Chapter Text
Death of a Hero
It was late, as late as all their patrol could be. Bruce – no, Batman – stood atop the Wayne tower, arguably the tallest building in Gotham. He stared at the city, his city, the one he had sworn to protect. He felt its sadness, its despair – or perhaps that is just his.
Doubt found its way to his core. He had been wearing the cowl for God only knows how long and still crime never seemed to go away. People scream in fear. They don’t feel any safer, even now with his presence, with his shadow overlooking the city. Why?
Perhaps the city never needed me.
He saw movement from just below the alleyway. Someone is getting mugged. He used his grappler and pulled himself down. His shadow fell upon the criminal. The woman – gods almighty, not another – face lit up upon seeing him. “Batman!” her fragile voice screamed. He, with all his practiced grace, fell down the alleyway, putting himself behind the criminal. The criminal – only a teen! – looked back at him, and his face hardened. “Batman!” his voice, unlike hers, was filled with so much anger. For interfering with his crime?
The woman took the opportunity and ran.
“Tell me, Batman,” he sneered, as if the name is poison. “Where does your line go?”
What does he mean? Bruce – no, Batman – questioned. What line? The line that decides who to die and who to live? The line that separates him from the other criminals? The line that he could not cross less he destroy himself?
Not even for me? Jason’s voice echoes in his head.
What if it had been me? Huh? Would you avenge me? Damian’s voice soon followed.
The criminal attacked, threw himself at the Batman. It was only through his hardened training that Bruce – no, Batman goddamn it – was able to dodge. He dodged to his left and lifted his arm to block his enemy’s punch.
“You killed him!” The criminal screamed.
Kill?
Killed?
But Batman never kills.
Bruce did not answer. He left his mind blank. He told himself it was to block out and focus entirely on the fight. I have to end this fast. But that would be a lie. Only fights like this, when adrenaline became his oxygen, did his mind ever silence. Only when he was being the batman, did he ever have peace.
That’s why it’s addicting, isn’t it?
He punched him. The criminal’s nose started to bleed. “Shit,” he cursed, as any teenager would. Gods, how old is he?
“You killed my father, Batman. You throw him in the prison with the lot that hates him! Do you even care?” He kept on attacking Bruce, relentlessly. Bruce kept on hitting him back, with more force than the last. But the child would not stand down.
“He died because of you! Because of what you did!” The teen swore, he could no longer stand straight, yet he threw his whole body at him. Bruce twisted his arm and forced him to kneel. The teen spluttered blood. He sniffed and he started to cry. The pain of his lost was evident on his tears – they were not there to mourn the lost of a fight, but the lost of someone important. “He died. Because of you. You.”
Bruce grunted and threw him on the floor. He was met with more sobs. Bruce did not reply. He took his grappler and used it to lunge himself at the top of the building. Up there, he looked back at the teen.
Your fault.
There was a small part of his that screamed that the child was being irrational. Causality – a fallacy of reasoning. Yet, the biggest part of him screamed that it’s true.
Why did Jason die? Because he made him Robin.
Why did Damian die? Because he made him Robin.
Why does Robin exist? Because Batman made him.
Who was at fault?
You.