Summary: Bruce has had a long few days and itâs catching up with his body. Unfortunately rest isn't an option yet because heâs got to make his way out of the maze he's currently trapped in no matter how much he wants to go to sleep instead.
Enjoy! :D
When he hits the wall for the umpteenth time Bruce finally takes the hint and stops moving. Slumping against the cold concrete he forces himself to take a deep breath and tries to get his bearings together.
Heâs been going non-stop for what feels like years but in reality it must be close to four days. Heâs had very little sleep, next to no food and water and heâs now running on his reserves, feeling completely exhausted and ready to drop at any second. That also being the reason why he keeps smacking into walls as he walks, he can barely stand up right let alone walk in a straight line. Heâs staggering around like heâs a lost drunk unable to make his way home at the end of a night out.
He wishes that was the case. It would certainly be better than the reality heâs facing.
For just over two days his attention was focused on Gotham, rumours of an underground drug ring had spread and while looking into it Bruce found out that some of Gothamâs socialiteâs were involved with the ring. So not only was Bruce working on the case at Batman but he also ended up getting involved in the case as âBrucie Wayneâ too. His time had been completely occupied and he didnât stop until he solved the case with Commissioner Gordon and moved on.
Naively he thought he may get a dayâs break after that. Of course he was wrong. He didnât even get to go bed before he got a call alerting him how the Justice League is needed for an emergency happening in Buenos Aires. The last two days have been constant running around, figuring out and talking battle strategies and always being on guard.
Bruce ended up chasing one of their prime targets into an underground labyrinth. Being at the disadvantage and not knowing where he was going, paired with the fact heâs completely exhausted, Bruce ended up losing sight and track of the target. Frustrated with himself and at the situation Bruce didnât have any other choice but to start trying to make his way out of the maze he was lost in. Regrettably he wasnât Theseus and he didnât use a string to guide his way through the endless corridors meaning he walking blind until he reaches topside. How long heâs now been underground for he has no idea, but itâs certainly not helping his drained body and mind.
After a moment he prepares himself to get moving again. Taking a deep breath he pushes himself away from the wall and starts the treacherous journey back through the maze. Unsurprisingly his strength doesnât last long, within moments heâs tripping over his own feet and crashing into the wall yet again.
Maybe he shouldnât stray away from the wall. Isnât there a rule or something saying if a person keeps their hand on a wall and follows it theyâll eventually make it out of the maze, even if it takes you on a horribly long route itâll help you to escape? Using that as his excuse Bruce leans on the wall for support and continues on with his journey, hoping to get out of the maze as soon as possible.
Bruce loses track of time as he wonders. Everything becomes a blur and it takes all of his willpower to keep going instead of stopping and sliding down the wall to rest.
âBatman!â
Bruce grumbles to himself. Great, heâs got to that point in his exhaustion where heâs begun hallucinating. Thinking about it, heâs surprised that it hasnât happened before now.
âBatman! Can you hear us?â
Huh. He doesnât know if it says a lot about him as a person, or a father, that the voice he's imagining is his eldest sonâs voice. He has no idea on what that could mean.
âHeâs here!â
Suddenly itâs not just voices heâs imagining anymore, itâs developed into him hallucinating actual people now.
He blinks rapidly as he tries to work out what heâs seeing. In front of him was his son, Dick dressed up in his Nightwing gear. Movement happening behind him grabs Bruceâs attention and when he looks over his sonâs shoulder he blinks again and finds⌠is that Clark? Not only is he imagining Dick but heâs now imagining Clark too. Heâs not telling anyone about this once heâs out of the maze.
âBatman are you injured?â
Dickâs voice pulls his attention back onto his son. He frowns, regarding the question. Heâs not injured, just severely tired. âAre you actually here?â He ends up blurting out, apparently the exhaustion means heâs got no filter.
âYeah Batman we are.â Dick answers with a frown of his own. âAfter you didnât come back we followed you down here and have only just found you, weâre not far from the exit.â
Bruce grunts, slowly accepting the fact that maybe he wasnât hallucinating after all.
âThe target?â
Clark comes into his vision again as he steps up beside Dick in front of him. âWe got him. When you came down here we knew there had to be another exit somewhere above and searched around, coincidently we were right next to the passage when he appeared. We apprehended him with no trouble. Thatâs when we came down after you when you didnât return as soon as we expected.â
Bruce hums thoughtfully before letting out a long sigh. At least the target is captured and Bruceâs journey through the maze hadnât been for nothing.
âAre you hurt Bats?â Clark asks him, his eyes roaming over his body, which of course was covered by his suit anyway.
âIâm fine,â he grunts and starts to make a move to push up off the wall. Heâs got company now, he canât afford to be looking as bad as he feels. âLetâs go.â
Bruce doesnât make it more than three steps before heâs having to lean against the wall again. Heâs quick to put a hand up to stop his companions from closing in on him when he senses them move after he reached for the wall.
âBatmanâŚâ
âBâŚâ
Bruce waves off their concern and takes a deep breath to steady himself. After a few seconds he pushes away from the wall again and this time makes it six steps before heâs falling to the side. Instinctively he puts a handout to reach for the wall but he never touches it because another body is pressing up against his side instead. An arm wraps around his waist while the other takes his own arm and throws it over their shoulders. Even in Bruceâs addled mind he can make out that Clarkâs come to support his weight.
Not having the energy to care or to protest against it, Bruce allows the man of steel to help him walk. He most definitely draws the line at being carried, but walking he can do. He also becomes aware of Dick hovering nearby as they make their way out of the maze.
As soon as heâs out of here heâs finding the nearest hotel and crashing, everything else can wait and anything that canât, Clark or Diana can deal with it. The world can deal without Batman for one damn night.
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For all of those who thought "that was good, but I would like some emotional reconciliation and character growth, please" after last chapter... Take this with all my love!!! (âŻË̤ ༢ᾠŕĽË̤)ŕ´ŻŕˇĚ
Important Spoiler Tags: Â mentions of past acts of canon-typical violence, mention of past deaths, lots of feels, i love my boy sm
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[Chapter 12: Ten Cheers to the World]
John could hear the wheels on the short-back office chair rolling over the raised bumps in the metal floor as he pushed it back and forth with a clunk-clack, clunk-clack, half-spinning in the seat with every move. It was better to sit there with his head on his arms thrown over the back of the chair and look over the whole cave â keeping his eyes peeled for movement by the entrance to the bathroom around the corner of the workbenches â than to sit still while his mind churned and chewed on everything.
âWatching the door wonât make him come out any quicker, you know,â Alfred said from behind.
John ignored him. And the tight feeling in his stomach that pulled at the corner of his mouth.
âHe once stayed in the shower there for forty-three minutes. Then he had the audacity to tell me heâd just been meditating.â
John tried to ignore that, but his traitor of a brain was pushing the image of Bruce sitting cross-legged on the tile floor under the spray like it was a waterfall in an old movie, with a serious hurm of an expression. It was a little funnyâŚ
âI know he was just dwelling. He used to do it at the computer, on seats â and in front of his homework, back when he was younger. He wonât do it in front of people anymore, of course. Raises too many questions he doesnât want to answer.â
Alfred had changed into pajamas and a fancy-looking robe, yet he still stood as straight and proper as all the other times John had seen him. He didnât hold anything or seem to be milling around the cave for any real reason. At least one John could see.
John didnât know why he was being talked to soâŚnormally. It didnât change anything. It didnât sweep everything Alfred had said under the rug. It just dug the knife a little deeper into his stomach. He couldnât stand looking at him for more than the glance. It was why he wasnât spinning anymore and just inching the chair back and forth.
âNot that I blame him, really. Iâve always been more proficient in handling physical wounds than mental. Itâs easier to mend a hole in the chest versus a broken heart, as they sayâŚâ A beat of silence; John could hear the clunk-clack of his chair a little too loudly. âMiss Avesta filled me in on the goings-on at Arkham and the Church of Mercy this evening â are you quite sure youâre alright?â Alfred asked him, âYou might have skipped out on the inspection, but I can see some of those bruises a mile away.â
John felt a laugh bubble in his throat, thinking of Bruceâs hand around his throat, gripping his wrist, punching his shoulder⌠But looking at both arms buried under his face, he could see others had formed sometime in-between. Oh-h-h. Those. The question instantly became less ha-ha funny and more ironically funny. âYou wouldnât believe me if I told you,â he said with a bitter chuckle, âI mean, itâs not like Iâve changed or anything - Iâm too crazy to give straight answers, remember?â
Alfred was silent for a moment. John dared to peek â he seemedâŚregretful, maybe, as he stared at some fixed point down in the cave. Alfred breathed out slowly, and audibly, the way Bruce did sometimes when something had become too much of whatever it was. âI deserve that,â he said finally, allowing a beat of silence to follow. âI was surprised with you this evening,â he continued, âAfter everything thatâs happened this week, The Joker carry a former Agent inside to get her proper medical treatment after escaping a kidnapping and thwarting a bomb-threat at Arkham Asylum was the last thing I expected to see during my visit. You rushing out to help Batman afterwards was one thing, but you working alongside Robin, even after the things we said...â
It seemed too awkward to finish that sentence. He seemed to be searching for the right words. âYou saved both of them from a seat on my operating table tonight,â he continued instead, with real gratitude lacing his voice.
