I do not own Bruce Wayne/Batman, Alfred Pennyworth, Leslie Thompkins, Lucius Fox or J'ohn J'ones/Martian Manhunter. DC does. Please enjoy for free.

Batcave Eleven Years After Waynes' Deaths Late Morning

Bruce sat up panting. It was dark … no wait … lights from various pieces of tech. His hand gripped the sheets of the cot he kept in the cave to sleep on or receive medical care on depending on how his night out as Batman went.

Bruce breathed out. He was home. It was a dream … a bad dream.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was soaked with sweat as was the sheet. He flung the latter aside. Then he swept his legs over the side of the cot and let them hang there. That had been a particularly bad one. He'd have to tell Leslie about it …

He took deep slow breaths of the cool cave air. He glanced around and saw a light flashing on the message machine connected to the line coming down from the house. Eager for a distraction, he hopped off the cot, strode over to it, and pressed the button.

Leslie's voice came out slightly distorted due to the technology that recorded and was replaying it. Shrill, it slowed his heartbeat hearing it. Then he understood her words and his heart-rate picked up again.

"Bruce … Alfred may not like I told you this, but John Jones came by my house today asking about meeting you."

Bruce froze his eyes going wide. Leslie's voice continued. "He seemed healthy, and regretful how he left things. He says he wants to apologize. He left some contact information. Call me if you want it. The machine beeped, leaving Bruce staring at it.

Wayne Manor Dining Room: Evening Meal Two Years After Waynes' Deaths

"So, Alfred and I brought him home. He says he can do some garden work since Mr. Gresham wanted a vacation to visit his daughter!"

Lucius Fox nodded from across the table. He then looked to the strange face blushing slightly beside him. He nodded. "I hope you enjoy your work here, Mr. Jones."

"Thank you, Mr. Fox. I'm sure I will."

Alfred entered the dining room and began putting platters on the table. For several seconds Bruce was silent, then he asked, "How do arsonists set fires Lucuis?"

John's face went from flushed to pale, Lucius' head snapped up from studying the food options. Then he raised an eyebrow. "So, you've been reading the papers then Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce nodded. "There's been a number in every one of them for weeks to call if I see anything suspicious, and I'm pretty sure I'd know what it would look like if someone were trying to set fire to something …"

Alfred interrupted from where he stood near the table. "I do 'not' think that's appropriate dinner table conversation material Bruce."

Bruce grimaced and looked down at his plate. Lucius gave a slight smile. "We can talk about it later, 'away' from the Table Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looked back up with a smile. Soon everyone was putting food on their plate. Lucius paused to study the huge amounts Mr. Jones was putting on his. "Quite the appetite you have there especially for someone so thin! Would you mind sharing your secrets with me?"

Jones froze in lifting a roast beef slice and moving it over his plate. Then he lowered it while replying. "I was born with a rather fast metabolism compared to many."

Bruce tilted his head staring at his new house guest and gardener. "Glad we found you when you did. You would have wasted away to skin and bones!"

Mr. Jones nodded. "I am very grateful."

Alfred frowned. "I hope you try to earn all that tomorrow with your work."

John nodded. "I intend to."

He did, the next day and the next, and for weeks Bruce had someone else he thought he could trust …

Rose Garden of Wayne Manor: Eleven Years After Waynes' Deaths

After waking from nightmares, Bruce tried to focus his mind on the sensations of the real world. Talking with Alfred and helping his butler and godfather with whatever task the older man was doing usually worked.

This morning, Alfred had left to chauffeur Leslie and Alice. He was probably now showing Alice Aunt Evelyn's home and how to care for it. Alice had a passion for housekeeping and dog-care. So, Evelyn's mansion might become her "permanent" home.

Aunt Evelyn was talking about providing Madge with a formal art education. Finding a new life to pull Jeannette out of the Red Light district, for good, might take more time. Her injuries gave them that, though. The thought of any of them returning to the Red Quarter made his stomach turn. In fact, after revealing to Gotham Bruce Wayne had returned, he might buy up and demolish the whole area.

