The debris, the rubble, the tools and the blood. Oh god the blood it's everywhere. He moves concrete, throws steal until he's reached what he's digging for and reaches his shaking hands down to lift him. To lift his partner, his protege, his friend, his son from out of the ashes and to him. To cradle his limp lifeless body to him as if the warmth from his body will put warmth back into his son's eyes. It won't. But it doesn't matter as he clutches the small body to him as he feels tears run down his cheeks. The movies, the books, the pictures, they never show him. Never the real him. The real him sobbed until he couldn't breathe. The real him grieved for his lost partner like a boy who had lost his parents and boy did he know. What would Alfred say when he arrived at the cave with his lifeless son? How could he have let this happen? He should have known. He should have figured it out. He should have drove faster. He should have been there. His son should still be alive right now. But he's not. And if he believed in any higher being before that was all lost the day he lost his parents in that alley but if there was a god then all he could do was pray that whoever they are, that they're helping his son. His son who was so full of life. His son who was rough around the edges but just needed some time, patience and nurturing to grow. His son who didn't deserve this. His son who didn't deserve to die. He knows oh lord he knows that when he find the Joker he'll beat him until he's unrecognizable and then leave him to rot because he took away his son. His son. His son is gone because of that madman and he will stop at nothing to make sure that he is avenged. He won't rest until that piece of filth is six feet under and even then he won't stop. He'll find them all and he won't them hurt anyone ever again, not another soul. He'll send all the scum in this city straight to hell and then, when they're all gone, maybe then, he'll rest easy.