Hey guys I am trying something new okay, a Batman/Harry Potter crossover. Bruce Wayne is six-teen and yes he's Batman. Harry is fifteen that's right I did that on purpose. Um Bruce is going to find something epic out- that's right Hope you guys like it, if you do then I'll write more stories.
Bruce Wayne sat on the floor in the middle of one of his many penthouses on the outskirts of Gotham contemplating his life away. All the while wondering if what he found in that cursed house was true, or just some sick joke. He wanted to do more than just sit around and figure it out on his own, but his mind seemed to have gone numb from the shock.
He leaned against his couch letting his long muscular legs stretch out in front of him. He let the music blast off his lab top speakers as loud as it would allow, causing his penthouse and all the ones around it to shake.
An empty tea cup sat next to him, one which he'd finished hours ago, but didn't care enough to put it away. A plastic knife still somewhat covered in the honey he'd used in his earl grey tea was dancing at the edge of his mouth, dancing to the music surrounding him.
His teeth moved the knife to the loud grinding music on his playlist all of which included songs from the band 3OH!3. He let the music bang in his head trying to drown out the rest of the world and leave him just to the raging chaos of what was left of his mind.
Giving up on the idea to bring order to his mind, he let his feet tap to the music as he abandoned the thoughts and lost himself to the music.
Alfred, his prestigious butler and keeper would probably kill him if he knew what his ward was doing, if he knew what Bruce had done, but Alfred wasn't here. No one was here, but Bruce, all alone in his house, thoughts, and world.
His mind seemed unable to comprehend the new information rolling around in his head, he'd tried playing with the idea tossing it around in his mind, but it only seemed to make him madder.
He was just so sick of the lies in that awful manor it made him sick to his stomach to even think about the place at the moment. He felt like he was drowning in the lies and it was leaving him even more confused about his life. Was it all really a lie, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Bruce Wayne was it all a lie?
But most importantly he was tired. He was just so freaking tired of the world and the chaos and violence, and death and everything else wrong in the horrible world.
This horrible city had done this to him. It has robbed him of his innocence, love and everything else he cared about and forced lies down his throat. And now he just didn't know what to do. And he hated that feeling; it made him feel completely and utterly helpless. He never wanted to feel helpless again.
He was Batman for goodness sake, but still everything seemed to annoy him. It nagged him constantly telling him that the information was right, but what did it mean, what could it be…
Clark sat in his apartment on the outskirts of Gotham City, the only reason he was in this goddam city was because Perry White wanted him to do a story over a charity ball hosted by Gotham's none the less white knight, Bruce Wayne, oh freaking joy.
He never liked confronting the Batman and the Batman never seemed to like to confront him, but what can you do when duty calls.
He knew Batman even more now that they were in the justice league and yet it only made the man seem even more stubborn, irritating, and just a down right annoying bastard.
He's probably one of the most death defying, crazy, pigheaded person Clark's ever met in his entire life, and that includes Lex Luthor. Now Bruce may not be a psychotic murdering freak like Luthor, but to Clark he was still crazy as hell and seemed to want himself dead.
And that was probably the most annoying part for Clark, why would a guy like that want himself dead? He was a good guy; he has money and fame, why can't he just do something with that instead of putting himself through hell every night.
Yet somewhere in all chaos and craziness in Bruce, the man had the biggest heart Clark's ever seen. He's selfless and altruistic and downright good. And if he dared say it he was Clark's best friend.
Maybe there was something special about this city that only Bruce could see, maybe Bruce was special.
Just as Clark began to see some goodness in the city called Gotham he heard the music pulsating down on him, suffocating him, how the hell was he supposed to wake up in the morning and go to that freaking party if he can't even sleep? Perry's going to murder him; Lois is going to physically hurt him!
He is so going to kill the neighbor on the floor above him who blasting the music like no tomorrow! No one ever seemed to give a fuck about him well guess what Clark Kent had it he snapped. And he had a pulsing headache thanks to the music. Sighing he picked himself out of bed and stomped to the poor.
Bruce let the music pulse in his ears, trying to get rid of all his troubled thoughts, but he couldn't seem to. He finally just fell to floor and glared at the ceiling, letting his voice blend with the music easily, knowing every single song by heart.
Suddenly there was a very loud knocking at the door, causing Bruce to growl angrily at it. He ignored it and continued to glare at the ceiling. He hated it when people tried to pull him from his thoughts especially right now.
After about five minutes of banging and yelling from the other side of the door Bruce was forced to accept the fact that this guy was not going to go away any time soon. He picked himself up and put on a really bad cheesy grin and pretended to be a carefree billionaire.
If this guy thinks Clark's going away, he's insane and if he thinks he can pretend not to be home, he's crazy. Clark was using his x-ray vision to see the guy lying on the floor, seriously get to the door dude!
The door opened quickly causing Clark to take a step back. He looked down to see cold blue eyes glaring at him, but the man had a smile on his face; it didn't reach the guy's eyes. Something tugged at his mind at the sight of those sad eyes eh knew that face and it was seriously pissed.
"Clark, what the hell are you doing here," Bruce's voice caught him by surprise and caused him to look back up. He realized the man in front of him was none other than Bruce himself.
"Bruce what are you doing here," Clark gasped staring at his rival.
"I asked that first and believe you owe me an answer," Bruce growled his smile fading instantly.
Clark never realized how sad Bruce eyes were and it tugged at his heart sadly, "Perry has me covering your charity ball…Um… I kind of need some sleep do you mind turning it down?"
