If there's no-one beside you when your soul embarks
Who: Batfamily and the usual hangers on, tag yourselves in
When: Night of the 7th, morning of the 8th
Where: The Batcave, and then the East shore of the city
Summary: Tears. Lots and lots of tears. All the heartache. Then we set fire to Batman.
Warnings: Violence, character death, funeral, heartbreak, blood, batkids fighting. Will probably add to this, but assume it's a rough ride.
It had been one of those evenings that Clark would never forget, even for all that he wished he could. The weight of Bruce in his arms was negligible for a Kryptonian - he carried him with ease - and yet it was the weight of emotion that pulled him down, that sagged his usually proud shoulders. His eyes were burned, from tears and heat vision alike, and while at first they had healed, the semi-blindness still hung on him, the usual strain of the Darkness deepening the ache in his head as the hours went on.
The last message that Bruce had sent him... Jason. He'd asked him to change the entrance so that Jason couldn't get in. A little late now, and didn't the boy, like any of the others, deserve to say goodbye to his father? Clark tensed. Jason was losing himself, and this would only make it worse. Carrie had only just returned. Damian had Talia--not that the influence was a good one. Tim; intelligent and capable. Dick--Dick would find it the hardest of all the Robins; Dick, who was completely lost in time. Cass, who idolised him with the affection of a father. What would they do without him?
Clark had sent the message; they would know where he was going. Even so, with superspeed he should have beaten them there. He didn't use it. Instead Clark walked. Bruce had never much appreciated the sensation of speed or flight; of helplessness in the face of metahuman abilities, so Clark walked. It let him take the time he needed himself, gave the family time to come together, and when he stepped into the cave Clark was finally - not at peace, but - master of the tumultuous emotions that roared within him.
The air could be cut with a knife. Ignoring the bunks in the far corner, Clark instead laid Bruce out on the well lit table where he worked on all his trinkets, wordless and stoically silent. He stood, just for a moment, dead still, but when he stepped away a few seconds later, there was a cape where it had not been just before, draped over Bruce's body like a shroud. The blood didn't even show through.
He retreated to the corner of the cave to listen, his eyes closed, his arms folded defensively. He should go home, he knew, but he had to stay. They needed him, even if they didn't know it yet, and Lois would understand.
When: Night of the 7th, morning of the 8th
Where: The Batcave, and then the East shore of the city
Summary: Tears. Lots and lots of tears. All the heartache. Then we set fire to Batman.
Warnings: Violence, character death, funeral, heartbreak, blood, batkids fighting. Will probably add to this, but assume it's a rough ride.
It had been one of those evenings that Clark would never forget, even for all that he wished he could. The weight of Bruce in his arms was negligible for a Kryptonian - he carried him with ease - and yet it was the weight of emotion that pulled him down, that sagged his usually proud shoulders. His eyes were burned, from tears and heat vision alike, and while at first they had healed, the semi-blindness still hung on him, the usual strain of the Darkness deepening the ache in his head as the hours went on.
The last message that Bruce had sent him... Jason. He'd asked him to change the entrance so that Jason couldn't get in. A little late now, and didn't the boy, like any of the others, deserve to say goodbye to his father? Clark tensed. Jason was losing himself, and this would only make it worse. Carrie had only just returned. Damian had Talia--not that the influence was a good one. Tim; intelligent and capable. Dick--Dick would find it the hardest of all the Robins; Dick, who was completely lost in time. Cass, who idolised him with the affection of a father. What would they do without him?
Clark had sent the message; they would know where he was going. Even so, with superspeed he should have beaten them there. He didn't use it. Instead Clark walked. Bruce had never much appreciated the sensation of speed or flight; of helplessness in the face of metahuman abilities, so Clark walked. It let him take the time he needed himself, gave the family time to come together, and when he stepped into the cave Clark was finally - not at peace, but - master of the tumultuous emotions that roared within him.
The air could be cut with a knife. Ignoring the bunks in the far corner, Clark instead laid Bruce out on the well lit table where he worked on all his trinkets, wordless and stoically silent. He stood, just for a moment, dead still, but when he stepped away a few seconds later, there was a cape where it had not been just before, draped over Bruce's body like a shroud. The blood didn't even show through.
He retreated to the corner of the cave to listen, his eyes closed, his arms folded defensively. He should go home, he knew, but he had to stay. They needed him, even if they didn't know it yet, and Lois would understand.