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☼︎ clark kent ☼︎
Gotham is a hellscape compared to Metropolis' heavenly greeneries. It's almost as if they represent the forces themselves: heaven and hell.
And that might be the best way to put it, especially with the state of things. A week ago I got a call from Alfred Pennyworth. Or his number, but his grandson, Dick Grayson answered. I didn't know what he would've called me for other than the Justice League having to get together, but what I heard contrasted the cold and bitter lonesome I was usually facing from Bruce.
This time, a shaken, heartbroken sounding boy was on the line, and he was practically begging for help. His family, he told me, was in shambles. I didn't know the meaning of that sentence meant until I saw it with my own eyes.
Bruce's family members were in critical condition, and Bruce was nowhere to be seen. I didn't know he was missing until then.
Out of the three hospitalized, Alfred Pennyworth seemed to be in the direst situation. Three of his right ribs had punctured his lung after bearing too much weight and could barely clear any of the poison-laced smoke out of his system without a ventilator. And with the way his head hit the ground, bloodletting was the least of his worries. To maintain a healthy skull, one doesn't want a blood clot to pool up at the bottom of one's head.
And this isn't even accounting for the rest of his scathed body from the full blast of a bomb.
His state is being monitored at all hours, and not just by me. By the best doctors that Gotham has, I assume. It's been more difficult to see the impact this has on the conscious members of the family; they see him like a grandfather no matter the genes in their makeup.
And that's not including Bruce's only biological children, Mara and Damian.
Mara, the lesser of the physical injuries. Damian is the frailer of the two. However, both are awake. Both are still confined to their beds, I haven't made my presence known to Mara yet. I don't think it'd help her to see someone other than her Father in her room first.
"Clark?" A voice pipes up from behind me. I turn to face a freshly-showered Dick Grayson, who I haven't seen since Bruce brought him to Metropolis all those years ago. I remember him to be about twelve, and now here he is, an fully grown adult.
Things change over time, I've learned. Both Bruce and I have expanded our families, and we both still have stayed in contact over the years. I moved to Smallville with Lois, Jordan, and Jonathan just this past year, and so much has happened since.
But right now that's not my concern. Right now my concern is the Wayne family.
"Hey, Dick. How are you?" I can't think to ask anything else, and I make sure to check in with the rest of the family daily. He brings in a heavy breath, his eyes darting to the ground.
