"stay here," he commands ace, the dog clearly upset with him. whether it's his own ace or the other ace, the dog isn't happen to have his owner leave, and for a moment, bruce thinks that the poor dog will follow him. instead, ever loyal and well trained, ace remains where he is. he shuts the door behind him, leaving terry and ace together.
if all of this is still as wrong as he thinks — a figure that's getting smaller and smaller — then at least they know each other, at least they understand each other well enough.
there's only one other way that he can be sure that all of this is real. bruce makes his way out of the place, towards the garage. no one looks at him either way, as he keeps his head down, the hoodie up on him. there is only one other place that could be here, if it were all real, if what the emails are saying are true.
there are other reasons to believe it all, that all of this isn't just a simulation or a spell.
it's just that this is the only thing he can think of that will truly put it all to rest, without a doubt. he takes his time to climb the motorcycle that the body owns, swinging his leg on it, positioning himself.
cold lashes at him. bruce steadies himself, and in just a few moments, he's taken off on the bike, going through the cold streets, the land disappearing behind his wheels. it become instinctual, the route that he's taken for decades now, that he's always known no matter where or when he is, that anchor waiting for him.
he keeps going, keeping to the speed limit, not wanting to be caught. going and going until he finally sees the familiar gates, the cold around it, and the trees that he's been able to sketch. idly without a second thought.
as he gets closer, he can feel his heart start to beat more, start to remind him that this isn't just an illusion. there have always been tells in those scenarios, always moments tha fail. not here. the blinding white, the deep cold, all of it is familiar, gothamlike in a way that he feels down to his bones.
and at the heart of gotham, at the heart of himself, there is only one place.
when he finally parks the motorcycle, he can feel that he's a little stiff, uneasy.
but he can't turn back now, removing his helmet to look up at the gate.
past that gate is his destiny, is what's always waiting for him, and bruce knows he has to face it, to be sure.
he doesn't bother to hide his bike; he simply walks inside.
there was a balance of confusion and connection. where stephanie greene laid in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, deep in contemplation about her recent dreams, stephanie brown was extending her hand. both of them were in uncharted territory but neither one of them were afraid. brown, or spoiler - as she insisted for the sake of ease, was determined and the only logical conclusion that stephanie greene could reach was to just let her take the wheel. of her own mind.
"am i crazy? is this a dream right now?"
spoiler shrugged, applying the answer to both questions. "i don't think so," she stated. "but if you were crazy, i know that there are people out there that can help us and if this is a dream? well, i don't have the answer to that because i don't think i have ever been the hero of anyone's dreams." nightmares, maybe, if the other person deserved that much.
"what do you say, greene? want to see what answers we can find?"
"yes but what if we run into the dangerous people that you talked about too?" it was a legitimate concern.
spoiler rest a hand on her shoulder. "let me handle it but i think… we have a better chance of finding friends over foes. i've got your back."
based on the vibe alone, as new age and cringe as it was to say, greene conceded. it was fine until spoiler started to rummage the closet, softly clicking her teeth with disapproval over the passing garments. finally, she found a purple - more of an eggplant - zip up and shrugged into it. next, a pair of combat looking boots were selected, leggings, and a black overcoat to combat the cold tied the whole look together. almost. stephanie didn't hesitate to hit the drawers, getting a pair of sunglasses and a bandana just in case.
"… are you sure you don't commit the crimes?" steph greene's voice was quiet but spoiler grinned.
"if you had a sewing machine, i would do some real damage but you never know in a pinch."
it was left at that, stephanie left the house in complete silence and a determination to just spot anything that reminded her of home, of her people, but it didn't help that new york city was gritty just like gotham. at least it wasn't as wet and dark or maybe today, she was just lucky.
since her counterpart didn't have a means of transportation, besides a barely used bicycle, she relied on city transport. eyes were kept on the streak of passing brooklyn and the signs that pointed to the directions needed to venture into the city. that's when she saw a sign, white letters with an arrow pointing east beneath "HISTORIC CEMETERY". feeling something spark, she moved as close to the bus driver's yellow line.
"what's that cemetery about?"
"ma'am, i need you to stand behind the yellow line." the woman didn't even look at her and when steph glanced down at her feet, sure enough, she was a smidge over the chipped paint.
"sorry… the cemetery?"
"final resting ground for new york's finest… or richest, at least. i didn't know them personally, who knows."
this lady was a peach. "does your route get close enough to the cemetery?"
"this is it… are you wanting to get off?"
"yes please."
with a grumbled, "suit yourself" and a symphony of honks around them, the bus pulled off the road and was already pulling away before stephanie could get a few steps away. the rest of the way was hoofed and she sorted through potential expectations. worst case scenario, affluent people from her circle were resting there or maybe mr. drake was resting in peace, giving tim the same idea.
or maybe it wasn't tim. the motorcycle might as well move on its own to jump out at her and she would have hugged the damn thing if it did. "bats," she murmured, looking up at the rot iron gate. then her stomach sank to her feet and she knew what it meant if he was here. almost as if she was walking in the same, larger footsteps, steph pushed open the gate to slip inside. while she didn't want disturb him, not here, this was also important.
the monument seemed to loom over anything in the vicinity, engulfing the only two people in it's space. it took several moments for her mouth to move, the name on the tip of spoiler's tongue as she clenched her fists within her pockets. finally, and over the sound of a thundering heart rattling away in its cage, she called out to him.
