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Tears and Rain	By : Waxcrayons Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 13546 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not nor will I ever own Batman, Superman,DC comics or any of their characters, or make any money off of them.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Upon the weathered watch face greedy hands reached out grasping at the future second by second, all the while it seemed to Clark that life itself was frozen in some place outside of time, displaced in this new mockery of his world. A day ago the was a perfect white Christmas, smiling children, and a new romance awaiting him... Now? Everything was uncertain again, and this sense of uncertainty was a foreign feeling. He glanced at his unconscious copilot and the small boy nestled in his lap, offering them a small smile of reassurance. It was all he had in him to give. Behind him was the hushed bickering of the older boys, no doubt exacerbated by the fact they had had to cram themselves back there.
Good thing I unloaded most of the cargo Bruce usually keeps in this plane or we'd never have made the weight limit. He thought wryly.
Out the passenger side window he could see a small green construct whose shape changed with the whims of its pilot. A world war bomber plane, a fighter jet, the Millennium Falcon.. It had been all these things and more, much to the delight of the kids and gratefulness of Clark. Whatever took their minds off how cramped together they were. When the silent black jet found its usual landing spot above the Kent farm the green construct change one final time, into two green parachutes that gently carrying his two surprise guests laughing upon the wind down to safety.
Clark laughed too despite himself at the sight of the two grown men giggling like children. The scene recalled in him his thoughts from the early days, back when he had first been approached by the League along with Bruce to throw in with them. There was always a strong impression the two were used to working together and had some kind of history as even their disagreements were always more personal then professional. I wonder how they met. He found himself suddenly curious. Why didn't he know more about the people he worked with?
"This is where you grew up?" Barry queried as he peered across the virginal snow-covered grounds. The sky was clear and the air brisk. In such quiet moonlight the farm was truly beautiful and the appreciative look painted on the faces of both Barry and Hal was a testament to that fact.
Hal quirked a brow and next turned his attention towards him, as if reassessing his opinion of Clark. "I guess I kind of thought your boy scout routine was.. Well, routine. But man, growing up in a place like this, I can see why you turned out so wholesome and American Pie."
"Hal!" Barry hissed.
Clark didn't mind and he smiled to show the was no harm done. The rustling of the boys dislodging themselves from the jet to stretch cramped muscles drew his attention. Jason helped Dick gather their bags with minimal shoving and back-talking while small Tim busied himself trying to button up the jacket Clark had dressed Bruce in before they took off. He plucked the squirt out of the jet once he was finished and set him down to run free in the snow after his brothers before reaching in one last time to gather Bruce up. He was very mindful of every bump, scrape, and bruise, each movement deliberate so as not to agitate anything. Even by the slightest.
"Go right on ahead." He told Hal and Barry. "I'm right behind you."
The men nodded and he listened to the crunch of snow beneath their boots fade. Dark blue eyes were staring back at him when he returned his attention to the man in his arms. His breath drew short, and he could only stare stupidly, his mouth uselessly hanging open. Something unreadable passed deep below those dark pools of blue and was gone before he could catch it. A heartbeat later the pools glazed over and Bruce's eyes fluttered closed once again.
Unsure if he had failed the unconscious man yet again, he shook his head sadly and levitated above the uneven ground so as not to jostle Bruce. The door opened just as his feet hit the porch to welcome them, heat and steam from the dishes cooking and the crowd of men inside escaping in great swirling tendrils into the night sky. His Ma waved them in, a warm glow in her eyes.
"Welcome home, Honey!" She said sweetly. "What charming friends you invited." Her smile never wavered, not even when he squeezed by and she got a good close look of the battered pitiful thing in his arms.
Being the tallest in the room had it's advantages. He peered over the busy commotion and bodies shedding boots and jackets and found Alfred organizing everyone and their affects in a timely fashion. The stalwart man held his gaze a moment and nodded. A simple gesture from anyone but Alfred. Damn Englishmen and their manners, he thought wearing a warm smile.
"Go set him down comfortably." Ma prodded him with a bony finger as she slipped through the crowd and he followed suit.
