Brothers, Portraits, and Messages.
By
AJ
Part 12
Jason looked around the large room before they headed back through the Manor. "I really do hope you get this studio Damian, it would be a nice get away for you, plus I want to see your skills as an artist grow." They were making their way back down the stairs.
"That would be nice," Damian said dreamily. "I do hope father says yes. I don't even think he's been up there. Plus, her sketches are almost like a guide for me. I have several of her books already."
"If he says yes, I can help you clean it up."
"Thanks Jason," Damian smiled. They were heading back towards Tim's room. "Hey, is that frame heavy?"
"Slightly. I think it was custom made," Jason's fingers rubbed the frame lightly. "I wonder how Dick would feel when he sees this."
"Surprised, that's for sure. I know I was. Grandmother was amazing, a psychic and an artist?"
"How come Bruce hasn't picked up any of those traits?"
"He could be suppressing them," Damian surmised. "Most adults tend to do that when they reach a certain age."
"Well, could you imagine? Bruce with psychic abilities?" Jason stated, shaking his head. "Crime would never go up again here in Gotham."
Damian gave out a chuckle, and even sounding a little like their father.
"What? You don't think it would."
"I don't think we should be making fun of father if he had an ability like that," Damian stated, but he couldn't keep from laughing.
"Batman, he's here and there! Everywhere! Knows your every move before you do!" Jason dramatized.
Damian shook my head at Jason. "Here, do you want me to hold that?"
"No I got it. Plus we're almost there."
They ended back in the foyer, near the main staircase. Heading up the stairs they entered Tim's room.
Tim was looking over the drawing and saw three others near the back of the book. She couldn't have known . . . . . And yet . . . It was so strange. The drawing of Jason though it was unfinished it was as if she knew that something was going to happen to him. Part of the image was in darkness. And his hair had the white streak in it, but before when he was Robin, it wasn't there. There was one of Damian, but much younger than expected. Then the one Tim saw of himself sent a chill down his spine.
Damian and Jason entered Tim's room. "Look what we snagged." Damian pointed at Jason.
"NO Way! You're . . . You . . . Oh my . . . Damian . . . Go get Dick. He's got to see this. Oh, by the way . . . There were three more drawings in the back of the book." Tim said, holding up the book with his finger marking the page.
"We know, check out the back of the painting." Jason showed it to Tim. "She knew there would be more of us. This was left for Dick."
Damian found Grayson watching TV in Bruce's room. "Grayson . . . come here." Damian would use Dick's last name when he really wanted his attention.
"Hmmm?" Dick got up to follow him into Tim's room. Jason was showing Tim a portrait. "What's that?"
"Jason, show him the painting," Tim said. "Dick, who do you think that is?"
"It's me." Dick said. "Did you do that Lil D? It's nice!"
"No, Damian did not do that," Tim said.
"What do you mean Dami didn't do this?"
"Look at the signature. And look at this." Tim handed Dick the book. "This belongs to Martha Wayne. Look at the date."
"Oh . . . my . . . " Dick's eyes widened. "Dream child?"
"And that's not all," Tim stated. "She drew all of us. Read what's on the back of the painting."
'He needs you more than ever,' Dick read. He looked at the others. "How did she know about us though? Psychic I take it?"
"It looks that way . . . You've seen the painting in Bruce's room of the zebra, didn't you wonder why it had a circus theme? Didn't you tell me at one time that Haley had zebras in the circus?"
"Yeah they . . . they did . . . Oh my god. Grandma Martha knew about us!" Dick exclaimed. "She knew about us. Tim . . . Jason . . . even Damian." Dick's mind was racing. "Does Bruce know about all this?"
"No . . . " Jason replied. "Your Dad, Tim and Bruce, weren't they close to the same age?"
"Yes, a few years apart." Tim answered. "The Drakes and the Wayne family, my Dad and Bruce went to school together. I can see there being a connection . . . It's just down right eerie that she would know about Jason and Damian."
"All of us actually," Damian stated. "We have to tell Father, but I haven't seen him all day. Has anyone seen him? It doesn't matter how eerie it is, how she painted us almost perfectly. Her visions . . . She could see perfectly."
"Actually, he just returned home," Dick answered. "He's in his bathroom. I was watching TV in his room."
"Could you get him?" Damian was starting to get nervous. What if he already knows about this and didn't want to see any of it. 'It's too late now. I guess we'll all be in trouble.'
