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Tears and Rain	By : Waxcrayons Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 13549 -:- 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
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Stricken, he stood working sensation back into the hand Kent had been crushing. White hot rage and confusion threatened to spill over – had spilled over – only to be replaced with inexplicable remorse. Bruce was at an utter loss, though he didn't look it veiled behind a rather severe mask, for as a man that took pride in the his ability to blunt affect and remain rationally composed... As a man that took pride in having the perfect plan or contingencies and possessing the right tools... As a man with foresight tirelessly marching onward...
How was it that man that he was and this one were not the same? How had this lesser man come to be, mired and effectively entrapped by his emotions? Mourning the loss of something greater than he?
The first duty of man is to conquer fear; he must get rid of it, he cannot act til then.
Thomas Carlyle had penned such words, and like the wisdom of countless others whom had shared the Scottish philosophers sentiments on the subject, they'd been taken to heart. With so many demons to slay in the night the endless struggling against fear and it's repercussions was just about all he managed during the witching hours. Consequences could be so grave with the fear and superstitions of small men playing such high stakes, shadowed always by the real terror of the innocent... Then there was the matter of his own worries, as vast as they were varied. Once a long time ago, he had penned and subsequently abandoned a rudimentary list of the myriad of things that could plague his mind. Always awaited another paranoia to take the place of any he could cross out. Yet the oldest fears, instilled decades ago by the sound of thunder amongst a rain of pearls, those were deeply ingrained in the very marrow of his being. He imagined they were integral to who he now was, snapping at his heels as they gave chase, driving him forever forward. Following that train of thought one could wonder, was man's duty truly to conquer all fear? Were there not some fears necessary and never meant to be taken head on? Fears you could outrun if you just never ceased moving forward. He'd always suspected questions and doubts could catch you if you stopped, and that would be your downfall.
Am I good enough?
Strong enough?
Can I protect you?
Save you?
...Can you protect me?
Do I deserve you?
Have I failed you?
...Will you leave me?
Were you to stop, whether to smell a rose or take a pretty maiden by her fair hand, you'd risk of facing the answers. Shackled as he was now, he dreaded facing the possibility the answers were woven into his frail frame and pallid flesh. Inked in blood and scars and bruises. Terrified his short-comings were plain to any who glanced his way. Last he'd felt so helpless... It had been six years ago this day. He'd left Gotham an angry young man and returned an ineffective adult, wishing he could keep the oath he'd sworn over his parents grave... Desperate to not fail them just once. His only recourse to seek out and embrace the boyhood nightmare he'd encountered in the Cave. The tribal drums of thousands of leathery wings still haunted his dreams sometimes, the ordeal playing out in snapshot images... A small delicate child of daylight plummeting into the blackness. The monster, thousands of leathery bodies with one mind awakening. The deafening beat, piercing screeches and fetid stench.
Know fear. Leather and fur commanded of him. Know power.
Golden in the setting sunlight, Thomas Wayne descended from up high hours later to reclaim him in the name of day, but by then it was too late. For hours he had listened to the thing waiting there, a voice like dead leaves telling him truths he'd only understand later in adulthood. The years of blood and tears it had taken to earn the right to that blackness... Yet as it promised, it had waited for his return, and he had taken up it's mantle. Embodying the power of fear to mask his own and protect others from ever knowing the sounds of thunder and rain made of pearls. It was a mission he could lose himself in... And perhaps he truly had for a time. The rustle of dead leaves could always be heard any time he faltered. Some days it seemed there was only that one voice inside, the cape and cowl as real as flesh to him. There had been a certain peace to that. The old fears drove him forward while the Bat gave him the direction to run. The Bat gave him purpose. A mission.
Is it purpose enough?
Unbidden in quiet moments of reflection, such thoughts regarding the nature of 'enough' would slip in. Often they felt scandalous.. dangerous even. The work and resolve he'd put in, the sacrifices, everything was in jeopardy of falling apart each time the needs of an ordinary man called out to him. Ordinary needs required he slow down, or worse, pause. Despite the cowl feeling more real to him then his own face, he was still a man. Tempted by women both decent and decadent in hopes their temporary company would be enough. Then came his children... and they were enough. People to ease the loneliness of the man before it crippled him. Wanting more and wondering if it was 'enough' was just being greedy... And it was dangerous. The dominant part tolerated the weaker's dalliances in humanity so that he was ready when the Bat called him back to the mission.
