So was Bruce Wayne (in fact, Wayne Enterprises had a huge weapons manufacturing wing, way bigger than Stark Industries), yet you don’t see as many bent out of shape antis in the Bruce Wayne tags.
nice try but Wayne Enterprises’ manufacturing wing very specifically does not make military weapons. In the Nolan Films as well as most other tellings of the Batman mythos, Wayne Enterprises will make things like body armor (i.e. the batsuit) and transport vehicles (i.e. the tumbler) but very explicitly does not manufacture bombs or guns, and Bruce himself intentionally discontinues any scientific development he feels could be used to create weapons even if it means sustaining massive financial losses (see: the cold fusion reactor Bruce developed for clean energy purposes and then immediately shelved when a scientist proposed a way to weaponize it, causing the company to all but go bankrupt rather than allow a dangerous weapon to fall into anyone’s hands)
Plus there’s this bit from the animated series:
So, maybe the reason the Bruce Wayne tag isn’t full of “Antis” yelling at him for stuff Tony Stark did is that Bruce Wayne’s biological father was a surgeon and his adoptive father was a combat medic and they both raised him to believe human life is more valuable than profits, whereas the Stark family, unlike the Waynes, literally made their fortune trading in deadly weapons, and Tony’s “heroic” journey is about washing the blood off his hands while Bruce makes a point of trying not to get blood on his hands in the first place?
Bruce had heard music coming from the studio earlier in the day. They had converted what his mother had always called “The Music Room,” laying down marley flooring, lining the walls with mirrors and barres. All for Cass.
The sun was setting and the house was quiet now: Alfred hadn’t returned from his errands yet and the winter day was quickly coming to a close.
Heading to his study, Bruce passed the studio and was surprised to see Cassandra lying on the floor. The lights weren’t on and the weak remaining sunlight left the room dim. He could hear the white noise of the stereo system, on but not playing anything.
“Cassandra?” he asked, confused, stepping onto the springy floor.
She was lying on her back, her legs stretched out long, with her arms crossed over her eyes and forehead. Her long-sleeved leotard and legwarmers couldn’t be much protection against the chill if she’d been still for very long. Cassandra didn’t move to acknowledge him; he only saw her throat work as she swallowed.
Bruce crossed the floor in a few strides, only to stop short at the sight of her feet.
He opened his mouth to ask one of many questions, but said instead:
“Cass, you’ve bled through your shoes.”
She went through pointe shoes fairly quickly, they lasted several months depending on how many classes in a week she could attend. But this pairs’ usual wear, grey scuffs on the washed-out peach satin, was eclipsed by the dull brown patches of blood that had appeared in different spots on the toe of each shoe.
Bruce sat by her feet and watched her face for any signs of distress as he gently picked up the leg nearest to him. When she didn’t react, he prodded the ends of the laces out from their bundle on the inside of her ankle and began picking at the knot beneath it. Unwinding the laces revealed deep indentations. She didn’t move or make a sound as he carefully pulled the fitted shoe from her foot and began peeling sticky gel pads, and lambswool, and finally her convertible tights, back from the raw and bloody flesh of her toes.
It made him think of Cinderella’s stepsisters, the old versions, mutilated by their mother in an attempt to fit the slipper and win a throne.
He held her foot in his lap, lightly chafing the angry red marks left on her clammy skin by the laces and elastic band. Not rubbing hard or touching the open wounds. He could feel the barest tremor of her muscles that meant she was exhausted.
“Last night was hard,”
With her arms still crossed over her eyes, she spoke in a whisper.
Bruce hummed an acknowledgement and started on her other foot. Of all his children, Cass was the one he trusted most to patrol alone, though he didn’t like it. It meant he didn’t know when she had to see or do things that he would rather have shielded her from.
Finishing, he piled the bloody detritus of her shoes and padding to one side. As he gathered her up and stood, he felt more than heard a soft “oh!” escape her. He was glad she didn’t protest, even though his back did.
Carrying her to the door, he brushed a knuckle to the switch that cut power to the sound system.
Because everyone could use a reminder that baby Jason Todd was not only literally top of his class, but that his own teachers thought he needed to chill
heget's WordPress 