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In my untimely death, the following proceeding will go into order. An agreed-upon cause of death by my trustees will be formed, and everyone who needs to know will be informed of the story. Records will be created to be attributed to the tale's reputability. A public funeral will be held, no capes are allowed. My trustees may decide on my private funeral and who may attend.
My trustees include Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, and Damian Wayne.
If my body can be (salvaged), please bury me next to Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne. At the burial plot on my property, Wayne Manor. 38 (bat) Lane, Bristol, NJ. My possessions may be divided amongst my trustees.
Dick Grayson will take on my mantle as Batman.
Bruce made a mistake. Dick isn’t cut out for this. If Bruce saw him he would be so disappointed. Imposters syndrome doesn’t describe how wrong trying to pretend to be Bruce is. He never wanted to be Bruce, he never wanted to be Batman. But how do you play the role that you have always avoided becoming? It is his twisted destiny to become what he so long has run away from.
The cowl doesn’t fit. The cape has him off balance. Everything just feels so heavy, where he goes without armor Bruce has the suit thickly plated. He is going to need it with how much he’ll be stumbling. He is just some child playing dress up in their parent’s closet. His jaw is softer than Bruce’s, his lips are plush. He is leaner and shorter. He’ll never be able to convince anyone he is Batman. He has always been in his shadows and they have not lifted away.
He tries not to look too long in the mirror at him pretending to be Batman. He sees a misshapen Batman, it’s not his father and it definitely isn’t him. It should be Bruce, but Bruce is gone. It was inevitable, but it should have never happened. Definitely not now.
There never would have been a good time for Bruce to die, and Dick would have missed him even if he had lived a full life. Not now though. This was his nightmare, the possibility that had always loomed. Jason would be more than happy to take over, but his Batman is all wrong. Jason needs help, not the responsibility of the cape and cowl.
This is what Bruce wanted. Dick steadies himself, taking in a breath, and with that breath, as his shoulders heave up, he assesses the weight. How could Bruce hold the weight of the world on his shoulders so easily? How was Bruce so otherworldly?
The kid is something. Angry is definitely one of them, but Dick has an inkling that there might be more cloaked under there, a lot of issues mostly and a lot that Dick does not want to uncover and deal with right now.
Damian jabs him at every turn, he hisses out all of Dick’s inadequacies and all about his incompetence. All of which he knows too well. He doesn’t need a twelve year old pointing them out.
They work like a mismatched team, Damian wants to do everything himself. To not need Batman, Dick believes in him. Damian’s skills are evident, but he also just wants to shake the boy because it is dangerous, no matter how skilled he is. At the moment Damian is nothing more than a mere obstacle, a pesky nuisance. Right now Dick doesn’t have the energy to deal with him, but he doesn’t tell him to scram either, because he knows that the kid needs this.
Robin jumps before him, he doesn’t even wait for his command. Dick grunts in frustration before following after him they descend onto the nefarious lot. The criminals don’t shake in their boots like Dick remembers them doing for Bruce. Maybe the voice isn’t right. With each punch, he makes it a little grittier and a little deeper. He loses count of the punches because he can’t stop thinking about making the perfect voice.
The man just spits the blood back at him. Dick growls, heaves him up, and locks his hands behind his back. He tosses him back down and alerts the GCPD. He’s not being as careful, but he is Batman and it should be okay. At least that’s what Dick tells himself. He doesn’t believe it either.
These events are insufferable. Especially now, when all he wants to do is a million other things. A million other things he has to do. There is no break, is there? He’s been checking on the Titans, he thinks it would be good for Damian to find his own team. He can only think back fondly of the times with his team and all the shenanigans they got into. He’s not the leader anymore, but he wants to check on them.
He has tried to check on Tim, but he is thoroughly off-grid. Jason is hiding, and it would be best if it was left that way. Steph is the new Batgirl and Babs is busy with her. Cass is gone right now. He is trying to keep all the ties intact, to make sure he knows where they all are.
Bruce seemed to do that so effortlessly. To have complete control of everything, to know everything that is happening at once. There is a tap on his shoulder, he snaps over and turns on his smile.