John wasnât entirely sure where this was going. Or really, why he was laying all this out at all. The dry dancing-around-the-point thing was doing nothing for him. If anything, it was wiggling the proverbial knife in him.
âI suppose what Iâve been trying to drive at is that I misjudged you,â he added, meeting Johnâs probing gaze with softer eyes. âYou proved that tonight. I let old memories and foolish prejudice cloud my judgement. I know I canât undo the damage Iâve done, but⌠I hope you can accept my apology.â
John stared, almost wondering if heâd fallen asleep in the chair sometime after deciding to wait for Bruce. His fingers tapped on the edge of the chair â real, real, real, like everything else before then.
The tight anger in his stomach had loosened its knots into a confusing not-really-calm feeling. He wasnât sure if he could accept the apology, let alone if he should. He might not be mad now, but he knew his brain well enough to know that the creeping thoughts of âhe actually hates youâ and âhe thinks youâre crazyâ were bound to come up again and reignite his rage and feelings of alienation with the memory of standing outside the Wayne Manor living room. He might never be able to go near there without thinking about it, either.
And despite how sincere Alfred seemed, who was to say it wasnât all one big lie in an effort to get back on good footing with Bruce? Or was that just the paranoia talking already?
John breathed out slowly, hearing his lips sputter together as he let his head rest back in his arms to stare down at the dark back of the chair. He knew he shouldnât listen to that part of him. The shreds of anger at being rejected were still there in his stomach, but what good would mending them back together at this point do? Break two peopleâs hearts in one go? Leave Bruce to choose between his practically-adoptive-Dad and him?
As nice as it would be to get a bit of justice for himself and reject in kind, John knew what he wanted⌠The same as the old John and probably the future John. And he knew what he wanted wasnât always good for him, as the doctors would say. But the siren call of inclusion always ensnared him. It was hard to find people he actively liked, and a hundred times harder to find people he could truly relate to. And both he and Alfred loved Bruce, the one person John liked and related to the mostâŚ
John sat back up. âFine,â he said, âBut just because I accept it doesnât mean I forgive you yet.â
Alfredâs shoulders seemed to droop, finally. âThatâs understandable,â he replied, seeming like that was actually enough. âI donât mind having to work for that.â
John rolled backward in the chair. âI might forgive you quicker if you teach me some tricks of the trade,â he added slyly, rolling the chair forward again, âI mean, skin canât be too different from fabric, but Iâd hate to be the only person who can stitch up Bruce one night without a little practice.â
Alfred blinked, genuinely surprised. âYou want to learn sutures?â
âYeah! I already know aaall about injections. And most painkillers. But Bruce told me he had to stitch himself up before while you were away, and I know Tiffanyâs learned it. So I want in,â he finished, rolling the chair back and forth again.
He seemed to think it over. John couldnât tell what was going on inside of his old head, but it looked promising. âI believe I can find some pig-skin for us to work with while Iâm staying,â he said, the emotion in his voice indecipherable. âHave you eaten anything yet?â
John wasnât going to say anything about the snacks heâd pilfered from the kitchen on his way up to get changed. âUh, not really.â
âIâll bring down another plate of leftovers, then; the ladies seem to have finished the one already.â He was about to move away, and suddenly got a harder look on his face like he remembered something somewhat unpleasant. âAnd John â do make sure Master Bruce eats some of it,â he said with all the sternness of a parent John never had, âHe has a terrible habit of starving himself when he overthinks. I donât want him passing out halfway up the stairs.â
John felt something stop his chair from moving â Iman had quietly hobbled her way over and used his shoulder to lean on with one hand. âNo worries â I gotcha,â John replied with a click of his fingers and a wink, âAnd you,â he added to Iman craning his neck back to look at her, âYou couldâve just said something, yâknow. I wouldâve wheeled over.â
Iman had a funny look on her face. âIâve been sitting for too long anyway,â she waved away all friendly-like, still leaning against his chair like she was hovering over it for a reason. It wasnât until Alfred had passed her that he realized she even looked over at the other man â her brown eyes stared at the retreating back like she was examining it under a scope.
The look didnât last long. She shifted to prop herself up against the railing instead, opposite of where Alfred had been, holding a cane borrowed from who-knew-where. She had changed into a Gotham Knights t-shirt and very soft and loose fuzzy black pants, and unlike him, she had no problem walking around barefoot on the cold floor. âI wanted to make sure youâre okay.â
âYou mean physically, psychologically, orâŚ?â It hit him why Iman had been hovering by him out of nowhere. He looked over at Alfred at the end of the cave, making his way to the elevator. Ahh-ha. âOhh! You meant with Alâ,â he added in a hush. âThatâs why you came over, huh?â
âI wouldâve been over here sooner if I hadnât had to hobble,â she explained with a note of annoyance, âI figured the reason you rushed to get away when you all came back was so you wouldnât be caught up in an awkward conversation.â
âHah, you arenât the psychâ expert for nothing,â John smiled, pushing the chair back and forth slowly again, âBut Iâm okay. Alâ and I cleared things up a bit. How are you? Catching Roman put a spring back in your step?â
Imanâs razor-thin show of white teeth seemed to gleam with the same amusement in her eyes. âAt least in one of them,â she joked back.
âGood â it certainly did for me. I just wish I couldâve seen that punch up close! And I only caught a bit of the pounding he gave Hooty McShooty, too...â
Iman snorted into a short laugh. âW-who?â
âThat was probably his last word, too,â John joked with a grin. âYou know, the white-faced owl with the big gun! I donât know his ârealâ name. I donât care, either â anyone who tries to kill me and my friends doesnât deserve a birth certificate.â
âHm, well,â she said, âI donât have the barn owlâs real name, either. But you know, we did catch some footage from the drones. So Bruceâs fight might be on there.â
John screeched his chair to a halt and stood, swiveling the seat towards her. âWell what are we waiting for?! Letâs go look!â
âI think the batteries are still-â
âLess talk, more looking,â he emphasized, patting the chair back to get her to sit. She gave in with a wary sort of look, and as soon as she was down, he whirled her around and wheeled her towards the oversized computer, feeling giddy about the very idea that he would get to see Batman beat up the owls as many times as he wanted. Maybe heâd even see his and Bruceâs team-up! Eehee hee hee hee!
The display still had a myriad of things thrown up. The little map of Gotham with all the Court of Owlsâ old hiding places, the FriendBook page of The Church of Written Mercy, background information on the Reverend Sebastian Overfield, the cloud storage Jackie had given him with all of Matt Chaneyâs incriminating pictures, some screenshots of the crowd of Owls showing a few of them without their masks...
And the disappointing notification that large file transfers from one of the drones was still in progress, with its uploading screen still at sixty-something percent.
âShouldnât there be a streaming option or something?â he asked, the words barely out of his mouth as Iman dutifully pulled up the other two dronesâ interfaces.
âDoesnât look like it. The Batcomputer might be fast, but those droneâs video feeds turn out huge files. Itâs never that fast.â
âBoooo,â John groaned, âNow Iâm all hyped up for nothing,â he pouted, perching his bruised elbow on the back of the chair as he took in the collage of information. He knew all of it â or at least the pieces that mattered â but in Bruceâs absence it would at least pass time to poke through. But his eye caught something: Â facial recognition software was pulled up, half-hidden by other windows. âOoh, whatâs that?â
âItâs nothing,â Iman answered casually. âIt just checked some of the live feed against social media databases we had access to.â
âOoh, fancy! Letâs look,â he said, reaching for the mouse.
