Work Text:
When Bruce Wayne was a child, he was known for being a bright and happy soul, standing out amongst the other children of Gotham with their fake smiles and pessimistic humor. The few who got the chance to meet the young boy would talk of how he could brighten the smoggy Gotham skies with a smile, or how he always seemed to know what you needed to hear to lighten your heart. His Father thought him too gentle for this twisted city, while his mother found his kind nature to be the gift that Gotham needed.
“He’s going to get hurt one day, Martha,” Thomas whispered to his wife one night, concern for his son evident on his expression and pained words, “this world, this city, was not made for a kindness like his.”
“You’re wrong, my love,” she answered gently, pride showing through her soft tone, “it is not just kindness. He sees people for who they are. He can read them like a book. But what he sees is not hopeless corruption; it is the possibility for good. He sees it, and he reaches out for it the best he can. I just know that kindness will bring about something great one day.”
Sadly, childhood innocence does not last forever, and for those who had once known his beautiful laugh and caring eyes, watched it fade into a mediocre imitation of itself, hiding behind fake smiles and knowing eyes that looked on in distrust. And while, to most people in Gotham, this change was invisible, there are still those who looked on in sadness as sweet little Brucie Wayne was no more.
If you asked someone what brought about this change in the Wayne heir, you would be given many answers, though all relatively the same. They would tell you of the tragedy of the Waynes. How this once gentle soul watched the life leave his parents' eyes and how the consequences of such an act was the loss of his own kind soul. Those who thought they knew the man behind the mask of Batman would say the ordeal left him mirthless and paranoid, distrusting of his closest friends. And while they are not necessarily wrong in their thinking, they’re not completely right either
There is, however, a man who has known him more deeply than anyone else, and if you asked Alfred Pennyworth the same question, he would scoff and raise a judgmental eyebrow before giving you an answer that would shock you into silence. While Bruce Wayne may be broody, emotionally constipated, and paranoid, at his core, the man hasn’t changed at all. To Alfred, his ward is still the same boy from all those years ago. Yes, the innocence of childhood is gone, and life in Gotham has taken its toll on his traumatized mind, but one thing will always stay the same.
Bruce loves life.
Not life in the sense of the passage of time from our first breath to our last–the inevitability of the passage of time is a somber thought that only tinges sweet memories with bitterness. And it’s not life in the sense of what we do with that time while we have it. While there is something special about the multitude of possibilities before us, Bruce’s own time is spent doing dangerous, thankless work. He puts his life at risk at night and tries his best to fix what he can during the day. It’s exhausting and even discouraging at times, and if that was all there was to life, Bruce might not have anything to live for. But no, there is something more precious that Bruce holds close to his heart and spends his every waking moment protecting. It is something invisible, immeasurable, spiritual. It is something impossible to put into words, but seen so clearly to eyes that look for it and heard by ears that await its gentle whisper. It’s in the changing of the seasons and the beating of butterfly wings.
This is the life Bruce loves, has loved since he was a small boy helping his mother in the garden she refused to have anyone else tend to (except for maybe Alfred). He would watch in wonder at the life that surrounded them, from the blossoming of new flowers to the scurrying of little insects. He loves the soul that resides within every person, no matter how corrupt they first appear, and he loves the thumping of a beating heart that serves as a reminder of the life that refused to be snuffed out. He loves the cool grass under his bare feet and the spring wind that fills his lungs with fresh air. He loves the cities filled with people and the wide open fields of farm land that reverberate with bird song. In places where people saw death, he could always see the smallest glimmer of life peeking through. And though no one will ever know, this deeply rooted love is the reason that both of his parents were right all those many nights ago.
Just as his father predicted, Bruce was hurt, scarred down to his very soul. It broke something in an eight-year-old Bruce to watch the warm, gentle life of his parents be stolen from them in one instantaneous act of greed. No longer could he ignore the darkness that soiled each beautiful soul. And since that day, he has faced betrayal, fear, and even more loss.
However, his mother was also right, more so than her husband. Despite the overwhelming hurt he faced day after day, his kindness became the small glimmer of hope that Gotham needed. His love of life guided him out of his darkest times and led him down a path no one would have expected of the small orphaned boy. He never wanted others to feel the same pain he felt. He wanted to protect people from letting the darkness in their souls overtake them. And above all, he never again wanted to watch on in hopelessness as that beautiful life left another person’s eyes. So, he did what he had to do.
