Chapter 2: I searched online and it turns out there really is Thomas thermally conductive and high-temperature resistant adhesive...
“Sorry, Alfred. I had some things to do and was a little late… Oh, Thomas.”
Thomas thought there must be glue on my name.
Otherwise, why would Bruce stop talking when he called my name?
The two brothers stood facing each other, as if they were looking in a mirror.
Bruce was wearing a white Italian suit (which looked freshly made) and a dark tie tied in a tulip knot (it was unlikely that Bruce tied it himself), looking like a dissolute playboy.
In Alfred's view, both Waynes had their own understanding of the theme of "brothers reuniting," and each was wrong.
Thomas treated this family gathering like an important business occasion. Even the most serious, old-fashioned English gentleman wouldn't dress like this for an informal and warm family gathering, as if he were a professional manager rather than Bruce's brother (frankly, Alfred hoped that Thomas would abandon his plan to bring up those financial statements today).
Bruce's European-style attire was too frivolous and completely did not suit Alfred's old-fashioned British taste (although the American style seemed even worse; Alfred was glad that young master Bruce knew young master Thomas's serious personality and did not dress like an American college student trying to raise investment, otherwise this family reunion would have really turned into "startup college student meeting with sponsors").
In Thomas's eyes, Bruce had clearly not wasted these past few years. He had become much more muscular, obviously having received quite professional training that went beyond the scope of "rich kid self-defense techniques." He seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed his life these past few years.
Ask him about his experiences over the past few years? That seems like a suitable topic, and we could probably talk about it for a long time, breaking the awkward atmosphere between us.
But what could Thomas say? He couldn't bring himself to speak.
He knew that if he opened his mouth now, he would definitely not say anything nice.
He'll just go crazy, wanting Bruce to leave him, leave the manor, leave Gotham, and preferably never come back.
This place is going to rot, everything is going to rot, and Thomas is definitely the worst part of it. Bruce should get out of this hellhole as soon as possible, preferably with Alfred, anywhere is fine, just get out of Gotham.
But he couldn't bring himself to say it.
Bruce, for some reason, also remained silent.
So the two stood facing each other in silence until Alfred stood beside them, dissatisfied.
-
Alfred had initially stood a little further away, intending to give the brothers space for their reunion. Unexpectedly, the two of them were even more silent than Gotham's Water Droplets.
So he had no choice but to intervene.
His opening remarks were sarcastic and unsettling.
"Young Master Bruce, it is my pleasure to introduce you to this Mr. Thomas Wayne. He is a very old-fashioned gentleman who has just left a royal banquet. Young Master Thomas, it is my pleasure to introduce you to this Mr. Bruce Wayne. I imagine he has just enjoyed the southern Italian sunshine and is in a hurry to get back to boring and gloomy Gotham City—good heavens, you two look like brothers, what a coincidence, isn't it? So why don't you shake hands?"
I have no choice but to say something now.
Bruce, who knew Thomas's "introverted" nature well, spoke first: "Thomas, how are your studies going?"
“I skipped a grade, Bruce.” Thomas looked away from his briefcase. “I’m already working.”
"Ah...at Wayne Enterprises?"
Alfred took a deep breath in dissatisfaction.
Bruce quickly added the word: "Tommy?"
“Sure, Bruce, I think I’m better at these kinds of jobs.” Thomas turned and sat back on the sofa, rummaging through his briefcase. “And you, do you want to work for Wayne Enterprises? Or do you have any other plans?”
“I’m not interested in Wayne Enterprises.” Bruce sat down next to him, seemingly curious about what he was looking for.
"To be more specific, an athlete?" Thomas pulled out a piece of paper and glanced at it. "Or a travel blogger?"
He plans to be Batman, staying up all night fighting people outside, not working during the day but exercising at home, with no holidays, no bonuses, no salary, and risking his life.
But can this be told to Thomas? Certainly not.
So he had no choice but to lie: "I guess I'll just spend my whole life doing nothing."
He shrugged, as if he were an unyielding fool.
"Hmm, that's good." Thomas smiled, a rare sight, and rummaged through his briefcase even faster.
He quickly pulled out a few sheets of paper and stuffed them into Bruce's hand: "Take a look at these. If there's anything you're not satisfied with, I can arrange for a lawyer to revise it."
Alfred closed his eyes.
It's over, completely over.
Why can't young Thomas just give up on those damn contracts and reports?
I remember that in normal family reunions, it's not common for brothers to pull out a bunch of contracts right away.
Bruce flipped through the stack of papers perfunctorily.
"What should I look at... Oh!"
He pulled out one of the cards, looked at it carefully, and then tore it to shreds in a fit of rage.
