Chapter Text
Bruce knew where he went wrong. He always knew, he accepted it- or that's what he liked to think. Acknowledge, apologize, move on, do better. If you asked Jason or Damian, they'd say Bruce is still in denial. Dick, on the other hand, will put his head on the cutting board, swearing up and down that Bruce acknowledged your hurt, that he sincerely apologized, and that, now, he just wants to reconnect with his little girl.
Dick believes that wholeheartedly, because thinking otherwise will mean looking into a mirror and realizing he's become what he never wanted to be- Bruce.
And Selina, more than anyone, knew. She saw it in their day and night personas. Strained smiles at "family" events, when asked about you, when someone dares speak of what they've done. And how they've become… lacking, in their nightly prowler. Dick's been missing from Bludhaven for weeks, barely checks in with the Titans, and she hasn't heard about Damian for a hot second now. The girls have been more distracted during fights, idling on their phones, or talking among each other about things you've posted or said online, leaving their blind spots open.
Nobody has heard of Tim, who allegedly locked himself in the Wayne Tower and is sleeping there. Duke looked worse for wear, getting more brutal in his fighting, and yet getting hit more than usual. He was tired, lost in his thoughts. And while Jason was smug, happy really, over Bruce's day persona cracking, and Batman seemingly sniffing a non-existent trail, she was worried. Despite how much she wanted to rub everything in the bat's face.
She took matters into her own hands- she wanted to see just how far gone Bruce was.
The man was going- no- he wasn't. He wasn't losing it, he wasn't deranged, he just had to look at all possibilities. It was rational, calculated. He had contingency plans for his other kids, for himself. You needed one too. Unconventional, a theory, completely speculative- but a good try, the only way. The only way he saw. Cecil had contingency plans for you, too- well, just one, but it was based on facts, in truths. Cecil watched you grow, helped train you, helped you open your own agency, he was there even if you didn't know. He saw what worked, what didn't, and he knew you, unlike Bruce.
Bruce would never acknowledge that.
Too blinded.
Too hungry for something he could have, should have had. Someone who wasn't his anymore.
He didn't flinch as Selina dropped behind him, barely greeted her back as he continued compiling files over files of trails, dead ends, of nothing, just to bury the guilt that clouded his mind, the guilt he saw as love and care. "Bruce! Are you even listening to me?" He blinked, turning in his chair to look at his ex-lover. "…What do you want, Selina?"
Her took in his face, tired as ever, cold like usual, still refusing to show a grace of what he's feeling if it's not disappointment or icy blank slate. She had thought she knew him, once upon a time… She hoped so, at least. "People tend to dig their own grave, but you've gone well past six feet. Do you honestly believe this is how you'll get her back? What if she has heard of you running after- after fairytails?" Bruce stared blankly. He turned his head back to the computer. "If that's all you wanted, you can leave."
"Bruce, don't-" Her words were cut short, breath catching in her throat as Bruce moved fast, looming over her. She didn't back up, didn't pull away. She stood tall and glared right back at him. "You called her your kit, and you let her go. Why?" Selina took in a deep breath, clenching her hands, and even with the gloves on, she could feel her palms sweating. "Don't try to shift blame, Bruce. She was your daughter before she even was in my sight. You let her go, and when she's finally happy, you go and smash through the paper walls she's rebuilt her new home with."
"Why are you here, Selina?"
She doesn't know.
"Just wanted to see something for myself."
Not anymore.
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Like true siblings, you had moments where you'd sit together in silence, being judgmental and snappy about others. At this exact moment, it was Richard, who was sipping his morning coffee on his porch, in the house he deliberately bought to be a thorn in your side. The mirror sitting in front of you, your brothers, and Eve, gave the four of you a great view of the man.
"We could prank him?" Oliver whispers, he doesn't have to, but it feels fitting to. "As the eldest sibling- That would be a no." Mark responded, though, secretly, he wanted to just leave him on top of the Eiffel Tower. "I could just move everything inside his house a few inches to the left." Eve hummed. "Wouldn't even need to go outside."
You weren't really listening. You weren't really looking at Dick either, but your eyes were on the mirror. On yourself.
