Warnings: This isn't perfect, but neither is my frame of mind. Mild spoilers for JLU "Epilogue" even though I haven't actually seen the whole episode through. Oh well...
A/N: This was written purely for my benefit, as I just lost someone very dear to me. Writing this helped sort through my emotions. Now I guess I'm just passing it on.
"Terry, come home."
Even the modest cluster of "jokerz" who were trying their level best to overtake the Batman had jumped in startled unison at the vehemence with which the Dark Knight's head snapped upwards. They had managed to, if only a small and momentary victory, corral him into a human circle and were attempting to subdue him a few rushes at a time.
It was when several of their more formidable members had banded together to make a final assault did the Bat react so strongly to a voice none of them could hear. A few swift dodges and roundhouse kicks took care of the most tenacious of his assailants, as his patience toward this fight had begun to stretch thin. Despite his strong upper hand, the struggle, he knew, was far from over yet.
But most importantly, there was something in the tone of her voice rebounding in the headset of his cowl that instantly caught his undivided attention; the anomaly of her using the comm system to contact him during a mission notwithstanding. The only way she could be contacting him like this was through the relay system in the cave.
Why would Dana be there instead of at the apartment where he had left her, the orange glow of sunset reflecting against her tanned skin as she haggled him about leaving her "to do the dishes alone again"? Something was fishy… He took a moment after sending a right hook into one jokerz's jaw to put a gloved fingertip to the ear of his cowl.
"I'm a little busy right now… Later?"
Silence hit his receiver in gentle rolls of static, then her voice drifted over the speaker again. The tone in which she spoke sent ghostly red flags dancing across his vision, a quiet, gentle, and somehow pleading lilt that made the blood being forced through his veins by his swiftly beating heart grow chilled.
"Please, Ter… You need to come home."
The fight, the taunting jokerz, the old warehouse building whose metal roof groaned against the wind, all faded into the back of his mind, allowing a stinging clarity to hit him harder than any punch he had received that night. It was not only the fact that she was contacting him during patrol hours that had alerted him, it was her words which caused the growing lump in his throat to catch painfully.
Home.
The apartment had never been home for them, and neither of them had called it such. It was merely a stepping stone to something better, a building block on a legacy both of them wished to share together. Home had never been the condo which he, Matt, and his mother had shared either, despite the relative safety he had felt within its walls.
Try as he might, he had never felt as though he could confidently put the honorable title on any of the places he had known, not even his "father's", though his eyes fluttered closed momentarily at the thought. That place, the walls now stained with a simple and innocent two-letter word that no amount of disinfecting could remove, held no nostalgia for him any longer. It only served to remind him of what he had lost, and who had caused its destruction.
It was safe to say that there were few if any places that he truly felt as though he belonged, and Dana had understood that from the very beginning. And it was with that realization that the final piece fell into his current mental puzzle. How often had they joked about his only true "home", how many times had she dug him in the ribs as they had walked down the hallways of Hamilton Hill High many years ago and teased him about his loyalty to an old crotchety man who had made Terry his "errand boy"?
Wayne Manor… That hulking menace of a structure, perched on the very edge of the world, its bulk sitting immovable against the tides of change that washed against it. In it was shrouded the one man who understood him as no one else could, someone who had given him the opportunity to belong as only he could. This was what Dana had meant. That was home.
His mind was quickly wrenched into the present as a small explosion erupted on his right side. Apparently one of the thugs had picked up an iron rod in the interim and started swinging. A second swing was less fruitful for this under dweller, as the Bat quickly rid him of his weapon and sent him into the dirt.
The glowing eyes of the cowl squinted in unison with the growing frown crossing Terry's face, his mind flying in a million different directions in search of a reason behind his current summons. There was no doubt, however, that Dana had meant what she said. To home he must go; slag the jokerz and their illegal enterprises!
Despite his efforts to convince himself he was overreacting, the chill in his blood continued to remind him that something was just not right. It was a gut feeling he simply could not shake.
So it was that with one final blow to a few of the dregs that happened to be within reach, rocket boots sent Gotham's newest Dark Knight skyward through the glass roof of the abandoned building. An anesthetic grenade was quick to stifle their enthusiasm at his retreat, however, if the yells of dismay were any indication. From his skyward viewpoint, the harsh wails and the definitive flashes of police speeders finally on their way were enough to quail his frustrations at letting those dregs off scot free. Right now, he had more important things to do than tie off another of GCPD's loose ends.