Dick went back into Bruce's room and walked in on him pulling a shirt on. "Hey pops, can you come into Tim's room for a second? There's something you really should see."
"Pops? Am I getting that old Dick?" Bruce asked, shaking his head. "Okay. I'll be there in a moment." Bruce finished putting on his shirt then went into Tim's room. "What's this about?"
Seeing all four of his sons in Tim's room was odd. Something was going on by the way they were acting. "Okay, what is going on here."
"Show him Jason."
Jason turned the painting around. "Guess who!"
Bruce's eyes grew wide. "That. . . that looks like Dick. Where did you get that? Did Damian paint that from one of the photo albums?" It was in an odd frame that seemed somewhat familiar.
"I didn't paint that, Father."
Bruce moved closer to the painting and examined the frame. 'I know I've seen that frame before . . . but I can't recall where.' He examined the painting. 'No . . . it can't be . . . Mom?' Bruce bruised his fingers along the signature. "Where did you find this?"
"Damian and I found it in her studio," Jason said.
"Studio?" Bruce questioned. 'They found my Mother's studio? I . . . I totally forgot that it even existed,' he though. "Where," Bruce asked, clearing his throat. "You located her . . ." Memories came flooding back as he remember going up the stairs in the chapel and into this large space filled with canvases and light. "Can you take me there?"
"Jason and I can take you back there."
"How about only Damian? My leg is killing me here."
"When is the last time you had a painkiller?" Bruce asked Jason.
"I don't remember."
"Why don't you stay with Tim and Dick and rest your leg. Damian can show me. I'll have Alfred get you a painkiller."
"All right, just follow me," Damian headed out of Tim's room and followed the route back to the hidden staircase.
Bruce followed Damian. He hadn't been to the chapel or even to the ballroom for ages. His memories at times were sketchy at best when it comes to the past before his parents' murders, but as he followed his son, a particular memory came back to him.
When they got to the chapel, Damian started to feel on the wall looking for the panel. 'Where...did Jason.."
"Wait . . . I remember." Bruce's hand reaches behind a vase in a small alcove and presses on one of the bricks. A panel moved aside. "I remember my Mother . . . your grandmother holding my hand and leading me to this place. I was a lot younger than you." Beyond the panel was a set of steps. 'I'll have to get Alfred to clean this, now that it's been rediscovered.' Bruce followed Damian up the steps.
"Father I know . . . I know this is Grandmothers . . . But . . . If . . . if it would be okay . . . could . . . could I use this studio?"
Damian's words barely registered in Bruce's mind. Memories came flooding back as Bruce remembered his mother showing him her paintings. He remembered standing at the easel and painting with the light at her back. 'Sometimes she would face out the window. "Sit over there," she would say and she would sketch me.' Bruce walked over to a stack of paintings that were leaning against the wall. They were ones she had been working on . . . before. He shook off the morbid thought. Bruce started to look through them when he suddenly stopped on one and just stared for a moment. It . . . It was Jason . . . Jason before . . .
"Father . . . Father what's wrong?" Damian walked up to his father and put his arm on his sleeve.
"Nothing's wrong . . . " Bruce flipped through to another painting . . . Tim? The last one was obviously Damian, but a very young Damian, before Bruce knew he even existed. "Could you help me with these three."
"Sure."
They headed back down the stairs and through the chapel again, heading back to the East wing and back to Tim's room. 'My sons must see these as well.'
Damian scowled a little, but dropped it. 'I'll ask later . . . then again . . . he might say no.'
Damian followed Bruce with one of the paintings while he carry the other two. Bruce knew Damian tried to ask him something when he got caught up in his memories. 'I'll find out what it was after we show these to the others.' Bruce thought. 'What was odd was that my Mother saw each of these boys as her grandchildren, even before they were born.' They walked into Tim's room and started handing out each painting. "Well, looks like we have a full set. Jason, I believe this one is yours. There appears to be something written on the back as well."
Jason took the portrait and looked at the back.
"Even if it feels as if the world is falling apart around you, your home is always right here.'"
Jason felt like he wanted to cry. There was more but he couldn't see through the tears that were fogging his eyesight. He would read the rest later.
"Tim, I believe this is yours as well."
Bruce handed Tim the painting and he marvel at the quality of the art. Tim turned the painting around and there was also a message.