So many things to do yet he and a very reluctant Damian had to be dragged here. The patrons are stumbling over each other to swoon over the dapperly dressed Wayne boys. Damian barely manages to contain his hiss as hands lurch closer to him. Swooning is more like being slobbered over, if only there was a getaway opportunity.
Smiling, the woman croons, “Aw Bruce has a kid,” she flutters her eyes, “but how do I get Richie Grayson to look at me.”
He plays into her flirtations, “I am already looking.” Just smile and everything will be okay.
Smile. The drinks pass, he grabs one. He doesn’t drink any of it. The blitz and jewels twinkle. So many people steal him away. So many people touch him. He is just left teetering trying to uphold the façade, pretending to be yet another person he isn’t. So many questions, about Bruce, about him stepping into his place. He is the new Brucie Wayne. He is slipping further and further away. It all blurs by in a glitzy whirl. He doesn’t crumble yet, because he needs to step up.
The show must go on.
He needs to be strong for them because they need Batman right now. Not just Gotham, but people need a pillar right now and he is the one ordained to wear the pointy ears and a grimace. He looks out silently, with Gordon right beside him.
Gordon puffs into the cold air, “He would be gone,” Dick gives him a small smile, and then he disappears. He screwed up yet another thing, Jim must know. Dick’s too busy in his self-deprecation that he misses, “Thank you, son.”
He is different, Jim knows Batman well. He knows his grrs and his theatrical tactics. He knows his meticulous case reports, and he knows his morals and his strong rules that may never be broken. He knows Batman cares underneath all the scariness, there is just a hurt little boy who never wants anyone to go through what he went through again. This Batman has all of that, but it is different.
This Batman tries to hide it, tries to mask it with all the dreadfulness of the last, but he is different in all the right ways. He knows this Batman just as well, he just knows him as the beaming face standing by the grouchy gargoyle man.
The kid is hostile to him, Dick barely knows him outside of the suit. Usually, because he is off to doing something else. Because when he isn’t in the suit he needs to be in twenty different places. Damian also refuses being anything other than Robin. He doesn’t live any kind of life beyond training. It’s like a mini Bruce but a thousand times worse and Dick has had a lot of issues with Bruce in the past.
The kid doesn’t deserve that though, Dick should make time for him. Dick knocks on the door, steeling himself and trying to prepare what to say. Damian needs somebody to pull him out of this mindset he grew up in, Damian needs him to do it. Everyone else is too scared to get too close. The kid has a ferocious bark, well let’s see if his bite is worse.
“Come in,” is the crisp reply. Dick steels himself and then pushes open the door. The kid is resting on his bed glaring off into the distance, maybe it is meditation. Aren’t you supposed to look peaceful when you meditate though? “What is it, Grayson,” he demands.
“I just wanted to check on you,” Dick does his best to be non-threatening, he is open to listening to Damian. He’ll wait for him. He’s not going to push him.
Damian looks away, “I’m sorry that I screwed up on patrol.” Dick doesn’t know how to direct him where he wants him, to tell him that isn’t the point. He is just so lost.
“You took a pretty big hit, and I saw you after patrol – is there something on your mind.” Damian refuses to make any eye contact and his jaw is tightening and his eyebrows furrowing. Like a little Bruce, that is exactly the face Bruce makes when he is about to lock Dick out. Dick steps just a little closer and he tries to soothe, “It’s okay to be hurting.”
Damian glares at him, “Whatever you are trying to be, I don’t need it.” Dick backs off, wounded at Damian’s bite.
It’s a trap, it’s too late, and Jason waits at the other end. Dick tenses when he hears the thumps of his boots, Jason seems to tower over him in not just height even with the padding in the boots, but in cocksureness. “You think you can just take over,” his voice looms. Jason is still an unknown, he had disappeared for a while but Dick guesses without Bruce around Jason doesn’t feel the need to sulk around and tuck his tail. Not that Jason and him are on any better terms.
He stands his ground, prepared, waiting for the shadow, for the sound of movement, anything to give away Jason. Jason isn’t some street thug though he knows almost everything Dick does. He appears quickly and their dance commences. In Jason’s time away he must have learned something new. He has the edge over Dick, he manages to surprise him and Dick is already off-balance so he fumbles.