Imanâs hand got in the way. âItâs not really interesting.â
Dismissing it and yet clearly obstructing it. John knew that was code for âI donât want you to see thisâ. Which meant it was important and secret, and therefore very interesting. He wasnât so much upset as he was intrigued, and it was easier to get information like that out with sweet-talk. âI-maaan,â he sang quietly, âwhat are you hiding?â He rested his chin in his hand, propped up against the back of the chair. âYou can tell me. Iâm good at keeping secrets.â
âItâsâŚnot something you need to see right now.â
âThat means itâs the perfect time. Iâm not doing anything else but waiting around.â
âNo, IâŚâ She sighed, and turned in the chair, forcing him to stand up straight again as she looked him in the eye. âI meant you might not want to see it now. I was waiting until I had something more concrete to show you, and after everything today⌠I just donât want to upset you.â
âUpset me?â he said heatedly, âAfter everything Iâve been through in the past few days, you think I canât handle a little breaking news?â
âJohn,â she started seriously, âwhat I found could trigger your memory. Itâs no guarantee, but if it does, it might be overwhelming. Youâve been through a lot, and youâve handled it reasonably well,â Iman added encouragingly, âbut we both know how exhausting it all was. Iâm almost ready to collapse, and I know youâre more tired than you want to be right now. At the very least you should get some sleep before riding an emotional rollercoaster.â
The warmth that had flared on the sides of his head was shifting. He shuffled, trying not to appear as embarrassed as he felt at being called out. âSo⌠What is it, exactly?â
âPotentially, a picture of you,â Iman explained, âItâs not directly of you â âyouâ are more in the background, but itâs what facial recognition turned up when I tried to match your face with any photos from social media databases we have. I couldnât find a direct match in any other system I tried, with the exception of the criminal database. And Arkham,â she finished with a nod.
An odd thing to suddenly look for. He couldnât help but ask himself why. It made sense to say it aloud, but it was smarter to ask a direct question rather than something too broadly answered. âWhy would you try to do that?â
âArenât you curious about yourself?â she dodged, staring him down with a slight tilt of her head, âYou told me before that Arkham hadnât pulled up anything on you, but I know some of their paper records were destroyed in an accident three years after your admittance. And thereâs the events around the time of your admittance nine years ago,â she said, sounding far more curious about it than he had in ages, âAn accident at Ace Chemicals, an unrecoverable data loss at the Agency, the string of deaths in the Valestra mafia over the tri-city area â and there was an unusually high number of crimes in both Gotham and Bludhaven the week you were brought to Arkham from the harbor. The G.C.P.D. might not have found anything linking a missing person to any of those events at the time, but it canât be a complete coincidence.â
It was easy to see how invested sheâd gotten. âYou put a loooot of thought into this, huh?â
âDonât you want to know who you were?â
He took the captainâs chair and tapped his feet on the floor, thinking about what to say as he leaned his head back into his hand. Maybe it was his meds, or maybe it was Bruceâs essence seeping into his skin from the chair, but he found he wasnât really mad at her for looking where heâd never asked. He didnât care about whether or not it was really for his sake or just her own curiosity, but sheâd given herself away enough to emphasize that there was a line that needed drawing. âI used to,â he emphasized, âWhat name I went by, what I did, any family I had; stuff like that use d to keep me up at night, get me through the long days⌠But who I am now is a better question! And thatâs never a solid answer, either,â he ribbed, smiling over at her with a chuckle. âIâm surprised at you, Iman - didnât you ask yourself why it took three years for someone to get match-happy near my file?â
She stared back, shifting slightly between his eyes. She didnât lose the curious look on her tan face. âSo that was youâŚâ
âNot that it matters,â he countered, pleased that sheâd understood, âYouâre a sneaky snooper â Iâd wondered why you asked me about the day I woke up during your last visit! Here I just thought you were making friendly, topical conversation. Were those marshmallow Peeps a subliminal bribe, too?â
Ah. There was the guilt seeping in. âA little.â
âEt tu, Peeps?!â he feigned clutching his chest in betrayal, unable to stop from giggling afterward.
âIâm sorry, John,â Iman said, looking very much like she meant it, âIâd thought youâd want to know as much as I did,â she said slowly, not quite looking at him. âBut I did want you to have visitors apart from Bruce,â Iman added, meeting his gaze again, âI wouldâve gone anyway.â
He knew there was no way that wasnât true. âI know,â he said, smiling wider, âYouâre nice like that.â
She flashed a smile, but the gears were clearly still turning in her head. âJohn, if you donât mind me asking⌠Why did you stop being curious?â
John was slightly surprised. He was sure she was going to ask about what was in his old file that was missing from the new one. He tapped his heel, remembering the isolation of Arkham. The three years of hoping for anyone to really explain anything, to see him, to know him. The bitter understanding of the truth. The hilarity of the reality.
âBecause things like âwho I wasâ and âwho knew meâ doesnât really matter,â he answered after a beat, âNo one cares about whoever-I-was. If they did, theyâve forgotten. And thatâs really for the better,â he shrugged, âNot knowing is fun â itâs multiple-choice! Maybe I was someone in the wrong place at the wrong time; or someone at the right place at the wrong time. Maybe I was some experiment gone wrong. Maybe I was even an Agent, like you,â he teased with a wider grin and a chuckle that wouldnât stay down, âWouldnât that be a laugh and a half!â
She seemed to get it. Her eyes drifted down to her hands, guilt still softening her face. Anyway, she didnât look confused or disturbed, or anything that rang the alarm bell in Johnâs head saying he said the wrong thing. âDo you want me to delete everything?â she asked, looking back at him sincerely, âItâs not much, but if you donât want the information anywayâŚâ
He leaned back in the chair, feeling more at ease now that the line had been scribbled down. Heâd let her do what she liked, as long as she kept him out of it. And Bruce, but he was sure Bruce had already pulled out all the stops and come up with nothing, anyway. âHey, just because I donât care to know doesnât mean Iâll stop you from solving a dead-end mystery,â he teased, âThough I do want to know what your fancy software pulled upâŚâ
âYou still want to see that?â
âI said I wasnât curious about who I was, I never said I didnât want to see the picture you found. Besides, if nine years of therapy and doctors cramming their memory exercises down my hippocampus hasnât brought anything back, I doubt a little picture will.â
âWellâŚif youâre sure.â
The software had dozens of pictures saved in the file, but the one Iman brought up â just big enough to see, not take up the full screen â was of people clearly having what looked like a Great Gatsby themed party on what looked like the deck of a ship of some kind. At first, John focused on the people in front:  a group of young twenty-somethings he didnât recognize in the slightest, most of them sporting a glass or bottle of alcohol in hand, the quality of the image being the best indicator that the cell phone used for it was at least ten years old. But he spotted what the software, and Iman, must have noticed behind the group, clearly just walking by with a cigarette in hand â another young man in his early twenties sporting a cheap suit, seeming out of place against the others, half his long face in view enough to show one green eye and a few locks of dark brown hair.
âWow, thatâsâŚnothing,â John blinked, surprised at himself. âI got more feeling looking in the mirror with peach-tone makeup on.â
âReally? I can see why it pulled this one,â Iman said, looking between him and the picture on screen, âIâm pretty sure that guy has your nose.â
âPfft, barely,â John rolled his eyes. âHe certainly doesnât have my fashion sense,â he gloated, thumbing his purple t-shirt.
Iman smiled, finally, glancing down at the zig-zags of blue and orange of his pajama pants. âYouâve got me there.â
âItâs a pretty bad picture, too,â John continued, âThe lightingâs terrible, the angle is off⌠And those two -â he pointed towards the two flappers with their arms around each otherâs shoulders â âare definitely faking it.â
She gave a light hah. âThey certainly are. The left oneâs too strained and stiff all over, and the otherâs smile doesnât reach their eyes.â
John thought to himself for a moment. Heâd missed an opportunity to take a picture during their team-up at the theater, since the car was too dangerous while it was moving, and the jumpsuits didnât flatter either of them. And she was the only one he didnât have a picture of on his phone somewhere. âI bet we could do better,â John grinned, pulling out his phone.
Iman smiled, rolling the chair a little closer to him. âYouâre on.â Her arm wrapped around his shoulder, and he mimicked the action.
âThis good?â
âMaybe a little more to the left⌠John, itâs not a selfie if youâre not in it.â
âYou said left,â he teased, moving it back, âSay... Um, how do you say âcheeseâ in Farsi?â
âPanir.â
âSay âpah-nehrâ!â Snap. âOoh, thatâs good! The monitor light really makes us glow.â
A text popped over the image, from Devi: Â Hey r u ok???...
Then another, this time a text from Jackie:  Photobooth appâŚ
âYouâre popular today,â Iman nudged, âDonât mind me, Iâm going to clean some of this stuff up. Do you mind if I keep the chair? Itâs easier to move around in.â
John stood. âNah, go ahead,â he waved, selecting Deviâs text first, âIâm going to go wait for Bruce to come back out. He canât stay in there all night.â
Hey r u ok??? Mick said he called u w info earlier and he thinks u told the bat and ofc theres probs @ Arkham. Bat sighting by Chauncey 2.
Hes pretty worried. I mean he wont SAY he is but he IS.
I m 2 after hearing about the Black Mask bust up @ Waynes!!! We didnt know until after group! Stupid phone wifi cant load news for shit :(
âDidnât really have the time, did I?â he muttered to himself, leaning one hand against the railing to stretch himself out.