"bruce…"
distantly, he can hear someone come through behind him. more importantly, he's got his eyes fixed in front of him going to that familiar place, going to where he knows he has to be. crime alley, terry is one thing. that's where it all started, that's where he knew that nothing could ever be the same.
coming to the graves is different—sacred in a way that going to the site of their deaths isn't. sacred because it's the last place he ever saw them, the last place their bodies rest.
he keeps walking towards it, the monument to his parents, the symbol of everything he ever is, was, or could be. ignores the cold lashing on his face, ignores the sound of footsteps of someone who he knows and at the same time doesn't.
there's no michael present by the time he finally sees the grave site, the towering figures that had seemed bigger when he was eight years old, standing by it. it's there the way it's been for decades now, the angel presiding over both graves, his parents names and dates on both.
it stands, silent, dark and bruce pauses in front of them, letting the cold wind whip around sharply, letting him feel everything he always feels, in this lonely place. lets all of the memories up and out, recalling their faces, their time together.
but —
he sticks his hand into his jacket, reaching for the flowers. they're two roses, as usual, and he walks up to the grave, laying on on thomas' and one on martha's.
and like he's done for decades, he comes and kisses the top of each grave, feeling the familiar grooves, the chill of the stone.
and then he simply sits in front of them, shoulders slumping.
the moment was sacred and it felt like the weight would crush her if she stuck around to witness it. this was a component to bruce's very core, a wound that never quite healed properly, because it never mattered what a person could do. it never brought his parents back; and stephanie, if she was going to draw conclusions, felt as though she was staring at a young bruce wayne being nurtured by the man that she knew.
everything that he did, whether it was executed as bruce wayne or the batman, it was in reverence to his parents' legacy. while she couldn't fathom the depths of loss on such a level, she empathized with him for feeling so deeply.
in spite of the projections cast upon the batman, the man, the billionaire, she knew that he was a reservoir of emotion. taking up a cowl and a cape would be impossible if he didn't care and she didn't envy him for the depths that stacked together to form the person in front of her.
surprise, stephanie brown paid attention but she had to because she actively chose him to be her mentor whether he liked it or not.
several moments passed and she was reminded that she lowered her hood, out of respect, when the cold pinched the tops of her ears. if this wasn't important, she would have left to let him cope with this realization all over again.
"it's me," she said, now standing behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder while adding, "stephanie…"
when her hand was pulled away, she sat down beside of him and raised her hood again.
"you know, you look so much like your dad… and then sometimes, when you wear certain things… i see your mom." she glanced at him, lips pursed into a subtle smile. "i never met them, obviously, but we had to do this segment on gotham's hometown heroes… before we really had a hometown bat… and the essay question was:
name one way that the waynes' impacted gotham for good.
i got a mark for starting off with, 'they're the first billionaires that seem to genuinely care, i'm shocked.'
but i wasn't wrong and i think about the wayne name and that's the legacy they left you with, your empathy."
silence sank in between them and she looked at the angel guarding over the permanent resting places. "from what i've read, i definitely think thomas wayne would have enjoyed a spin in the batmobile… would maybe even give a few critiques because dads, you know?"
finally, everything welled up inside of her cast a glassy sheen over her eyes and she looked at him. "i don't want to bother you, bruce… not here, not now, but i've never been so happy to see you before in my life… and i know we're a long way from home and i'm scared. i know gotham is always protected, as long as hope is alive, but i don't know what is going on…"
it's in stephanie's nature to talk as much as it's bruce's nature not to; so he allows her to sit there, to talk, to fill the air with words he knows that other people take for granted. words that he doesn't as he looks at the graves before him, as he accepts what's happening—and accepts that he's not alone here, not at all.
not with terry here, and certainly not with stephanie.
through all the mistakes, all of the pain, it's terry and stephanie with him now—the batgirl from the past, the batman from the future.
the batwoman, of the future. of a future. a future that sometimes is clear as day or foggy as mist, but a future.
and more than that, it means he can't walk away. even if what joe — warren — said was right, he'd come back here, week after week. he'd wake up to this place, with crime alley and the wayne graves, come back to the mission, the oath he'd sworn as a child.
he reaches over, to grasp for stephanie's hand, wrapping his gloved hand around hers, firm. "you're not bothering me. i know a little bit of what's going on — just a little bit." he wipes at his face with his other hand, accepting the hot tears that are flowing down his cheek, swallowing around the emotions in his throat. "and i'm happy to see you too. eggplant and all."
he finally tuns his head to look at her, at her face that's familiar and not. "and you're right. we've still got hope."