[fic] A Definitive End to Things.
A Definitive End to Things.
Rating: G-ish
Characters: Bruce Wayne and Death
Summary: the death of Bruce Wayne.
Notes: Steve asked, I recalled Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader and then this happened. As it turns out, I'm not Neil Gaiman.
There had been quite a lot of pain.
Or...
Had there?
He couldn't really remember anymore. Memories and past pains mingled and bled together, along with the much more brief moments of joy. It was like consciousness was slipping in and out of his grasp, illusive as smoke. He reached out to try and grasp it firmly, feeling as though he was falling. Instead, he felt something small and firm grasp his forearm and pull him up right.
"There ya go. Right side up again." The voice was friendly and painfully familiar. He blinked to clear his head and realized that he didn't really need to. Everything was crystal clear now.
"I always thought it would be my mother's voice," he said, "That she would be here at the end of it all. I always thought that I wanted to see her one last time." That was the truth, though if you had asked him that two hours ago, he wouldn't really have answered. It felt strange to simply volunteer the information.
The woman, who was not his mother, smiled at him. The smile felt like an answer to a question he had forgotten. "Are you ready to go?"
He looked down at the body... His body. Growing cold and twitching slightly still. "No." But then he added, "But I have to."
"Well, it would certainly make things easier for me." There was a dry sort of humor in the woman's eyes and then she seemed to soften, "They'll be okay. It'll be hard and they'll have a lot of problems, but they'll be okay."
He felt a swell of something... Pride. Maybe love. His protegees. His partners. His family. "Yes. They will be."
"Take my hand, Bruce."
Bruce turned away from the sight of his body and his grieving family, back to Death. Her hand was tiny and white and there was an infinite sort of patience in her eyes. He reached out and took her hand.
The sound of wings followed.
End.
Rating: G-ish
Characters: Bruce Wayne and Death
Summary: the death of Bruce Wayne.
Notes: Steve asked, I recalled Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader and then this happened. As it turns out, I'm not Neil Gaiman.
There had been quite a lot of pain.
Or...
Had there?
He couldn't really remember anymore. Memories and past pains mingled and bled together, along with the much more brief moments of joy. It was like consciousness was slipping in and out of his grasp, illusive as smoke. He reached out to try and grasp it firmly, feeling as though he was falling. Instead, he felt something small and firm grasp his forearm and pull him up right.
"There ya go. Right side up again." The voice was friendly and painfully familiar. He blinked to clear his head and realized that he didn't really need to. Everything was crystal clear now.
"I always thought it would be my mother's voice," he said, "That she would be here at the end of it all. I always thought that I wanted to see her one last time." That was the truth, though if you had asked him that two hours ago, he wouldn't really have answered. It felt strange to simply volunteer the information.
The woman, who was not his mother, smiled at him. The smile felt like an answer to a question he had forgotten. "Are you ready to go?"
He looked down at the body... His body. Growing cold and twitching slightly still. "No." But then he added, "But I have to."
"Well, it would certainly make things easier for me." There was a dry sort of humor in the woman's eyes and then she seemed to soften, "They'll be okay. It'll be hard and they'll have a lot of problems, but they'll be okay."
He felt a swell of something... Pride. Maybe love. His protegees. His partners. His family. "Yes. They will be."
"Take my hand, Bruce."
Bruce turned away from the sight of his body and his grieving family, back to Death. Her hand was tiny and white and there was an infinite sort of patience in her eyes. He reached out and took her hand.
The sound of wings followed.
End.