Vigil
Winter comes after fall. Cold winds blow in and everything freezes. Life leaves slowly, creeping away to return in the spring. Frost covers the world, then snow. Flowers curl in on themselves and the leaves on the ground shrivel up further. Animals retreat into their burrows, only the hardiest daring to brave the cold in search of food. The strongest survive, and the weakest are defeated either by cold or by hunger. Clouds cover the sun, leaving an ever-present semi-darkness over the world. All is quiet.
The stone stares at the sky out of the ground in the Wayne family cemetery. It would have been easy to afford an elaborate headstone, but Damian wouldn't have wanted that. He would have wanted something more plain, so I had gotten just a simple, flat stone that stared up at the ground towards the sky. It was black, and his name was inscribed on it in red—his colors.
They say the dead never really leave you, that they are never truly gone. Some people say that they can feel their loved ones watching them, approving or disapproving their actions. I have often felt like my parents were watching me as I grew up, as I became Batman. I knew what they would approve of me doing with my life and what they would disapprove of, and I often questioned by actions based upon their beliefs. They have been there in spirit throughout my entire life, and I often wonder if they're proud of me, wherever they are. And now I wonder if my son will also be proud of me.
Damian was a hero. He fought through the pain to beat his greatest enemy. He fought with everything he had, and yet it wasn't enough. His opponent was far stronger than he, nigh unbeatable. Damian had fought valiantly, lasting longer than what would have been thought possible. Anyone less would have succumbed to the sword in a matter of seconds, but Damian had lasted minutes. The time he bought fighting his clone had given others a chance at life, a change they would have lost had Damian failed.
Where my son had succeeded, I had failed. I wasn't there for him when I should have been. I put too much thought into my personal life and my life as Batman to spend a proper amount of time with him. We patrolled together often, but that was just business; there were hardly any moments of Bruce and Damian outside of Batman and Robin. Perhaps my greatest failure was not being there when he died, unable to hold his hand and whisper comforting words as he passed. I was too late to save him, and I was too late to be there for him in his final moments. I failed Damian as a father, and that is something that I can never fix.
When I was younger, people told me that they could contact the spirits of the dead. I once went to one to try and talk to my parents and discovered it a sham. Afterwards, I called out to them, thinking that maybe I could hear them without a spiritual aid. Although no words came, I felt them there, with me, in my bedroom. Trying to talk to Damian has gotten the same response, only more powerful, as if he is pushing against the boundaries between the physical and the metaphysical worlds to reach me.
Damian will never be gone. He will live on in my heart and memory as well as the hearts and memories of his brothers. His body might be buried, but his spirit is very much alive, and as I stand vigil beside his grave, as I did for my parents, I remember all that he was in life to me and to others, both as Damian and Robin. Damian's legacy will live on. It will never fade, never die so long as there are people to remember him and what he stood for.
A/N: This is in honor of my grandmother who passed away almost two months ago. I hope you all enjoyed reading it. Please review.
~Red~