But he wasnât going to leave her on read. Knowing Devi and Mickey cared enough to worry over him made him feel that warm, fuzzy sense of appreciation again.
Yeah Iâm ok, sorry for the radio silence!!! A lot happened :o) Still kinda processing some of it, he typed, not wanting to go into too much detail. Upper floor break room always has the news on first thing at 6 if you need to eavesdrop. Dr. W still gets papers, usually tosses them at 11. ;) Â Oh and the Bat says thanks to Mickey btw.
Damnnn J something real went down huh???
John laughed to himself at her choice of phrase. It was real. There was no doubt left in his mind.
Iâll tell you more when I see you guys. I have remote therapy but I still have work on Tuesday as far as I know so we can talk then! ;D
Aw :( 2 much 2 text? My phones safe u kno.
Trust me, itâs easier to say in person, he typed back. Ttyl (93-)
K igy. Night J man :)
John swiped over to the other active chat. Jackie had sent him a second copy of the picture sheâd taken of the two of them all dressed up in the churchâs stairwell â the owl mask sheâd worn sitting on the stairs behind him â with her tiny flashlight being held up at an angle with the phone so the camera flash didnât look too terrible in the dark. Sheâd added a soft-light filter, little sparkling stamps around, and some bat âstickersâ here and there, with the caption â#StraightOuttaGothamâ in glittering purple bubble-letters at the bottom, all sitting above her text:
Photobooth app didnât have enough room for âyou canât fight if you ainât cuteâ :/
The cave always made his laugh bounce around no matter how loud or quiet he was, and now it was jarring the bats hiding up above. It was funny on several levels at once, but all the feelings that had built up and grown static in the wind-down of the eveningâs car ride home finally had a good outlet, and he let it out until he sank to the metal floor to stop himself from doubling over the railing.
John slipped his legs through the gaps in the rails as he caught his breath. He rested the phone in his lap so he could wipe away the moisture that had built up in his left eye. âAhhâŚThatâs one for the album,â he said to himself, saving the image for later. Heâd have to frame that for sure.
Then came footsteps. Not from the right, where he was expecting Bruce sooner or later, and not a hobbled step with a cane from behind that would mean it was Iman. He pocketed his phone, the good mood already evaporating.
Tiffany had stopped a foot away, hands at her sides like she didnât know what to do with them, her whole face practically screaming unsure. âHey,â she said finally, with a slight shrug, âCanâŚI sit with you?â
He knew things would be going this way eventually. Sheâd saved him back there, in the ironically-named Church of Mercy, and he wasnât sure if it was an attempt at apologizing or if she wouldâve done it for anyone, but it had broken the ice. Heâd went along with being casual â and not just for Bruceâs sake â and even though heâd like nothing more than to shove all the awkwardness and pain from the past two days into a drawer for him to pointedly avoid for the rest of his life, he knew that wouldnât happen now. It had to be laid out on the table and pointed to like a broken vase.
âPretty sure that itâs still a free country if weâre underneath it,â he answered lightly, âUnless this place isnât marked on a map... Then you could do anything anyway.â
Tiffany sat next to him, crossing one leg and letting the other hang over the side through the gap in the metal railing. She was quiet, and even though only a few seconds passed it felt like way too long to him. âSo, are you okay? I mean, like, physically,â she rushed, âI know youâre okayâŚotherwise,â she finished lamely, trying to gesture slightly with her hands towards another category. âBut you got shot at, and I know I saw blood on you - and Iman filled me in on Arkham while you were upstairs,â she went on, âFighting one of those Talon guys on your own couldnât have been easy.â
John felt a cruel giggle bubbling in this throat. She was clearly trying to avoid saying anything that could be construed as another attack on his mental health, and it was made funnier by her shirt sporting the words âPoint B.L.A.N.Kâ dramatically written above some language he couldnât read. âAww, are you worried?â he teased, needling her further. He wanted her to squirm a bit.
âWell⌠Yeah. I saw a guy punch you in the gut. Who knows what other injuries you have?â
âI didnât think you cared,â he answered, swinging his legs over the edge and looking out at the cave. Tiffany was easy to poke. The quiet said all he needed to know of her embarrassment. âYou saved me earlier, sure, but that couldâve just been payback for all I know.â
He could feel her staring. âJohn, why do you think Iâm talking to you right now?â
Well his first guess was âguiltâ, but-
âLook, I know I screwed up. But I didnât save you to make up for it. Or for any of that âtit for tatâ garbage,â she said, dark eyes staring at him pointedly, a softness like Bruceâs there. âI saw someone pointing a gun at you, and I acted.â
Ah. Ha ha. Ha ha ha! âA real hero, huh?â He leaned his head against the railing, the laugh dying low in his throat. He slid his arms through the large gap, too, numbing himself as he loosely crossed his arms. âI know you know what itâs like getting stabbed,â he said, holding up his own scarred palm, mirroring hers, âso I know you understand when I say that little conversation you and Alfred had about me was on par with that. I mean, I knew Alfred didnât really approve of me when I got here. It still twisted the knife in,â he mimed at his own heart, smiling but not feeling the humor of the joke, âbut it wasnât a real surprise. But you? I thought we had something. We were getting along, becoming friends, having fun chasing the crook-of-the-week⌠And then you pulled the rug out from under me. I just canât figure out what I did that sent me back to square one.â
She didnât look away, at first. Her eyes and nose scrunched slightly, her brows furrowed up, and it was all regret. Tiffany cast a look over the cave again, her hands crumpling the material of her pink sweatpants. âIt wasnât really you,â she answered, âBruce didnât tell me you two were...together. So when you said you knew he loved you, I thought it was a big red flag,â she said, glancing over at him briefly. âAnd when you showed up at the Gala⌠I thought maybe you were obsessing over him or something. The whole âCourt of Owlsâ theory you put forth sounded so â so wrong, that I thought youâdâŚâ
Gone off your meds, John finished for her. She looked like she didnât want to say that, and was struggling for anything else to replace it.
âI thought Bruce was in danger,â she lamented, âI know I shouldâve just talked to him and cut out all the bullshit, but I didnât think heâd really listen to me.â Tiffany met his eyes again, not breaking away this time. âIâm sorry. I wouldnât have said any of it if-â she cut herself off, clearly not liking where that sentence was going â âI never meant to hurt you,â she added instead, clasping her hands together in her lap and avoiding his gaze. âThatâs really what it boils down to. Can weâŚstart over? Pretend it never happened?â
John stared back at her. She was serious about wanting that. It came through in her voice and her soft brown eyes. Tiffany and Bruce werenât related, but they sure could be alike sometimes. That âI never meant to hurt youâ sounded a lot like him.
He remembered getting that Batarang stuck in his hand. The sharp edges piercing his palm and sent his nerves screaming back into reality... Forgetting the rude things theyâd said about him was like trying to erase the Batarang.
It was funny, though: he wasnât as mad about it. Either the cold metal of the walkway was doing a pretty good job of keeping him numb to the bits of angry hurt still sitting in his gut, or Dr. Song had been right when sheâd said looking at things from their perspective could help. They really did all love Bruce, didnât they? They all kept looking out for him in their own waysâŚ
Still, he couldnât pretend it never happened. It was impossible, even if he wanted to. It was another thing to mend and heal. She had to understand that.
John sighed, leaning back to stretch out. âKinda hard to forget about all that, kiddo,â he said, âI know, itâs ironic â an amnesiac who canât forget something,â he joked, chuckling at himself. âBut pretending it didnât happen wonât make the wound heal any faster.â
He could feel the muscle in his right palm twitch. If he had to face reality head-on, so did Tiffany.
âWe both know that,â he continued, âMy hand took several weeks to heal after surgery, but I see the scar every day. I can cover it up, but Iâll always know itâs there. Itâs the same for you, right?â he asked, pointing at her own scarred hand.
Tiffany looked down at her right hand, where the faded scar made a slash over the back, in-between the knuckles and wrist. He could tell she was thinking of the knife heâd run through her hand; but there was no pain written in her face. Only understanding. âYeah.â
âSee? Thatâs why we canât pretend. The scars arenât visible, but I know theyâre there.â John kicked his legs over the edge. âTheyâll just take a little longer to heal.â
âI guess starting over isnât really an option, huhâŚâ
âAnd what, forget about how you literally flew down to kick that Owl in the head? Our car chase on your bike? Our little crime scene investigation on the roof? Not on your life!â he grinned over at her. âWe donât need to start over, Tiffâ. You just have to learn to take my feelings a little more seriously. And stop making assumptions.â
Tiffany looked at him like she was searching for anything insincere. She seemed hopeful. Or maybe it was relieved. John settled on a mix of both. âI think I can do that,â she answered with a slight smile.