Maybe it was a late teenage crisis, maybe it was an early mid-life crisis, but you simply didn't feel like yourself anymore. You weren't sure you ever did. Living with the Waynes felt more like survival, and the Graysons, the fight was over… But now what? You didn't have to hide, didn't have to look for scraps or cook yourself, the fights with villains or whatever threats showed up were- they weren't fulfilling.
People still died whether or not you worked with Cecil or the others. The incident was still fresh in your mind, either way, keeping you away from the Guardians, and when you did show up, the fight was one and done, maybe three moves to make sure the threat didn't fall on people and add to the casualties.
Being a hero was never your dream, and yet, you've been staring at canvases, papers, your screens, unable to come up with anything to draw- to doodle even.
In Gotham, your art was the thing everyone praised, and it made you feel great. It made you feel heard and seen, loved. But here, it was being a hero, saving people, being the overpowered figure some called a god in disguise- Was art even something you wanted to do? It felt like you were doing it just for the attention, to be selfish.
You blink as Eve's laughter returns you to Earth's atmosphere.
No- you still loved art. It was easier than expressing your feelings through words, but you didn't want to market yourself. You didn't want to be a businesswoman when it came to your emotions on a canvas, you just wanted to create. But what? You didn't know what you were feeling anymore. It all was just… numbness.
Your head turned to Oliver when the boy tugged on your sleeve. "Can we go outside? I want to train with you." He brightened as you smiled at him. "Sure. Go tell dad, yeah?"
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Scott Duvall has been a working man all his life. He's worked in his teens, during college, and kept working when everything was taken from him. That's what he knew. Work, work, and more work. "It's good, it makes you just. It gives back to the people." His parents had said to him and his sister when they were alive, over and over again, but it didn't feel like that.
He was a good man, a loving husband, a great brother, and a better uncle, so why, why must he be the one suffering?
He wasn't able to lure Invincible out last night, but Becky was right, there's always a next time- Invincible surely was at the memorial event. The Sorceress was, near the front, talking to the Immortal and Dupli-Kate, and where she was, Invincible wasn't far off.
He still remembers the images of her beating up Omni-Man, most of the footage caught then is locked deep in Cecil's hold, but those still shots always found a way of resurfacing.
She had been angry, in pain, and feeling betrayed, probably mixed with the anguish of losing so many lives, people dear to her, too. Out of all these heroes, surely she'd be the first to understand. He told his wife as much when she brought up her plan, as he failed once more- he didn't want to tie her and his baby boy up for something that could turn dangerous. He had to find another way, and the Sorceress was it.
And he got what he wanted.
"You-you're listening to me?" She just shrugged at his question. "That's- You want to talk to Invincible, you're not actively hurting anyone- sure." Scott blinked at her. He was ignoring the cameras surrounding them. They both were. That was easier than he thought it would be.
"You… You were yelling about wanting to talk to me, right?"
To say it was awkward would be an understatement. It took him a few minutes to process that you were there, not even hovering in the air, but standing on the same building he was. And then he started talking, fast and manic, barely understandable as he moved closer and closer. "Okay, let's take a breath." You stopped him, and he did. "You were talking a bit too fast for me, sir."
"Invincible is a murderer! We tried to bring it to the government's attention in a peaceful way, 3,000 of us, but they just ignored it! They're corrupt- protecting him, letting Omni-Man back- he vouched for that monster!"
"I vouched for Omni-Man." Scott choked on his spit, her words making him inhale sharply. "Not Invincible."
"No-" The blond whispered, his voice growing louder with his heartbeat. "No- you fought him! Plummeted him- we all saw it-"
"And I called the lawyer who got him the deal." You ignored the way your phone came to life, buzzing with calls and notifications while Scott shook his head, simply refusing to believe it. She was lying, she must be- she fought him, helped during the clean up, helped- she-
The man's breath came in sharp takes, his eyes darted around as he muttered under his breath.
The trial had been private, and besides a few statements from the GOP and JL, there was no information about how or why Nolan was even allowed near Earth, let alone on it. Every word was calculated, looked over a million times, statements going from hand to hand until nothing could insinuate anything beyond sanitized, impersonal phrases. Essays of word vomit, saying everything and yet nothing at all.
