Please note: this is a much belated sequel to No Survivors.

Sole Survivor

First of all, I'm guessing that this is probably the worst thing I've ever done. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I did it on purpose or anything like that but still…I really hurt people I love and caused a mess I still think about when something brings it back. The kicker is that I had no idea, absolutely no idea until the damage was done and, while everyone said all the right things and no blame was placed, well, shit. Y'know?

It was a while ago but it still bothers me. It bothers me a lot and I guess that's what this is about. It's like it's my side of what happened. Maybe I guess I'm trying to justify what happened; rationalize. But you know how it is sometimes—something happens and it's completely (or mostly) out of your control but it's still a major mess and it all comes back around to something you did or maybe didn't do.

Yeah. That's what this was.

It happened a few years ago and started out as a nothing thing which went south in a big way. Bruce was supposed to open a new playground or building or whatever it was in Chicago but he was busy and so I went in his place, flying the Wayne Corp flag and being the dutiful son and heir apparent. And yeah, I hated playing that role for the cameras and glad-handing the local worthies with a passion so, while I plastered a smile on I was counting the minutes until I could get it over with and go home.

It started out simple enough but you know how dominos line up just the right way and then someone sneezes and they all fall down? Yeah. I got up early, drove myself to the airport and caught an egg McMuffin or whatever at the terminal, checked in and waited for my flight at the gate. It was crowded, I remember that, people milling around. Mostly business fliers doing whatever they had to do, a couple of families probably visiting the relatives and I saw a family coming home from Disney, Mickey ears on the kids heads. That memory is still with me and I wish it wasn't. I still see those kids.

Anyway, so I'm at the gate and there's this announcement of some kind of weather delay and they'd keep us informed. I was half annoyed and half hopeful that the flight would be canceled so I could skip the thing and go home but that's not what happened. I was sitting, reading something when this man I vaguely knew walked by on his way someplace. John Goldwyn; he's CFO for some Top 500 company and I'd met him maybe twice at a couple of Bruce's charity things and so he stopped, we traded some small talk like 'What are you doing here?' 'Going to Chicago for the day, meetings; you?' 'About the same, cutting a ribbon for Bruce.' He glanced at the signage on the gate, saw the 'delayed' sign; 'Chicago?' 'Yeah.' 'Hey, I've got the company plane, can I offer you a lift? It looks like this could be a while.' '…Sure, great, thanks.'

And that was the sneeze which started the dominos going down.

I've got to say here that I had no idea about what happened till hours later, when it was too late to do anything about it but still, I honest to shit didn't know.

My side of the story is pretty boring for a while. I took the ride to O'Hare, found the company car and driver they'd arranged for me, shook a bunch of hands, gave a speech one of Bruce's people wrote, cut a ribbon, shook some more hands, posed for some pictures, ate a catered lunch and took the same car back to the airport where John was nice enough to haul me back to Gotham again. It was getting dark when we landed and I was in a hurry to get back to the Manor because it was Alfred's birthday and a small diner with some close friends had been planned. I got my car out of the lot, fought rush hour back to Brixton through heavy rain and pulled into the garage instead of leaving it under the front overhang. I remember thinking that Alfred would be annoyed when I used the connecting hall directly into the main house instead of using the 'family' entrance but it was really raining and I didn't want to leave the car out.

I remember being a little confused or something when I walked into the kitchen from the hallway, expecting to see lights, dinner underway, people around but it was dark, just one or two under counter lights left on. No food smells and no people or noise like there should have been. Well, okay, maybe Bruce decided to surprise Alfred with a fancy dinner at some high end restaurant for his birthday so I started looking for a note or something but nothing.

Odd.

Maybe the caterers had set things up in a different part of the property for a change? No, even if that were true they'd still probably be using the main kitchen.

I was about to go exploring to see what was going on when Alfred pushed through the swinging door, stopped dead, went pale, stared at me then, with no warning, he semi-collapsed against a counter, his hands covering his face, shoulders shaking with uncontrolled sobbing.

I mean—Jesus. This, more than anything, more than even the moments after my parents deaths, haunt me because I could have prevented this.

I remember putting my hand on his shoulder, rubbing a little while he composed himself. He stuttered a little and then just managed to say '…How?...', staring at me as if I were a ghost.

Stupid, clueless me made some dumbass comment, something like 'what's wrong?' Then followed that brilliance by pulling the wrapped box from my pocket and babbled on about 'It's your birthday, I brought you a present; we're having a dinner, aren't we?'

That's when he told me that the plane I was supposed to be on, the one I'd checked into and was waiting at the assigned gate for had crashed somewhere over Pennsylvania with no survivors. They'd been verifying my being on the plane, called Kal to check the crash site to be told everything was incinerated because of the explosion and burning fuel. Bruce called Oracle, called the head of the airline, tried my cell which had gone to a default about that number being unavailable because dumbass me forgot—again and as usual—to charge the damn battery.

They thought I was dead. They'd thought that all day.

So, relatively composed, Alfred called Bruce up from down in the cave where he'd been hiding, the story all came out; how Alfred had been going about his day, radio or TV on as background when the newsflash came on about the plane going down. How he'd gone to Wayne Corp to tell Bruce, how the wheels turned, seeming confirmation coming in that I'd been on the plane.

Word had spread quickly to the JLA and the Titans; all my friends had thought I was dead because I'd forgotten to charge some batteries.

I have to live with that, just like I live with the mental picture of those kids wearing their Disney t-shirts and ears, laughing, waiting to board the plane. Like I have to live with the pain I caused Alfred and everyone else. Like I keep thinking about the two hundred people who died but I didn't because I lucked out.

Yeah, I know. There are a lot of people, millions of people who have it worse, who have even worse memories engraved in their heads. I know, I get it.

But I'll never stop feeling Alfred crying against my chest and seeing those kids wearing those t-shirts.

7/22/16