âOh, good; fighting beside you is more fun when we get to banter.â Truthfully, he felt better knowing they were picking things up where theyâd left off rather than having to start afresh again. Heâd had more than enough of that. âSoooâŚdoes this mean I can call you âTiffyâ now?â
âIâll think about it.â Tiffany shuffled her legs to put both over the platformâs edge, leaning her arms over the rail. âAre you waiting for Bruce?â
âYup.â
âHe really pushes himself too hard,â she said, swinging her legs gently. âI know itâs because heâs Batman, but I almost thought heâd collapse when we got home. The guyâs exhausted.â
âThatâs why Iâm waiting,â John commented, âI didnât want to leave him to climb up all those stairs alone⌠Youâd think with a cave this size thereâd be a bed down here.â
âYeah, youâd thinkâŚâ Tiffanyâs dark eyes suddenly sparked. âWhy donât we bring one down for him instead?â
Ooh. Now that was an idea... The cave was Bruceâs domain, but how many nights did Bruce come home this tired and crawl up to that giant master bed to sleep the pain and emotional lashes off, all alone? Probably more than heâd ever sayâŚ
âHow many guest rooms does this place have, again? Thereâs me, you, ImanâŚâ He tossed a look over at Iman behind them, seeing the chair shift around like she hadnât been watching them the whole time. He eyed her, thinking about height and width. âWhat do you think, two mattresses for the four of us? Unless Alfred wants inâŚâ
Tiffany gave a light, short laugh. âItâs been a while since Iâve had a sleepover, but I think two will work,â she answered, gripping the railing to stand. âAnd I donât think Alfred would sleep down here, even if it wasnât the Batcave; heâs got a fancy adjustable bed. Hey, Iman!â
Iman swiveled the chair all the way around. âYes?â
âWeâre moving mattresses to sleep down here tonight. You in?â
âOnly if youâre using the seven-hundred-thread-count sheets,â she answered, âAnd if one of you could get my eye mask from my room, please?â
John pushed himself up off the floor and brushed off his pajama pants. âI gotcha, Agent. Need anything else?â
âA pillow for my ankle wouldnât hurt.â
Tiffany was already heading towards the elevator. âJust text if you think of something else.â
John followed close behind, glancing around the corner towards the bathroom Bruce was still holed up in. The light was still on under the door. âWhat are the odds heâll come out of there as soon as weâre in the elevator?â
âPreeetty good. Which is why weâll have to go fast.â The elevator slid open, and they both stepped in at the same time. âOtherwise heâll try and go up anyway.â
                                                        â â â â â
Bruce stepped out from the steamy tiled bathroom onto the cool metal of the Batcave floor. He didnât quite care that his hair wasnât completely dry or that heâd stayed a little too long in the shower. Heâd become hazy under the spray, letting the hot water soak into his skin and wash away the Bat, bringing him back to his senses. His anger had faded, being worked through his body during the raid on the Court of Owls, and what had settled into a sense of satisfaction had turned into a hunger for something he couldnât quite place.
He expected to see John as he rounded the corner, but he encountered nothing but empty space. He looked over the cave, not seeing any sign of life where he would expect to⌠No sign of John or Tiffany at all; he didnât expect to see them too close together, but he still expected to see them doing something, maybe at the weapons storage or the medical bay. He didnât hold out hope for Alfred to hang around, and he expected Iman had gone to get some proper sleep.
Bruce was used to being alone in there, and in the rest of the manor. Maybe heâd just gotten used to the hectic days of a full house and almost constant companionship, but somehow, being down there all alone at that moment feltâŚhollow.
The soft click of a mouse pulled his attention towards the Batcomputer, where he could see Imanâs messy brown bun poking over the top of the captainâs chair. An empty office chair sat next to it, turned oddly like she had been moving between chairs at a whim.
Bruce felt strangely relieved to know someone was still down there. He made his way towards her, checking the screens; she seemed to be working on the left-over notes and references to what theyâd all found, complete with pictures.
âWhere are those from?â
Iman practically jumped in her seat with a shout. Heâd clearly startled her too much. âBruce, I didnât even hear you walking,â she stressed.
Oh. He didnât even realize he was still using his stealth walk. âSorry, force of habit,â he said with an apologetic shrug, âI was trained by ninjas.â
âAt least tap the back of the chair next time. Iâve strained my ears and this thingâs,â she gestured to the snake-shaped hearing aid, âabilities more than enough for one evening. Anyway, youâŚasked something?â
He decided against telling her to go get some rest. âThe pictures you took,â he said while looking back up at the monitor, âWhere are they from? I donât recognize them.â
âThose are the ones John took from the theater. He didnât label them, so Iâm going through and marking which were more relevant.â
There was more than one picture of the various bat-signal-like shapes sprayed on the walls. And one that looked like the clown-smiley-face he drew on the sticky notes still saved in Bruceâs desk drawer. âAh, yes, graffiti art. Very relevant.â
âI think itâs interesting. I wonder how many different people went through there⌠You can see the different spray patterns of the bats, and some have more control over the drip of the paint. And they were scattered all over that hallway; a lot of people were brave to go in there and tag it in the first place, but to do a bat? Considering how much anti-Batman graffiti there is in the middle of Gotham, it really says something.â
Truthfully, Bruce didnât think it was that brave to go tag the inside of an all-but-abandoned building, but he reminded himself that he had refined his breaking-and-entering skills for years, and others had grown up honing them for survival, so he kept that quiet. âI have more secret admirers than I thought.â
âAs long as they donât form a vigilante club,â Iman muttered.
Hm⌠He had to admit heâd thought about other John Does running around since the Agency had left. It was a small concern, considering Johnâs old friends â the ones Bruce could find not under arrest, in any case â had kept their noses clean of further clown-themed vigilantism. But there was Sonja, Reverend Overfield, and that unidentified Owl⌠âSome already did. The Court of Owls seemed to think we were on the same side.â
âYou donât believe that, do you?â she asked, swiveling to look at him. She was surprisingly annoyed, and almost disgusted. âThey were prepared to kill you back there. If they had the chance, they would have.â She stared at him hard. âThrowing John and I in Arkham â that was to make us suffer before they destroyed the place. And I know that if you werenât Batman, they were going to try and induct you, and then kill you â that Talon who found us at the theatre had a file on your public face in their pile of targeted Arkham residents.â
Heâd suspected Bruce Wayne was on their hit list. None of that was a surprise, but he had refrained from thinking too much about the situation at Arkham. And now he saw her point: there was no way to know how long either of them would stay unconscious; both of them clearly had time to escape, but if they couldnât have⌠Waking up in Arkham only to die in its crumbled ruins wouldâve been a wide-awake nightmare.
âYouâre not like them, Bruce. They donât have any regard for human life outside of their puritanical views. I know you well enough to say youâre better than that.â
He knew he was harder than he needed to be on people sometimes. He knew that if he wasnât exactly who he was now, he might be more like the Owls than heâd want. But hearing someone other than himself say he wasnât like them lifted the weighted question off his mind. At least for tonight. âI donât exactly believe we were on the same side, but⌠I needed to hear that,â he said sincerely. âHowâs your ankle?â
Iman cast a look down at the plastic brace strapped over her foot and calf. âIt could be better. Alfred assures me that itâs not broken, but I canât drive for at least two weeks,â she huffed. âI really shouldnât have walked on it to follow John out of the laundry room, but I wasnât sure what that Talon would do at the time⌠It goes to follow, when something stops you from moving around, you suddenly appreciate being able to do so on your own. Though Iâm not looking forward to eventually having to go up stairs all by myself.â
Was that why she was still awake? âIâm surprised youâre still down here. I wouldâve thought someone would have helped you up,â he commented as the elevator door dinged.
âOh, I donât need help tonight,â she smiled up at him, âOur cityâs two other heroes are bringing a bed down here.â
âBringing a bed?â Bruce pondered aloud.
âTwo beds, actually,â Alfred interjected, âI barely stopped your partners in crime from surfing down the stairs with the mattresses.â
The old butler might have been dressed in his bathrobe and slippers, but he still seemed like he was on duty; he was even carrying in a plate of miscellaneous finger-food from the gala and holding it like he was going around the ballroom. It was a sight that Bruce didnât know heâd needed to see until right then.
âTheyâre under the impression youâre going to fall to pieces trying to get up the stairs tonight. I didnât have the heart to tell them Iâve seen you manage with two fractured ribs, a wounded leg, and broken arm.â
Bruce barely noticed that Alfred had put the plate down near him. The elevator had silently retreated and was coming back down again.
âAt least you donât have any of those injuries this time,â Alfred commented gently, âThis is the most whole Iâve seen you after one of these nights.â
Tiffany came out of the elevator first, backing out with one end of a queen-sized mattress in her hands, and John carrying the other â at least until John spotted him. âBruce!â The mattress slipped out of his hands as his face lit up like it was visiting hours.
