part 28 of de aged Bruce part 1
Jason Peter Todd's gravestone had stayed where it was.
Right to the side and just a little behind the graves of Martha and Thomas Wayne. The large praying angel just above the broken and empty casket was eye catching to say the least.
No one knew what to do with it when Jason had returned. Bruce couldn't get himself to take it down, and when they would argue, he would he still wander out into the rose garden and go talk to the large stone. Apologise, and talk his feelings out, which was somehow always easier to do to the big gravestone than the actual person.
Jason himself couldn't deny that he would sometimes spend time at it too. When he was too heated, when the feelings and thoughts got too loud and he just needed a break. Tim would try his best to help, Damian wouldn't completely be able to relate, Dick would try too hard to relate, Cass would always be frustrated with not being able to get the right words out, Steph and Barbara would sometimes help, but reaching out to them too many times slowly felt like he was becoming more and more like a burden.
The grave, that, couldn't talk back or misunderstand his words. He would go and yell and it, scream his frustrations and anger, and then he would slowly calm down and uncover his hidden stash of books, cigarettes and sugar cubes and spend another 45 minutes calming down.
The statue had stayed in the Wayne manor, just and prime and perfect as the day it was set up.
There was no way little Bruce could miss it.
He would question it and his little curious mind would draw all kinds of conclusions if he wasn't told outright. He might even understand that there really had been a need for a gravestone for Jason, even though the guy was standing right beside him.
Bruce was a bright child, innovative and quick-thinking. The idea of becoming a self made vigilante had been brewing in his mind almost since the Wayne murder, and not long after he became a young teen, he began making real speculations and calculations on what it would take to set the idea into motion and into real life.
"Can we not go?" Bruce asked, twisting around in the arms holding him to look at everyone.
The group had stopped before they had even made it down the steps to the rest of the garden, the silence that had broken the previous light chatter put everyone on edge.
"Maybe its not the best idea, buddy." Duke said, giving him a small lift to get him higher and more comfortable, not that Bruce in this form felt like he weighed more than a flour bag in human clothes, they really needed to feed him more if this was for longer than expected. “We can take a walk around the garden, or go eat in the greenhouse instead maybe?”
A deep frown formed on the child’s brow, but his words remained quiet. “I would like to see mother and father..."
Another sharp jolt went through the entire group. There would be no going back if they went to the cemetery.
"We can't Chickadee." little chick is all alone. A sharp laughter almost seemed like it was hugging the nickname now. Bruce had to stop himself from looking around to see if he could find the source. The very real people around him were almost suffocating him with their gaze.
He wanted to talk to the cold granite headstone that they had been reduced to.
The greenhouse was warm, the red brick flooring would no doubt warm him from the feet and up if he wasn't placed in a too high rocking chair, right beside the large orange tree and the smaller lemon one right by its side. The ivy grew lush up the sides, wherever it would reach really, only being trimmed to keep the growth at a somewhat bay. No doubt Alfred's careful precision.
Bruce knew the others were still watching him like a hawk, every time he moved to adjust in the chair one of them moved slightly towards him, like he couldn't move by himself.
The glass walls and white beam frame in the greenhouse, reminded him of a bird cage.
The room so big and open.
The light so strong and bright.
His body ached painfully.
"I've got some of the leftovers from yesterday!" A bright voice broke his trance.
The sound of platters hitting the table a little ways away, filled the room. Plates of the sandwiches, fruits and finger food that they didn't finish yesterday slowly began filling up the table. The clicking of glasses finished the lineup.
The silence that followed felt choking.
"Let's eat then." Bruce wanted to sound happy, he really did, but for the life of him, the idea of smiling right now felt wrong.
The mood didn't get much better as their eating began.
The food was no doubt just as good as it was yesterday, when it was accompanied by the sound of laughter and chatter about old movies, but it tasted more like wet mud than anything edible.
Dick could honestly say he preferred eating the Batfamily themed military rations they used for longer missions.
Bruce was seated at the end, waited on by Cass and Tim by his side. Whenever his eyes moved towards any of the dishes, one of them would instantly move to place it on his dish.
He had been so happy, before they entered the gardens.
Maybe he felt trapped inside the house or, more honestly, he felt overwhelmed with their presence and hovering. Maybe a short drive around Gotham would be good for him?
Would they be able to secure him? What car were they going to take? They all have to go undercover? If not, how would they be able to explain the kid in a wheelchair.
"ck? Dickie?" A hand fell on his shoulder and a shutter wrecked through his body, the cold tumbler almost slipped out his hand. Steph leaned further onto the table to look him directly in the eye. "You having a stroke or somethin'?"
Eyes felt like sticky honey on his skin. "Just thinking is all."
The pager on his belt beeped by his hip, and almost before the second beep sounded, it was in his hand and inches from his face. He didn't have to look up to know that everyone else were also desperately clutching onto theirs.
Incoming message from the WatchTower.
"Do you, or do you not have an update?"
"It really is. Yes or no?"
He slammed his hand down harshly on the console, the keyboard jumped slightly from the action.
"We don't know what effect it could have on his memory, Zatanna is trying to figure it out now, estimated, it'll take another week before we can do anything concrete."
A week? They could work with that. They just had to keep Bruce safe in the manor. Bruce's small despondent eyes flashed in his mind, sitting like a marionette with its strings cut from chair to chair he was moved to. Kept from his family.
"We can work with a week."
Dick's phone buzzed on the table, as the light from the, now closed, computer dimmed as the systems shut down.
Alfie: I will be arriving home tomorrow evening.
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