Dick was just starting to make a proper greeting and to get the introductions rolling when he escaped into the quiet and subdued living room. It was a rustic country setting much like the rest of the home, decorated with jolly votive candles and a modest nativity scene his mother had set up every Christmas without fail. The live tree filled the room with the freshness of the outdoors, it's glinting decorations and lights illuminating the room in soft festive colours. He chose to set Bruce down in his mothers knitting chair as it was closest to the low fire, his legs carefully folded up.
The amicable chatter in the other room faded far into the distance as he knelt by the chair, watching the festive lights play across Bruce's untroubled features. He found himself admiring the distinct features he found. Bruce was so classically handsome, with his dark hair and high cheekbones. His jaw was strong, square, and the angled line that lead to defined junction begged to have fingers trace it. His flesh was smooth and where he wasn't injured, blemish free. The start of fine lines that would define with age were found in the corners of his eyes, a crease between his brow, the corners of his lips. The permanent circles beneath his eyes served to give the clear blues added intensity, allowing the wisdom within them to show through. Even the scruffy growth of his beard was strangely alluring. The bruising temple and cuts and scrapes not already bandaged only highlighted his earthy appeal.
So close... He had been so close to losing this man. Nervously he reached out to lay a splayed hand against Bruce's chest, wanting only to feel the beating of his heart with his flesh. At rest, he had noticed some time ago, Bruce's heart seems to have a rhythm that was a half a beat slower then anyone else. It was as if the warrior conserved all his energy for the moments when he needed to act... Leaving him truly at rest when he was still. Clark found the slower beat impossibly soothing. Listening to Bruce in the rare quiet moment together could lull him into sleep so easily.
Bruce's eyes fluttered opened again but for a long time Clark wasn't quite sure they were seeing anything at all. "I always dream about you." Hushed words admitted. "I keep thinking you're going to be there when I open my eyes."
"I will be." He forced his features to remain smooth. How could he make this broken man believe his eyes? He didn't want to force him in any way... Who knew what could set Bruce off in the state he was in? Despite his resolve to let Bruce come to everything in his own time he found himself gripping more tightly, pulling them close together. He found himself in his mother's chair alongside the frail thing, holding him tightly within his arms, willing the whole world to go away.
"Mom and Dad... You, even... You all lie to me." the hushed words continued lacking any emotion. The tone of a man resolved to his fate. "You left me."
Just in that accusation was a tremor of pain. A fraction of what lay deeply buried inside the seemingly empty knight. What could he say? Would Bruce even hear his words? "I can't say I've never left you before. I can't say that I will never leave you again... But I can tell you without a doubt that I will always come back. I will always come home to you."
"You... Can't promise me that."
"I believe I just did." He swore. "No matter where I go or what I do, I promise, you are the only home I need. I'll always come back to you."
The other man was very still... Then he seemed to grow weaker, his body fully resting against Clark's now. "It would be so nice to live in that kind of world."
He wondered where to go from there but there was no need. In another moment Bruce was asleep yet again, all traces of his anguish wiped clean. If only there existed a way to sweep all the ugliness and suffering of the past four weeks away with similar ease. Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from the unconscious knight taking great care to settle Bruce back into place comfortably. It would be just too easy to curl back up on the chair and into that body. But now wasn't the time... And he would be doing it solely for himself. 'Play by ear', Leslie had said. They could each only do so much.
He re-entered the bustle by avoiding Dick and Jason race each other up the stairs with bags and coats, allowing his Ma to hustle him into the kitchen to be a good host to his guests, exchanging yet another meaningful nod to Alfred who ducked out towards the living room, and taking a tiny Tim up into his arms to keep him from following Alfred. Hal and Barry had been seated at the table, chairs and cutlery already set for the two extra mouths. The two men were varied in their disposition. Hal was slightly wide-eyed at the domestic chaos, glancing at the busy boys scurrying every which way like he couldn't quite understand them. Clark got the feeling he was a little self-conscious, maybe even a touch shy. Qualities he would have never associated with the man who had always been the very example of swagger. Barry on the other hand wore an easy, comfortable grin to match his easy conversation. His eyes lazily took in his surroundings, an arm resting where he had flung it across the back of Hal's chair. They accepted his offering of a drink, warm amaretto and eggnog.
