It goes like this.
There's always a fight in an alleyway.
Sometimes the gun goes off against the father (Blood spreading).
Sometimes against the mother (Pearls scattered).
Or both (I didn't mean to, should've just given me the mon-).
Or all (Here lies-).
Once or twice it hits the son (bloodstained smiles and red pearls perfectly lined up)
Precisely once, it hits no one (Headline: Waynes Attacked).
Someone survives. Even if it's only the butler at home, someone always survives.
—
Martha is so tired and Thomas is dead-dead-dead her son is downstairs and he's living-breathing-talking except not that last one because his father is dead-dead-de- she swallows a pill. It makes everything feel better for a little while.
Downstairs her son refuses to eat and the loyal butler waits and watches. The boy is alone despite the fact that his mother is upstairs. Love heals but hate only tears at ragged edges. Time is supposed to fix all but how can it fix this, fix them?
He takes Gotham by storm, taking the mobs one by one until he is lord of them all, a king in all but name. By his twenty-fifth birthday Gotham is organized from its underbelly, and Bruce Wayne (prince of Gotham) is a name feared. There are rules for Gotham, go against them and the dead-eyed king will spirit you away, send you to be with his bats in Arkham.
Thomas is alone. His son is sitting accross from him and they both hurt but he cannot reach out, will not. A week and he'll be back, he'll offer comfort and be a father but right now he needs time.
Bruce Wayne nearly dies so the bat can be born, but a firm hand on his shoulder grounds him. Though Thomas is not open, he loves his son and shows it. He grows and leaves at eighteen to go abroad. He takes almost nothing and occasionally sends postcards. When he comes back, he brings a tiny acrobat and a heart for change.
The city is different, it's White Prince bringing light to a city filled with smog. When Thomas Wayne dies, he is surrounded by grandchildren. He is not alone.
—
This is the one everyone knows.
There's an alleyway.
Bang. Bang.
Two shots, two people dead and a child left. He dies, though the blood spilled is not his own. Bruce Wayne is dead and something that will not be named for a long time replaces him. It even walks and talks, sometimes acting like the boy it was.
He leaves, trains. Comes back with a thirst for vengeance and an idea. A name.
I am the night, he screams into the darkness so someone will hear him.
Gotham is never the same.
—
Three shots. Three shots and dead royalty and the city is thrown into uproar.
The Waynes are dead, they whisper on the streets. Without them, what do we do?
The city whispers at night, hushed because it is grieving. By the time the Waynes are forgotten the butler has left Gotham.
Without his other half the joker wreaks havoc. He laughs in the destruction and the murder and the blood. He relishes in always playing different games. Others try to step in, but he knows something they don't. His enemy, his nemesis is gone, and only he can tell. A hole in the universe where something should be.
Gotham blows without its bat, its prince to protect it. All that's left, in the end, are ashes and regrets. It's like it never existed. A splotch on the bright cities of the world now gone.
—
Another that's sometimes heard:
The prince gets shot, leaving the madwoman and her husband. The joker has a different face, a different person because The Joker is not so much a person as an idea. Something that must exist and will exist in every universe and every timeline. Hero or villain, it just is.
Wayne Child Dead, the paper reads. Mother goes crazy, losing herself to the pure joy of simplicity.
We have to be what we were, she says, blood and death because that's what humans do.
Father goes crazy too, a perfect complement to her insanity.
There is a way of things, he says, we follow rules and order no matter the cost to us.
Maybe neither is right. Maybe both. Without the prince the city falls. Hasn't that been proven time and again?
—
You know the story by now.
An alleyway - bang.
Except-
Except no one gets hit. The family runs and makes it home safely. They cling to each other, the eight-year-old not really sure what just happened but feeding off the energy all the same. Bruce Wayne is alive and healthy, in no danger of dying to the bat. He never forgets.
A heart of gold, the press writes, crown prince of Gotham come to save us.
Bruce Wayne never becomes the bat, but he still does as he always has, as he always will do. His company tries to fix Gotham and everything else. They even partially succeed.
I am the day, he screams to the city, come seek the light and be joyful.
—
It goes like this, then.
Bruce Wayne is born.
Gotham will never be the same.
A/N I hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to leave reviews. Have a great day!