The Bridge Between Us
Wayne Manor – Underground Gym
The room was quiet except for the steady thud of Peter’s fists against the training dummy. His movements were precise, focused, cold.
Bruce stood just inside the entrance. Watching.
After a long moment, he stepped forward. “You’re favoring your right.”
Peter didn’t look at him. “It’s faster.”
“It’s exposed.”
Peter struck again, harder. “Maybe I want them to think that.”
Bruce approached, quiet. “I could help you balance it.”
Peter stopped punching, shoulders tense. “You weren’t there when I needed balance.”
Bruce flinched. But he kept his voice steady. “I’m here now.”
Peter turned to face him — sweat clinging to his jaw, eyes sharp and unreadable.
“You want to make up for what you missed?” he asked, voice cold. “What exactly do you think I am to you?”
“I don’t know,” Bruce admitted. “But I want to learn.”
Peter didn’t say anything. He just walked past him.
The door shut behind him a little too hard.
Bruce stood alone, surrounded by shadows.
⸻
Manor Garden – Late Afternoon
Peter and Damian moved in sync. Staffs spinning, boots skimming stone, arms blocking, redirecting, striking. There was no competition. Just rhythm. Memory. Muscle.
They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to.
Then Bruce appeared on the edge of the terrace. No cape. Just black sweats and silence.
“Mind if I join?”
Both brothers paused. Peter tilted his head, not hostile — just surprised.
Damian looked at Peter, then nodded. “He’s not bad. If you want to take it easy.”
Peter smirked faintly. “You mean if he wants to survive.”
Bruce stepped into the circle without a word, took up a staff.
They moved again — this time as three.
Bruce was rusty. Not slow, but… unbalanced. Peter exploited it without mercy. Damian softened his blows.
It wasn’t until Bruce slipped slightly — just enough for Peter’s staff to crack against his thigh — that it shifted.
Peter stepped back immediately. “You okay?”
Bruce nodded, winded. “Fine.”
And Peter… hesitated. Looked at Damian. Then back at Bruce.
“…You’re not bad,” he said, voice quieter. “For someone who didn’t grow up with this.”
Bruce exhaled. A small laugh.
Damian looked between them, then rolled his eyes. “A compliment.”
Peter handed Bruce a towel and walked off. But this time… there was no door slam. No silence.
Just… space.
And for Bruce — that was more than he’d hoped for.