Tim fussed only little in his arms as he joined his friends at the table but soon gave up. "Let Alfred have a moment alone. You know he doesn't like people to see him get emotional."
"That nice English man, Alfred," Barry inquired. "he's Batman's father?"
Clark had to laugh again. "He raised him. Still takes care of him. Does everything for him. The running joke around these parts is that he's really more Bruce's mother, but neither of them find that as funny as the rest of us do."
"I'm really happy we found him. This family is really something else, I can already tell." The speedster's sentiments were echoed all around. "It's really nice to see there's so much more to people then what you get at face value. Who would think a man as grim as Batman could have such wonderful children? It's a pleasant perspective, knowing the reason he never accepts failure in any of us is sitting right there."
"Me?" Tim cocked his head to one side.
"Gotta keep you safe, little man." Clark agreed.
The face the kid made was indescribable. "Oh come on!" Tim burst out, surprising him twice in one day. "Jason and Dick are the ones who do stupid things. I just get them an adult when they bleed." His lip turned into a pout and he would hear no more of their teasing.
Coming back to the topic at hand after a few more prods and reminders of some very stupid things Tim had also partaken of, Barry continued. "I meant what I said in regards to you, as well. Hal was kind of blunt, but I think some of us... Well I know I did at least... Well I guess we wondered if you were as nice as you came across. A lot of us have sort of gotten to know each other over the course of so many missions and such. You guys have always sort of held yourselves outside of the rest of us. I used to wonder if it was because you were sort of a team on your own, or if it was just because you were the last two to sign on and maybe we didn't make you feel welcome enough."
"No... Nothing like that. There were some tensions in the beginning but that's to be expected when you put a bunch of strangers in a room. I can't speak for Bruce, but I know I was aloof for very shameful reasons. You are all outstanding men and women. Paragons amongst your kind. I didn't think I was capable of being so shallow but I have been. Being the way I am, seeing some of you get injured and suffer... I couldn't understand why you do the things you do. Why risk yourself? You're not invincible. Someone could catch you in your sleep and it doesn't matter you can move so fast you go through solid matter, Barry. You'd be dead."
"True..." The Flash frowned, but waited to see if there was a point to Clark's harsh criticism.
"I have Bruce to thank for my attitude adjustment." It was a revelation he had never shared with the people who deserved to know. Thankfully, it wasn't too late. "You're more than what you can do. Powers or not, the will to make right and fight for justice is in you. I have a lot of apologizing to do to the entire League. Today you showed me just how great you truly are... Every single one of you. If you can accept my apology I would be proud to have you as friends."
Hal, the closest League member he had come to befriending before this whole mess with Bruce was the one to reach across the table, extending a handshake he never hesitated to take. "I'm Henry Jordon. Don't ever call me Henry. My friends call me Hal. I'm thirty one years young, and work as a test pilot for Ferris Air."
Barry hardly waited for Hal to finish before he wrested Clark's hand away to clasp firmly. "Bartholomew Allen. I'm just your average forensic whiz down at the Central City police station. You can only call me Bartholomew if you're really angry, but even then only in the same tone my mother uses. Barry preferably, never Bart. Oh," he cast an unmistakably fond look in Hal's direction. "and following suit, I'm thirty three."
"Nice to officially meet you, gentlemen. I'm Clark Kent, the other star reported for Metropolis' Daily Planet. The one without the Pulitzers. Lois hogs them all."
"I knew you looked familiar. I've seen you at a few press conferences." Hal admonished.
"I'm also called Kal-El... You've probably heard Diana call me so. Kal was the name my birth parents chose for me. In private you can call me whatever you wish, but in public I go by Clark, for fairly obvious reasons. I'm not quite sure of my age... The Kent's couldn't say how old I was when they found me... I'm likely somewhere between thirty and thirty three... So I arbitrarily chose thirty two." The next part.... He thought it would be harder then it was. He supposed after a lifetime of secrets you couldn't share with even your childhood friends... It felt good to just come clean. These men... He could trust them with this. J'onn Jonzz trusted them with his secret, after all. "And the rumours are true. I am an alien from another planet. My homeworld, Krypton... It no longer exists, so here I am."
"That's amazing." His new friends said in usion, without a hint of fear in them.
