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Where did the time go?
It’s what he thinks as he watches his son give a speech for his 3rd time in office. Dick Grayson, Mayor of Bludhaven. Who would have thought?
Not Bruce, that’s for damn sure. Or maybe he did. Maybe he just wanted the jolts of life give him a pleasant surprise watching his boy, shoulder’s broad, standing tall with the brightest, charming smile this side of the bay has ever seen.
Bright, hopefully, strong. By god, was he strong.
He’s always had that powerful, warming sense of responsibility. A leader, a beacon, a light in a storm. Bruce had lost count the amount of times Dick stepped up and be the hero Bruce knew him to be.
A father figure to Damian, a bearer of the cowl, a leader to the League. Even in their worst fight, where plates and porcelain shattered against old, cobbled walls, where hurtful words and hurtful actions stop them dead cold…
…even in the worst of times, when Bruce needed him, he would always pick up.
And Bruce couldn’t be prouder.
He’s grown up, Bruce notices. A few grey hairs in his beard, faint wrinkles underneath his eyes, but even the passage of time couldn’t bring him down. Dick spoke with gusto and unbreakable conviction, his crisp baritone voice drawing people in opening their hearts, pouring in hope.
Dick always had that…vision. A clearer image of Batman should be. Change couldn’t happen in the shadows. It had to be dragged into the light. As a cop and as a mayor.
Where did the time go?
Bruce thinks through all of his kids. The ones he saved and the ones he failed. Each different and perfect. If only he told them more often.
Watching on as the proud father he is, Bruce’s eyes begin to drift. They scanned the crowd, at those that saw his boy as the gift he is. Races and colours of every spectrum, from rich to poor, from healthy to the broken.
Eyes shining in different colours of the rainbow; jade green, dirt brown, fluorescent gold, ocean blue…
Ocean blue…
Bruce’s heart constricts.
Ocean blue. Dark and mystifying. They’re tranquil, Bruce realises, but hides a storm. A child he failed…
A child he keeps failing.
He looks young, too young for the whims of time, yet here he was, still the same, handsomely rugged Jason that Bruce remembers. Like life took a carbon image from his memories and gave it flesh and blood.
Bruce’s head swirls, stomach churns and legs go weak, holding onto the cane for dear life.
“What happened? Where did the time go?”
Oh, how time has passed, it was a fight, always a fight that tore them apart. If Bruce was being honest, he doesn’t remember what the fight was even about. The image of Jason’s rain soaked back growing smaller and smaller into the Gotham night seared into his brain.
It wasn’t the last time Bruce saw him, but it was the last time he had the privilege to hear him speak.
What Bruce would give to hear Jason’s voice again, even if it was another screaming match, he could take it, take everything Jason has to give and just…know Jason was willing to talk to him.
His mind travels back to a few years ago, the day they buried Alfred.
Everyone was there, only close friends and family. Diana and Clark did what they did best; be there for him. Jim came along with Barbara, both with a heavy, solemn hand on his shoulder.
Cassandra came back from Hong Kong just for this. She was practically inseparable to Stephanie, staring at the casket of an old man that wanted to give her the world.
Each of the boys came.
Maybe it was one of Bruce’s greatest failures, how some of his mannerisms latched onto them. Tim dove into work, Dick expressed in anger, countless bags destroyed, and Damian becoming quiet, distant from all forms of comfort.
Out back, far away in the distance, Bruce had spotted the small lingering figure of his second son standing beside the old birch tree on the hill. The world had stopped at that moment. Wearing that black coat, he looked so small, so defenceless.
Bruce remembers taking the first step, hope in his heart. He remembers how it shattered, watching Jason turn.
He remembers chasing after him, his old weary legs not able to keep up, his cane abandoned long ago.
He remembers the other’s calling for him, how he ignored it all.
He remembers how it was all for nothing.
He remembers crying against hallowed ground, losing his father and son on the same day.
It tortures him, how the others offered their help, wanting to reunite the family in a time of crisis. Clark searched high, Diana closely behind. The boys and girls scouring the city with renewed purpose.
Their last trace landing Jason in Singapore.
Yet, here he was, in front of Dick’s public announcement. Old blood pumps through Bruce’s veins, staring at his boy, wondering where the time went.
“He’s looks so young.” He thinks.
Like not a single day has passed since that night. A boy…no, a young man. A million questions race through Bruce’s head.
Bruce’s eyes wander, welcoming everything he could see. Not as muscular as he remembers, but still has that same chiselled jaw, his locks flurrying against the wind. No leather jacket, but rather a thick winter coat, covering his body.
His heart stutters, noticing a faint scar climb up Jason’s chin, connecting to his lips. A flash of panic crushes Bruce, desperately scanning for anymore injuries he couldn’t protect him from…
…any injuries Batman couldn’t save him from.
Bruce chokes on air, a glimpse of silver peeked out through the hems of Jason’s jeans. “No…” Bruce’s blood runs dry. “Not my boy. Not Jason.” He wants to throw up, to scream until he can taste blood, then keep screaming.
But he can’t, not here, not in front of Dick and a thousand reporters.
“When? How? Why?” Every second was a new hell he now has to live through, knowing Jason, his boy, his child, his…
Jason doesn’t notice him, or maybe he doesn’t care and Bruce doesn’t know what’s worse.
He blinks, wondering where the time went.