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The funeral director had been sympathetic. Of course she was. She dealt with grief every day. She had to be empathetic with him - with anyone who lost someone. Who lost a child. It didn't make the options she'd discussed with him, the ones for what would be placed on the grave of his son, any easier to bear.
Bruce's eyes slid listlessly from one option to the next without really taking them in. There were a lot of angels. No gargoyles.
There was a soft knock on the door of his study. Bruce didn't acknowledge it, but it didn't matter. After a few moments, it opened anyway. "Master Bruce, I'm so sorry to disturb you…" Alfred began.
Bruce didn't look up. "I don't know which one to pick, Alfred. I'm not sure he would have liked any of them."
There was a small silence, and then the sound of leather oxfords on thick carpet. Alfred's hand, smelling faintly of chemicals - he must have been cleaning, Bruce thought, remembering how sparkling and neat the manor had been kept in the year after his parents died - rested on his shoulder.
"That one, I should think," Alfred said, touching the image of an angel in a hooded robe. "It's rather mysterious. I think Master Jason would have liked that."
"Yes," Bruce agreed dully. He still hadnt truly taken the picture in. He only copied the item number into the form the director had given him.
Alfred's hand tightened on Bruce's shoulder for a moment before he let go. "While I am - happy to assist you in such an important choice, Master Bruce, it's not why I'm here. The, ah, estate lawyer is on the main line. He needs to speak with you."
"Can't it wait until after the funeral?" Bruce asked wearily. "He can't need me to alter the will immediately." He had provisions for if his children - there had been a clause about being predeceased, hadn't there?
"If it was about the will, surely you realize I would have told him it could wait," Alfred said. "It's about -" His voice caught, and he took a moment to steady himself. "It's about the trust."
"Jason," Bruce said, pulling out the chair across from the boy at the kitchen table. "Are you almost done with your homework?"
Jason scowled up at him. "Shhh, B," he said. "I have one more paragraph and you're interrupting my train of thought!"
Bruce chuckled, trying to keep it suppressed in the back of his throat. He mimed zipping his lips. The kitchen was quiet while Jason wrote, filled only with the scratching of pencil on paper.
"Aaaaand… done," he said, chucking his pencil onto the paper as he grinned up at Bruce.
"Do you want me to check it?" Bruce asked.
Jason scoffed. "It's my English paper," he said. "On Romeo and Juliet. I'll ask Alfred to look at it after dinner."
"Alright, chum," Bruce said. "That is more his strength than mine. In that case, I need to talk to you."
Jason's shoulders hunched, just a little. "About what?" he said. His voice was flat.
"Nothing bad," Bruce assured him. "Important, but not bad."
"What does that mean?" Jason asked. His voice was still wary, but his shoulders relaxed.
"Just what I said," Bruce said. "I'm setting up a trust for you, so you have some money of your own when you're an adult."
"A trust?" Jason interrupted. "Like, for rich people?"
"Jason, you're my son now," Bruce reminded him. "For all intents and purposes, you're rich. So yes, you're getting a trust."
Jason crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Okay," he said. "I'm rich now. I guess."
"Yes," Bruce said. "But there are a few things involved in setting one up other than funding it, and I think you're old enough to be involved."
"Okay," Jason said again. "Like what?"
"Well," Bruce said, "mostly, what happens to the money when you die. It's just a precaution, but it's necessary to make it legal."
"Won't you just get it?" Jason asked.
"Well, Jay, when you die, I imagine I'll have been dead a long time already. When you get older, get married and have children, you'll sit down with a lawyer and have all this amended. This is just what you want for now. So you can leave it all to me, but you don't have to. In fact, I encourage you not to. Dick has his arranged partially to go to the members of Haly's Circus and partially to gymnastics programs for the public school system. You can set yours up to go to, say, paying for someone to put flowers on your mother's grave every week. Or there's plenty of charities that could do a lot with the money."
"Bruce," Jason asked slowly, "how much money are you giving me?"
"Enough to allow you to live comfortably," Bruce answered. "I'll feel better knowing that you'll be taken care of, no matter what."
"That isn't a real answer!"
"It's the answer you're getting," Bruce said. "I don't need to know where you'd like it to go right now. Take the week to think about it. I have an appointment with my lawyer next Wednesday and I'd like you to come with me."
"I'll think about it," Jason said. "I guess there's some stuff I wouldn't mind giving the money to."
"You're the trustee, so you have to oversee the distribution of assets, Mister Wayne," the lawyer said on the phone. Younger than the one who'd set the trust up. If he had been in a more forgiving mood, Bruce might have thought the man sounded genuinely apologetic. "I understand that this is a very difficult time for you -"
"I lost my son," Bruce said, cutting him off. "And I've spent the last week with the consulate arranging to have him - autopsied - and embalmed in another country, and getting his death certificate, and arranging for transport from Ethiopia, so I can bring him home. You interrupted me choosing his grave marker. To be frank, I've navigated more than enough bureaucratic red tape about his death already. It's more than a difficult time. Are you absolutely sure we have to discuss this now?"