He grunts as the next blow hits particularly hard. So he just throws himself at Jason. Jason pummels him, and Dick hits him back just as hard. He has to be Batman. There is no other choice, so he has to fight for the title. He has to win it fairly. CRACK, he descends.
He lays on the ground coughing and spluttering. Jason slobbers over him, “You aren’t good enough.” BAM, Dick does too little too late to deflect that blow. The world is ringing, he is disgracing the mantle.
“Jason,” he pleads. He wishes Jason would hug him, but at least he is touching him.
Jason pushes his arm up against his throat, “You’ll never be Batman.” Dick grits his teeth and is despondently trying to push him off but Jason is good and counters any of the moves Dick attempts. Any attempts of escaping being pinned under Jason are rendered useless. He is in the costume. He has the voice and the grimace; he has everything Bruce handed to him; the skills and the knowledge and the gear. But Jason is right, he’ll never be Batman.
Jason can’t be Batman though either, he is too fresh from being resurrected. Defend , Dick needs to defend his position.
Jason only knows almost everything that Dick does. There are just some things- Dick’s legs swing up and hook Jason and in the flurry of movements he manages to bring Jason down. The positions are flipped.
He needs to prove himself. He only pauses for a moment before he hooks his arm down, going for the kill. Batman wouldn’t hesitate. Batman wouldn’t be nice. Batman wouldn’t try to reason with him. He is Batman now. Jason groans when Dick- Batman catches his face one punch after the other.
Jason flips him in turn, taking the time to scramble back. Their bloody and sweaty panting in their corners looking at each other. Jason taunts, “Go ahead, kill me. I’ll come back.” Dick huffs and is the first to charge back into the brawl. They’re once again caught up in rage and a bramble of fury.
Jason maneuvers himself, and Dick’s leg is being bent the wrong way so he moves out before he would crumple to the floor and brings his other knee up into Jason’s stomach. He reaches for his arm, and they spin around until Jason’s arm is extended too far where just that little bit of extra pressure would snap it.
“Jason let me help you,” Bruce loved Jason, despite everything he would want him back, he would want him home.
Jason scoffs, “I’m too far gone, It’s too late for me.”
No, Jason, you’re not.
Dick growls, “COME HOME.”
“Or what?!” Jason snaps, “We’ll never be a family.” Jason gives him one last jab, but he doesn’t go for the kill. Dick doesn’t break his arm, and Jason scampers away to lick his wounds. Dick finally breaks, he crumbles to the floor.
Dick lays on his back, he just beat his brother. His ‘brother’ is a criminal who should be locked away, and that is what would be best for Jason, or so Bruce would say. He needs to make these kinds of tough decisions now because he is Batman. He has to think with his brain, not let the tinkering of his heart get in the way. Bruce would know what to do.
Bruce should be alive, he could always cheat death, always come through
If I could just bring him back…
Dick lurches into bed and his face slams into the pillow. It isn’t even his room. They moved to the penthouse because he just can’t. Just like Bruce’s parent’s rooms are untouched. Well that home, that house. That’s Bruce’s.
Nothing is his anymore. His life, just gone. Is this the price he will have to pay for the rest of his life? Doomed to the chains of the costume?
He's too tired though, and he just needs to shut off these thoughts. Don’t have time to grieve, too much to do-
Dick’s heart drops when he hears the yelp from Damian. Maybe he’ll mock Dick later for diving without thought. Dick loves him, so there is no thought when he peels the man from Damian. Away from his Robin. Damian can balk all he wants, but Dick is Batman and Batman protects Robin.
If Dick didn’t stop to think about Damian behind him he wouldn’t have pulled off the whimpering man. When he lets go the man scrambles away. His feet scrabble across the alley and the alley is desolate except for the heavy breaths of Damian.
“I could have saved myself,” his hands are being held to his abdomen, “You let them get away.”
Dick is too focused on running his hand over Damian and doing an initial check, and the kid is shaking. He is bleeding. A grimace sets on his face.
“I will be fine you imbecile, we must go on,” Dick just shakes his head, and reaches for the belt to call the Batmobile.
“Keep pressure on there, I’ll get some gauze to pack the wound.”
“Yes, I know,” Damian bites back. Dick knows better, he is shaken up. Damian was helpless and stuck and it isn’t his fault and he knows how scary that is.
