Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Dick/Babs (minor)
Not mine, borrowed from DC, twisted by Yours Truly.

Thanks to: 'rith for the ideas, Becky Marie for the beta ^_^

Note: "Three for a funeral" is a part of the Darkest Elseworlds, and the first installment in the "Last Sunset" series, but can be read as a stand-alone. The series will have two more parts, working titles "Burning bright" and "A dark and lonely place of dying". It can be considered a prequel of sorts to my previous fic, "Darkest before dawn".

This is Elseworlds, so the DC timeline obeys my whims. Full explanation in the notes at the end.

 /(_M_)\ 
(DARKEST)
 \(~V~)/ 

Three for a funeral

~one for sorrow
~two for mirth
~three for a funeral
~four for a birth
(folk rhyme)

 /(_M_)\ 
(   1   )
 \(~V~)/ 

The young man sat on the floor, in the dark. He leaned against a box made of oak.

"Hi, Bruce," he said. "I hope you don't mind me sitting here for a while. If you, just let me know... rattle the coffin or something. Yeah, I know. That was a bad joke even for me.

"I guess I just need to talk... It all happened so fast, you know? After Garth and Roy and Donna... I still can't believe we had the gall to call ourselves 'Teen Titans'... after they died, I didn't want to go to the funerals. You made me go. You told me that there is time to mourn and time to get on with life - that it's the human way. In the end, I was glad you made me go. It gave me closure. This time, too. I'm overseeing all the funeral arrangements... God, funeral, it seems so final... I didn't let Alfred handle anything except the reception afterwards. I still haven't chosen the epitaphs for you and Jason. But I'm betting something will come to mind. Tonight. Tonight feels like the kind of night when I come up with things.

"I even found the perfect coffin for Jason, plain black but with this silver trimming, really flashy, he'd like it, he likes everything that shines... he liked... he likes... oh, Bruce..." He doesn't move, but his shoulders start trembling.

"Why did you go? You were supposed to be here forever! Damn it, Batman, you've got a city to guard!" He stood up over the coffin. "I'm not doing that for you! I'm not you! I can't!"

Then just as suddenly he crumbled.

On his knees, arms draped over the solid oak, forehead touching the chilled wood.

A whisper.

"Why did I have to be the one left behind?"

 /(_M_)\ 
(  1.5  )
 \(~V~)/ 

When he left the morgue, someone was waiting for him.

"Alfred said I'd find you here," Clark said as he fell into step by his side.

Dick nodded.

"I thought I'd tell you about the memorial service... well, you probably saw it on television yesterday. It went well, even the mayor of Gotham was there and said a few words about Him. Dinah broke down a bit, but that was kind of understandable, and we all still can't believe this is it for the League - but it wouldn't be the JLA without him, Ollie, J'onn and the others, so it's probably for the best."

The Man of Steel drew a shaky breath. "I just wanted to tell you that we all understand, and we'll be at the funeral, in civilian clothes. Kind of like an honour guard, the way we did it at the memorial service, but of course with his identity, and yours..." He shook his head. "Dick, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

For the first time the younger man - the boy, barely nineteen for all his maturity and wealth - looked at him.

"The funeral's at ten, short service and a reception afterwards." The voice was rough, as if he'd been screaming shortly before. "I'll... be obliged."

Clark Kent stared after the car long after his best friend's son drove away.

 /(_M_)\ 
(   2   )
 \(~V~)/ 

In the real Gotham, the night was never completely dark; neon and streetlights and reflections from the eyes of the creatures of the night made shadows dance and writhe in agony on each wall. But out here, where a rich and powerful man had built a home that was a cross between a fairytale and a nightmare, true darkness existed.

Darkness so deep that Dick Grayson's face was barely visible even in the light of the torchlight Alfred held.

"Have you decided on the wording yet, Master Dick?"

The boy shook his head. "Not yet. But I think I've almost got it." He turned the cylindrical tool in his hands thoughtfully.

"I shall be waiting in the kitchen with supper, then."

"No, don't wait up - you need some rest. I can use the microwave, you know."

"Good night then, Master Dick."