Their growing camaraderie only deepened throughout the night as Jason and Dick filed in at the table, Alfred and his Ma shortly thereafter. From his spot he traded between looking in on Bruce, who never moved , and engrossing himself in the friendly company before him. Conversation was never once forced. He learned how Hal and Barry had met, the humorous domino effect that brought the two men together who otherwise would have never met. He learned that Hal was just as fearless as he was based off of the kind of tales he had to share, and that Barry's geeky interests lay in the same ranges that Bruce's did. Once that was revealed a good laugh was in order. It had been a little something of a mystery to the rest of the League why Barry never seemed to suffer Batman's ire.
As dinner moved on into coffee and dessert, the boys and his Ma were held utterly captivated by Hal's tales of distant planets and their people which gave Alfred, Barry and himself a chance to have a solid session of tech talk. Clark came away from the conversation with a few ideas on what to try on some of the Kryptonian tech he hadn't yet figured out.
At first it was the sudden hush from the other side of the table that drew his sharp attention. His eyes followed everyone else's towards the door frame. Hadn't he just peeked in that direction but a second ago? A thin shadow hovered in the archway with a surprisingly open, bemused expression and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The ice blue pools drank them all up, sweeping over every head twice. The smirking wraith didn't question the who or why concerning Hal and Barry. That he was in the Kent home with his children and even Alfred seemed to have no effect on him either. The cast barely hindered his graceful stride to the table where he tipped Jason out of his chair and the usually feisty boy was too dumbstruck to react. He sat in Jason's vacated place... The spot at the table that on any other day would have been set for Bruce... And casually leaned back.
"You're always in my spot." A dry voice mused as Jason found the strength to pick himself off the floor. The twinkling eyes passed over everyone once more, resting a touch longer on their guests. Still he didn't question their presence. "Oh, I think I might actually like this one." Was his only cryptic comment.
"Bruce..." Dick swallowed hard. "Are... are you okay?"
The Dark Knight shrugged a shoulder and reached forward to abscond Clark's coffee cup. Somewhere Leslie's instructions in regards to his eating berated him to snatch the cup away but how could he... Bruce was... Well he was awake. He seemed... Lucid. Bizarre, but lucid. He felt his body freeze in place, his tongue a solid mass of ice lumped in the back of his throat. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the fire in those orbs peering at him from over the rim of the stolen cup.
"See something you like, Cowboy?"
There was just... There was no way Bruce had just said that. Not in front of his kids. Not in front his Mother. Not in front of Alfred. Hal. Barry. Just... That was not something that could come from Bruce.
"Master Bruce..."
"I can't imagine you any other way then how you are, Freddie."
Bruce chuckled after he spoke. A completely free, unabashed chuckle. And Freddie? Did he just call Alfred 'Freddie'?
"How are you, umm, feeling?" Barry ventured.
"Honestly, Barry, I feel like someone beat me with a bag of bricks. Then threw me down a mountain... With the bricks."
"How do you know-" Hal was cut off before he could finish.
"I'm Batman, I know everything... Henry."
The surreal had completely taken hold. Earlier in the day he had felt like the world had taken a detour outside of rational time... Surely this was the proof? He could only watch this peculiar play from the prison his body had become. Alfred and the boys worked up to courage to ask Bruce a hundred different ways if he was okay and this smiling stranger before him had a catty reply that was more coy than the last one for each instance. He all but purred when his Ma got up to check him over for fever, telling her in great detail how pretty and nice she was, delighting in her flushed cheeks.
"My mother's name was Martha too, did you know that?" Bruce asked her. Before his Ma could answer Bruce smiled wistfully up at her and continued in an almost child-like tone. "Is it all right if I call you Mom just this once?"
Ma stammered but acquiesced. Bruce thanked her, calling her 'Mom' and gave her a hug. In the middle of patting his back she turned and gave Clark a confused plaintive look. He could only shake his head slightly, having no idea what she was supposed to do.
"I think I got here a little too late... What are we doing?" When His family could only give him blank stares in reply Bruce turned back to him, studying him in a way that made him entirely too conscious of his body and the suit that was flattering his shape perhaps a bit too much. "Clark," The way his name rolled off of Bruce's tongue... God, you could feel him play with the letters, holding the 'r' a touch longer then necessary. "what are we doing tonight?"
