SON OF BATMAN

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me."

Lucius Fox's voice was steady, his words carrying through the quiet air, rich with meaning and sorrow. His tone was measured and full of the reverence due on such an occasion.

Behind the Wayne Manor, nestled within the sprawling estate, lay the Wayne family cemetery. The simple, dignified graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne were now joined by a fresh addition—Bruce Wayne. Three headstones, side by side, marking the final resting place of the Wayne legacy. The freshly turned earth at Bruce's grave stood in stark contrast to the weathered stones of his parents, a visceral reminder of the finality of their loss.

The small, solemn group gathered in front of the graves stood in silence, listening to Lucius as he continued.

"For Bruce Wayne, the world knew him as a billionaire, a philanthropist, and an eccentric figure. But for those of us who had the privilege of truly knowing him... he was much more than that. He was a protector, a hero, and a man who cared more about the people of Gotham than anyone ever knew."

Lucius stood behind the graves, facing the small crowd. His posture was straight, but his grief was palpable in the way he spoke. This wasn't just a man reading lines from scripture—this was someone who had lost a friend.

Damian Wayne stood at the forefront, hands in his coat pockets, his face expressionless as he stared at the tombstone. Yet, to those who knew him well, the slight tension in his jaw and the tightness around his eyes betrayed the storm of emotions he was desperately trying to contain. To his left was Yvonne, quiet and composed, her hand resting lightly on Damian's arm in a silent gesture of support. Her touch seemed to anchor him, providing a tether to the present as his mind grappled with the loss. 

Dick Grayson stood to Damian's right, his expression somber, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he struggled with the weight of losing Bruce—his mentor, his father in all but blood. Beside him was Alfred Pennyworth, the man who had served the Wayne family all his life, his grief showing in the subtle sag of his shoulders. His usually impeccable posture now slightly stooped, as if the weight of his grief was a physical burden.

Behind them, the Justice League stood in a line: Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Cyborg, and The Flash. Each hero wore their civilian attire, a reminder that they were here not as symbols, but as friends mourning one of their own. Their presence was a testament to the man Bruce had been—Batman, yes, but also Bruce Wayne, the man who had brought them together.

Lucius Fox paused, his voice growing quieter as he continued. "He gave everything for this city. For the people. For all of us."

The wind rustled softly through the trees that surrounded the cemetery, carrying Lucius's words over the graves. The fresh earth at Bruce's resting place was still visible, a stark reminder of the finality of death. But even in the silence, Bruce's presence could still be felt, as though Gotham's protector was watching over them one last time.

After a moment, Lucius took a step back, signaling the end of his eulogy. The group remained still, each person lost in their own thoughts, reflecting on the life of the man they had gathered to mourn.

One by one, they began to leave. Wonder Woman was the first, casting a lingering glance at the grave before quietly walking away. Superman followed soon after, his normally unshakable demeanor softened by the grief he shared with the others. The Flash gave a small nod to Damian as he walked off, and Cyborg and Aquaman exchanged solemn looks before departing as well.

Lucius Fox, after delivering his heartfelt words, approached Damian, his usual businesslike demeanor softened by shared grief. He stopped in front of the young man, placing a hand gently on his shoulder—a silent gesture of support, understanding, and shared grief. Damian didn't react, simply giving Lucius a brief nod in acknowledgment.

Lucius left without another word, leaving only Alfred, Dick, Damian, and Yvonne at the gravesite.

After a moment of shared silence, Damian turned abruptly, his movement almost a flinch, as if he could no longer bear the sight of his father's grave. Yvonne followed silently at his side, her presence quiet but grounding. Dick watched them go before turning back to look at Bruce's grave one last time. He sighed, then turned to follow Damian.

Now, only Alfred remained, standing in front of the three headstones—Thomas, Martha, and Bruce. For a long time, he stood motionless, his weathered hands clasped tightly behind his back, his eyes fixed on the names etched into the stones. The weight of decades of service, of love, of loss, pressed down on him like a tangible force.

Bruce wasn't just his master—he had been his responsibility, his purpose, for as long as he could remember. Alfred had been there from the very beginning, from the day Bruce was born in Wayne Manor. He could still recall the piercing cries of the newborn that echoed through the grand halls, the tiny infant who would one day grow into the man they all stood here to mourn.

Alfred had cared for him, guided him, watched him face the unimaginable loss of his parents, and ultimately, watched him transform into Gotham's protector.

Bruce was more than just his employer; he had been his family. The boy Alfred had once rocked to sleep in his arms had become the man who took the weight of the world on his shoulders, and now, that weight was gone.

.

His eyes lingered on Bruce's grave for a moment before turning to address the resting places of Bruce's parents. He took a slow, deep breath, and then, in a voice just above a whisper, he began to speak.

"It's been a long time," he said softly, his gaze resting on the graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne. "A very long time since you left us. I tried my best to honor the promises I made to you both. To raise Master Wayne, to guide him... and to keep him safe."

He paused, his throat tight with grief.

"He became everything you hoped he would—a protector, a hero. Your son… He grew into a man who made the impossible possible. A man who stood against the darkness when no one else would."

Alfred's gaze returned to Bruce's headstone, and his voice dropped lower, barely audible as he spoke.

"He saved so many lives... and gave so much of himself. More than anyone could have asked for. And I watched over him all that time. I did the best I could, but…" He paused, gathering his thoughts. His voice wavered slightly, but he continued. "I failed you. I'm so sorry. You trusted me… But I failed you"

He paused, his throat tightening as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

"He's gone now too... He fought to make the world a better place, just like you would've wanted."

Alfred's eyes were fixed on Bruce's grave, his expression one of deep, profound sorrow.

"You would've been proud of him," he said in a whisper, his voice thick with emotion. "I know I was. Every day. You saved the world more times than I can count, and not just as Batman... as Bruce Wayne too."

"Master Wayne." His voice wavered slightly, but he steadied himself. "You grew into the man I always knew you'd become—a hero, just like your father was, but in your own way."

"You saved the world, Master Bruce. You made a difference. And now… you can rest."

"And your son, Sir…" He glanced in the direction where Damian had walked off, his voice softening even more. "...is back. Damian is back. He's grown so big. Stubborn, just like you, but... but there's something more. He's got your heart, Master Wayne. He's got your will."

A sad smile tugged at the corners of Alfred's mouth. "I'll look after him, Master Wayne,  just like I looked after you. I'll make sure he finds his way, even if he doesn't think he needs me to. I'll watch over him. I promise you that, sir. I'll make sure he's alright."

Alfred took a step closer to the graves, his hands trembling slightly. "You can rest now, Sir. You've done more than anyone could've ever asked of you. You can finally rest."

His voice grew quiet, almost a whisper. "I'll take care of things here. Just like I always have."

For a long moment, Alfred stood alone, in silence. The weight of his words hanging in the air. He had been with the Wayne family since Bruce was born, had been there for every victory and every loss. He had watched Bruce grow from a boy into a man, and now… he had to say goodbye.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Alfred took a step back. He gave a slight nod to the graves, as though offering one final farewell.

"Goodbye, Master Wayne," he said, his voice barely audible now. "May you finally find peace."

With that, Alfred turned and slowly made his way back toward the manor, leaving the graves behind as the sun began to set over Wayne Manor.