"Fine," Bruce growled slamming the door in Clark's face.
"He never answered my question," Clark murmured wanting to open the door and find out what was up with his friend, but Bruce seemed in a really bad mood, worse than usual and Clark really didn't want to test death tonight.
As he headed back to his room ready to crash the music stopped abruptly, but his ears were filled with a ringing from his com-link.
"Seriously," He grumbled angrily tapping on the tiny button, "Superman here."
"Did you forget about the founders meeting again Clark?" Clark could feel Diana smirking at him from the other line and wondered what Bruce was going to do.
^-^ _ "-" !~-~
Bruce smashed the com-link against the wall refusing to hear anything they have to say to him and any sort of reasoning they may have for him, slightly afraid that it would make too much sense. Some sort of vague memory of a woman with bright fire red hair and startling green eyes surfaced from deep within him causing him to cry out slightly.
He never wanted to let that image go, but it was faint and it took all his strength to hold onto that. He dug deeper despite the cries of his inner psyche, pulling an image of a tall lanky man with broad shoulders with dark, crazy jet black hair and hazel eyes hidden behind way too big glasses.
He held onto the images trying to compare them to the Wayne's. Thomas Wayne was a broad man and had brown hair and blue eyes. Martha Wayne had light blonde hair and blue eyes.
This had to be a lie. Bruce couldn't see how those people could be his real parents; they didn't even have blue eyes, like him. But everything else about them suggested that they could very well be his real parents. They held a startlingly close resemblance to Bruce unlike the Wayne's.
A name was suddenly stuck in his throat burned in his head, Potter. Who was Potter what did it mean? Could that be his real name?
A sudden flame sparked in his chest causing an anger he didn't know he had fill his entire body shoving aside all rational thoughts and taking over. He grabbed his iPod and head phones and with this newfound rage he marched to his car parked out front. He caught the ball of anger in his chest seizing it and aiming it at Alfred, he was going to give him a piece of his mind.
The car ride to the manor went in a blur if anger, depression, and loud music. Bruce stood in the entrance of Wayne manor just glaring at his surroundings. It disgusted him, every single thing around him, all of it, was a reminder that that his life was a lie. Heck even he was a lie now thanks to Alfred. For all Bruce knew, even his jet black hair may very well be a lie.
It was all a lie.
Nightwing walked cautiously to the door wondering who had come in and praying that it was Bruce. Alfred had called him and told him that Bruce had an outburst and went all crazy on him. Nightwing looked carefully around the corner to see a fuming Batman glaring at everything around him.
"Bruce what's wrong?" Nightwing was cautious acting as though he were talking to a wounded animal.
"Where's Alfred?" Bruce looked as though he were ready to snap at any minute.
"Brue you didn't answer me, if you don't answer me how can I…"
"In the kitchen the ass is always in the kitchen," Bruce began heading for the kitchen his anger worsening by the passing seconds. Nightwing ran after him wanting to know what was wrong.
"You lied to me," Bruce yelled pushing his way into the kitchen where Alfred was chopping carrots.
Alfred looked up at Bruce dismissing him almost immediately, "It was for your own good," he stated simply.
Bruce anger bubbled over, "stop chopping and look at me when I'm talking you may not have cared in the past, but I refuse to let you get away with it now," Bruce said swiping Alfred's knife from him before the old man could speak.
Dick's eyes widened at the sight of Bruce with a weapon at the moment and quickly stole it from his grasp.
"You think lying to me about having a family was for my own good? You think letting me turn into an angry depressed young man was good? You think that all those years of playing the parent card was okay? They weren't even my real parents! You think it was okay to shove that down my throat? I was a child traumatized by their death, don't you think it would have been better if I was given hope of a real family!" Were just some of the things Bruce wanted to say but didn't. He kept them in not wanting to show too much emotions. Bruce slammed his hand on the table cracking it slightly, when his father did not reply turning on his heels, unable to look at the man who has always been a father to him.
"Bruce!" Alfred said urgently, "where are you going?" Bruce ignored the man continuing towards the door.
"Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you," Bruce continued out of the room heading for the door at an alarming rate, "Anthony don't you dare- Anthony!"
It clicked in an instant. The reason why Alfred always called him Anthony when he was angry with Bruce, and the reason why his middle name was Anthony at all. It was his real name. Bruce froze on an instant completely frozen, "that's why." Bruce said glaring at Alfred. His emotions began to bubble over too chaotic to actually deal with.
"Yes, but Br- Anthony I couldn't tell you, if I had you would have done something."
"I don't care," Bruce glared at him angrily before continuing, "Care to tell me my full name and my real parent's name?"
"Bruce, I don't think-"
"No I am done with your thinking." Bruce turned to leave when he felt Alfred's hand grab his arm. He tensed as his anger tried to get the best of him. Suddenly the water in a vase next to Alfred began to bubble over before practically jumping at him. Bruce ripped his arm out of the man's arm and continued out.
He reached the door as quickly as before slamming the door behind him. An uneasiness settled in his stomach churning wickedly like acid, making him feel as though he was going to be sick. Bruce rushed away abandoning his car and taking a motorcycle from his collection, he was in serious need of something fast and dangerous.
Maybe he could run away from it all, just leave and find out who he really was. He wasn't Bruce Wayne and he was having a hard time being Batman. Was he Anthony? Was he really Anthony Potter? Whatever he was he was going to find out.