Batman and Spiderman
Understandings
Batman and Spiderman and all associated characters are the property of DC Comics, and Marvel Comics; respectively. I don't own any rights to them, nor do I earn any profit from this story.
(Try to imagine Shirley Walker's Batman theme as you read this)
It was late at night, deep shadows fell over Cedar Grove Memorial Gardens outside of Queens, NY. A lithe figure clad in blue and red, slipped over the wall into the cemetery. He carried a bouquet of blue roses, it had been his uncle's favorite color. The masked man moved stealthily; neither the security guards nor the cameras that monitored the grounds detected his presence.
One set of eyes was watching however. If the owner of those eyes was correct and he usually was, the man in blue and red had only one objective; and it was touching and tragic not malicious, as the editor-in-chief of one of the city's leading newspapers would have you believe.
The masked red and blue man, known to the people of the city as Spider-Man knelt before a gravestone with the inscription: "Ben Parker-He leaves behind his wife Mae and nephew Peter."
Spider-Man pulled back his mask, revealing the face of a college-aged young man stained with tears. Peter placed the flowers on Uncle Ben's grave and said a silent prayer. Some part of him still believed in the power of prayers.
The watching figure felt a pang of sympathy, he knew what Spider-Man was thinking and feeling. But he had lost his faith in prayers some time ago.
It was only through the encouragement and support of a stalwart English butler, and five remarkable young people named Dick, Barbara, Tim, Damian and even Jason, that he had discovered that there was still room for hope in the world.
Spider-Man finished his musings and rose to leave. He rapidly pulled the mask back over his face when he heard a deep voice say quietly, "Mr. Parker."
Peter spun to see a tall dark figure moving out of the shadows, stopping just short of stepping completely into the light. He was now on high alert, no one should have been able to approach him this closely without every one of his senses screaming half-a-dozen alarms. And how did the mystery man know his true name?
A black gloved hand extended from the dark man and handed Spider-Man a plain manila envelope. "I understand," the shadowy figure said, and without another word and just a soft rustle of fabric, he was gone.
Spider-Man was filled with uncertainty, what the hell had just happened? After a few moments his brain started working again and he fumbled with the envelope, pulling it open. He reached inside and pulled out a photo of a young boy kneeling in front of a double grave. The boy in the picture was younger than Peter himself had been at his uncle's funeral.
A distinguished looking balding man in a dark suit had his hand on the kneeling boy's shoulder. On the tombstone, barely legible in the photo, were the words, "Here lay Thomas and Martha Wayne, they are survived by their beloved son, Bruce."
Spider-Man looked off into the night where the shadowy form of the enigmatic hero known as Batman had disappeared, and he too, understood.
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