#death of batman

[nefarious-616-necromancer]

[capnsupernova]

The Death of Batman

Four years. Four years since the streets of Gotham have seen Batman. Four years since the Justice League has seen Batman. Four years since the Robins have seen Batman.

And now he stands, in full gear, mask and cape and all, in front of a podium in broad daylight with a microphone in his face, surrounded by cameras. The audience is still. No one dares make a sound. No one dares ask why, after all this time, he is here now. No one dares to say it, but he’s different than they imagined he’d be. He is tall, yes, and his shoulders broad and sturdy enough to carry the whole weight of the world, but they see his weariness etched in the lines of his mouth, the only part of his face they have ever been able to see. For the first time, they see, not some cryptid of the night meting out justice, but a man. Just a man in a suit. No one dares say it, but he looks tired.

For a long time, he is silent.

When he does speak, his voice is softer than they expect—tinged with the first hints of age.

“I have watched this city for so long.”

The people of Gotham hold their breath.

“For so long, I have been your knight, your judge, your hero…. No, not your hero. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anyone’s hero.” He sighs and all the burdens of darkness and justice escape with his breath. “I am so tired.”

His enemies wait in the shadows. Everyone knows they’re there, waiting for an opportunity. Never has Batman announced his presence so publicly. Never has he handed himself so neatly to them, and with so many potential hostages and casualties around his stage. But they find themselves frozen. This is not the voice they know, not the gruff growl that haunts their nightmares. He is tired. They hear that, and this is familiar in a different way. They have all, villain and civilian alike, felt this exhaustion themselves. And so, they wait to see what he will say next.

“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t know if I’ve ever done the right thing. My children are hurting. I have hurt my children.” His voice catches. He takes a moment, looks up at the sky, blue and cloudless and bright. “I just want them to come home.”

He pauses, head tilted upwards before looking back at the people of Gotham, people he saved, people he fought and locked away—all of them, in one way or another, people that he has tried to help. People he has tried to protect.

“The Batman,” he says, “is retiring.”

Somewhere, a pin drops, and the echoes reverberate around the world. No one notices, but in the crowd, among reporters, a tall, barrel-chested man with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses smiles. It’s a small smile, a twitch of the lips. He meets Batman’s eyes over the tops of the heads of Gotham’s citizens. He nods, barely perceptible, and the man behind the black mask stands just a little taller.

“That is all. Thank you.”

And just like that, Batman is gone. No one stops him as he walks off the stage. No one stops him as their Dark Knight, their strange and mysterious vigilante, disappears into the shadows and out of their lives forever.

--

The first to return is Jason. He knocks on the door with all the casual confidence of Gotham’s premier crime boss, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, eyes so green they may as well be glowing.

When Bruce opens the door, he looks the old man up and down. “I’m assuming my old room is still available?” His smile is half-cocked and arrogant as ever, but there’s uncertainty furrowed in the space between his brows. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t see it at all.

Bruce sees it. And of all the things Jason excepts—the door slammed in his face, all the security systems of Wayne manor targeting his chest and head, a lecture at the very least—what he doesn’t expect are the tears that well up in Bruce’s eyes. He doesn’t expect to be wrapped tightly in his strong arms, arms that feel so much smaller than he remembers.

“Oh my boy,” Bruce whispers into his chest. “Oh my sweet, strong boy. I’m so sorry. I’ve missed you so much. I’m so glad you’re home.”

And it’s too much. The man behind the red hood, the man who beat Tim within an inch of his life, the man who shot Damien in the back in an effort to kill his own pain, crumples. In his father’s arms he is reduced to that 15-year-old boy who died and came back to life. The 15-year-old boy who, after all this time, only ever wanted to come home.

--

The rest showed up one by one that very same day. Dick showed up first with Tim and Damien in tow, surprised—not that Jason was there—but that he had beat him home. Then Barbara, Duke, Stephanie. It wasn’t long before the house was full of every single Robin and Batgirl who ever passed through these halls. Draped over chairs and couches (or, in Dicks case, swinging from the chandelier in the foyer while Tim and Damien did their best to use him—unsuccessfully—as target practice).

Not much changed in Gotham, after that. The villains didn’t retire with Batman, just as they didn’t disappear with Batman four years ago. But neither were they given free reign of the city, for Batman had ensured so, so long ago that there would always be someone to protect his home and his people. Gotham would always have their symbols of hope, their bats of blue and red and green and purple and yellow. New symbols that filled the night with a rainbow of colors.

And when their work was done, they returned to the manor, where their father would dress their wounds, mend their capes, and make them heaping piles of pancakes and eggs (“Yes, Dami, you have to finish the eggs. I won’t have some villain getting the better of you because you don’t have enough protein in your system”) with bowls of fruit and fresh squeezed orange juice. Bruce was, at the very least, a better cook than Alfred had been.

Things weren’t perfect. There were wounds that couldn’t be healed with a simple hug and a few tears. Wounds that would take years of therapy and hard talks and patience to fully close over. Bruce never told them where he’d been for those four years, and they never asked. This was the beginning of something entirely new for all of them.

But for the first time since anyone could remember, the sun shined bright and warm over the city of Gotham.