The smouldering eyes and the saucy inflection of his name thawed the icy lump in his throat. In a mechanical voice he recited the evening's plan. They were going to watch the old fashioned Stop-Motion Rudolf classic, Dick was going to read the customary 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, and the boys were going to go to bed. The adults were going to have a few more drinks, play a game of cards, and call it a night as well.
The naughty looks Bruce kept shooting his way as he explained vanished once he was done. In their place was a sweet smile. It was the smile he had seen the day before... On the tape... The smile Bruce had shared with him courageously before he would walk willingly to his own death to save Sophie. He smiled like that and was going to tell me he loved me. He felt the sting in his eyes but couldn't look away from that sweetness.
"That's really very quaint..." Bruce sighed. "I would really like that."
***
The evenings madness did not end at the dinner table. The night followed as planned only with a silent pact set in place amongst the sane. Whatever was going on with Bruce was not brought up again. Whether this was some kind of amnesia, self imposed or otherwise, a broken man who had yet to find where all his pieces fit... Or if it was indeed... No... He's not mad. He... He just woke up. There will be no jumping to conclusions.
The boys settle around their father, each managing to touch him in some way. Their concern couldn't be hidden like Alfred's or his Ma's, and he felt for them as much as he felt for himself. Thank God for Hal and Barry, his two new friends managed to bring a semblance of levity to the strange situation. By the end of the night, thanks in large part to them and the fact that Bruce's uncharacteristic sassiness seemed to diminish with exhaustion, he felt the Christmas spirit settle over the household. Sleep would fall like a heavy blanket and whatever would meet them tomorrow could not matter right now.
After Dick finished his retelling of the great Christmas poem, the boys were bundled off to bed. Perhaps it was because of his strange mood, or maybe because neither of his three boys had ever asked him, a sleepy Tim managed to get Bruce to sing him a lullaby. It was a strange sounding tune. A little on the spooky side, even. Bruce explained it was the only lullaby his mother had ever sung him but he wouldn't say where she had heard it from. Clark helped Alfred put the boys to bed, as they were little more then slumbering dolls, and promised Alfred and his Ma things would be fine, wishing them goodnight as well.
The family home was suddenly way too quiet, the crackle of the fire sounding more like the roar of an inferno. A tired but still alert Bruce sat upon his mother's knitting chair with legs drawn up as if he had never left. Hal and Barry sprawled out lazily over one of the two hide-a-beds, uncaring of the stray limb here and there that invaded each others space. The Green Lantern flipped onto his back and turned his head to face the Knight.
"What was your mom like?" He asked casually, recalling the past tense in which Bruce had mentioned her.
Clark stilled, partially bent towards to second hide-a-bed, and watched Bruce very carefully. The man never talked about his parents. He never brought them up... He barely even said their names. Their master bedroom in the manor was a locked mausoleum even Jason knew better then to disturb. Indistinguishable emotions played behind the contemplative blue eyes they were all fixated upon. He had always wanted to ask about them... Thomas and Martha Wayne. He had read what had happened to Bruce's parents as an anecdote in a book about the History of Gotham. They had apparently been wonderful people... They had had only a small picture and a two sentence mention in the compendium of Gotham's history book. Hardly what they'd deserved.
"My mother was all the things my father was... And all the things he wasn't." Bruce started. Each word was evenly spaced, plucked carefully so they would say no more then what he wished them to. "I'm very rich. Not in quality of life or those meaningful ways. I mean I am dirty stinking rich. But that wasn't always the case. My father was a very accomplished surgeon, but he was a bleeding heart and Gotham is a very corrupt city. He had beautiful utopian visions for my city and he was capable of talking others into believing it was an achievable reality. He put everything he made into that belief. Our manor has been passed down through the family since it was built. To pay the property tax that's greatly subsidized because our land is considered a heritage site is really no big deal. My father paid the bills, but put everything into his charity. He auctioned off many of the family heirlooms."
Bruce stopped suddenly, and Clark was sure he would shut down, but after a pensive moment he carried on.