Which was exactly why this was all wrong.
Naked, frail, and pitifully close to a textbook anxiety attack, he stood exposed in the Kent farmhouse. A part of him was afraid to wonder why he couldn't hear that dry rustle of leaves pointing him towards the correct route while the other... Certain he was suffering the loss of his purpose. In this present state, he wished the three men present would stop casting their sympathetic looks when they thought him preoccupied, or that he had his mask – his face – to meet their eyes. At the very least he wished for his sculpted body armour to cover this... weakness. This should not be him. Years had gone into his muscles and tendons, strengthening, shaping. Years to master and suppress his emotions. Years to defy what he had been.
It seemed only a night to strip all his work away.
This is not me... This can't be me. He flailed wildly behind a mask of cold confident fury.
Alone.
His strength... his better half... It was gone. Worse still, he couldn't help but fear he was being punished. For it felt only a night ago he possessed the world on a string. For the first time in a long time he dared to be...
Stop.
Perhaps if he tried from the beginning he would find the missing components along the way.
Bruce remembered that morning waking up to fresh snowfall. Great fat pure white flakes, the kind that blanketed the sets of the most sickly sweet holiday specials. As it should have with only three weeks until Christmas. The decorations had just been strung up, golds and silver and twinkling white lights on the tall synthetic white tree with the presents so carefully selected and procured throughout the year were already wrapped and tucked away. His kids had even been relatively well behaved for months – Tis the season to be nice if you want a big gift from Santa, after all. Not to imply they were troublemakers, only that they were excitable boys with a lot of energy to burn any day of the week. He'd woken up and headed to the office to listen in on Lucius inform the share holders that Wayne Enterprises was closing out the fiscal year well above projections despite ceaseless legal battles with LexCorp following their underhanded theft of his new line of jets. Of course Lucius had put the matter much more politely in his presentation to the Board. In the afternoon he'd had a brief meeting with the Foundation's Chairwoman who ensured him his parent's legacy had received record-breaking donations to distribute to charity thankfully for and in spite of the weak economy. In the evening he'd left an hour early, driving through the last dregs of the snowfall to be welcomed home by his three excitable birds all vying for a moment of his time. As well as Kent, whom from the moment he saw the man sitting there upon his counter drinking down his coffee before pouring Bruce a cup, he'd known just who it was that was going to be getting his full attention.
Kent had gotten his undivided attention. He'd had all of him, not something Bruce could admit to giving anyone before. His mind was always on his work, or detailing the facts of a murder, or recalling the face and habits of a suspect. Small talk was just not something he could focus on. Trivialities only caused him to slow down when there was always just so much more to do and far better uses of his time. But Kent had become something of a fixture to him over the years. A sounding board when he tired of voicing his theories to himself. A fresh pair of eyes when he'd mired himself in all the small details. The man could look over his notes and pictures, some pinned trails made with red strings, leads to trails, rumours to facts, and he's ask a silly question, make an apparent non-sequiter, and that would be all Bruce have needed to bound up forcing himself to keep from shouting 'Eureka!'' And it wasn't just him. His family also had become attached to the mild mannered reporter, calling Kent 'Uncle' without anyone suggesting they should. Tim adored the man. The boy slept with a plush chibi doll of his likeness they sold in toy stores everywhere. So how could he have asked the man to quit stopping by? Just because lines he'd established after their initial disaster of a meeting had become so blurred, he no longer knew where they lay?