Baby Bird do not fret, you shall fly high along side your brother. Falling is part of flying as you find the currents to guide you. Just spread your wings and let those around you lift you up.
Tim was astounded. 'Oh man . . . Dick calls me Baby Bird . . . But how did she know he was my brother? Even we didn't know that until . . . ' Tim could feel tears stinging his eyes.
"Damian, I believe you have the last one," Bruce said.
Jason got up to leave the room. The emotional level was becoming too much. He was going to take his painting to his room when Tim called his name.
"Jason . . . wait. We haven't heard from Damian."
Damian loved Grandmother's work. Everything seemed so smooth. He turned his painting around and stared at the message.
You are loved in every way here, just because one gave up on you doesn't mean we will. Smile little one.
Damian smiled after that, a wide grin that he hadn't done before. It . . . it felt different and good.
"Bruce . . . Dad's painting . . . In the dining room," Tim said. "I just bet there's a message behind it, too."
"What do you mean . . . My painting?" Bruce asked.
"You do have one, Father," Damian said.
"I have a painting? You mean that painting hanging in the dining room of some kid? I never really thought about it."
"Bruce that kid in the painting is you," Tim stated. "Your mother painted it." Tim found himself using Bruce's first name more to make a point. "How did you not know that was you? Even I knew that."
Ever since that night it was as if Bruce had blocked certain parts of his memories. "Selective blockage . . . if you know what I mean, Dick . . ." Bruce saw only the vow that he had made, and any joy and happiness had been gone from his life for a very long time.
"Pops, go down stairs and look at that painting. It's you. I bet it says 'Your Batman' on the back of it."
"What did I tell you about calling me Pops," Bruce gave Dick a smirk. "Only if you come with me, Dick. The others can stay here."
"Old habits die hard," Dick said jokingly. Dick got up to walk with him down the stairs.
Bruce walked down to the dining room. He stood in front of the painting that was of himself as a child. He should have remembered this, but the dining room for a time was often associated with family. 'And I had lost mine that night. The messages on the paintings upstairs seemed to reach beyond the grave and beyond time. This painting however, had been painted in my lifetime.'
"Come on, Bruce, what did grandma Martha write to you," Dick encouraged.
Bruce started to reach for the painting to pull it down when he noticed his hands were shaking. He didn't know if he could do this. To have his Mother write him a message from beyond the grave was . 'Come on Bruce, you can do this,' he said to himself. 'You've fought criminals and looked at clues without this kind of nervousness. This is just your mother leaving you a message.' Bruce slowly reached for the painting a second time, this time pulling it off the wall and turning it around. His eyes nearly filled with tears at what he read.
Dick placed a hand on his father's right shoulder. "What does it say?"
Bruce's voice was thick with emotion.
Four candles light the corners the darkest of caves. Let them be your anchor in the night. Let them remind you of home and family.
"My . . . My mother would often have insights into people . . . I guess as a kid, I didn't understand it then. She knew . . . .In some way she knew that I . . . I would be down in that cave. And sometimes that cave felt like the darkest place in the world, but it wasn't. The darkest place was right here," Bruce pointed to his heart. "It only became a little less dark when you entered and opened the door."
Dick smiled, and hugged his dad. "You're welcome. I guess we both helped each other."
"I believe this message is supposed to be a reminder for me to look beyond the darkness. When I was lost in time . . . I saw four faces in my mind. I didn't know who they were at first. It was Tim who reminded me, and when he did, I remembered. I can say this, those four faces were my anchor . . . They brought me home." Stepping away Bruce straightened himself out. "Should we take this to the others? I think they are all meant to be together."
"We should hang them up some where." Dick tried to think of a spot.
There had to be a perfect spot to display all five paintings. The messages will remain private among themselves, but the paintings . . . Looking around the dining room, Bruce realized that his painting had been centered on a very large wall. The ceiling was 12 feet in height with plenty of room surrounding it.
"Maybe we do have the perfect spot after all."
This story will continue in the next.
Serpent in Paradise
It is two months after the events in Brothers, Portraits, and Messages. Jason's partner returns to surprise him. Tim is sick with bronchitis and the Bat Family goes on vacation to the Bahamas. And someone is interested in Tim for his understanding in computers.
This story will appear later. I will be moving to Beaverton, Oregon on July 2nd and will not have time to enter it into the computer until after we are settled. There will be surprises in store for the next installment.