"No, Mister Wayne. We don't have to discuss it today. But I do need to make an appointment for you to come to the office to discuss it."
"Fine," Bruce bit out. "After the funeral."
"I know you have a copy of the trust document, Mister Wayne, but many people find the language of it daunting even at the best of times. If I remember correctly, it was Jason himself who decided on the distribution, wasn't it?"
Bruce flinched. He couldn't help it. He hadn't spoken the name, even thought it, since -
He closed his eyes. "Yes," he managed. "I felt he was old enough to decide. I just signed off on what he wanted."
"Then you may not remember the specifics of his wishes. I'm here to walk you through them. It seems he wanted the assets liquidated, and the largest percentage of the proceeds to go to -"
" - a shelter for kids, but like, a good one. Not the mob ones."
The lawyer looked politely baffled, and turned to Bruce.
"We've had a new one in the works for the last eight months," Bruce said, Brucie smile firmly on. "The philanthropic arm of Wayne Industries has all the paperwork for that one, I don't handle that kind of thing." He laughed. "But! My secretary should have all the details. Just put… The Catherine Todd Center."
"Any relation?" the lawyer asked Jason.
"My mom," he said quietly.
"Well, it's a lovely way to honor her," the man said. Jason smiled faintly.
"Next I want some money to go to -"
"- the free clinic run by Doctor Thompkins, with a note that ten percent of that should be earmarked for… A needle exchange program."
Bruce looked up sharply. That wasn't a tone he liked. "This is protected by confidentiality," he said.
"Yes, of course," the lawyer said, meeting his eyes. "The charities will have to report their income, of course, but they're under no obligation to name their donors."
"Good," Bruce said. "The press said enough about him when I adopted him. I don't want to see what they would say if they saw this."
The lawyer made a quiet noise of sympathy in his throat. "It wouldn't be pleasant," he agreed.
"I'll speak to Leslie about the program when I bring her the check," Bruce said. "We've known each other a long time. She'll know how to set that up."
"Of course," the lawyer said. "In addition to the clinic, Jason wanted an equal share to go to legal aid and housing for victims of domestic violence - a Wayne Foundation charity again?"
"We started several new projects after I adopted him," Bruce said. "He had some really good ideas." His eyes burned like he'd been staring at the screen of the batcomputer for hours.
"It's a good legacy to leave," the lawyer said softly.
"He shouldn't have to leave one," Bruce said. "Not now." He heard his own voice like it was coming from outside of his body.
"No," the lawyer said. "Of course not."
"Did you want to leave any more personal gifts with your remainder?" the lawyer asked.
"Yeah," Jason said. "Give half of what's left to Dick - Richard Grayson. And -" he paused, glancing at Bruce once. "What happens if someone I name dies before me?"
"Well, that's up to you," the lawyer said. "Part of what we'll say in the document is what to do if you're predeceased by any of your beneficiaries. You can choose to divide that money among your other beneficiaries, or you can choose to contribute it to something else entirely."
"So I can put in someone who'll probably die before me?" Jason asked. Bruce's heart clenched.
"I don't recommend it, but if your father signs off on it, yes, you can," the lawyer said, sighing a little.
"He's the boss today," Bruce said, clapping Jason on the shoulder. "This is all a worst case scenario anyway. You'll have plenty of time to revise everything once you take control of the trust."
"In all likelihood, yes, that's true," the lawyer conceded.
"So it's all just symbolic anyway!" Bruce said, grinning wide as the lawyer winced.
"It will be legal truth," the lawyer said.
"Legal truth we won't have to use," Bruce said. "Why not let the kid do what he wants, huh?"
"If you say so, Mister Wayne. Who's your older party, Jason?"
"There's two," Jason said.
"The final share is received by Alfred Pennyworth," the lawyer said, "with a proviso."
"What's the proviso?" Bruce asked.
"I have to advise you, Mister Wayne, that this isn't legally binding, and you should tell Mister Pennyworth so when you distribute to him," the lawyer said, looking up from the binder in front of him.
"It can't be that bad," Bruce said. He did remember Jason passing the lawyer a note, and he supposed the fact that it wasn't enforceable was the only reason that whatever he'd wanted had made it in.
"Jason advised that from his funds, Mister Pennyworth should give you, Mister Wayne…" the lawyer peered at the paper as if reading it once more could change it. He sighed, and finished, "the market value of three Mickey Thompson Sportsman S/R fifteen-inch tires, and a cheeseburger."
It took a moment for the words to make sense to Bruce. They seemed so out of place. But then it clicked.
His chest was shaking. He hunched forward, elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor. It took him a long moment of struggling for breath to realize he was laughing, hard enough to shake his body and wring tears from his eyes. How was he laughing? But he couldn't stop, not until it hurt.
"Oh, Jaylad," Bruce sighed. He tried to catch his breath, and brought out a handkerchief to swipe at his eyes. Then he straightened to look at the lawyer directly. "I'll advise Mister Pennyworth. I'm sure he'd like to know the full extent of Jason's wishes, binding or not."