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“I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.”
― Jack London
It was rare to get a call from Alfred Pennyworth in the middle of the night. Clark could barely remember seven calls from the butler, period. Two of those really didn’t really count, if you ignored invitations to dinner. Bruce was still an intensely private man, despite being one of the founders of the league six months ago. He had withdrawn from all of them after Clark had helped with the move back into the farmhouse for Martha, citing every plausible reason to engage with his fellows at little as possible.
‘Wayne Manor’ flashed again in the caller display, and Clark flipped his ancient phone open to take it. He didn’t care how much apps made everyone’s life easier; this was a phone that he hadn’t managed to fry with his own electromagnetic field, and that survived the stratosphere trips.
“Clark Kent,” he answered, sitting up.
“Sir,” the precise English accent came across the line, “I do hate to disturb you at such an early hour, but I need to inquire as to whether Master Bruce has been in your company last evening or this morning.”
Clark rubbed at his face, glancing at the clock on the microwave. “He hasn’t been in Metropolis for a week, not since that last PR stunt at the art gallery opening.” Pouring the last of the dregs out of the coffee pot, he carefully heated the mug in his hand. “And he hasn’t said three words to me out of costume in nearly a month.”
Alfred’s sigh was heard and felt in equal measures. “Yes, that,” was all he commented before continuing. “I lost contact with him at 21:00 hours, all comms going dead. I am concerned, as the car came back on autopilot.”
Clark, mid sip, choked slightly. “When did it come back? In what condition?”
“Two hours ago, and immaculate.” The worry was plain to hear if you just knew that it was there. “There has been no activity in any of the safe houses that he has throughout the city. Frankly, Mr. Kent, I’m at a loss as to where to continue in locating him.”
Clark dropped the last of his coffee down the sink. “I’ll take it from here, Alfred. Where was he when he dropped out of communication?”
“Old Gotham district, two blocks south of Moench Row. He has a perch on the old book and cigar store four houses in.”
^^^ ^..^ ^^^
Old Gotham was a maze of narrow streets and roofs that overhung each other until they blotted out the sun. Clothes lines ran between apartment buildings, vainly trying to dry their loads in the perpetual drizzle. It was dark, dreary, musty old buildings, with too many dark corners, darker gargoyles, and too many bolt holes for an injured bat to crawl into.
The only thing working for him was that no one, save shift workers, was up and on the streets. Scanning the narrow alleys, Superman found it hard to tell what was alive and was just a trick of the eye. He could have sworn that old lady was an art piece, by the city bus stop, until her bus arrived, and he still had yet to figure out why there was a statue halfway through an intersection of a man with a cell phone and briefcase, mid stride. He’d nearly saved the art piece three times.
Finally admitting that Gotham made no sense whatsoever, he followed another winding lane to a city parkette. He noticed a small figure walking the path, skipping over the cracks in the laneway. Checking the sun, Superman realized it was barely dawn – it couldn’t have been later than 6:30 am. Much too early for what looked like a six year old to be at the park... and with no one with him.
He sank down in front of the boy, careful to keep a few feet away from him. Small children either ran to him, or from him. Either way, kneeling down to their level and keeping an open smile on his face always helped. “Hello there,” he said.
“Hiya.” The little boy skipped another line on the path, not looking up. “How come you were up in the sky?”
“I can fly,” Superman said, bemused.
“Well, yeah,” the boy said, stopping. “But why are you in this part of the sky?” He looked up at the super hero. “It’s kinda boring here.”
Superman was struck silent as he looked over the boy. Dark brown eyes stared at him, framed by high cheekbones. Darker hair fell in his face, but the front widow’s peak was already in place, years away from being an aristocratic feature, now only the bane of the hair dressers. The tiny suit that he was wearing was from one of the most prodigious private academy in the tri-city area. From dark tie to crisp white shirt, to short pants and high stockings, he looked every inch the school boy from some 80’s movie about boarding schools.
But the curiosity burning in the boy’s face was recognizable, the fingers itching to touch, but being held tightly in pockets the same no matter if they were in gauntlets or kid gloves. But they belonged on a wholly different face and body. It seemed absurd, but his instincts were screaming that he’d found who he was looking for.
“Hey, young man?” he asked. “What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting, for Mr. Pennyworth,” the boy easily replied. “He’s supposed to pick me up.”
Superman shook his head, confused. “But what are doing in the park at 6:30 in the morning? Shouldn’t you be at home, in bed, asleep?”
The boy’s eyes unfocused, searching. “I’m... it’s... I was supposed to go home earlier, .... but no one came to pick me up.” He looked at Superman, confused. “Did Mr. Pennyworth send you?”
Superman frowned. “He sent me to look around, yes. Do you want to call him and talk to him, find out where he is?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Why? You said Mr. Pennyworth sent you.”
“To let him know you’re fine?”
The boy shrugged. “He knows that. He’s been looking after me while Father and Mom are...” he trailed off, shaking his head. “...while they’re on their... while they are away,” he finished, voice tight. He shook his head, rubbing at one eye. “I miss them, Mr. Kent,” he whispered.