Dick sighs and pulls Robin into him, one hand resting on his head and the other on his back pulling him into the shroud of the cape, “Why did you let the mission fail? Why must you have taken care of me? It was my insolence that landed me in that position. I could have saved myself. I should have been able to save myself.”
“Because that is what partners do.”
“You saved me?” Dick can see it, the real Damian shining through his League-made exterior. Dick ruffles his hair, and then makes a quick retreat before he loses any of his limbs.
He softly reassures with the words he always wishes he could have heard, “It wasn’t your fault, Robin.”
Sometimes he cries behind the closed office door. It is the only one place that he has to himself, but there is always the threat of a secretary or intern or who knows who else coming in asking for something. He doesn’t know what Bruce did for the company; all Dick remembers is paperwork. If his time as a cop and a vigilante has done anything, it has made him despise paperwork.
He is the new face for the company, but how could he ever measure up to Bruce? Everyone needs him to be happy right now, so he grins even though as he pulls up the corners of his mouth it tugs at his heart painfully. Why did Bruce ever think he could fill his boots? Wear his stupid cowl and cape?
He can’t sleep in the manor, and-
He just wants to nap, but he looks over the piles of paper. He has a JL meeting, he wants to check on the Titans. His breath shakes, he shutters.
He is failing.
The only piece of Bruce he has is on his wrist, and in his heart. He keeps it tight because that is the only place he can keep it without the others seeing it. He doesn’t have much room as he moves on in life. He needs to keep moving so he can’t lug much more around. He keeps them there all tucked in his chest for safekeeping.
Bruce never really told them about their plans for when he died, probably because he never thought it would happen. He too sometimes thought he was immortal. Bruce may have been human, but he was far from a mere mortal. He had pulled himself through so many hard comings. When Dick receives Bruce’s legacy it is a lot more unceremonious than he expected. It’s just plopped in front of him.
Dick eyes the watch, his finger presses the watch at the center of his wrist. The leather band wraps around his wrist well-contoured from years of use, but Bruce never wore it. He only did on occasion when he was making an appearance. When he was playing his role, and maybe that is what Bruce meant.
Dick has to take on the role now. He has to start pretending. He has to put on the play for the press. He needs to be a strong man, he needs to pretend to be okay. Not too okay for the cameras, but be stoic. He needs to start playing the role of the generations of Wayne men who wore this watch before him.
When a tear slips down his face he reminds himself that he is at WE and anyone could walk in. They can’t catch him crying. He’s the billionaire playboy now. He has been tied to that destiny, to that choice. He has no say.
There would have never been a good time for Bruce to die, but not now. Preferably not ever.
He can’t be anything other than everything for everyone. There is no one to lean on because all of them are hurt too. This is what being Batman is, he has to stand on his own. He has to be the support pillar. He is not falling apart. He is sturdy. He is stable. He can keep going.
The door swings open, it is one of the secretaries, and she gives him a grimace of a smile. Her offer of condolences and he’ll take them graciously. You are never alone, so don’t slip up. He needs to live up to that name, that moniker, the Golden Boy.
Batman may not die. In the case of my untimely death, has a predecessor not already taken over the role, it will go to Nightwing.
The victim turns to him to sob into his arms. Bruce was never good at this part, so he disappeared. Bruce repelled emotions like oil to water, he was emotionphobic. He didn’t like feeling and confronting his own emotions let alone others. Dick on the other hand is emotionphyllic, he may not be able to fix his own but he knows that he feels better when he makes others feel better. His low gruff voice rumbles to the woman.
He doesn’t tell her it will be fine, but he tells her where it will be safe. Where to get help. He holds her as she shakes. He is their pillar, he stands strong for them. They need Batman, and so he can’t give up.
He isn’t Bruce, but he is still Batman.
The paramedics come to pull her away from the big scary man with a permanent growl ingrained in his cowl. She looks back at him with soft eyes and he gently waves to her goodbye.
“You need rest and medical attention.” Dick snaps around to Gordon watching him, and Gordon gives a little smirk that he managed to catch Batman unaware. Dick just grimaces in response and then he is gone. He drudges on because he has other things he needs to do.