Kent was a good friend. He was loyal and he kept his secrets. He was kind to his children, even seeming to have a vested interest in them. He had stepped in on more than one occasion through the years to look after the boys the few times Alfred had been ill and he, naturally, swamped with work. He could be stubborn and tenacious – and just as likely to describe Bruce in similar fashion – but Kent was also downright clever and more than capable of challenging him mentally. The perfect compliment to his work. The perfect partner. And the weakness and loneliness in him that had caused him to act how he had that first time... It had passed, and they had managed to move forward into a partnership of a different kind. Except not really. The lines were always getting broken as Kent and he kept making indiscretions. He'd redraw them after a time but they were never quite where they'd previously lay. Perhaps that evening all the steps they'd taken on each others sides over the years had finally washed all traces of it away. Perhaps he'd always wanted it so. Wouldn't he have built a wall or a tower if he'd really had desired to keep the man away? Bruce knew he had been an idiot, thinking that they were just playing around. Casual petting to ease the frustrations of being busy men who might never find that special person they could trust with their secrets, and risk the lives of should they be found out. Deep inside he'd always known that first night was no fluke. There was an attraction and it hadn't dissipated or been pushed to the off-side. Instead the years had fired them into complimentary pieces, each strong where the other was not, each necessary to the other. Here, he'd felt in that moment, captivated by cerulean blue eyes laced with promises of anything he could want, this is where no fear could touch me. All that was needed from him was his consent... His betrayal of the darkness in the Cave. Drunk on the heat radiating off Kent's body, hands silk-wrapped steel caressing him tenderly, intimately... He had given it.
You've seduced me, Clark Kent.
Was it both a decree and a damnation?
It felt only a night ago that while being not the luckiest of men, the most intelligent – Well, let's not go too far – or the best looking, he had somehow managed to gather all that one could need in life together and keep it that way. Tenuously, for certain, but still under control. His black crutch had lain forgotten as he chose to meet the light. His legacy, and not the Bat's, could be whatever came from the decision he was making that night. And while they had been interrupted and Kent had had to leave... Deep was the knowledge he couldn't, and would never be able to take what he'd said back. To think the Man of Tomorrow had decided he would court the Dark Knight, never realizing that Gotham's Guardian had long ago fallen for him that one disastrous but perfect night... The light to his dark. The warmth to his cold. His perfect compliment. His perfect partner. He could slow down finally... Maybe even settle in. The mission would go on, only it would be so much easier. A shared journey that left the world a better place instead of his lonely crusade. It could be beautiful. So his transgression hadn't really been a betrayal, only initiative. He was still Batman, and the Bat was always cautious. The Bat always made doubly sure, and then triple. Watching Kent fly away with the pangs of longing already tightening his chest, the decision had already been made to leave as well. A moment to clear his mind so as to return to the matter with a fresh perspective. To be certain thinking of the big blue boy scout could still make his heart flutter hopefully, and if it did...
Could he finally admit that he was..?
It felt like only yesterday... His life had somehow come under his control. Like an impossible dream, there could be family, a partner and the mission. He was in control.
Today he had woken up with the pleasant assurance that everything made sense. There was no such thing as being damaged goods when someone could look at you the way Kent... Clark... looked at him. He'd awaken believing that Bruce Wayne and not his tragedy controlled his path, a thought to warm his healing heart... Only to be reminded the stone-cold truth two bullets had revealed to him twenty years ago this day.
There is no control. Not for me. Never for me.
Bruce Wayne was a joke. A weak willed tool to be used up like any other you'd find on his utility belt. But Batman wasn't in the habit of wasting resources, however much trouble the Prince of Gotham and his dalliances seemed to cause. However in the wake of this apparent schism, Bruce Wayne was all he'd been left with. So much for finding myself along memory lane.
Still processing the new, if vague, information he'd been given and noting the great depths of pain Kent suffered by holding his tongue about the rest, he frowned. Erratic and indistinguishable emotions waylaid his cognitive functions, but not so much that he couldn't see the Kryptonian seemed in no better condition. Kent's defences, like his own, were failing if not already gone and Kent's attachment to him was a liability waiting to be exploited. So why was it so gut-wrenching to think that? Desperate for answers and possessing the means to get them he met tormented cerulean eyes... and recalled how they'd looked at him all the times before. With mirth. With trust. With lust. Maybe even with love, the damned fool. In spite of his lofty claim that Kent would be giving him the answers he so desired, he let the questions fall to the side. However much he wanted to have his world that had briefly made sense do so again, the price would not be the anguish of this man.
Not after that last night.
Besides... He was afraid the answers Kent would give him were to the questions he'd spent a lifetime running from. He wasn't ready to hear that the root of all the evil in his life... was simply the result of his own deficiency.