Mr. Kent. He was stunned, speechless. The boy was hugging his jacket closer to his chest, biting his lips and trying his hardest not to cry. Everything in him wanted to scoop the child up and say everything would be ok, but Clark had one rule that was above all when dealing with kids.
He refused to lie to them.
Clark sank down and put a hand on the boy’s – Bruce’s – shoulder. “I know, Bruce. I miss my Pa, too.” He gave it one soft squeeze before letting the fidgeting child go. “We should really call Alfred and let him know you’re here.”
The boy shrugged, bending over to look at a moth that had landed on the bushes nearby. “Hmm-mm.”
Superman slipped his phone out of cape’s hidden pockets and quick dialed the manor. Alfred picked up on the second ring. “I found Bruce. We have an issue,” he said into the phone’s mic. “Can you bring a car, and a change of clothes for me?”
^^^ ^..^ ^^^
“What sort of hour do you call this, Master Bruce?” Alfred managed to look fond and exasperated at the same time, while belting the child into the old Bentley.
“Sorry, sir.” Bruce looked around the car. “But I wanted to stay up and see if I could see the Perseid meteor shower from the city.”
Clark finished buttoning up his shirt and slipped in beside him in the back seat. “Bruce, that’s a fortnight away. What were you up to tonight?”
“I said I was looking for the shower!” Bruce yelled, balling his fists and baring his teeth at Clark. “Why do you care?”
“Temper, Master Bruce,” Alfred admonished. “Mister Kent asked a pertinent question. What were you doing before he found you?”
Bruce glowered over crossed arms, head tucked down. “You were late. Mr. Pennyworth was ... is never late. No one picked me up, so I walked ... and I got lost.” His feet swung angrily into the front seat. “Not my fault.”
Clark raised an eyebrow and looked at Alfred. The old butler seemed confused for a moment, but the careful mask slipped back into place almost immediately. “Be that as it may, sir, you know to call the Manor if something is amiss. How did you get all the way to the park? Did someone show you the route, or walk with you? With whom did you meet this evening?”
Bruce thought about it, tongue tip sticking out of his mouth. “I don’t... no one picked me up.... I was just wandering ... but I don’t ...” Tears began to form in the boy’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Alfred, sir, I’m sorry, Mommy’s going to be mad at me, won’t she? I don’t ... I was at school, and no one picked me up and... it was dark... and Father promised to show me.” He was hiccupping, tears streaming down his face. “I thought the park was safe, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Alfred leaned in and hugged the crying boy tightly. “Shh, it’s alright, Bruce, it’s alright. You just gave us all a scare. We’ll sort this out in the morning.” He pulled a pocket handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiped the boy’s face. Tilting his chin up, Alfred smiled softly as the youngster tried to stop his bottom lip from quivering. “I will smooth this over with Mrs. Wayne, young sir. No point in fussing about it.”
Once everyone was settled, Alfred began driving , keeping a passive eye in the rear view mirror for any troubles. Bruce seemed fidgety, and was looking all over the place, except in Clark’s direction. Like he was trying not stare at him, Clark realized.
“Bruce, can you tell me about the meteor shower?” Clark prodded, trying to catch the roving eyes.
“Thought you knew everything, Superman,” Bruce muttered under his breath. There was a smile tugging at his mouth, though, and he glanced up at the superhero’s face. “It’s every summer in August, and it’s the brightest shower in the northern hemizone.”
“Hemisphere, I think.”
“Yeah, that,” Bruce continued, brightening up as he began to talk more. “It’s an annual meteor shower, and you know why it’s called the Perseid Shower?” He didn’t even pause for Clark to answer. “That’s because it always looks like it’s going to Perseus, which isn’t true. You know why? It’s because we are the ones that see the constel-lay-shuns,” he slowed down over the bigger word, “and when you’re in space, they don’t look like that.”
“That’s very true,” Clark agreed, smiling a little.
The boy continued, hands starting to gesture in every direction. “They are pieces of another comet, and I forget what it is called, the Fast Turtle... speedy putter, I don’t remember, it’s something like that, but it’s the path of the stuff that exploded, and it’s cool that things in space can explode. Mrs. Schultz says that we are going to the planetarium in Metropolis before Thanksgiving, but Father said he could take me with him. He’s a doctor, you know.”
“Yep, I knew that.”
Bruce nodded. “He’s really good, and he has to go teach other doctors in Canada next month, and he promised we could go up and see them after his class. I’ve never been to Canada, have you, Superman?”
“A few times, yeah.”
“It’s my first time, and we are going to roast stuff over a fire, and count how many shooting stars there are and maybe not even sleep the whole night! I’ve never stayed awake the whole night, I bet I can do it really easily, it’s not that hard. But Father promised and we had a great time... will have a great time,” he corrected, trailing off for a moment, looking sad again. A minute later, and he was back at full speed. The boy continued talking the whole ride back to the lakehouse. Alfred rarely commented, only to correct a few words here and there.