He became The Batman.
Once he was old enough to travel on his own, Bruce left Gotham to hone his mind and body, receiving training from the best in a multitude of locations across the world. Some left more of a lasting (painful) impression than others. When he finally returned to his city, he donned the mask of the Batman, dealing out justice at night but never forgetting the life he loved so much. Though the men and women he fought in the darkened streets were seeking to harm others, he could never ignore the pain they faced that led them to violence. He always reached out a hand of understanding, but whether they took it or not was up to them. The cape and cowl wasn’t enough, though. So, by day, Bruce Wayne did the best he could as a philanthropist. He created jobs here, raised an orphanage there, supported as many humanitarian projects as he could in hopes that one day a generation would rise in Gotham that knew the meaning of support and opportunity. That knew the meaning of love and kindness, instead of this deeply rooted pain that drove Gotham's criminals to insanity.
Bruce was quick to discover that the life of a solo vigilante was a lonely road. Too lonely, Alfred knew, for one with so much love to give. That’s why, despite the horrible tragedy that brought forth the development, the old butler gained a sense of relief when a young Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson came to live with them. Bruce was never meant to be alone, but all he had for so many years was uncaring acquaintances, an empty house too big for its two inhabitants, and an old butler who had no idea how to raise a newly orphaned child. This, along with the festering trauma of great loss, meant it was difficult to remove the masks he put on for the public. He had forgotten how to be himself and show the kindness that his parents had cherished. It made their relationship stiff at the beginning, but the young acrobat was patient. Unknown to Bruce, he had taken in someone with a love and kindness similar to his own, and Dick made it his mission to reach out to Bruce just as he had reached out to others, learning to read the silence between his few spoken words.
As their personal relationship improved, so did their teamwork. Though Bruce would always prefer the child to stay out of the vigilante world, he found a match for his own stubbornness in the willful eyes of his ward. Bruce looked into those bright blue eyes burning with more than vengeance and found his own desire to protect staring back. They ran like a well-oiled machine, and their seemingly opposite personalities meshed together perfectly. They even met another young vigilante girl, Barbara Gordon, who joined the little ragtag group of crime fighters. They were the dynamic duo, and Gotham nearly forgot that Batman had once worked alone. That is, until an argument forced a painful rift between an almost-father and a not-quite-son.
No one side of the argument was at fault for what happened. Fear and frustration blinded each party to the unspoken words of the other that would normally be so easy to hear. Bruce, who loved so deeply, who protected so fiercely, who feared so greatly the pain of loss, could not bring himself to let his little Robin fly the nest. And Dick, a free spirit from the time he was born into that traveling circus to the parents who gifted him his wings, felt as if a cage was slowly closing in around him. He wanted to soar freely to wherever the wind took him, wanted to make his parents proud, wanted to prove himself to the one who had taught him so much. He wanted the faith of the man who was a father to him in every way but blood.
Bruce had grown accustomed to loss throughout his life, from the death of his parents at a mere eight years of age to the fall of his best friend into the darkness of insanity. However, nothing could prepare him for the pain that came from the loss of a bond with his only son.
Dick was healthy in every way a vigilante could be. He was happy with a team of friends that Bruce could never give him. He was alive, and he was still Richard Grayson, but Bruce could only watch on from afar. He couldn’t touch the new life his ward had made, couldn’t even call him on the phone and expect an answer. His son was so close yet impossible to reach, and it hurt more than anything else. And with the loss of Dick, an awkward rift formed between him and Barbara. The silence of loneliness, which he was once so used to, became a screeching cry of pain.
Thankfully, for both Bruce’s mental anguish and Alfred’s worried heart, the mantle of Robin was not gone forever. In fact, it would be worn by many more lively souls to come.
The next child to take up the mask of Robin would be the first to officially become a Wayne. When Bruce was given the opportunity to adopt little Jason Todd and bring him off the dangerous streets of Gotham, he snatched it up in a heartbeat. While it would start as another arguing point for Dick, Bruce didn’t just take in Jason as a replacement son or Robin. He cared about the street kid and, just like his ward, saw a piece of himself in Jason. He was hurt by Gotham and desired justice for the less fortunate.
When he officially took in Jason, he revisited all his memories of raising Dick despite the bitter guilt that clung to them like old glue. He didn’t want this relationship to drown in resentment like him and Dick. He wanted to do better, to make right his mistakes. He wanted both of his sons (official or not) living under his roof together.