The usual hum of the Batplane's engines had grown to a muted wail by the time Terry had reached the entrance to the Bat Cave. Despite the fact that he would never admit it to another soul, he had joyridden the powerful vehicle before (and had promptly been passive aggressively chewed out as only the Old Man knew how when he had found out), thoroughly enjoying the rush of adrenaline that had erupted in his chest with the sensation of speed he had felt under his feet. But this time, he felt no joy in the speed he was pushed the vehicle to, feeling the pull of exertion in every nut and bolt that held its frame together.
As he had sat there, the dull red glow of the interior clouding his vision, thousands of scenarios flew through his mind with each one he tried to discount being quickly replaced by an even more horrible possibility. Even as he had parked the plane and the bright, cold lights of the Cave had come on at his entrance, his anticipation only grew stronger.
Was somebody ill? His mother, perhaps even Dana herself? Something had to be bad enough for her to make such a reckless breech of the protocols they had put in place for protection. Suddenly a realization hit him, causing his face to pale instantaneously.
Oh no… Could it be Bruce?
Nothing could have warned Dana about his frantic ascent up the Cave steps to practically burst through the clock-door entrance, nearly causing the teapot she was balancing over the china to slip from her hands. The sudden and unwarned entrance of her husband also startled their "guest", of sorts, into a near fighting stance, though she mused later that perhaps he had more right to be there than they did.
Only it was not Terry that emerged from the depths below, but Batman himself, eyes wide and posture indicating a mind ready for anything that could be thrown his way.
Dana set the pot down, sympathy causing her heart to swell at the sight of him, his concern apparent as he had obviously forgotten to change into plain clothes, or even take the liberty of removing his cowl. She thanked the heavens above that their present company need not be concerned with the identity of the Batman.
Terry's eyes flicked from his wife to the towering form of none other than Richard Grayson standing before him, all dark and smoldering demeanor like Terry had last remembered him to be. He had experienced only a few short dealings with the man when the paths, and mutual enemies, between Nightwing and the Batman had minutely crossed. Though Terry liked the think of himself as someone who wanted to see the good in people, he had taken an almost instant disliking to the man.
Perhaps he had heard the stories from a biased point of view, but he could never quite swallow the man's apparent disregard for all Bruce had done for him. Despite the Old Man's attitude toward the entire affair, he had sensed how much time, effort, and, dare it be said, love was put into Dick's life. So Terry could not quite forgive Grayson his sins, despite how many years had passed and apparent hostilities buried under the sands of time.
To see said man standing before him in the parlor of Wayne Manor being offered a cup of tea from his wife was nonetheless surprising, if not baffling, as his expression dictated to the both of them. Despite his confusion, the matter at hand was still forefront in his mind, and without further ado Terry strode forward, hand reaching back to release the clip that held the cowl to his suit.
It wasn't like there was anyone in the room he needed to hide his identity from, as the first encounter with Dick Grayson had indicated. He had definitely realized from the beginning that Grayson had not been Bruce's ward for nothing.
Dana immediately came to Terry's side, a slender arm reaching out to slide through his crossed arms. Her dark eyes swam with emotion as she searched his icy blue ones, giving him the final evidence he needed to come to his conclusions. There was a reason that the crisis involved them all, especially Dick. Bruce's illness must have relapsed…
Apparently his face had betrayed his thoughts, as her brow instantly creased and her mouth opened to speak. Yet before she could say a word, a deep voice filtered into Terry's ears from the direction of the couch. Dick had advanced on the couple, and it was only then that Terry noticed he no longer appeared to be radiating the brooding aura he had been only moments before.
He almost seemed…sad, genuinely upset by whatever had taken place, if only noticeable through Terry's scrutiny. In a pair of eyes that closely resembled his own, he could barely make out an almost pitying look lying deep within them.
"Terry, it's good to see you again," Dick had said, extending a hand in a non-hostile gesture.
That tears it, was Terry's immediate thought as he reluctantly returned the handshake. Never in any of their interactions had Grayson ever called him by his first name, and if he was not so admittedly paranoid already, he would not have immediately noticed Dick's muddled attempt at cutting off whatever his wife had been about to say.
His eyes flicked sternly between the two people, even though said persons saw through his shallow anger at the true fear which lay behind it, and he finally asked the question that had been roiling through his mind ever since Dana had sent that fateful communique.
"Alright, what's going on?"
Dana clutched his arm ever tighter, and at long last, she spoke the words he had been waiting, though not enthusiastically by any means, to hear.
"Terry, babe, it's about Bruce. I'm sorry. He's gone…"
Dear God, no!
