year, he’d been hoping that Bruce would remember that he was alive. For the last month, he’d just been hoping that he wouldn’t recognize him at all. Bruce kept muttering. Like he was praying.
“I’m so sorry. It was my fault. I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Jason stood up, rubbing his hands on his jeans and walked back towards the door. Every movement hurt.
“I have to go Bruce. But I’m make sure to send Duke over with some extra books.”
“I would do anything-“ Jason closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound of a feeble man’s apologizes. He walked towards the fireplace, reaching into his back pocket, and pulled out a small glossy photo of a baby girl. His baby girl. Blonde, strong and beautiful. He knelt it against the shelf, and pointed to it.
“That’s your new Granddaughter, old man. Congratulations.” He looked down at his feet and pushed his hands into his pockets. “We named her Martha.”
Bruce didn’t respond, lapsing into silence. Jason looked up, hoping for recognition. There was none. He walked over to Bruce’s chair and pulled up the blanket over his lap.
When he left, Bruce was still asking for forgiveness.
5. The One Thing he Remembered: Cassandra
Cassandra sat by Bruce’s bedside, her hands folded in her lap. The elder man was barely awake, his eyes flickering open.
Her father. Her dear father who barely recognized her this days. Barely recognized anything.
She missed him.
She leaned forward, pointing to her chest, the bat symbol plastered on the front of her uniform. It was the same style Bruce had used when he’d first started patrolling. It only seemed fitting to wear when she first took up the Batman mantle. She squeezed his hand, grabbing his attention.
“Who are you?” she asked, holding her breath. Bruce peered at her, at the symbol on her chest, for a few seconds and smirked.
“Batman.”
Behind them, in the window, the Bat signal shown bright in the sky.