--

Writer’s Note:

This is an idea I have debated with close friends—the retirement of Batman. The main issue boils down to this: what becomes of Gotham without their symbol of hope? And to me, the answer is simple. Nothing. Because Batman is no longer their only symbol of hope. He hasn’t been for a long time, since he first took in Dick Grayson, that colorful bird of a boy. I think, in all honesty, that this is the true purpose of the Robins. Maybe Bruce himself didn’t realize it at the time, but he always hoped for something brighter for Gotham than Batman. Bruce has always been a reflection of Gotham. “The hero they deserve.” In a way, by taking in each sidekick, he adds another possibility, not just for the people of Gotham, but for himself too. A brighter future. Isn’t this what we all hope for our children?

[vertigoartgore]

2009's Batman and Robin Vol.1 #1 cover by Frank Quitely and Alex Sinclair (original pencils, sketch variant, 1st printing & 2nd printing).

[randommisci]

'Anyway , see you at the next tech expo'

Fics where Batman's identity gets revealed with his death and the robins just keep on doing their shit are so funny.

Tim Drake at his CEO job like: yes, our father Bruce Wayne was batman. No, none of us know the identities of his associates that have our exact built and haircuts. No further questions.

[incorrectbatfam]

The only acceptable trans Tim headcanon would be Tim introducing himself to the batfam as a boy from the get-go with such confidence that no one questions him. Then, his first solo case as Robin is investigating the disappearance of Jack and Janet Drake's "daughter," so he pretends to have a twin sister by forging a bunch of documents and photoshopping family pictures. He then fabricates evidence of her death, committing multiple crimes in the process, and holds a fake funeral at the end. Because if his previous name is dead to him, he's gonna kill it the Tim Drake way

[bruciemilf]

Batman isn’t a mask; It’s a leash. In this essay I will—

[ashoss]

patrol is fun :DD

[dudedidujust]

The daily planet runs a front page article calling superman the light of mankind

Cue the batfam launching a counter campaign in support of Signal,  the real Light of Mankind.

It starts as a joke but quickly derails into an all out war.

[flonflonflon]

His look with the bandages.......... erm, have another scrib of Jason I did based on that wahoo I care he o(-(

[frownyalfred]

It actually makes a lot of sense that Bruce was one of the few people left standing in the crowd at Haly’s Circus when Dick’s parents died.

Watching two innocent people plummet to their deaths is gruesome. It’s shocking. It can be horribly traumatic, depending on the blunt force trauma of hitting the ground. They might not have died right away. They might have bled and made awful noises that were heard even above the sounds of the crowd.

But Bruce is Batman. Bruce saw his parents get murdered right in front of him. And he knows the sounds and sights of someone dying. He’s hardened himself to stay calm in a situation like that, both through trauma and practice.

I think the image of a young Dick Grayson making eye contact with the one unshaken person in the crowd is chilling. A man standing resolute when everyone else is screaming, sadness etched across his face. But not panic. Not confusion. Resignation, maybe.

[nuvamata]

(link to original)

[lylacdrz]

Hehe the death of Jason todd

Notice how he slowly dims yeah he's a lamp

[prlssprfctn]

Jason, who is constantly making death jokes, and gets back a "dgaf" kind of answers from his siblings. Which he is... used to. Firstly, because it is what siblings supposed to do, be mean to each other, and secondly, because... they are not wrong. His death didn't mean anything. No one cared much about him dying. Yes, they were bothered that he died - a kid, a son and a brother, had died. Everyone mourns dead kids, he wasn't special. Right?

So, he is fine with whatever he gets from his brothers. He often laughs back, even his laughter sounds far too strained to his ears. But, honestly, whatever! It is fine!

Until once, it isn't.

Maybe it is just a bad day. Or maybe his death anniversary is getting closer, and he gets more anxious. Nonetheless, he makes another joke - something about warehouses and crowbars; so, nothing new - and gets a usual funny-snappy reply back, something along the lines And no one cared. And he just huffs, his smile turning to a scowl, and before he can take it back, he shrugs.

'I know.'

Suddenly, it is too quiet in the room. And suddenly everyone is staring - confused, hurt, slightly surprised, even. Jason tries to laugh it off, to make them stop looking at him with so much pity, but his forced laughter sounds too much like a certain clown's in his insane, tired mind, and he ends up murmuring a haste farewell, before practically running away from the cave.

He thinks someone tries to call him back, but he ignores it.

The defeating silence and the looks of pity haunt him in his dreams for the rest of the night.

[god-help-me-pls]

u guys don’t understand how much how small jason was as robin means to me,,, he was tiny,,, his ass was NOT physically fit i tell u,,,

little guy really was little

[violent138]

Obsessed with Batkids that came after Jason's death accidentally letting slip things they know about him/talking about him like he's there:

Tim: "Not that he's-- I mean, the way Bruce talks about him, sometimes it's like--

Duke, simultaneously: "We hired a medium last week to communicate with his spirit."

----------------

Steph, accidentally bursting out of the kitchen while Damian is being interviewed: "Someone tell Jason he's an asshole for finishing all the peanut butter." *spots camera crew and freezes*

Damian: "Jason's what I named our new dog. Right Baba? He's the dog we saw last week at the shelter."

Bruce, through gritted teeth: "Yes, I remember saying that we had too many animals already, but anything to make my kids happy."

Steph, awkwardly sidestepping out of the frame.