Dick nodded absentmindedly, still staring fixedly at the same place.

A marble gravestone empty except for a single name.

BRUCE WAYNE.

As Alfred reached the garden door, he looked back. Dick was kneeling by the other gravestone, tracing the carved letters of Jason's name with his left hand while his right clutched the cylinder convulsively. The faint light from the door barely outlined him against the darkness of the grass and sky.

Alfred was once again struck by the resemblance between this young man and another, who had knelt in the same pose by his family's graves before he went out to learn how to fight in their name.

The Englishman closed the door, leaving the boy to grieve in the dark.

It felt strange to him to walk through the study and open the clock while knowing Master Bruce would not be there - would never again be there. Quite unsettling.

Downstairs, a small figure was looking reverently at the computer console.

"He won't be coming down tonight. He's still working on the gravestones. It may be better if you talk to him tomorrow."

"How is he?" the young boy asked.

"Somewhat numb, I'm afraid. I find it quite unusual - Master Dick is habitually quick to express his emotions, but he seems determined to cover up his grief. I am afraid that the strain may be too much for him. But enough of my musings - run along, young sir."

-

And above them, on the grass, with his forehead pressed to Bruce's gravestone and tears threatening to choke him completely, Dick realized what had to be written there. Not the oath - that was for the living. But this...

He pressed a button on the laser cutter, bringing it to life with blue light. He set to work.

 /(_M_)\ 
(   3   )
 \(~V~)/ 

Barbara Gordon swallowed nervously as she walked down the steps to the Batcave. She'd sworn never to come here again after the last time she put on her costume and then went home to find a laughing maniac standing over her father's body.

And now the man who had asked her to do that one last mission was dead, and the boy who had asked for a kiss from her as an eighteenth-birthday gift - needed her help.

Dick was already dressed for the funeral, in a black coat with a high collar. He stood in front of a new addition to the cave: two display cases of the sort Bruce had used for trophies now held costumes. Batman and Robin, held in glass coffins...

"That's kind of morbid," she commented.

He nodded. She came up to him and stood by his side.

"This is where I last talked to him," he started out hesitantly. "We argued - Jason was so excited about going off-planet with the JLA, and you know what I think about teams. I tried to persuade Bruce to leave Jason at least... we haven't been getting on too well lately, mostly because I wanted to go off alone..."

"Dick, you're not alone in this!" Barbara protested, seizing on a safer theme. "You - you have me, for one. And-"

He smiled thinly. "Do I, Babs? You've 'gotten over' all we talked about? Now that I'm hurting I'm suddenly mature enough for you?"

"That - that's not what I mean. I just think I might know how to help you. I know what it's like to lose a father."

He bowed his head. "I know, I'm sorry. It just hurts so much."

"It'll pass," she assured him. "Time heals all wounds, even Sarah's started smiling again and it's been three months since Dad-"

He whirled around and caught her arms in a vise-like grip. "Babs, you're standing in a mausoleum to a man's twenty-year-old grief. Don't tell me it'll pass."

She looked up at him with tears in her wide-open eyes. She put her hand on his shoulder as if to hug him, then gasped at the feel of kevlar under her fingers.

"Dick, what are you wearing?" she demanded.

He ducked his head and smiled. He unbuttoned his coat halfway and she saw he had his Nightwing blue-and-gold costume on underneath. "Everyone there will be talking about Bruce Wayne the socialite - I wanted to have some link to who he really was."

She smiled, and followed him upstairs.

Lucius Fox was waiting for them in the hall with Alfred and Leslie Thompkins. The doctor spared them a small smile before she turned back to the butler, talking to him in a low voice.

"Dick, Ms Gordon," Lucius greeted them. "Everyone's here. I had to limit the Wayne Enterprises delegation, since everyone wanted to come. We all grieve and offer our condolences, of course."

"That's very kind of you," Barbara interjected gracefully when no answer seemed to be forthcoming from her companion.

"I finalized the legal matters," Lucius continued smoothly. "You're now the sole owner of both this place and the entire Wayne Enterprises. I know you'll continue Bruce's work - I'm sure Ms Gordon can give you a few tips about going in your father's footsteps."