Better now to gather what was left of himself and try to get through the morning. On the heels of that resignation, through a mix of despair and helplessness his defensive instincts kicked in like any other knee-jerk reaction, smooth features and demeanour masking a bottomless well of... Foreboding? Guilt? Shame? Disgust? Still, the fake smile was hard to maintain when the whole farmhouse suddenly felt a battlefield. He didn't understand why he was here. Why he looked like this? What had been done to him? Why wouldn't they tell him? Knowing the answers would not be coming immediately and somewhat relieved by the fact, he took heart that at the very least his instinctive disguise seemed to be working. So he kept the gracious and relaxed farce up and soon after his would be opponents relaxed, choosing instead to exchange pleasantries in lieu of a face-off. The other two had moved off to dress and tidy while Kent withdrew to the doorway, apparently resolved to avoid his eyes.
It will have to do. Sadly, he needed the moment from out their scrutiny to collect himself, reigning in sorrow enough to see the reason why he shouldn't just take the two steps it would take to fall into Kent's arms. There were complications enough without adding his irrational desire for comfort to the mix. This isn't the same Kent who left for Oa. Whatever I've done, he could barely look at me a moment ago, and not at all now. I've failed him in some way. You think he's going to want to hold you now? Do you think you deserve that?
It was a failing effort to keep away, saved solely by the interruption of the three little chinks in his armour. Sorrow leached away for the moment and the smile warmed into something almost real.. almost human. Were he relying only upon spotty memory it indeed still felt like that day a month ago had just happened, like he had just left the little birds for the night to prowl Gotham City. One doing homework, one tucked into bed, one filled with mischief. In a fading dream they had been with him just moments ago. But looking at them now... His body did not need his failing memories to be certain he had not held his children in too long. He welcomed them to him. No matter that he was but a shadow of the man that had left them, caught in place and unfit to lead them. Despite all that was going on beneath the surface, all that was unsaid, these children would always be on his side. His most valuable allies.
Allies.
Looking up from the warmth in his arms he searched out Alfred. His faithful old friend was making apologies as he eased the crushing and admittedly painful clutching children off his frame all the while catching his eye with his own knowing look. A lot could be said with a look between them, and a lot was. Reassurances. A promise of safety. The assurity in his stalwart friend's eyes eased some of his tension.
Martha Kent was suddenly hugging him so fiercely. She looked too relieved... Too happy to see him. While Martha's mothering treatment had initially perplexed him, the woman's affections had sort of grown on him over the years. Far more than a simple farm-wife, her matronly advice or unique insights into a variety of matters were never scoffed at.
As for the other two... The Flash and the Green Lantern stood a bit back to give his family room to crowd around, but the pair looked on with softened features and easy smiles. Although he had an inkling this new found camaraderie had stemmed directly from his ordeal, he couldn't say what had happened between them and Kent to have made Superman trust them enough to invite them home. Kent, despite his friendly demeanour, had always been less forthcoming with the Justice League then even he'd been. Regardless, they were here, he thought with some disdain, seeing his face and his family... Well. Nothing to be done about that now except voice his displeasure to Kent about yet another thing. If Big Blue wanted to go around telling everyone who he was and how they could get to him through his loved ones that was a hair-brained decision to make only for himself.
Careful... His fake smile was slipping again.
Everyone was settling down comfortably now, Martha exiting to put on some coffee and Dick following her to help. He watched Jason and Tim covertly trying to eye the gifts under the tree while the men began to glance at him more and more as their small talk died down. It was strange how he could recall the contents of the gifts beneath the tree and the conversation around the dinner table the night he had gone missing, but little else beyond vague impressions of restraint... Of invasion. Try as he might, he couldn't find a corner to pull back the murky blanket that had settled over his mind but for now, perhaps that was for the best. His thoughts came to a halt as he realized he was being watched. Presents long forgotten, Jason and Tim were chewing their bottom lips, twin pairs of liquid blue eyes fixed upon their guardian.
“I'm all right.” A lie spoken so much softer then intended. Perhaps it was simply fatigue. “I was just wondering why this... is bothersome.” He referred to the cast in the lull of the morning pleasantries. Were he being honest, the pain was a far cry more than bothersome and not confined to just that area of his body, but rather all over, inside and out. If he were being forthright, which frankly, was almost never the case. So he played it down, true to Batman form... However strange it currently felt to think his actions so. He shook his head. “Is it broken?”
