The sensation of teleportation was still strange to Cassandra - a momentary feeling of weightlessness followed by sudden solidity.
One instant, she stood in Wayne Manor's dining room; the next, she was sitting on the bed in Samael's mansion, his empty vessel cradled in her lap.
His body felt lighter somehow, as if the absence of his celestial essence had physically reduced its mass.
His face was peaceful, almost childlike in its sleep, the usual intensity and ancient knowledge no longer able to be seen on his features.
Cassandra shifted slightly, arranging his head more comfortably on her lap.
As she did, she noticed something in her hand - a small note that hadn't been there before. The paper was warm to the touch, as if freshly created.
She unfolded it carefully, her trained eyes instantly absorbing the elegant script:
My darling,
I must take care of some things. I may be away for a couple of days - I'm sorry for that, but some things I have to do alone.
Keep my body safe. I'll return to it - and to you - as soon as possible.
Love you eternally,
At the bottom right corner was a small, beautifully rendered drawing of six wings wrapped protectively around a heart. Within the heart was a single letter: "C."
Cassandra's lips curved into a rare smile, her heart fluttering in her chest. Her fingers traced the drawing gently, as if she could feel the feathers beneath her touch.
She looked down at Samael's empty vessel - the face she had come to love - and ran her fingers through his soft hair.
His body breathed steadily, maintained by some aspect of his grace that remained behind.
"I'll wait," she whispered, one of the few times she chose to use her voice rather than her hands to express herself.
She settled back against the headboard, still stroking his hair, prepared to maintain her vigil for as long as necessary. She was a guardian, after all. It was what she did best.
-------------------------
It was like being submerged in the heart of a star - but without pain.
Heat, light, and a song older than the cosmos filled every cell of Bruce's body.
For a moment, he forgot what fear was.
He forgot anger.
He forgot grief.
There was only majesty - vast, pure, and bright - wrapping around his soul like a father pulling a lost son into an embrace.
He had never felt so complete.
Every crack inside him, every broken bone of the spirit, was healed in the span of a heartbeat.
There was no loneliness anymore.
No weight on his shoulders.
Only power - not raw or violent - but perfect.
As if creation itself whispered through his veins.
But then-
The strain began.
Small fractures of pain, ghost-like at first, started webbing across his mind and flesh. His body could endure.
But it would never truly be Samael's home. Bruce was a fortress - but even fortresses crumble if asked to house the Son of God.
'It feels good, doesn't it?' Samael's voice echoed through Bruce's mind, 'The power. The exhilaration.'
Bruce didn't respond verbally, but his emotions betrayed him - wonder, awe, and a sense of peace he hadn't experienced since the night his parents died.
Despite the discomfort of not being fully compatible with the archangel's essence, there was something... right about this union.
'Where are we going?' Bruce finally asked, noticing they were flying.
The world around them shifted, colors no human eye had ever seen streaming past as they moved through dimensions rather than mere physical distance.
Bruce felt his mind expanding just to comprehend what he was experiencing.
Suddenly, they stopped.
Before them stood massive gates of pearl and gold, stretching impossibly high. Light poured from beyond them, not harsh but inviting - a homecoming beacon.
'Heaven,' Samael answered simply.
Without hesitation, Samael pushed the gates open, Bruce's hands moving under the archangel's control.
The sensation was strange - feeling his body act without his command, yet somehow not feeling violated by it. It was more like a dance where he had temporarily yielded the lead.
They stepped through into radiance.
Heaven unfurled before them - not just clouds and harps as human imagination often depicted, but a realm of pure beauty, more substantial than Earth rather than less. Colors were truer, sounds clearer, every sensation heightened to perfection.
"Halt!" commanded a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Several beings approached - humanoid in general shape, but with four wings and features that shifted between human and animal aspects.
Their bodies radiated light so intense that Bruce would have been blinded if not for Samael's protection.
"You cannot be here," one of the Seraphim declared, recognition dawning in its many eyes. "Samael. Lightbringer. You are not welcome after your... actions."
Bruce felt Samael sigh through his body.
"If I truly wasn't welcome," Samael replied using Bruce's voice, "my Father would have kicked me out long ago. I wouldn't be able to set foot in this place. I am welcome." He gestured expansively. "I'm here because I need directions. Again."
The Seraphim bristled, their wings flaring with indignation. But before they could respond, another figure appeared - tall and radiant, with six wings of gentle gold and eyes that held compassion.
"Raphael," Samael acknowledged.
"Brother," the archangel replied, his voice like music. Despite his gentle demeanor, Bruce sensed tension in his stance. "What brings you back to Heaven so soon?"