Bruce wrapped his fingers around weed stems and yanked. Their roots burst out into the open still encased in dirt. He shook some off to recover the partially exposed roots of the roses. They had been his mother's favorites. "Roses are some of earth's most beautiful and fragrant flowers, and some of the few that stand up for themselves …" His mother usually gave her "cheeky smile" (as his father called it) after making that statement.

Bruce smiled. In the present, flecks of the wet earth landed on and stuck to his skin. It was a welcome sensation. He sat back on his heels and took in the sight of the roses surrounded by overturned earth rather than weeds.

Some of the details of his nightmare flashed through his mind. Bruce took a deep breath. He ran muddy hands over his face letting the touch of the mud cool his skin and its scent tingle in his nose. Then he looked up at a cloud sailing through the morning sky. He shivered gratefully as its shadow covered him giving him the sensation of cold, which made an effective distraction.

He looked back to his work, bent his back, and began again frowning. He'd need to tell Aunt Leslie his dream later. She'd said she "wouldn't" turn him in for his vigilante activities, or commit him to Arkham on two conditions. 1. They had regular sessions. 2. He fully revealed what he was dealing with during them. If she felt him hiding anything, she'd contact someone.

He thought she inwardly labeled Batman as some kind of condition. If she didn't think it already fit a known diagnosis, she'd probably make one up. If she didn't mind exposing him to the world, she might write a paper on it and send it to a journal.

He knew she wanted him to give up being Batman. He honestly hoped he could soon. But he expected weeding out what was hurting Gotham before or while planting new things to help it recover and grow would take years. Truthfully, he had the same fear she did: that he might not survive it. Still, Madge now seemed committed to pursuing a better life. Alice might be convinced to. And Jeannette was, for now, living in a safer place. Three lives improved? If the worst happened could he take comfort from that? The memory of Francesca's bloodied body and Deidre's less bloody, but still pale, cool, and bruised one flashed through his mind.

He twisted the weeds painfully around his fingers before pulling. Three to two … could that really be considered a victory worth celebrating … to take comfort in?

"Bruce …"

Bruce spun tossing the weeds. A tall figure blocked the projectile by raising his arm. The dirt-clod hit it and exploded into a spray of dirt. Tight shut eyes rose cautiously over the raised arm before opening.

Bruce froze and blinked. The eyes he looked into were brown in a wrinkling face beneath a hairline of brown, graying hair. "Good morning child …"

The eyes and voice together, Bruce recognized. His mouth fell open before he responded "John?"

Bulb Flower Garden of Wayne Manor: Two Years After Waynes' Deaths

He was standing on a swing hanging from a tree in the flower garden, not the rose garden, but another flower garden, an older one made for his grandmother. Several feet in front of him, John contentedly weeded a bed of irises. Watching, he was making small swings back and forth saying more in one breath than usual.

"The gardens look great! Aunt Leslie says Mr. Gresham might want to retire! Do you want to stay? Alfred's great, but he mostly works in the house and hates dirt. And he's teaching me to look out for myself. Gardening takes muscles, but it's not as conducive to learning to take care of yourself as actual training."

John stopped weeding to look over his shoulder with a grin. "No, I suppose not. And I'll stay as long as I can."

Bruce ceased propelling his body back and forth before hopping off the board and walking closer. "Why would you leave?"

John looked back over his shoulder with his grin gone. "It … wouldn't be because of anything you have or haven't done, child."

"Will you stop calling me that?" Bruce plopped down next to him and scowled.

John's soft grin returned. "I'm sorry. Bruce …"

Bruce smiled. Then he looked toward the flower bed. His smile got smaller. "Dad said his big sister liked irises. They're the reason Aunt Evelyn doesn't bring her dogs out here, though. She's not my 'birth aunt' but I call her and Aunt Leslie my aunts. She's Aunt Leslie's little sister, but my only birth-aunt died before I was born."

"I'm sorry to hear that …"

Bruce looked up at him curiously. "What was your family like?"

John paused his weeding again. Then he continued while answering. "I had parents, they were responsible and loving, like yours. Perhaps not as clever or wealthy. They both passed away some time after I became an adult. I also had a brother … and then a wife and two daughters."