"I'm not condemning him for that, not at all. He had the best intentions in mind. My mother loved him because of his passion. She loved his selflessness. But my Mother was much wiser then my father. She knew you couldn't just throw money at a problem to make it go away. I remember my Grandmother, her mother, and she fighting often. Mom would go behind Dad's back and borrow money from her parents to make sure we had the newest clothes and a luxury car. She knew that in order to get the business men and the socialites to contribute to my father's cause they'd have to see it as a trendy thing to be doing. If they had ever known my Dad didn't have two cents to rub together because he had devoted everything to his cause, they would have thought him a lunatic. He would have been ostracised, and then no one would have donated to the Foundation he set up. We didn't even have a fridge when I was a kid. All our luxuries came out of my grandmother's pocket. She bought me all my toys too, if I recall correctly. My dad hated when she wasted money on things we didn't need... Money that could have been going to a worthy cause. He didn't understand how to blend in with the sharks and make them think like fish. I suppose if I were required to give you a concise answer..."

Clark listened raptly, needing to hear anything Bruce would share about them. He needed to understand the impact the Wayne's had made upon their young son. Maybe learning what they were like would help him to divine what Bruce was missing from his life. If Clark was able to bridge that gap...for all his speculations and extra curricular reading, nothing beat hearing the words from the horse's mouth.
"I think I am very much like my Mother. I know you have to be very good at playing a charlatan. More often then not, you'll be a parody of yourself when you run with the kind of circles of people I do. It's like your life is a play, but you have to be all the actors... And I am very good at it. I think Mom and I are okay people at heart... We just know you have to be realistic. We have to create a better social infrastructure. We need charity and compassion, but we need to create jobs and let people climb out of their personal hells even more...” The Dark Knight frowned darkly. “I'm really having a hard time staying on topic, aren't I? You ask me a simple question and I go off on a tangent about how nobody seems to understand why I don't fund the Foundation the way our family used to. It's not greed, there's just a better god damn way."
"That's all right." Hal soothed the suddenly very distressed Bruce with a soft voice. "You must have needed to get that off your chest. For what it's worth, I agree. I know I feel better about getting something I've worked for over getting a handout."
"...She was very kind. She loved everyone, no matter who they were. She believed there was something worth saving in every single person. She was a Saint... A practical, wise, Saint." Bruce looked only at the floor. "There are pictures of her... but the pictures are missing something. She looks severe in them. I think I found her pretty... I can't remember what she looks like any more."
The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room.
Clark quietly unfolded the bed and spread out the blankets and pillows before excusing himself to the kitchen. He placed the kettle on the stove top and turned on the burner, losing himself in the flickering flame.

Or tried to.
Is this what the long healing process had in store for them? Had tonight given them all a taste of the chaos Bruce was mired in? He thought over the night very carefully... Bruce's out of character coyness, his unusual show of that rumoured sweet side, and even his willingness to talk about things he would never talk about... Pairing all that with the frustration about the Wayne Foundation coming from seemingly out of nowhere... It was like the Dark Knight simply had no control over his emotions. Whether they were happy or sad or angry, he had lost the ability to conceal them. Always had Bruce been a man with an ironclad grasp of himself. Controlling his emotions by disregarding the things he considered trivial, forever pushing things deeper down inside. Was it possible that now he couldn't stop the onslaught of all the things he suppressed? Had the trauma of his capture fractured him in such a way?
He watched Leslie's mild sedative dissolve in a steaming cup of chamomile completely before he brought to the still quiet Knight.
"You're throat sounds dry." He offered as an easy explanation.
Bruce accepted the tea wordlessly and drank it slowly while Barry chatted to Clark and Hal about light topics. In a half hours time he murmured something about the Scarlet Speedster being his 'Bro', except for the fact that he hadn't actually told the Flash they were indeed 'Bros'. A minute later he complained about Chamomile and 'damn natural sedatives' before he started to drift off in his seat. Clark gathered him up for hopefully the last time that day and laid him down upon the made up bed. He tucked the drowsy man in and fell back into his Ma's chair with a heavy, exhausted sigh.
Hal and Barry, more tangled together then before, raised their sleepy heads up to give him a questioning look similar to the one Ma had given. He still didn't have an answer.
"What the holy Hell?"
He didn't even know the question.
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Tears and Rain