Tiffany struggled to balance the sudden shift in weight. âJohn! Donât DROP it!â
âWhoops â sorry.â
Tiffany didnât seem to mad about it. âAt least we can slide it down the stairsâŚâ
Alfred turned towards them. âYou will not,â he called out to them firmly, âBoth of you will either carry it down, or you will sleep up here.â
John looked over at the stairs. âUh, we should probably switch sides, thenâŚâ
Bruce watched them for a moment. It was strange how both of them were suddenly getting along. Heâd looked over it at the church, putting it down to a truce, but now it seemed like theyâd made amends.
âI know I have them to thank for that,â Alfred continued, âI never expected you to have both a protĂŠgĂŠ and a very dedicated partner, much less have them both out in the field with you.â
Partner. The word stuck out like a sore thumb. There was no distaste, no disapproval, just acknowledgement. âNeither did I,â Bruce said, not wanting to call too much attention to it right away, âTwo years ago I never expected I could have people I could regularly count on, other than you.â
âYes, well⌠Iâm glad we were both caught off guard, in that sense. I always said you needed more than my old bones to keep up your crusade.â
Bruce eyed him, looking for any sign of denial or hesitance. âIâd say John is more than a partner at this point.â
Alfred raised an eyebrow, straightening slightly. âIâm well aware of your feelings, Master Bruce; I just never thought youâd really follow through with them.â He looked out over the landing, where John was backing down the last set of stairs very carefully with the mattress end. âI suppose I hoped you wouldnât, in a sense. Truthfully, I didnât think he wasâŚgood enough for you, before,â he settled on, his features going soft. Bruce sometimes forgot how old Alfred really was, and his age showed more than ever in the fine lines and the softer look staring at him in the dark brown eyes sitting behind thin, wiry glasses. âI only ever want whatâs best for you.â
Bruce couldnât bring himself to tell him he could decide what was best for himself, despite the childish desire to say so. Alfred was only doing his duty as his guardian. Looking out for his ward in the best ways he knew how. âI know that, Alâ.â
He turned away from Bruce, picking the plate back up. âBesides, I figured the term âvigilante-boyfriendâ sounded a bit too gauche. âPartnerâ is far more versatile.â
Bruce found himself with the full plate being pushed into his hands. The smell of the cucumber and ham in the tea sandwiches on the tray hit his nose like a punch, causing his stomach to gurgle in response. The little vegetable rolls, spinach puffs, raspberry chocolate tartlets, and bite-size beef wellingtons were quite a sight for someone who hadnât eaten anything all day.
âThatâs for the both of you. Iâd better find it empty when I come back down tomorrow morning.â Surprisingly, he passed Bruce, reaching into his robe pockets as he conversed with Iman. âHere you are, my dear â phone fully charged, and painkillers as requestedâŚâ
Bruce decided to let them talk alone, and made his way towards the still-open elevator, where Tiffany and John were just maneuvering the second mattress out.
âHey, buddy! Can you, uh, toss some of those pillows on here?â John nodded his head towards the mattress center, being held flat.
âMight as well throw on the blankets, too,â Tiffany added from the elevator door, holding the mattress up with one leg to wrangle one of the blankets up.
Bruce looked at the corner of the elevator, where theyâd dropped the once-neatly-folded bedclothes and pillows. âItâs a good thing Alfred is distracted,â he mumbled, using his free hand to toss the pillows on, âHeâd never forgive you two for throwing these on the floor.â
âWhat he doesnât know wonât hurt him,â Tiffany shrugged.
Bruce tossed the blanket over the pillows. He knew better than to think that anymore. âHow many times did I tell that to myself?â
âHey, at least itâs just sheets this time.â
Bruce returned her little smile, bundling the sheets under his free arm so he could walk alongside her. Despite everything that had happened earlier that day, she seemed to be doing better than heâd expected. She was right when she said she could handle herself out there. Still, he knew what it was like to lie there and process everything afterwards in an exhausted stupor rather than sleep, and she might have had that youthful spark of energy going into the Courtâs lair, but... âHow are you feeling?â he asked her.
Tiffany hummed in thought. âIf you told me this morning that we were going to be kidnapped by the Court of Owls, escape, and then willingly go back to their lair to fight them and arrest Black Mask, I wouldâve asked what planet you thought we were on.â She watched the pillows shift in the center of the mattress and slowly try to slide down with gravity as they descended the stairs. She had the same expression now as when she was working, with eyes fixed on a screen half-filled with code only she truly understood. âThat was one hell of a day,â she said, the corner of her mouth lifting into another smile, âbut I could do it again. Thatâs how Iâm feeling. How about you? You seem pretty tired. Not that I blame youâŚâ
Heâd had longer days than this. He was used to the gnaws of hunger, to not getting enough rest, to the strain of almost-overworked muscle, and the muddled cornucopia of thoughts in his head.
It was strange, though, how he didnât really feel any of it right now. At least not in the same way as before. It was there, but all like background noise, like the rush of the waterfall in the cave. The feeling of needing something unnameable was all but gone, as if drowned out. Or maybe fulfilled.
The only thing he was sure he could really feel was⌠âSatisfied,â he answered.
âReally?â
âReally.â He knew she had to be part of the reason for that. The day wouldâve been longer and far more arduous without her help. âI was really impressed with you out there. I know Lucius would be proud.â
She smiled wider, the sparkle returning to her eyes with pride. âI think so, too.â
The mattress was dropped a foot above the floor, right next to the other in the middle of the platform. Bruce put the plate down on the floor and worked on finding the bottom sheet for one set. âNow, if you had told me Iâd be doing this today, I wouldnât have believed it.â
John grinned over at him. âGee, Bruce, you act like making a bed to sleep on with your friends in the middle of your top-secret hideout is weird.â
He tossed him the other end of the fitted sheet. âDonât tell me youâve done this before.â
âMe? Hah! Nah. But a good idea is a good idea.â
Tiffany tucked the corner in with a playful huff. âYou shouldâve had more sleepovers as a kid,â she shot to Bruce, âYouâd understand better.â (Bruce didnât know exactly why that would help in this situation.) âMy friends and I once set up a tent in the living room, moved it to the back yard in one piece, and then pretended we were all pioneer girls on the run from the law.â She straightened her side of the top sheet sheâd taken from the pile. âI still remember that stew we made in the camping gearâŚâ
âWhat crimes did you guys commit?â John asked, not paying attention as he was tossed the end of the blanket. He missed grabbing it.
âUh, murdering our husbands, witchcraft, and stealing a pie.â
Bruce raised a brow while John laughed. âAnd how does that help make this whole night any less strange?â
Tiffany stepped around him to start on the other mattress. âBecause on weird levels, this is nothing.â
He supposed so. If he compared the whole day up until this moment⌠âI guess getting broken out of a kidnapping via the Batmobile crashing through a wall is a lot less mundane than this.â
John sighed. âI wish I couldâve seen that,â he said wistfully, taking the other end of the second fitted sheet. âThat sounds way more fun than crawling through the air vent.â
Bruce felt the year-old wound in his side twinge. He glanced down at Johnâs long white fingers, seeing a plaster wrapped around one. There were two more on his elbows, along with several bruises. Iman had only mentioned during their drive to the church that John had found her locked up before they got entangled with the Talon.
âReally? How did that happen?â Tiffany asked innocently, unaware of the implications of Johnâs situation.
Heâd woken up alone in a locked cell.
And as expected, Johnâs demeanor changed, his eyes looking far away, beyond the top sheet he was still staring at and back to Arkham. âNot by choice,â he said darkly. He glanced over at his right forearm. The cuts from the glass at St. Dymphna were partially healed already, but Bruce wondered why he didnât put a fresh bandage over it. âBut it turned out alright,â he finished as if returned to the present. âI mean, Iâm here, youâre here â right where we should be.â
Bruce heard chair wheels rolling over metal from up above. Iman had stopped the office chair near the top of the stairs. âTiffany, can you come up? I need your help for a secâ.â
âComing!â
Alfred called over the railings at the group, too: Â âGood night; Iâll be back down in the morning for you all.â
Bruce heard the three other bids of goodnight, but didnât pay it any attention â John had taken a seat on the newly-covered makeshift bed, glancing over at him with a soft, needy sort of look, as if Bruce was too far away. Bruce took the bed opposite his, facing the staircase, leaving the plate of finger-food in the small part between them.
âHalf of this is yours,â he said, pointing to the plate.
âYou should probably eat some of that, then,â John said quietly, a smile picking up the corner of his pale lips. âAlfred told me to make sure you do. Iâd hate to force-feed you.â
Bruce doubted that very much, but the laugh in Johnâs eyes wasnât quite there. Like him, John was waiting to hear that last footstep on the stairs. Bruce padded out the time by eating two of the spinach puffs in one bite; the buttery crust and soft spinach melted in his mouth, and in one swoop he felt like he could eat the whole plate.