"They killed thousands- our siblings, parents, children- our friends-" His hands shook as they ran through his hair, anger and frustration growing with every second. "How can you stand by that?"
"I can't. I won't." You pull your hood back, keeping your distance even as you step closer to the man. How could anyone fix this? "But your anger is misplaced. Invincible was a victim, too, and I curse Omni-Man for what he did every day. But he's still my dad. The best one I've had, and I... I care for him. I still do."
You couldn't say you love him, even if that's what you felt. You loved Bruce at one point, but you knew better. Saying it would feel like asking for trouble, like jinxing a good thing. One of the few you still had.
"I don't know how you or any of the victims of that day feel, and I don't know how to help. But I can listen, and I can try to lend a hand in what you and the others need."
"No. No!" Sparks flickered over his fingers, the suit lighting up and buzzing with energy. "You don't get to play compassionate hero! Not when you're standing by that monster, protecting him! Protecting both of them!" You dodged his fist, electricity buzzing past you as a bolt singed the ground. "Don't hit me with your fists, you'll only hurt yourself-" But your warning was met with a yell telling you to shut up.
Scott was furious. He didn't even know what he was saying anymore- she wasn't taking him seriously, just dodging him like he was a child throwing a tantrum. Fuck- he wasn't sure he was even throwing a hit at you as the tears blurred his vision. But feeling your hands grip his upper arms, moving him back, only fed his anger.
"Powerplex-" You sighed as his knee tried to hit you, only for him to cuss in pain. "Listen to me, please-" His hands flew to grab your shoulders, letting go of all his stored power, and only stopping at the smell of burning flesh. His hands immediately flew right off, trying his best to pull away from your unmoving grasp. He didn't- he couldn't turn into another Omni-Man- he refused to.
Scott crumbled to the ground, his hands still smelling of your sizzling flesh, covering his face, muffling the sobs and wails that shook his body.
He never wanted this- he wanted all of this to stop- but how could it stop when everyone is protecting them?
Your eyes moved from the broken man to the edge he was about to step over, your hands still holding him close as you were kneeling by him. "Just give him a minute." You whispered to the G.D.A. Soldiers frozen in time by your spell. "Just… Just a moment." The Lichtenberg figures marring your skin slowly healing.
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The Grayson household was silent. Debbie's eyes were teary, her hand covering her mouth as she blinked the wetness away. Mark couldn't look at the TV, his eyes stuck to his shoes as he sat with arms crossed and guilt weighing down his shoulders. Oliver clung tightly to Nolan, his face buried deep in his dad's chest. And the man of the hour himself had his eyes stuck on your image, helping the exhausted blond slowly rise. His eyes were wet, and he clung to the boy just as tightly.
He couldn't fix what he's done, he can't bring back the dead. But he can do everything to be better for his kids, for Debbie.
Thragg watches from a distance. He had been bluffing when he'd talked to you, but to see a glimpse of it being true filled him with smugness. After all, that's all he needs, a straw, a thread, an inch. He can build anything he wants out of it.
Miles away, the Kents were just as somber. Martha and Jonathan were holding each other's hands tightly, and Kon-El was glaring at the man being handcuffed. Morgan, who had been helping the young man out on the field, sat back in an armchair, face blank.
"Does… Does Nolan care about them?" The old Viltrumite blinked at Martha's question, his eyes moving to the family standing opposite him. "I don't think I've been sure of anything in my life." Jonathan grumbled, his shoulders slumping, and Martha's jaw tightened. "But when it comes to Nolan loving his kids… I am sure he does."
"But it's hard for us. It's a lonely life." Morgan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "All our existence, we've been taught those emotions are beneath us. It's… hard to acknowledge them. To allow them. I still think if I let myself feel, I'll be killed for letting such weakness lead me away from being what I was made to do. Nolan must still feel that, too."
Conner didn't say anything as his Grandpa tried to soothe the Viltrumite, doing his best to console the mammoth of a man even as he was the one with tears in his eyes. A part of him understood your need to cling to Nolan, he did the same once upon a time. He still does. But if they become too much of a burden, he can't allow them to break you. He'll take the weight off, even if you don't want it.
And that thought made his hands shake for the first time in years.