Dick raised his eyebrows at that and Barbara blushed. "I enrolled in the Police Academy," she explained. "I want to fight the good fight from within the system - I didn't tell you because I didn't exactly see you a lot this month-"

Dick motioned her to be quiet. "Let's go," he said.

They went out, down the steps and over the Manor grounds to the small graveyard. The gathered mourners parted without a word, letting the grieving son - and no-one who knew Bruce and Dick doubted that the recent adoption had been anything but a formal affirmation of a relationship almost a decade old - join the coffins of his father and brother.

Father Martin from St Catherine's, a parish that had much benefited from Wayne Foundation donations, officiated at the short service. As the familiar words, last heard only a few months ago when they laid Jim Gordon to rest, washed over him, Dick watched the crowd. Alfred and Leslie stood by him, alongside the coffins, looking for all the world like the grieving parents they were. Barbara was standing at the edge of the crowd, holding her stepmother's hand; the two women had grown much closer recently.

"In the midst of life we are in death..."

Wayne employees and the foundation's beneficiaries made up a good part of the mourners. There were far more gathered at the gates of the estate, and expected at the memorial service in the Cathedral the next day. This was the sole reason Dick had agreed to media presence at the funeral; he didn't think he had the right to keep Gotham's greatest hero - both with and without the mask - from the city that had created him. He could already hear speculation about what form the eulogy would take, and what exactly was written on the gravestones still veiled with black cloth.

"...suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death..."

Next to the news contingent were a few figures more welcome than the others, keeping to the shadows of the trees. Clark stood to the side; Dinah Lance leaned on the arm of the new Green Lantern, her dark hair falling into her eyes. Other surviving heroes - Gardner, Raymond, the heavily pregnant Lyta Hall - stood close by.

"Before the mountains were brought forth..."

And to one side, barely a part of the group, a woman cloaked in black, with raven hair. She stood proudly, her face impassive, but when her eyes met Dick's, they were full of sorrow.

He wondered briefly what had passed between her and Bruce to draw her out of her island after five years.

"Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you..."

Then there were the socialites. Businessmen, politicians, professionals, their spouses, old money and new. And they whispered, beyond what they thought was the edge of his hearing.

"-he crashed the car, totaled it, that's why the casket's closed-"

"-Gypsy boy got everything, Thomas Wayne must be turning in his grave-"

"-forever going to parties, wasted life-"

"-most boring man I ever knew-"

"-the boy was just a street kid, complete good-for-nothing, don't know why Bruce adopted him-"

"-of course there were rumours, that was twice he adopted an adolescent boy-"

"-such a waste of money-"

It hurt.

He felt Leslie's hand on his shoulder. "They want you to speak now," she said.

A curious numbness surrounded him as he took the place the priest had stood on before, by the open grave. He turned and looked at the sea of faces, of which but a few truly knew the people they were to bury today.

"Bruce Wayne was this city's premiere businessman," Dick began. "And he used the money to make the lives of Gothamites better. When I look at the city, I see the Wayne name engraved on its bones. But for me..." he paused, desperately chasing his breath, "...he was a father.

"I first met him on the night my parents died. I was lost among darkness and violence that night, until he appeared. He remained a constant in my life since then. Above all, he was a good man whose heart opened to every misery, and I count myself very lucky to have known him"

He paused again to catch the breath that was threatening to choke his throat and to find words that would have nothing to do with the night and the knight and the beating of dark wings-

And someone clapped.

One of the mourners, a tall man in a long coat and broad-brimmed hat, who was now letting both those garments fall to the yellowing grass.

Revealing a suit - and a face - split in two.

"Now I'll speak!" Two-Face roared as he pushed through the crowed and pulled a gun at Dick's head before any present members of the GCPD had time to move. "As the boy said, Bruce was a good man. He was a friend to everyone. With his foundation, he was a personification of all that was good in Gotham." Then Harvey Dent's solemnity gave way to Two-Face's mad rage. "And he's dead! While the evil of Gotham lives on!"