Samael turned Bruce's head, looking past Raphael to where a tower of cold light stretched infinitely upward - burning where the Palace of God had once stood.
"I see Dad liked my parting gift," Samael commented with a whistle. "He kept it."
Raphael's expression tightened slightly. "What do you want, Samael?" The strain in his voice suggested even his legendary patience had limits when it came to Samael's provocations.
"I've come to meet two dead humans," Samael replied casually. "Thomas and Martha Wayne from Universe 7777. The parents of my current vessel."
Bruce felt a jolt of shock run through his system, followed by a wave of emotion so powerful that for a moment, it threatened to overwhelm even Samael's control - him having kept Bruce unsuppressed.
Raphael studied them carefully, his gaze seeming to penetrate beyond the physical to see Bruce's soul wrapped in Samael's grace.
"I see," he said softly. "I will lead you to them."
"Lord Raphael!" One of the Seraphim stepped forward, voice sharp with protest. "The peace of souls cannot be disrupted in this manner. It is against the rules!"
"God makes the rules," Raphael replied calmly, "and only He can enforce them upon Samael. His silence is permission." The archangel's wings extended, lifting him gently into the air.
"Follow me. They reside in the Fourth Heaven. They were good people, but not to the extent that would place them in the Seventh, where saints, prophets, and martyrs dwell."
As they flew through the celestial realms, Bruce felt a growing sense of nervous anticipation. Heaven passed beneath them - landscapes of impossible beauty, architecture for more beautiful than anything on earth, souls gathered in communion and joy.
'Are you excited?' Samael asked within their shared consciousness.
Bruce didn't answer directly, but his emotions spoke volumes - hope, fear, longing, all tangled together in a knot too complex to unravel.
They descended into the Fourth Heaven, coming to rest in a vast paradisiacal garden.
Souls moved through the landscape, some alone in contemplation, others gathered in groups of fellowship. The air was filled with gentle music that seemed to emanate from the world itself.
And there - sitting beneath a tree whose fruit glowed with inner light - were Thomas and Martha Wayne.
They appeared as Bruce remembered them in their prime - his father strong and dignified, his mother elegant and warm.
They wore simple white garments that somehow seemed more regal than any earthly finery. They were laughing and talking with several other souls, their faces alight with joy.
'I'll give you the wheel for now,' Samael said internally.
Suddenly, Bruce was slammed forward into control of his own body. The transition was jarring - like being pushed into the driver's seat of a speeding car.
He staggered slightly, overwhelmed by the sensations of directly experiencing Heaven without Samael's buffer.
As if sensing his presence, Martha and Thomas turned toward him. Their expressions shifted from casual happiness to stunned instinctual recognition in an instant.
"B- Bruce?" Martha's voice - exactly as he remembered it - carried across the garden.
One of the souls - a woman - with them looked confused. "Bruce? Like your son, Bruce?"
Bruce stood frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision. His lips wobbled as he finally managed to whisper a single word:
"Mom."
Martha rose and ran toward him, her face full of motherly love and disbelief. She threw her arms around him, her embrace exactly as he remembered from childhood - warm, secure, perfect.
"My boy," she whispered against his chest. "My beautiful boy."
Thomas was only steps behind her, wrapping his strong arms around both of them, completing the circle. "Son," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "How is this possible?"
Bruce couldn't answer. He could only hold them, his body shaking with silent sobs as thirty years of grief poured out in a flood of tears.
He was dimly aware of Raphael and the other souls discreetly withdrawing, giving the family privacy for their reunion.
For several minutes, they simply embraced, no words necessary.
Bruce breathed in the scent of his mother's perfume - somehow perfectly preserved in this afterlife - and felt his father's strong hand on his back, just as it had been when he was a child seeking comfort.
Finally, Martha pulled back slightly, her hands coming up to frame his face. "Let me look at you," she said, her eyes drinking in every detail. "My little boy, all grown up." Her smile was radiant through her tears.
"You've become such a fine man," Thomas added, his hand resting on Bruce's shoulder. "We've watched when we could - it's not always clear, the view from here to there - but we've seen enough to know."
"To know what?" Bruce managed to ask, his voice hoarse.
"How strong you are," Martha said. "How brave."
"How much good you've done," Thomas continued. "Though we wish-" He stopped himself.
"You wish I hadn't become Batman," Bruce finished for him.
His parents exchanged surprised glances.
"No," Thomas said firmly. "We wish you hadn't had to suffer so much. We wish you could have found happiness. The path you chose is harder than most, but we have never been anything but proud of you, son."
