If there's no-one beside you when your soul embarks

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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

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Clark - 1am -> Dawn

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Not fast enough. Not good enough. Not Super enough. How could he call himself Superman if he couldn't even save his best friend? What use was he when he couldn't even save an innocent young girl? The Robin that had trusted him with the damn cape in the first place?

It was inevitable for Clark to cut himself up for it--inevitable enough that Bruce had even called him on it. He couldn't save everyone, try as he might, but what was it when he couldn't even save the people he loved?

~3 or 4 am.

[under_thehood]

When Jason finally arrived at the Cave, his jacket and gloves splattered with the blood of criminals he'd slaughtered without a second thought, it's without pomp and circumstance. He spotted his father's body immediately and pulled off the helmet. Bruce. Bruce. Maybe there was a reason after all why Willis and Sheila had never wanted him and it stood staring him down in this moment. He failed. He had been a failure since the beginning of his life and it continued now.

No, it had to be their fault. Not his. He didn't choose this. This was... this was Clark's fault. Oh now that sounded good in his head. The big fancy Kryptonian couldn't save anyone, could he? With all his super special powers, he couldn't do anything. That was the difference, that's what made this the Super's fault. Not his.

Regardless, though, Jason stood silently at the door to the cave, observing his father's corpse from a distance. This should never have happened. This should never have fucking happened.

Don't you want to know what he said to me he wants to ask

hope this is okay! if not, I'll post under clark's thread

[bodyreads]

Cass was right behind Jason as she got into the cave. She didn't think how her shadow fell upon the walls like Batman's as she came in costume, not until she saw it for herself. A wave of guilt rushed over her from earlier, from remembering that she could have been there to help him...if he had only allowed her. Instead, he had given her this list of drug dealers so she could hunt them down. He had distracted her when she could have helped. He had misled her when she could have been there

[Funeral]

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It doesn't matter where the arguments lead, or who storms out. It doesn't matter if someone tries to take the body, or how much they resist. Bruce's last will is that his body is burned, and that is precisely what will happen. By morning, stripped out of his suit - in case he returns - and laid out on a makeshift raft filled with driftwood, drenched with petrol, Bruce is ready for his last journey

open.

[aslandish]

Though he gives no oration and is largely elusive throughout the ceremony, when all is said and done and the final goodbyes have ended, the Lion will be there. Watching the funeral pyre as it sails towards the edge of the world as they know it, he bows his head. This is but one of many passings he has witnessed in the length of his existence, but the pain it brings has never eased, for those left behind or for himself. It breaks his heart every time, and for all that this may not be a true goodbye, he is no less grieved by the loss of one so precious.

Standing by the edge of the seashore, he seems unaware as the waves lap at his paws. Then, raising that great head, he exhales softly, lending the warmth of his breath to the sureness of Clark's benediction.

Whatever else may happen in the days yet to come, the memory of the legend will go untarnished by evils of this world.

Re: open.

[under_thehood]

Jason continued to stand back from the rest of the family, his facade slowly crumbling after a long night of staring and feeling completely torn open by Bruce's death, feeling separate and alienated from the rest of the Bats. So, he stands far back from the group, far back from Clark and Aslan. His teeth clench as his vision goes white with the sunrise and he hated that he couldn't actually see these final moments of his father's body.

But he remained. No matter how far he stood from the shore, or how little he could see, he remained. Even if he might have wanted to leave, there's something that kept him rooted to that spot and, despite being unable to see, he could feel the moment the boat was set aflame.

He could hardly breathe. It was too late.

[City]

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[Tim and Jason fighting in the streets? Running into Clark on his way back to base? This is the place for non-Batcave stuff.]

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Somewhere between the SERO tower and the Batcave, Clark walks, steadily onwards, grieving, speaking with people, raising his voice--his temper is frayed, and his pain reaches into his voice. Seeing is harder than it had been at the beginning of his walk, the pain of his stinging eyes agonising. He was using them to defend himself from the bloodthirsty attacks of the Darkness monsters, but every blast of heat vision hurt him as much as the attacking monsters, recurring injury that only the rising sun could heal.

Bruce felt light in his arms - deceptively so. He was easy to carry, his head lulled against Clark's shoulder in such a way that it took real effort not to look down into the abyss that was his empty skull. Every time he did, his fingers would clench. They would bruise if Bruce still could.

[proxysearch]

She didn't care who saw her or how early it was. She's already outside and moving through the streets, the fastest she'd ever actually tried to be. Buildings rushed past her as she sprinted; the monsters couldn't catch her, and if they did, she had the FP shells in her pistol for them. Her mind was on one destination only, and that was the baseball diamond, where she promised that she would see Batman's body, that she would confirm it was him for her own eyes. It wasn't that she didn't trust Superman. Far from it; she trusted his word. But she wanted to see it. She needed to.

This was Bruce Wayne, Batman, friend and ally. She needed to know.

She finally slowed down when she got close enough to the diamond, jogging the rest of the way. She waited for him, her eyes on the dark. She drew her gun and took a few out if they were far enough away. If they got too close, she killed some with her claws. It didn't make her feel any better, even if it was an outlet for her pain and misery.

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Clark never varied his pace, not even when he saw Re-l standing in the diamond waiting, attacking anything that came too close. He kept his burden steady, held against his chest as though sleeping.

A tiny Bruce held to his chest--eight years old, but with the mind of the bat. Eight years old and so fragile; tiny and human. His own words echoed back like cruel a cruel portent.

"Have you ever considered being realistic? You know--not pushing yourself beyond your limits? I know it's sort of your thing, but one day it's going to get you killed."

The baseball diamong was where it had begun for all of them, and it was a good place to rest, to step away for a moment before he crossed the last few blocks and carried him into his cave, and straight to his distraught children.

"Re-l." Not 'Miss Mayer', as usual, and Clark barely had the energy to deepen his voice. His eyes were on Bruce as he lay him down, still gentle, as though he might rouse him from his sleep.