Alfred was at his side immediately easing him onto the closest couch before he'd even finished speaking. “Just a fracture, Master Bruce.” He answered blithely, doing his English best to avoid scrutiny. With some difficulty he managed to get a long hard look at his closest old friend... and frowned. How had he not noticed earlier? The man was an absolute wreck by Alfred standards. His eyes red-veined and dark-shadowed, hair neat but not immaculate, even his carefully maintained moustache had a whisker or two not perfectly trimmed. Recent events had not been kind to Alfred as well, it seemed. He felt guilty for causing Alfred this level of distress. Whatever had happened, there must have been something he could have done better. Some way he could have prevented the whole mess. “A fracture.” He reiterated to keep up the tenuous conversation.
“Dancer's Fracture” Kent said quietly from the doorway.
Kent. Despite his best efforts he still flinched slightly at the sound of the Kryptonian's voice. Something about the forlorn tone made him feel... Ashamed. Still, he couldn't help but amend. “Fifth metatarsal avulsion fracture. I'm not much of a dancer” Careful with tones yourself, Mister. The boys were still warily watching, keenly feeling the awkward chill he was causing in the room. He noticed how they looked from the couch to the doorway, from he to Kent and back again. It was about at that moment the day, the decorations, and reality truly struck him, his words from moments ago returning. It was Christmas morning. His children were safe. He was not himself... but he was alive. While the confusion and the suspicions that he had failed both Alfred and Kent was one hell of a compounded problem, whatever had been done... The price had already been paid. How he stood now, frail and from out the shadow of the Bat was surely the proof. But right now that hardly mattered. He may have hurt Alfred, repulsed Kent and lost himself, but he still had three children who didn't deserve what they had been put through on his behalf. There was still a chance to make this right for them, so a vow was sworn protect the magic of this day. He was alive and his little birds were safe. That was all that was important.
Let me just do this one thing right...
With great effort he turned his pleasant grin up a few notches and willed it to stay there even if he'd have to staple it in place. Which was still a possibility for the illusion of normalcy required he bite the bullet and pray Kent would take the hint and play along. Pray the man would understand how perceptive his children could be as they'd called him 'Uncle' long before their courtship dance had come to an end. Kent was visibly surprised when he reached out to take hold of the man's one free wrist gently. The other hand was gripping his own bicep so hard even Superman might be waking up with a bruise tomorrow. Gentler still, he attempted to coax the Kryptonian out from the doorway. For a brief moment it looked as if Kent seriously considered the benefits of fleeing but thankfully he followed at Bruce's urgings. If apprehensively.
“Sit down.” He managed to say without it sounding like a command. “You're in Martha's way over there.”
Kent looked positively green but he sat... Deliberately leaving enough room between them it only highlighted how off things between them were to the boys. He unsuccessfully tried to sooth some of the other man's apprehensions with a tight smile.
“Here we are.” The matron of the house announced upon her return, Dick on her heels. Two trays holding all the accoutrements of morning coffee were placed upon the appropriately named table. The fragrance of finely roasted Arabica beans filled the air as cups were filled from the carafe.
The last cup of coffee I remember having... Clark poured for me. It was as if his mind had suddenly been fashioned into a Möbius strip. All thoughts seem to bring him back to that exact moment, arms wrapped loosely around him and hands tracing lazy patterns upon his chest, where he'd been a hairs-breath away from kissing a man that wouldn't even look at him anymore. A man he would have done anything for in that serene secure moment. Would Kent's kiss have tasted like the cup of coffee he'd also been drinking or would it taste of something more? He'd never know now.
“...And finally you, Sweetie.”
Martha's offering of a mug startled him so, he was slow to take it from her. The first hint this was not what he desired was the sickly sweet aroma. He peered dismally at the contents, green tea with a large dollop of honey still dissolving at the bottom. Before he could protest she also deposited a small handful of pills into his open hand and stood patiently, you might even say motherly, over him. “What's all this for?” he inquired suspiciously.
“These are your antibiotic, a multivitamin, and two Motrin, my dear, that you are going to take right now without putting up a fuss.”
“Martha,” He admonished. “When have I ever given you a hard time?”
The pills were not so hard to get down, but the taste of the sweetened tea left much to be desired. As he washed down the last pain killer his eye caught sight of the subtle shift of tendons in Kent's neck as he sipped the aromatic coffee. That was what he desired.
The tea was what he had. A more perfect analogy could not be made.
All because that fateful night he'd made such a grave mistake, daring to be...
Happy.
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Tears and Rain