"Even when you make mistakes," Martha added gently. "Even when you lose your way. We see your heart, Bruce. We always have."
Bruce felt something crack inside him - a wall he'd built decades ago, mortared with guilt and reinforced with doubt. "I thought... I always thought you'd be disappointed. That becoming a... a vigilante wasn't what you wanted for me."
Thomas shook his head. "What we wanted was for you to live a full life. To make your own choices. To find purpose." He squeezed Bruce's shoulder.
"And you have. Not the path we would have chosen for you - what parent wants their child to face such dangers? - but a path of meaning nonetheless."
"But how are you here?" Martha asked, suddenly seeming to realize the strangeness of the situation. "You're not... you haven't..."
"Died? No," Bruce assured her quickly. "It's... complicated."
'Would you like me to explain?' Samael's voice echoed in his mind.
'Please,' Bruce replied internally.
The sensation of yielding control was smoother this time - less like being pushed aside and more like stepping back to allow someone else through a door.
Bruce remained fully aware, observing through his own eyes as Samael spoke using his voice.
"Thomas and Martha Wayne," Samael began, his tone more formal than Bruce's had been. "I am Samael, the Lightbringer.
Your son has graciously allowed me to use his body as my vessel for a short time. In return, I offered him this opportunity to see you again."
Martha's hand flew to her mouth in shock, while Thomas's expression grew cautious.
"An angel?" Thomas asked. "You're possessing our son?"
"With his full consent," Samael clarified. "And temporarily. His body remains unharmed - in fact, my presence is healing old injuries he's sustained over the years."
"But why?" Martha asked. "Why would an angel need a human vessel? And why Bruce?"
"A complex story," Samael replied. "The short version is that my own vessel - created for me by God - is insufficient to contain my power.
I needed a stronger temporary vessel to complete certain tasks, and your son's bloodline makes him uniquely suited to the role."
Thomas's expression remained skeptical. "And what do you get out of this arrangement, besides a... stronger vessel?"
Bruce felt Samael's amusement at Thomas Wayne's paternal protective instinct.
"Information," Samael answered. "Perspective. I need to speak with someone who can help me understand my situation better. Your son's assistance makes this possible."
"And you brought him to see us as payment?" Martha asked, her tone suggesting she wasn't sure how to feel about this arrangement.
"Not payment," Samael corrected. "A gift. Bruce's soul called out for you the moment I touched it.
His deepest desire was to see you again, to know that you were at peace, to hear that you don't blame him for what happened that night."
Both parents' expressions softened immediately.
"Oh, Bruce," Martha whispered. "Never. We have never blamed you. Not for a single moment."
"The only one we blamed was the man who pulled the trigger," Thomas said firmly. "And ourselves, for not being more careful."
Samael nodded. "He needed to hear that from you directly. No message delivered by a medium or psychic would ever have been enough. He needed this certainty."
Thomas studied Bruce's face - or rather, Samael behind Bruce's face. "You said this arrangement is temporary. How long does he have with us?"
"I can give you until sunrise in the mortal realm," Samael replied. "Approximately six hours. After that, we must continue our journey."
Martha reached out, touching Bruce's hand - though it was Samael who currently controlled it. "Thank you," she said simply. "Whatever your reasons, whatever your agenda... thank you for this gift."
Samael inclined Bruce's head in acknowledgment. "I'll return control to your son now. Enjoy your time together."
'Thank you,' Bruce suddenly stated before being given control again.
'A Deal's a deal, Bruce. I never break my word. It's weakness and I am never weak.' Samael stated as he gave control away.
Bruce felt himself thrust forward again, regaining command of his body. The transition left him momentarily dizzy.
"Bruce?" his mother asked, concern evident in her voice.
"I'm here," he assured her, steadying himself. "It's... a strange feeling. Sharing your body with someone else."
Thomas guided them to a nearby bench beneath a flowering tree. "Come, sit. Tell us everything. We have so much to catch up on."
As they settled onto the bench, Martha took Bruce's hand in hers. "Start from the beginning," she said gently. "Tell us about your life. All the things we missed."
Bruce took a deep breath, feeling a weight lifting from his shoulders. For the first time in decades, he felt like a son rather than an orphan - though Alfred had done his best, and he will forever be grateful to him for raising him.
For the first time since that night in the alley, he felt complete.
"After you died," he began, his voice growing stronger with each word, "Alfred took care of me..."
---------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
Do tell me how you found it.
Bats has finally gotten some peace in his life.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)