Once he started on something, the natural passion for information and learning could clearly be seen in the lad’s entire body. Clark was enthralled – this was a side of Bruce he’d never seen. Eager, entranced with knowledge and unblemished with sorrow, the desire to know and share was pouring out of his body. Even at such a young age there was so much knowledge and ideas bursting out, Clark couldn’t help but be swept into his words.
This was a Bruce he wished he knew. At least this version wanted to share things with him. He was more than just the Bat. He was eager, and he was happy. He let people in to see that infectious enthusiasm. Clark knew exactly what would, what did, crush that out of the boy, but for this moment, he was content to bask in the energy of the young child.
^^^ ^,,^ ^^^
Clark left the pair so Bruce would settle into bed. The pre-schooler had been trying his best not to fall asleep for the last mile from the property, and the lightning sky had only added shadows to the already dark interior. Alfred has hustled the boy off to the huge bed, insisting that he shower the smell off him. He could hear the petulant tone saying that he didn’t need a bath, and he was fine, he just wanted breakfast and his book and maybe to watch telly for a bit before school.
He laughed softly. Even as a kid, Bruce was bending every rule he could. He tuned the stern British voice out as he searched the kitchen for the coffee pods. Selecting two stronger blends, he started the machine up. He was just finishing doctoring his as footsteps clipped down the stone stairs.
Alfred closed the door softly to the kitchen, sighing deeply. Clark, perched on a bar stool at the island, held out a mug of freshly made coffee. The Englishman took it with a nod, and leaned against the sink. “Well, that was interesting,” he murmured.
“What do you think happened?”
Alfred shrugged one shoulder. “Most likely Master Bruce crossed paths with a magic user and displeased them. It has, unfortunately, happened before.”
Clark twisted his head around to face the butler. “Wait, what? Are you saying magic is real?”
The smirk was hidden behind the mug. “You come from another world, work alongside the daughter of a Greek God, engage in races that break the sound barrier, and someone who can make things change with willpower and magic is what startles you?”
“I...” Clark trailed off. “Now that you put it that way, I guess it shouldn’t.”
“Indeed not.”
Clark took a long drag from his coffee. “But why turn him into a five year old?”
Alfred shook his head. “The better question is why he remembers both being five and forty five. He addressed you by name, and was not startled that I arrived, not the previous butler. He wasn’t at all scared of the lake house, which Master Bruce had built less than decade ago, and he knew where every room was, which cupboard contained what he needed and which side of the bed he prefers.” He sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Questions that must, I’m afraid, wait until Master Bruce is once again himself.”
“He’s remembering or re-experiencing a memory?”
Alfred twisted to put the coffee mug into the sink. “Yes. Master Bruce was a ... an intense child. There was one instance that he wandered from the school yard before Mr. Pennyworth arrived to bring him home. I’m not completely informed as to the details, but it was right before Mr. Wayne took the lad with him on a business trip. It was in early August, as he was just starting term.”
“Mr. Pennyworth? Aren’t you...”
“My father held the post of the Wayne family’s butler before I returned to assume the role.”
“Ah.” Clark could tell this was a non-topic, so he asked, “What happens now?”
“I’ve already contacted a fellow that has assisted Master Bruce in the past. He’ll be around in the late afternoon to address the issue. Although, he is suspicious of his need to be involved, as Master Bruce is fighting the spell. If you’ll excuse me, I need to contact a few more associates to call off their searching.”
Clark nodded, and settled into the coffee and quiet of the kitchen. The large windows, east facing, gave a meager amount of sunlight. Gotham, even this far from the smoke stacks and industrial areas, still lived fog and shadows more than it didn’t. He wondered idly how Alfred managed to keep an English garden growing by his cottage if there was never any direct light on it. The roses especially needed more sunlight than what he would assume they were getting.
Soft footsteps brought his attention away from his thoughts, and he turned around in time to see a very dishevelled adult Bruce wander in, wrapped in a large dressing robe. The silver at his temples seemed brighter to Clark, a maker of just how many years laid between the boy and the man in front of him.
“Clark,” he greeted, roughly. “You are here because...”
“Alfred had me go looking for you last night. You dropped off the comms.”
Bruce waved the explanation away. “I remember. Why are you still here?”
“Master Clark is quite welcome to partake in refreshment after chasing your shadow half the night, Master Wayne,” Alfred scolded, slipping into the kitchen. “The next time you decide to run down memory lane, do remember to take a comm with you.”
“I don’t plan these things, Alfred.”
“Something the great Batman doesn’t have a contingency plan for? How drool.”
“I went somewhere I remembered you getting me. That’s the best I could do.”
Clark felt like spectator at a tennis match, glancing back and forth. “I’m glad to see you all grown up, Bruce. Alfred, thanks for the coffee, but I’ve got to head into work soon.” He wanted to say something, anything, to see that enthusiastic little boy again, but the moment passed, and he slipped away.
Better to remember a night of kindness than a morning of repressed enthusiasm.