John gave a tiny laugh, and then the coast was clear up above. They were alone. One beat, and then two, and then it was nothing but John sitting across from him, heart bare and needy. âI donât know how you do it,â he said quietly. âYou justâŚdeal with all of this so casually, and Iâm⌠Ha, kinda shaken up, the more I think about it.â He looked down at his hand, where the Batarang had plunged through thirteen months ago. âI almost broke, you know. Nearly took that emergency exit.â
Bruce was unable to move. He didnât have to ask what it meant. He knew, intrinsically.
âIf it wasnât for you, and the others, I wouldnât be here right now. Iâd be pushing up daisies with the rest of Arkham,â he continued, looking unblinkingly at Bruce despite the humorous tilt to his voice at âdaisiesâ. His little smile was brief. âIt was scary. I can only imagine what it was like for you, waking up all alone in âOwl H.Q.ââŚâ John softened, stooping to lean his elbows on his knees. He stared at the rope burns on Bruceâs wrists. âI wish I couldâve saved you.â
Considering Arkham was still standing thanks to him, Bruce was grateful that he couldnât. But he was clearly upset, and he needed more comfort than that. âYou saved a lot of lives tonight,â Bruce soothed, âIman, Arkham, GothamâŚand mine, at least twice in that courtroom.â
âBut itâs not the same,â John grumbled, âI donât care if youâre Batman or not â you had to break yourself out of your cell, with no help, and you act like it was nothing.â
So that was it. Heâd almost had a breakdown in Arkham before he escaped, and he wasnât so much ashamed or embarrassed about it as he was guilty. And coupled with it was the envy of Bruceâs ability to keep calm, and heâd attributed it to not feeling any repercussions.
But Bruce couldnât blame him for thinking that way. Heâd been straightforward in the car when explaining his and Tiffanyâs dramatic kidnap and escape, with Tiffany embellishing the story with her own little details. Heâd mainly focused on getting them all home.
âIt wasnât nothing,â he admitted. It wasnât as bad as Johnâs experience, but he would understand. âI could hear everything, but I couldnât see anything. All I could think of was the time I was wasting in that chair. The people who could come back in any second. I thought of everything that could happen â to me, to Tiffany, to Gotham⌠Every awful scenario.â He was so used to being out on his own, it never occurred to him that John might have the opportunity to save him. Heâd thought of everything but rescue⌠âIt just seemed small in comparison to everything else tonight; and I worked out most of my feelings about that on the Owls.â
John gave a light chuckle that seemed much more genuine. âI thought some of those hits looked a little more forceful than usual. That Reverend looked pret-ty messed up â I wouldâve loved to see that fight.â He picked up one of the little beef wellingtons, the excitement brewing in his voice making Bruceâs face feel warm. âI did some physical therapy, too. That Owl-man in Arkham didnât know who he was dealing with.â
The bruises on Johnâs arms were more prominent next to his wild lounge pants. Some of them, and likely the light one on his cheek, had to be from the Talon. Heâd gone through his worst nightmare and rolled with it all the way up until now. As impressive as it was, it squeezed something uncomfortably in Bruceâs chest. If he hadnât gotten kidnapped himself, if heâd known earlier, if he hadnât asked John and Iman to go to the theatre in the first placeâŚ
âI wish I couldâve saved you, too,â Bruce said softly, feeling every word.
âItâs okay. It was probably better for me that you didnât.â John chewed on a vegetable roll. âKinda made me wonder if Dr. Crane had point, yâknow? The whole âfacing your fears is the only way to get over themâ thing.â
âNo,â Bruce said bluntly, hearing his voice dip as if by reflex at the mention of the disgraced doctor, âNot like that. Never like that.â
John leant back, giving a little hum in thought as he looked up at the stalactites and popped one of the sandwiches in his mouth.
He was quiet for a bit. Bruce could barely taste what he was eating in the silence. Thoughts were swirling behind those poisonous green eyes, and they werenât looking at him enough. Bruceâs gaze trailed over the sharp lines of his pale face, over his lips and down to the bruises on Johnâs neck. It was only from yesterday, but it felt like it had been a week ago, now.
âI guess it was a pretty extreme therapy session,â John muttered, neck still craned up to look at the ceiling, âWaking up and doubting the whole past year. Thinking I was locked away again. I wouldnât want to do it over. But Iâm so much more sure of things now.â He looked back at Bruce, not quite softly, but steady. Bruce felt pinned to the spot. âIâm not doubting anything. Not anymore.â
He said it as if it was a choice he was making. âHow can you be sure?â
âIâm not,â he answered with half a shrug and a smile, âbut if youâre here, then I know everything happened. Itâs how itâs always been.â He leaned forward with something like gratitude in the affection on display. âI wouldâve liked you to burst in and save me, but you do that every day.â
Bruce felt his heart jolt. I do?
He couldnât ask that. It felt like a natural thing for John to say, and he sort of understood the reason why without even asking. He wanted badly to say that John did the same for him, but it felt shallow to just toss the phrase back. For a moment, he wondered if John had even said it at all.
He never wanted to touch him more than now, to make sure he was real. He looked down at the thin white hands. John shifted one forward, not quite reaching out â Bruce took it without thinking. It was warm and solid, like the mattress he was sitting on.
It was like being under the faucet in the shower, letting the hot water pour over his shoulders and down his parched throat. He wanted to lay on John and just feel him there in all his messy beauty.
Before he knew it, Bruceâs forehead found itself resting on Johnâs shoulder. âI wouldnât be here without you, John,â Bruce said, tasting raspberries on the roof of his mouth, âIâm Batman because I have to be. And I want to be. Iâll always be Batman.â He could smell sandalwood and cheap laundry soap as Johnâs right arm wrapped around his back delicately, as if Bruce would melt away. âBut you make me feel like itâs a choice I can make, and I keep choosing âyesâ because of you.â
John didnât breathe for a moment. Bruce felt it brush past his ear. âOh, buddy,â John whispered, âyou really know how to take a guyâs breath away. I wouldâve settled for âyouâre the moon to my sun â âŚâ
Bruceâs left arm curled around Johnâs middle in return. His hand was warm and he didnât want to let go. âI could say that too, if you wanted,â he muttered.
He felt Johnâs laugh brew before he heard it. âHee hee hoo hee! Yeah, but wouldnât sound like you!â John grinned into his hair. âI love you just the way you are, Bruce.â
Bruce held him tighter, not wanting to let go.
He could hear that a hundred times, and still catch himself not quite believing he really meant it.
âUh, did we miss something?â Tiffany asked from what sounded like the stairs, freezing Bruceâs thoughts. He hadnât heard their footsteps at all.
âJust mushy stuff,â John answered with a sly smile, letting Bruce slip away from his embrace and distract himself by pushing the plate away. âYou know, two lovers against the world, that kinda thing.â
Bruce knew logically he had no reason to be embarrassed. They werenât hiding their relationship anymore, and Bruce was used to having far more scandalous displays of affection being seen by the public. But he never felt so exposed. âJohn.â
âYeah?â
Bruce picked up the tartlet left and pushed it at Johnâs mouth. âFinish that for me.â He seemed happy to take it with his teeth, so Bruce set on setting the pillows right and distract everyone from what theyâd seen. Iman had two pillows of different sizes, Bruce had his own special side-sleeper one⌠âDid any of you think about how this was going to work?â
Tiffany stepped towards Bruce with Imanâs arm over her shoulder, seeming to carry her weight with ease. âIâm sleeping next to you at the end.â
âAnd Iâm sleeping on this other end,â Iman said. âYouâre in the middle with John next to me.â
John rocked to one side. âReally? I thought you two would want to sleep next to each otherâŚâ
âIâll overheat in the middle,â Tiffany waved away, letting Iman set herself down on the makeshift bed.