Alfred tsks as he peels the suit away from Dick, his skin torn down his side. Damian actually looks concerned, well actually he’s pouty because he couldn’t come tonight. Usually, though he would just sulk to his room and hide, even with his grumpy little face which sometimes Dick just wants to squeeze, he looks concerned. Damian is such a small boy, even with Bruce being his father. The League's stoic faces just don’t look right on a child.
He grits his teeth when Alfred cleans his wound and clenches onto the nearest thing which ends up being the discarded suit. Bruce got hurt a lot, but he always made it look like it bounced right off. Like he was bulletproof. It was rare to see Bruce down.
Weak . Damian would say if his face wasn’t all scrunched up. Dick wants to shoo him away when he is giving him that face because doesn’t think he can help Damian right now, not when his whole body is in agony. When all the joints are screaming his ribs are bruised and the cuts are deep. He just can’t comfort him, but he also doesn’t have the heart to send him away and make him feel unwelcomed.
“No, I’ll never be Batman,” he admits out loud, “I can never be Bruce.” He has failed them all. There are times when the cape feels okay, but even then he is just pretending. He will always be the false Batman.
Alfred pauses in his ministrations, “It would be foolish of us to ever expect you to.” There is always someone there and he just slipped up. “Master Richard, did you hear me?” He snaps up, he knows to listen when Alfred is talking. Alfred puts his tools down, “You sir, are your own man, and I am proud of you. You are Batman, not Bruce Wayne.” Dick doesn’t cry because Damian is right there.
Dick wakes up with a pressing feeling of spiny joints linked next to him. There is a smoothed face nestled into his side. Damian has never… Damian hates him and he’ll never be able to replace his dad. Dick’s eyes furrow, but he doesn’t dare move because Damian must have been upset to relinquish getting comfort from Dick. He should really get up.
Damian peeks up at him, his eyes fiercely prowling, glaring at his mentor, “Your thinking disturbed me.”
Dick looks down, taken aback, he- he what. Simply thinking had awakened the beast.
Damian scrambles away, and Dick wishes he didn’t because he was going to fall back to sleep. He was going to let those things pass because he was really comfortable and relaxed with the touch. He hasn’t had this much physical touch in eons.
But now his warm little cuddle buddy is gone and across the room, distant and looking at him with distrust. With distance, because Damian likes to keep things especially people and feelings an arm's length away.
Dick just wants to go back to bed, but he needs to get up. He has yet another awfully busy day in front of him. Yet another day of pretending to be his father. When will it ever end? He isn’t going to beg Damian to come back to bed and cuddle; he would only be mocked. Besides he doesn’t need it he will be fine.
No one touches you when you are Batman, when you are the elite. You are untouchable, but Dick just wants to be touched. He is being touched, but in all the wrong ways. It is kicks and bruises and people gripping onto his arms and trying to get him to look their way. Alfred touches him when he is injured. He just wants a hug, but Batman doesn’t get hugs.
No one understands what it is like to be Batman. They can’t understand, no one will ever understand unless they put the costume on.
“Batman.” Batman cape sweeps in the wind
“Batgirl.”
Her blond hair drifts across her shoulders.
They stand tall looking upon each other. The successors growing into these capes. Steph – he should have never doubted her – she stands so tall. Going from Spoiler to Batgirl was a natural process. She takes it on so well, and Dick feels like a failure in front of her. Batgirl needs her Batman and unlike her, he hasn’t taken to the role as well.
She looks upon him with a frown in brows and a set grimace, “You’re not as scary as him.” He knows, he has never been scary. Never as Nightwing, and especially not as Robin. He is bright and cheery, he can’t do scary. No matter how much he tries he’ll never be scary enough.
Steph looks formidable in her stance. They are all stronger than him, yet it falls on him. He’s the only choice now. The only hope, except he has no hope left. At least not in himself. He sees a lot of hope in Steph though. She stands square and tall. That’s his sister. At first, it was yet another piece that had shifted under him. The world changed so fast he couldn’t stop the whirlwind, but now she is his hope. Gotham’s hope.
He doesn’t pretend with her, he drops the voice, “Yeah I know,” even his words are defeated. He had seen her and so he had swung over, but now he doesn’t know what to say. He should have just left her alone, Barbara is watching over her. He trusts Barbara’s watchful eye more than anyone else’s. He could just- he just wants someone to lean on.