In a gesture, Dick saw an opening and lunged for the gun. But he'd forgotten the long coat he was wearing; Two-Face caught him by the lapels and pressed the gun against his heart with the other hand.

"Easy, boy," the madman smiled. "I don't want to kill the whole crowd... Batman'd kill me when he comes back."

In the silence, Dick's quiet voice echoed. "Batman's dead."

"No!" Two-Face snarled as he caught Dick's coat with the other hand and shook the young man for emphasis. "That thing on television was a show - there wasn't even a coffin!" He backed Dick against the gravestone and tugged sharply at the coat again. "Batman can't be dead - he is the light in Gotham's night, he's the Other Side! Without him there is only the darkest night. Only the chasm into hell! No meaning to our existence as his opposites!"

As he tore at Dick's coat with the last exclamation, the seams gave way. Two-Face took a hesitant step back as he saw the blue, black and gold kevlar under the coat.

Nightwing let the remains of the garment fall to the grass at the foot of the gravestone.

"Batman is dead. And I'll be damned before I let you dance on his grave."

One hard push had Two-Face on the ground. As if exhausted by this single move, Dick crumbled against the gravestone. Beyond the haze of a sudden rush of grief he heard the murmurs and exclamations of the crowd, all repeating the same:

"Is this real? But that means - Bruce Wayne was-"

Then silence as strong arms helped him up. She had lost her cloak and stood beside him in the old costume, one that had not been seen in Man's World for five years.

"You should speak," Wonder Woman said softly.

He nodded and straightened up. The feeling of uneasiness had disappeared; it felt right to be standing here in kevlar and nomex, missing only the mask on his face. It felt right to let people know just who they had lost.

"I've told you about Bruce Wayne," he began. "Now let me tell you about Batman."

A collective gasp, like millions of throats all around Gotham all taking in a surprised breath.

"He knew violence. He knew death. And he fought it. He took the dark night of Gotham and made it his. He protected people of Gotham, and the world.

"He took in an orphan and made me his partner. He did it for the second time with Jason, recognizing the good and potential in him. I... I don't want to think what would have happened to either of us if Batman hadn't been there to teach us what was right and wrong. And how to fight the wrong with all our power. When I came to him and asked to be part of his crusade, he made me swear an oath: 'To fight against crime and corruption, and never swerve from the path of justice.' These words are his legacy to Gotham, to the world. We'll always remember him as the Dark Knight, the champion of light."

As he fell silent, Diana stepped forward.

"I am princess Diana of Themiscyra," she announced. "I was taught to beware and distrust Man's World and its denizens. Then I met a man who brought down my beliefs. Bruce - Batman - was the bravest and most honourable person I ever met. I salute him."

Dick pulled off the black cloth covering the gravestone, and for a moment it fluttered in the air like a pair of dark wings.

        BRUCE WAYNE
       beloved Father
    Protector of Gotham
Vindex Quondam, Vindex Futurus

The once and future knight.

Then he stepped to the other grave and did the same.

JASON TODD WAYNE
  dear brother
 a good soldier

He fell to his knees beside the open grave.

"I'm sorry, Robin," he choked out.

Through a daze he heard Two-Face's voice.

"So this is the end. Night has fallen, and the turn of fate is beyond our reach. The game has ended. The Bat's coin came up tails. God help us."

 /(_M_)\ 
(   4   )
 \(~V~)/ 

It was that time again, with midnight fast approaching. The time of the Bat.

But instead of getting ready for patrol, Dick was wrapping up Batman's gear when he saw the alert from the cave's security system. Someone was approaching the cave from a side entrance, one that opened into a maze of underground tunnels at the edge of the Wayne estate.

Before he could reach for a batarang, he heard the voice.

"Uh, Mr Grayson, sir?"

The voice sounded young enough not to be a large threat, and Dick was proven right when his visitor reached the cave. It was a young boy, not even in his teens. What was striking was the ease with which he navigated the rocky path.

"Who are you?" Dick demanded. The face seemed familiar.

"Timothy Drake."

So that was it. The Drakes were the closest neighbours of Wayne Manor, and even though they were often away and had barely any contact with Bruce, Dick had met their young son a few times in passing.