Bruce's eyes grew huge. Silence hung between them much longer this time. Finally, John broke it. "I no longer have any of them with me …"

Bruce's shoulders fell. "Sorry …"

John kept weeding but looked sideways at Bruce before looking back to his work. "You were reminding me of my oldest daughter just now. She also liked to tell me things."

"She … Did she … Does she still like you … or … did your wife divorce you and ..?"

"She died … my wife and daughters together … in the same fire."

"Oh … Your brother?"

"He isn't with me anymore."

Bruce paused and stared at his new gardener for a while and then asked, "Are you a little happier now than … right after you lost them?"

John gave a soft smile and nodded as he continued his work. "Yes."

"Has it been a long time since then?"

John nodded while his smile fell away. "Yes …"

"So … it takes a long time?"

John looked down and gave another sad smile. "It might. I find life is better when you have others to live for …"

Diner in Gotham City: Two Years After Waynes' Deaths Five Weeks into John's Stay at the Manor

After John talked about his wife and daughters dying in a fire, young Bruce had given especial attention to articles about one maybe two different arsonists on the loose in Gotham. Abandoned buildings were being set on fire without clear motive. This might not have been so bad if the fires didn't spread, but during a hot dry time like it was that was a distinct possibility. Also, in parts of Gotham abandoned buildings might still be lived in. There had been three deaths of homeless people between the five blazes reported so far. That also hit Bruce harder than it might have before he met John.

John himself, though, did not seem pleased with him studying the articles on the crimes. "Child, why are you reading such things?"

"Don't call me that. And, I'm smart. Maybe I can notice some pattern or clue. Besides, it's practice for being a detective. I'm going to be a detective someday. And I want to be the best detective there ever was. So, why shouldn't I start now?"

Bruce had kept reading the paper while ignoring his gardener's stare. Bruce then turned the paper around to show John something. "There. They have a number for non-professional citizens to call anonymously with tips if they see something suspicious: namely someone about to start a fire."

"I see."

Bruce turned the paper back around with a smirk. "Can you remember what the number was?"

John lifted both his brows. "Should I?"

Bruce glared. "What if you see something and have to try to find a copy of this paper before calling it in?"

John sighed. Bruce quizzed him until his gardener repeated the number correctly three times in a row. Bruce then asked Alfred to recite it. The butler did so on his first try. Then they're food arrived. As usual more was placed in front of John than Bruce and Alfred combined. If John remained true to form, he'd finish it all.

The Wayne estate butler glared at its gardener. "I hope you work hard enough to earn such a meal."

John swallowed and replied without looking up to meet the other man's glare and murmured in a humble tone. "So do I."

Bruce glanced between them and despite his own hunger found it hard to swallow his chili.

Alfred glanced at him. "Hurry up Master Bruce, we have much to do tonight."

Bruce nodded. "Yes Alfred."

Leslie insisted Bruce had to leave the manor and do something in person for others who were struggling at least a few times a week. Bruce had a hard time arguing, since his parents had done more than that. Being like his parents was about as important as becoming a great fighter and a great detective.

Leslie had suggested Alfred bring him to help serve food at a soup kitchen. John helped convince Leslie and Alfred to let them come when everyone else was leaving and clean up instead. Leslie allowed it.

Bruce wiped the tables. Alfred moped the floor. John did the dishes in the kitchen. So, Bruce pleased Leslie and hopefully his parents, if they were watching from somewhere.

That night, after Bruce had wiped down the last table, Alfred nodded to him. "Alright, go tell John we're almost done. It's near your bedtime. He needs to finish soon too or we'll leave him behind!"

Bruce squinted at his godfather. He wasn't certain how serious Alfred was, but after trying and failing to read the butler's straight face, he turned and raced into the kitchen. "John! Alfred said we've given you enough time to do the dishes and we should all be heading home …"

Bruce stopped. He spun his body, looking in every direction, but saw no sign of his gardener.

Whumptober Oct 8th 2024 prompt "Sleep Deprivation"/Forced to stay awake/"leave the lights on" (Coldplay, "Midnight"). Others may not be "forcing" Bruce to stay awake, but his desire not to have the same or just as bad dreams is causing him to attempt to stay awake instead of go back to sleep after a long night of being Batman.

What do you think now?

God bless

ScribeofHeroes