“Well?” Stephanie quirks her hip.
Dick is fumbling, “I just wanted to check on how things were going.” Stephanie tilts her chin up to make herself look taller. To make herself look strong to Dick.
“It’s good,” is her short response. Dick never should have doubted her. She is gearing up her grappling hook and she is slipping away. That’s not what has been at the front of Dick’s tongue he needs to say it-
He catches her, “You don’t need my approval, but I’m proud of you.” Steph seems taken aback and doesn’t that prove how much Dick has been screwing up.
She stops right at the edge, he wants to pull her back because he doesn’t like how close she is. He knows she is adept enough not to fall, but still- , “You’re a good Batman.” It makes him tingle for a second but no it can’t be true.
He never intended on stepping on Jason’s toes. He already has enough crises to try and put out, and Jason made it clear that he didn’t want his help under any condition.
“You're angry. You get angrier than he ever got. He could control it, but your rage is untamed.” Dick’s too tired to argue with Jason, and really what Jason needs is for him to not bite back at him. Jason needs help. So Dick doesn’t rise to the bait.
Jason tries to prod him further. He is not going to fall for it. He can’t, he needs to be the reasonable one, the level-headed one. He can’t – he doesn’t have room to scream and yell and tell Jason go ahead and have it. That would prove his point, wouldn’t it?
Dick knocks out his gun, and it skitters to the ground. Jason snorts, “The silence treatment, just like Bruce.” They swirl around in a dance choreography they both know so well. They barely hit on another with how they drift around each other.
He’s not going to be Bruce this time. He wants to bring Jason home.
“Jason?” he stops for him, and that makes Dick hope that maybe he could have his little brother at home where he belongs. “We miss you, and you don’t have to come home now but I just want to make sure you are safe.”
Jason eases his expression just a little, but still warns, “If I see you again I’ll shoot you.” He is gone. Things are slipping through his fingers. Except that is Jason-speak for, I’ll be seeing you again.
Dick is being crushed. Every step he leaps for, he just misses. He slides down the grime coated alley wall and settles in the questionable sticky substance. That was the last piece. The one-piece that sends everything off kilter. The brick on the treacherous teetering tower has all now come crashing down.
The bricks press into his back. The sun creeps up the beams filtering through all the buildings like trees. Trash scuttles across the alley. Dick has pulled back the cowl, and he can’t care if someone sees his face.
Damian drops into the alley with him. Dick can feel his eyes, his pitying eyes no doubt. When they are like this Damian is just a little bit taller, He expects a sneer or a jab, or some comment about how weak he is. He just doesn’t want to hear it so he pulls further into himself.
Dick whispers small, “Damian you may not need a hug, but I need a hug.” He expects a scoff and for Damian to look down upon him but the kid’s features soften and he looks broken and unsure. He lowers himself to where Batman is slumped and broken. Maybe he sees what he saw when he saw that little girl that he comforted. Or maybe he sees how worthless Dick is, how incredibly inadequate he is. Pathetic. Dick thinks to himself.
Robin curls up into his chest, and Dick moves himself to accommodate the little bird. He draws Damian close to his chest, and he doesn’t expect him to say anything or tell him what he needs to hear; he just appreciates feeling his breathing against his chest. He follows that breath.
“You told me it is not a weakness to be hurt,” his own words, used against him.
If I could only bring him back-
Bruce glances over at Dick. It is the first really good look he has gotten of him since the fiasco ended. Seeing him in the suit makes him so proud. He stands tall and stoic, but now Bruce can see him drooping. Bruce remembers when he saw it in Robin, he is tired. The only thing holding him is the wall.
He might even be a better Batman than me.
His eyes are hollower than he remembers. Everything is so dull and lifeless. Dick looks so tired, and ran dry. Bruce's chest pangs, maybe he shouldn’t have asked such a colossus task of Dick.
“Dick,” he murmurs, he hadn’t even noticed as he had approached him instead he stood still drifting off against the wall. He reaches out to touch him, and Dick startles. He’s so much bigger than he remembers, but he still fits in his arms so that is all that matters.
Dick falls into his arms, and softly whispers into Bruce’s ear, “I’m sorry Dad.” Bruce only pulls him tighter.