"I was a friend of Jason's," the boy continued. "I just wanted to see if you're alright - I saw the funeral on TV."

Dick frowned. "How do you know about the cave? No, wait..."

He sat down before the Bat computer - it felt strange to be sitting in the same chair which Bruce had made his own - and found Timothy's file easily. Impressive...

He looked sideways at the kid. "You figured out who Batman was? How the hell did you do that?"

Tim grinned sheepishly. "I figured you out first. I was really small when my parents took me to the circus, but I wouldn't ever forget that quadruple somersault. I saw it again on television a few years later, Robin doing the same stunt. It all made sense."

Dick gaped. "So you knew it all, when?"

Time ducked his head. "About three years ago. But I didn't do anything about it until I met Jason. He was going to my school, and he didn't get along with most people. But we got along fine, and the fact Bruce adopted him just when a new younger Robin appeared was kind of a giveaway. I figured it'd be fair to let Jason know I knew, so I started talking to him about Batman, and the next thing I knew he challenged me to prove Batman had a secret lair, so-"

Dick smiled. "I wish I'd seen their faces."

Tim grinned back. "I think Alfred took at least one picture. Anyway, Batman recovered and admitted I was good. He even promised he'd teach me a few tricks. But that was just before - you know."

"Yeah."

"So, what are you going to do now? Are you going to be Batman? Or stay Nightwing? Are you going on patrol tonight?"

Dick shook his head. "Are you kidding? I just blew my identity on national television. I had a long talk with the GCPD just now; I get a JLA-style presidential pardon for everything up until now, but if I put on a mask and start beating up criminals again, they'll arrest me."

"So you're not - I mean, anymore-?"

"No. Just a man with far too much money and a few weird skills. Which I could be willing to teach if you promise not to use them for anything stupid... like fights you cannot possibly win in the end."

Tim nodded eagerly. Dick ruffled the boy's hair and stood up, stretching.

"Life's not over," he said softly.

And then he ran to the edge of the cave floor, to the point where the only things in front of him were darkness and the bats - and the high-wire equipment hanging over the chasm. An effortless, graceful jump, and his fingers were closing around the bar of a trapeze. He swung.

"And for the first time in years I don't have anything to hide."

And on the high point of his swing, he let go.

Air whirling over him, ground somewhere below, to the side, and now above-

One.

Circus lights, smell of greasepaint, his mother's hand slipping-

Two.

Dancing between bullets, laughing, knowing he was safe under the dark, dark wings-

Three.

Bright eyes, bright words, kids his age but with so much power, lying there bloody and broken, Titans together-

Four.

And back here, back to the reality of darkness and loneliness and bats.

The tips of his fingers touched the next bar.

Below, Tim broke into applause.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" the boy called out.

Dick Grayson jumped down with a somersault - a single one this time - and laughed.

"Sure."

 /(_M_)\ 
(  TBC  )
 \(~V~)/ 

Author's notes:
The rhyme at the top is just one of half a dozen bird counting rhymes I know. And in a strange way, Dick, Diana and Harvey are the three who speak at the funeral itself... I didn't plan it that way, but this entire story more or less wrote itself, just as "Darkest before dawn" did.

This timeline was inspired by an alternate universe presented in Flash #165, vol. 2. As this is Elseworlds, I took the liberty of making Tim a bit older than he'd be in the regular DC universe. Blame it on Crisis. Besides that, yes, Titans died on their first mission, which resulted in Wonder Woman (Donna's and Diana's continuity being pre-Crisis, ie sisters) withdrawing from JLA and Man's World in general. Aquaman died on the JLA's first mission, and generally things haven't been going well for teams.

Funeral arrangements: I decided to make Bruce a non-practicing Catholic simply because I am one, and I know how a Catholic funeral goes. Plus, it chimes in with my toyed-with concept of the Waynes' possible Scottish ancestry. But because of the non-practicing part, no Mass, only a somewhat expanded Rite of Committal. Quotes are from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer and Psalm 46.

Next in Last Sunset 2 - Burning Bright: An angel falls and a soul spirals into oblivion. And two guys go out for coffee and croissants.

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