Thomas's gaze followed the scraps of paper as they fell, landing on Bruce's lap, on the sofa, and on the floor.
These pitiful fragments reminded Thomas of the snow on that frigid Earth.
Thomas let out a long sigh.
“You tore up my will, and now I have to go see a notary.”
“You are four years younger than me, so it’s not your turn to make a will first, Thomas.”
Bruce had a stern face, seemingly trying to scare Thomas away.
“Everyone should make a will early.” Thomas remained calm. “We never know whether tomorrow or an accident will come first, and there are too many cases of unscrupulous lawyers misappropriating estates.”
“No, no means no. I’d rather that unscrupulous lawyer squander all that money.” Bruce tossed the annoying papers aside. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking. I’m your brother, and no one in the world knows you better than me.”
“Never mind then.” Thomas didn’t care whether there was a will or not. “My only legal heir is you, Bruce. Without a will, you will inherit my entire estate. After I die, I want you to give all my real estate to Alfred as a token of gratitude (Thomas nodded to Alfred) for being so tolerant of this madman of mine all these years; and give forty percent of the money in the bank account to Mr. Richard John Grayson of the C.C. Harry and Norton Brothers Circus, and please tell him that I really enjoyed his performances, that he brought rare joy to a madman and gave me a brief respite from my grief.”
Bruce stared at him silently.
“No,” he said firmly at the end. “If that money were in my hands, I would spend it all and leave them not a single penny, Thomas.”
Bruce thought this would slightly "threaten" Thomas, but he was wrong.
Thomas looked at him with delight and said, “That’s even better, Bruce.”
After all, Thomas believed that only selfish, indifferent, and foolish people could live comfortably in this world.
Kindness... Kind people suffer the most, and Thomas only hopes that his blood relatives can live happily.
Bruce deflated: "You remember what I asked you to do, don't you?"
“But I can’t do it, Bruce.” Thomas looked at the ceiling. “We are dying all the time, and maybe the next one to die will be me, standing right in front of you.”
Bruce bit his lip, as if he wanted to say something, but thankfully he held back.
He simply stood up and said curtly, "I'm going upstairs to change my clothes."
Then they ran away.
-
“I’m very touched. I thought young Thomas didn’t have any feelings for me.” Alfred stood in the room, tidying up Bruce’s clothes that he had just changed out of. “Now it seems that the child is just a little withdrawn and doesn’t know how to express himself.”
“I’m sorry, Alfred… I didn’t mean to take your money,” Bruce said softly, covering his face with his hands.
“Oh, I know you won’t. You’re a good boy, Master Bruce.” Alfred shrugged. “Besides, I don’t care about the money. Seeing how much the boy cares for us is enough to make me happy—you know, I’m not short of money at all.”
Just as Bruce was about to say something to Alfred, his phone rang.
Bruce picked up his phone, glanced at it, and then tossed it onto the bed.
Tommy left; he said he had a job.
Bruce looked even more frustrated: "I won't be coming back to stay here often anymore."
“Are you unhappy? Young Master Thomas is very perceptive. If you stay at Wayne Manor, your little secret will be dug up in less than three days.”
"Ah Fu, even if you provoke me, I won't give up."
“Oh, of course. I don’t expect our poor little Tommy to make Master Bruce abandon his grand plans—but you should at least tell your family the truth, Master Bruce.”
Bruce fidgeted: "No, Alfred."
“Why not, Master Bruce? I think young Thomas would be very proud of his great brother. I don’t want that child to hear his own blood relatives say…”
He didn't say the word, but quickly tapped the wooden cabinet and continued, "...only when he finds out how much you've sacrificed behind the scenes will he be very sad."
"No, Alfred. No means no."
Bruce frowned and pinched his brow in worry: "If something really happens to me one day..." (He tapped the wood under Alfred's disapproving gaze) "...please don't tell him the truth, okay?"
“I don’t understand,” Alfred asked. “Why can’t young Thomas know? He’s your brother.”
Bruce lowered his hand, stared at the ground, and remained silent for a long time.
"If Thomas knew I was going to be out on the streets of Gotham at night, he would have done something pretty extreme before I did."
“I think he might be sick… In his eyes, the lives of people other than you and me are meaningless—including his own.”
Alfred didn't respond, but listened in silence.
Bruce sighed. "Alfred, have I not told you what really happened in that alley that day?"
“I think so.” Alfred poured Bruce a cup of black tea. “Your lie isn’t very clever.”
"Thank you, Alfred."
He took the teacup, gently stroking the warm, smooth porcelain with his fingers, and looked at his reflection in the teacup.
Red...red...
"I still remember that day..."
Blood was everywhere that day.
A note from the author:
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