But it was never meant to be.
Bruce was beginning to think he was cursed to live alone when he lost his second son. It scarred him when he lost his parents, and it broke his heart when Dick left him, leaving their bond shattered and drowning in unspoken apologies, but he would have preferred the drowning to the flames that burned everything away, leaving nothing but an empty corpse behind.
Bruce was a failure
He was a failure as a hero and a failure as a father. The people closest to him always got hurt. It was a surprise to him that Alfred had stayed around so long. And while the old butler would never willingly leave him, Bruce knew he could never bring another child under his wing.
When Timothy Drake crashed into his life, he found that he could do nothing more but relent to whatever deity out there decided to continuously leave children in need along his path. Tim was his third Robin and was just as stubborn and loved just as fiercely as the others before him. He forced his way into Bruce’s solitude, proclaiming the need for Robin. Bruce could do nothing to stop him.
And with the inevitability that was Tim came so much more. Dick returned, and apologies were made. It even fixed the awkward tension between him and Barbara that, while gradually healing due to necessity, had never quite gone away after the argument so many years ago. But it also brought about the return of his greatest failure. His precious boy was back, but he came back wrong. His need for justice was twisted, and he stole lives the way that mugger had stolen his parents' lives. But worst of all, he despised Bruce and sought the death of his “replacement”.
Despite this change in Jason, he couldn’t ignore that part of him so deeply rooted in his being. He loved life, and he loved his son just as much, if not more. He knew there was good in him, it was hiding behind too much hurt and the green waters of the Lazarus pit, but it was there. And eventually everything calmed down, relationships were rocky but somewhat stable, a semblance of normalcy was returned to nighttime activities, and life in the manor slowly became more active as bridges were mended and even new ones formed.
He met many more young, reckless vigilantes after that and did his best to guide, protect, and provide for his growing family. Even the most independent of them, like Stephanie, who fought against his unique brand of care from her time as Robin to her career as Spoiler.
His last Robin was a surprise in every sense of the word. Not only was he a traumatized child dropped on him by fate in the form of a woman who filled him with too many conflicting emotions—any ounce of trust he once had in her was shattered by an attack on his autonomy—Damian turned out to be his own flesh and blood. With the introduction of his very own blood son, Bruce found himself unsure of how to act and scouring for answers. First, this was his son, and nothing has ever stopped him from loving his children to the best of his ability. But he had come to be without his consent or knowledge. He couldn’t ignore that, in his absence, this son of his had been raised as an assassin.
Bruce was a failure. More so than that, despite what the others might say, he didn’t really know how to connect with the boy. So many of his family members told him they were so much alike, but he struggled to connect with someone so violent and uncaring of who they hurt. But above all, Bruce still loved that beautiful thing called life, and he knew Damian’s attitude was a by-product of his upbringing. He would teach him as he taught all his other children.
Bruce had no idea that connecting with Damien would bring his life full circle so poetically.
It was a day so perfect that afterwards Bruce couldn’t help but wonder if some greater being had orchestrated it just for him. It was one of the rare days in Gotham where the clouds disappeared, and the smog of the city had cleared in the warm summer breeze. It was a day so beautiful that even the worst of Gotham’s criminals were subdued. It was a day too good to be spent inside. So, Bruce walked outside to the garden where Alfred was tending to decades-old rose bushes and, with a gentle smile on his face that was as warm as the sun that shone above them, asked the man who had become a father to him if he needed help.
It was a rare sight to see the real Bruce peak through all the pain and sadness that usually surrounded him, one Alfred cherished every time he got to see it. But that day, he got to see something even more special. Bruce hadn’t wanted to work in the garden since his mother’s death. It was something the two of them shared, and it had become another painful reminder to his ward of what he had lost. But instead of showing his shock, he smiled and welcomed him with an extra pair of gloves that he knew he would decline.
They were only a few minutes into the weeding, large callused hands covered in dirt and a content smile upon Bruce’s face, when Alfred noted the curious boy wandering out of the manor. With a quick excuse of cleaning and preparing for dinner, Alfred left his own son to tend to the rest of the garden.
As Bruce focused on the garden, on the feeling of dirt between his fingernails, and the movement of disturbed insects, he almost missed the quiet steps of his most prideful son, had it not been for his many years as a vigilante.