âJuuust that?â John grinned knowingly over at Iman, âOr should I start charging for my piggyback rides?â
âPiggyback?â Tiffany squinted down at Iman. âYou donât think I couldâve done that?â
âEr, no, I know youâre capable-â
John looked way too smug. âI have a sturdier back.â
âThe hell you do. Iâve been training with Bruce for a full year - I could pick you up if I wanted.â
âOoh, you think so? Bring it!â
Bruce had enough. His was far too tired to let them horse around all night. His hand caught Johnâs shoulder before he could stand. âSave it.â (John hesitated to sit back down at first, but did so with a pout.) âItâs late, and three of us have work tomorrow.â
Tiffany trod over to Bruceâs side of the bed. The mattresses were pushed together now, to have one large double-queen. âWhat, am I back in grade school?â she mumbled. âItâs barely past one.â
It is? But that canât be right⌠Bruce pulled out his phone to check. Sure enough, it was 1:06 A.M. But that couldnât have been right â it took them roughly half an hour to get home, and he was sure he was in the shower for over thirty minutes⌠âHuh. I wouldnât have thought that weâd get home so fastâŚâ
John started to settle under the sheets next to Iman, who was positioning the pillow for her ankle. âWhat do you mean?â
âItâs only after one, but I could have sworn we left just after twelve.â
âYou didnât leave after twelve,â Iman chimed in, âyou all left just after eleven-forty. I have the time-stamp on when the drone connected to the Batmobile.â
Maybe Bruceâs sense of time was just off. âWas the clock in the tower set correctly?â
Tiffany plopped next to him, hugging an extra pillow. âYup. I remember checking it against my tablet when we were outside. Why?â
It felt strangely personal to say it aloud. But he didnât really see any alternative. âThe bell in the tower tolled before the rest of you came up.â A beat of silence. âIt seemed planned; the reverend called it âthe justice tollâ. I assumed it was supposed to ring after the trial was over, to coincide with the clock â hence the twelve tolls I heard.â
John nodded with an elongated âohâ as Iman checked her phone with a hum.
Tiffany pulled out her phone and swiped around. âOh, I know what it is â thereâs that hole in the roof, remember?â She turned the phone screen to show him the street-camera stream. Sure enough, there was a decent sized hole in the roof of the churchâs tower, above the bell, barely visible from their angle. âThe rain must have finally fried the wiring on their timer, and made the bell go off early.â
âCan you even do that?â John asked. âI thought those things worked mechanically.â
âSure. The weights and measures needed to pull the bell works on an electrical trigger rather than traditional cog movement. They might have fixed the clock, but Iâd bet they took the cheap way out and replaced the cogs with an electric clock that links with whatever they set up for the bell.â
âBut the clock face is right,â John pointed out.
Bruce had noticed that, but he was more focused on the various emergency vehicles that had parked on the street around the place. It looked like the whole area was sectioned off with G.C.P.D. cars, and their flashing lights were distracting, but he could see some people on stretchers. He was honestly just glad Gordonâs people had gotten there.
âThe source for that is probably separate.â Tiffany put her phone away. âThat, or someone upstairs really likes irony.â
John laughed, falling back onto the pillow. âThat, or Bruce!â he grinned, lightly slapping Bruceâs arm.
Iman stretched her phone over John towards Bruce â a log of time-stamps and drone connectivity. âHere, I was right: 11:43:20PM, my drone connected with the Batmobile. So the chimes went off a few minutes before then.â She pulled her phone away and stashed it under her pillow. Bruce knew the vibration on it was set high enough to wake the dead. âIâm going to take my hearing aid out, now. Goodnight, guys.â
Tiffany tucked herself under the sheets, with Bruce following and muttering goodnight at the same time.
âOh!â John tapped Iman and moved his hand to gesture, not quite touching his mouth and moving the same hand to hover over the other in a cupping motion.
Iman gave him a thumbs-up as she put her aid on the other side of the pillow. She settled down on her back, pulling on a thick eye-mask and folding her hands over her stomach on the covers.
âSleep does sound pretty good right now,â Tiffany mumbled, settling on her side to face Bruce with the second pillow still in her arms. âCan we do something about the lights, though?â
Bruce was still sitting up. âComputer, dim lights to five percent, disable all non-proximity alerts for the next five hours, keep repellant sonar active in all areas for the next six hours, and turn off main screens.â
As expected, the lights dimmed low as the electronic voice echoed back at him: Â âENTERING SLEEP MODE.â
I canât believe I forgot I made that setting, Bruce thought disgruntledly to himself. He blamed it on the need for sleep and the very long week.
âThank you,â John added from the pillow. Naturally, the Batcomputer did not answer back, but he didnât seem to expect it. ââNight, Tiffâ; donât let the bats bite.â
ââNight, guys â and they shouldnât, John; thatâs what the repellent sonar is for.â
Bruce let the sound of the waterfall in the distance take over his thoughts instead. The rush of water, the cool air, the darkness that surrounded them softly â all of it tended to relax him. It kept his head cool, even when confronted with the worst Gotham could offer. As usual, felt more comfortable there than anywhere else in the house.
In fact, he felt better than usual. Being Batman could be exhausting and dangerous, but the end results were often worth the labor and occasional scars. The satisfaction after the fight was still there, the hunger was gone, but more than thatâŚhe felt somehow complete.
Bruce felt a tug on the end of his t-shirt. John patted the mattress. âLay down already,â he mumbled, a smile in his voice.
Bruce made to lie down on his stomach, folding his arms underneath his pillow with a sigh of goodnight. He couldnât remember the last time â if there was any time â heâd slept with so many people around.
He felt John rolling onto his side to face him with his left hand placed between their pillows. A wordless invitation to which Bruce responded almost immediately, linking his left pinkie with Johnâs.
He could see the âI love youâ in his handsome, pale face, and wondered if John could see it in his.
The caveâs atmosphere swallowed him gently, as always, but the warmth that came from Johnâs quiet
ânightâ
and the flutter of his lashes into a sweet calm was what finally made Bruce slip into sleep.
                                                      â â â â â
Author Notes: Did you all have fun re-reading and finding my tarot hints? (*âá´â)・*ďž Man, I didn't realize how much stuff I referenced until I went over my own notes over the past few months... Some of them are hard!! I drew up a chapter-by-chapter guide you can read here on tumblr [soon!], if you'd like to read it. I'm sure you saw "The World" clearly in the title here, but this chapter is also referencing the X of Cups! It's a celebration of our fulfilling journey finally coming to a close! We still have the epilogue left, but it's a bit sad to be finishing this story soon. It took a lot longer to finish than the other one...
But you're not thinking about that!!! You're thinking about the fact that I made A BATFAM SLEEPOVER ENDING!!!! The whole Batfam under one roof!!! Found-family bonding, baby!!! Ha ha ha, yes, back in Feb 2020, I was sorting through ideas of what to have as an ending! I knew I wanted John to have the opportunity to make his own decisions regarding relationships, and thus be able to forgive Tiffy and Al', but I wasn't sure on where to show it outside of the post-battle Batcave, and furthermore what to do with everyone after that! And then I thought "what's the most self-indulgent thing I could do?" to which I instantly replied .ďžâfound family sleepoverâďž. and here we are!!! John is OFFICIALLY part of the Bat-family! Tiffany is recognized by Batman as a valuable team member! Iman is ALSO officially part of the Bat-family! Even Alfred got character growth! And Bruce recognizes that he needs and loves the people around him and that they are in fact an unspoken family AT LAST!!! I hope it's just as satisfying for you all to read as it was for me to write!
Speaking of, fun facts about The Sleepover Endingâ˘:  You can only get it if you have Tiffany and John on Bruce's team, and they have to be on good terms with each other (i.e. John was not actively mean to her, and agreed to give her another chance) as well as Bruce (Bruce can't be mean to Tiff and tell her not to get involved at the Court;  just don't be mean enough to John, even he has limits). If you're re-romancing Selina she'll be there, but like Tiff she overheats so she'll take Iman's place at the end or else have another bed above Bruce. If you're just friends with Selina, even if she joined you at the Court she'll go home her own way.
For those of you wondering if John ever texted Jackie back after she sent him that purikura-esque picture of them, he did while he was going upstairs with Tiffany. (He texted outright he was framing it, and showed it to Tiffany.) And for those of you are like "Why didn't John and Bruce kiss?? I need my vicarious smooches :(", I know how you feel, but the answer is a little complex. I wanted to show their love to the audience without much physical contact, because it a) fits the mood of "i'm still a little overwhelmed by everything that happened" b) is a fun challenge and c) if this were a real game and the "the player" hasn't romanced John, some of the lines are changed a bit but their gentle embrace still happens, because they're still the most open with each other, love each other, and need each other.
I'd like to give a special shout-out to all of you who recently started reading. Don't think I haven't noticed my hit count jump along with my kudos notifications! I also see the nice things you tag in the public bookmarks! ;D I hope you - and my long-time readers - enjoyed this as much as At the Brink of Midnight. But the story's not truly "over" yet, even after the epilogue, so stay tuned to this Perseverance Project series for more! (・â˘Ěá´-)â§
Next time, our epilogue will wrap up those pesky loose story ends. Did some of the Court get away? How's all that being handled? Is Jackie Lant truly off the hook? Is John in hot water for being Joker again? Is there going to be a surprisingly smutty ending where everything is just mentioned off-hand??? The only way to know will be to wait and find out - and in the meantime, stay safe out there, and please let me know what you think! (âĄáľĚˇÍู༢ĎáľĚˇÍู༢ )â§â°âĄ