The moments after those fateful words had been spoken he remembered both with a stinging clarity and also as a muddled, blurred heap. He was only vaguely aware of the profuse sympathies expressed by both people next to him, one in extremely vocal terms and the other in his posture and expression, the apologies given that were neither of theirs to make. It wasn't like it was their fault…
Hurried explanations were given to assure him that all business (including Wayne Enterprises) was being taken care of for the time being, and if he wouldn't have been so lost in his own thoughts Terry would have been surprised Dick would have even given up his precious time to help out. But, he later figured, wills tend to jumpstart people into taking action…
Small talk was attempted, but Terry just was not thinking clearly, if at all, the absolute shock still coursing through his system is if he had been physically assaulted. He only nodded when he was supposed to and answered when he was asked. He was responding like a complete automaton, and present company could sense his emotional turmoil coming to a head. Dick eventually stopped trying to continue his awkward and failing attempt at showing his true sympathies, and instead considered retreat the better part of valor and excused himself.
When Dana offered to walk him to the door, he gave one of the very few genuine, sad smiles Terry had ever seen grace the man's face, replying gently that he could see himself out. And like a wraith of smoke, he was gone.
With his exit, the dam that had been holding his emotions at bay broke into a thousand twisted shards.
He felt the warmth begin from the tips of his feet to end by pooling gently in the back of his head. It was only until Dana's concerned voice had filtered gradually into his ringing ears that he realized his knees were on the verge of buckling and that he'd better sit down. But Dana was already on that, arms wrapped around his, continuing to babble endless sympathies into his ear and gently guide him to the couch. Despite her good-natured efforts, Terry was just not listening.
How could this have happened? After all they had been through, after all he had been through, it was to end like this? Bruce's health had been rapidly declining, of that Terry knew well though hated to ever admit, but after a short episode of sickness Bruce had finally begun to get some of his strength back. So was Terry, with some light finally shining invitingly down that especially long dark tunnel of uncertainties.
The nurses who had flitted about the manor during the last month had been certain he would make a good recovery and had been sure to tell his loved ones so. He had even been there that very morning, peaking somewhat sheepishly around his father's bedroom door to say hello before he crashed at the apartment after another long, long night. He had promptly been assaulted by a thermometer hurled from the bedside table in true Old Man fashion, but he was his Old Man, and with that realization Terry had only smiled and scurried off, happy to know that there were better days ahead.
They were wrong. And because of that, Bruce had died as he had lived: all alone. Terry could never forgive himself for allowing that impossible thought to become a reality... The man had lived his entire life robbed of the people he cared about, either through the cruelness of fate or the cruelness of others. He should have been there, a place where he was needed more than any street winding its way through Gotham ever could. He was Bruce's own son, for crying out loud! Even his one true flesh and blood had failed him...
It was with that realization, with the memories of all Bruce had done for his family, all he had done for him that something within his heart gave way under the emotional tide that was pressing against it. He vaguely recognized the expression of saddened shock on Dana's face as his vision suddenly became overwhelmed in a wave of salty, stinging tears. He knew perhaps it was a mistake, because letting a rift in one's heart open into such a gaping hole was never a wise idea, but for once he did not care. He did not care that he was a grown man who culture dictated was beyond this, didn't care if it was a juvenile response showing a lack of control.
He cried.
No, he bawled like a little child, unable to stem the flow of the indescribably bitter emotion that poured forth unhindered, uncensored, raw…
He had known this day would come eventually, and he had led himself to believe his own lie: that when the time would finally come it would somehow be easier the second time around. That had seemed like such a distant and horrible future created out of a vivid and dark memory of the past that he had pushed it out of his mind. Bruce's relapse in health had wrenched those deep-rooted and totally unuttered fears into the light, but his return to somewhat of his old self had allowed them to slip mercifully into the darkness that was Terry's subconscious mind. Yet here was he now, with the news he had hoped he would eventually be ready to hear being thrust into his chest with the force and pain unlike a wielded dagger.
He just . wasn't . ready.
But when is one ever ready to hear those words, to hear something that will change one's life forever and leaving a gaping hole in their heart, never to be replaced? He knew he himself was as ready as he ever would be to face death when it came knocking, probably at the hands of some worthless dreg that found Lady Luck to be on his side one night. But he would be lying to himself if he believed he would ever be ready for this, for any of his loved ones to leave this earth. And if a soul would ever boast that they were prepared for that time to come, Terry McGinnis knew twofold the truth behind that lie. It never gets easier…
And so he wasn't ashamed to lean into his wife's embrace and let the grief pour forth as only grief can. Later he would thank heaven yet again for Dana's love and understanding, for her kind heart and tear-absorbent shirts.
And when the two of them had let the grief engulf them until it had run dry, they found enough comfort in each other's embrace to fall asleep on that couch as moon had finished its ascent in the night sky. When the sun finally raised its head above the horizon, allowing orange tendrils of morning light to stream into the open windows of the Wayne Manor parlor, the nurses who had begun to stumble upon them immediately turned and left them there without a word.
They too, understood.