“Isn’t that Pennyworth’s job, father?” he sniffed, trying to hide his curiosity behind judgment.
Bruce looked up at his son with an expression the boy had never seen. It was open and gentle, and altogether too knowing. It left Damien uncomfortable, yet he found himself needing to move closer when he was beckoned forward so softly.
“Come here, Damien,” he called, a long forgotten voice echoing in his memories, “let me show you something.” And once he had the boy kneeling on the ground beside him, the fading memory of familiar words guided him forward.
“What do you see, Damien?”
The boy, though confused by the question, answered, “A bush.”
He was not expecting the gentle laugh.
“Yes, it’s a bush. But look closer, son.”
With a scowl on his face, he looked harder at the plant, “It’s a flower?” his response was unsure now, “Well, a rose to be precise.” He looked up at his father to see his warm smile directed at the rose.
“Flowers are so fragile, Damien. They’re crushed so easily by things bigger than them. The changing of the seasons causes them to hide away in fear. And even the smallest touch of a finger causes the petals to wither away.” As he spoke, he reached out a hand, sticking his finger on one of its sharp thorns, “But they know they’re weak, and they prepare for it as best they can. The thorns are meant to keep predators away, stabbing them in hopes of living another day.” Damien watched the small drop of blood drip down his father’s finger, “And while the rose will hurt those who seek to harm it, it will still provide for those who need it.”
Bruce put his large hand on his son’s small shoulder, “Listen, Damien,” he whispered, looking over at the buzzing of a honeybee hovering on a distant flower, “He’s gathering nectar from the rose unharmed to take back to his hive and make honey. But he’s also pollinating the rose with pollen he gathered from a different flower. And after that, the pollen from this rose will follow him to his next destination.”
He grabbed the boy’s hand gently in his own, guiding it to the freshly weeded dirt, “feel the cool earth on your skin. It brings nutrience to the surrounding plants, giving them food and strength.” he grabbed a small fist full of dirt, opening his palm to show Damien the worms and insects he had gathered, “It also provides home and safety for those who can’t defend themselves.”
He got to his feet, his son following as he walked over to another plant, one Damien recognized as Honeysuckle.
“Taste it,” he commanded, giving over a freshly plucked bud.
“It’s sweet.” Damien looked at it in shock.
“Yes. And it shares with us the nutrients it receives from the soil, even provides benefits for our health, a species that has nothing to do with it.”
He grabbed both his son’s hands in his own large ones, cradling them gently despite his strength, “Now close your eyes,” And Damien listened, fully entranced by this new persona of his father, “Take a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Smell the aroma of the flowers and freshly tilled dirt. Feel as fresh air fills your lungs as the birds sing in joy around you, and it settles somewhere deep inside you and warms your very being.
“What do you see, Damien?”
And. . .Damien didn’t know. It was all so much. Too much to put into words, but maybe he could still answer the question.
“Something. . . beautiful.” He looked up into his father’s kind, gentle eyes, “But I don’t know what to call it.”
Bruce kneeled, smiling eyes never leaving his son’s own, “That’s life, Damien. And it’s found in more than this garden, or even nature itself. It’s in me and you, your siblings, and the people we all protect. It’s all around us. Even in the criminals locked up in Arkam.”
Damien’s face scrunched up in confusion, “But, how can something so beautiful be found in those who only do evil?”
“Life is messy, Damien. Despite the overwhelming good within it, there are still thorns that cause us to bleed and weeds that try to strangle what little life we have left. But that’s why you’re gentle with the rose, and unrelenting with the weeds. Otherwise, you’ll lose the life you want to protect.”
Damien thought for a moment, trying to make sense of his father’s words, but something still wasn’t clicking. “I still don’t understand.”
“That’s ok. You’ll understand one day.”
“But how do you know?”
“Because you’re my son.”
And as Bruce drifted off to sleep that night, his dreams turned to memories of years long gone, of the similar words his mother had spoken to him, on a day identical to this one, when he had first discovered life. Though the words had changed to fit his own needs, that was ok. From that day on, Bruce and Damien would spend their free time tending to the garden, no words necessary as they enjoyed the life that surrounded them.
His family continued to grow as years went by, from Damien’s new addiction of adopting animals, to the random new kids in need who would cross Bruce’s path. There were still rough spots from time to time, weeds never stop growing and have to be tended to regularly, but Bruce still had that deeply rooted love of life, which he fights for daily, and his family loves him for it.