Archive of Our Own ^beta

The picture by the coffin was not the one that he had always known. The man in the coffin was not one he had always known.

The speech on his lap was for the other half of his other half, a man no one in the church really ever knew.

If not for Alfred's sitting beside him, he would probably not have even been able to show up today. But here he was. Wearing a tuxedo, and pretending to be a man that didn't actually exist until some weeks ago.

(Alfred had been wary of him at first, but the near catatonic state he'd been in since Bruce's death had given him more than enough reason to see that he was no longer a threat)

"And now, Mr. Wayne's cousin, Joseph, would like to say a few words."

He walked up behind the lectern, and ruffled through the papers in his hands.

(The songs all made sense now. There was a Batman-shaped hole inside him that had been replaced by an empty, sucking void.)

"I...never thought I was the right person to do this. I barely knew Bruce...really, it should be Alfred speaking now."

He took a deep, shaky breath. Most of the eulogy was about Bruce's life, managing to live well despite early tragedy, continuing work to improve the city, his general status as an upstanding member of society, and his tragic murder. Towards the end were his own words.

"Bruce was a victim of the crime-ridden city he tried so hard to improve, and he deserves more than to be forgotten as simply another billionaire. He was better than them, he will always be so, and with all of you to witness, I am pledging to carry on his work. I only hope I can be half as dedicated as he was."

"That was a fine speech, Joseph." Alfred said, once they were back in the limousine and on the way to the graveyard, right behind the hearse. "I presume you were not merely telling people what they wanted to hear."

"No. I meant every word of it."

"EVERY word, sir?"

"Would he have chosen me if I didn't?"

Deep breath. He looked out the window. It was heading into fall. Cold weather, perfect weather for Batman, and it seemed that every dark alley they passed was another memory. That was the one where his leg was broken falling off the fire escape. That was the one where Batman threw him into the trashcans...he still had a metal plate in his head from that one. That one was where...

"He's everywhere I look..."

"The pain will never truly fade, sir."

"The worst part of it all was..." he took in a deep, shaky breath. "...was how even at his end, he knew how I preferred things, and as in pain as he was...he kept to it."

He had never really wanted to know who Batman was, had even killed people who had tried to tell him. Half the fun was the mystery, after all!

"I owe Wayne a favor...he's the one who's financed me all this time. He wants to disappear - so he's gotten himself a doppelganger to die in his place. Kill him in the most painless, quickest way you can. Take his place. And...and mine."

But when he scaled the balcony, and found Bruce exactly where Batman said he would be. He'd cut the man's throat before he could be heard coming--and held the body as it bled out.

He'd known, the second he laid eyes on that jaundiced skin.

Instantly, he'd known.

Batman had given him one last gift, an attempt to shield him from his true identity.

And as he had wept, unable to summon even a giggle, holding that limp body...

...it only made the loss hurt more.