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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It made her so bitter. This one man couldn't even be saved by the city that he had so often protected. It was frustrating. Her hand smoothed over the bat symbol absently and she raised her other hand to wipe the remaining tear or two from her face. Bruce wouldn't want it like this. He wouldn't want her sitting here, endangering Superman and herself, mourning for a dead man. He would want her to be working, back on her feet, protecting her city. Protecting what he no longer could.

She remembered that first conversation, that mutual understanding. They said the same things to each other. They knew each other, right there.

Re-l watched as Superman knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. She reached over and put her hand over his for reassurance. "I know. I just..." Something should have told her. She should have been there beside him. "It's not fair." How childish, Re-l.

She sighed. "The same thing you'll do. Mourn him and cover his tracks. Make sure no one knows the real him, the one that's actually gone." Bruce Wayne. "And I'll make sure SERO and the police keep off your trail until you can take care of his body."

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Despite the pain, despite being mere inches away from the reality of the body below them. His friend and hers. Bruce--Such a fool. Didn't he realise that his death would have consequences? That it would effect others like this; the way it was effecting Re-l, him, the way it made his heart beat hard against his chest like a bird trying to throw itself through the walls of a paper cage.

"He'd better come back; I'm not going to forgive him otherwise."

He looked up at Re-l quietly, his eyes momentary piercing as they fixed on her hair, the side of her face. Did she know? Clark thought back to that moment where Bruce had been shot, and his curiosity wandered. It would explain things if she did.

Letting go of her shoulder, despite the fact that it broke her reassuring contact on his hand, he moved once more to hook his arms underneath Bruce's body, lifting him with ease, as though gathering up a sleeping child.

"His children are waiting."