Bruce…
He was falling… For too long he had been falling. He knew he would die when he finally hit bottom but that notion didn't frighten him at all, it was almost comforting.
Then a flutter of leathery wings enveloped him, slowed his fall, kept death at bay, forced him to live. He thought that he should be grateful but he wasn't.
He landed, gently, in the cave, his cave, his home. The bats swarmed around him, welcomed him. He used to fear them but not anymore, they were family now, a poor replacement for the family he lost but nothing could truly fill the holes their deaths left inside him. The bats tried though, around him they swirled and chittered and he watched as they coalesced into several forms, like the stalagmites of their home, his home.
Then they were not bats anymore, not entirely. The tiny voices no longer chittered a welcome, their leathery wings no longer fluttered in the shadows around him, they now moved with a fluidity of motion: The natural grace of a human form.
They stepped forward, their faces masked but he knew them all. Nightwing, Batgirl, Robin… and the Robin he had failed. They all stepped forward, ready to follow him into the endless battle he fought. There were more behind them, shadowy figures and he could not see their faces but he knew they would follow too.
He backed away, he didn't want them to follow this time, he didn't want them to waste their lives in a futile war that will never end. He wanted better for them, he wanted them to live their lives in peace, he wanted them to be happy, a happiness that was denied him.
That didn't matter to them, they followed him anyway. They all took a step forward and he could see where each of their paths led, he could see their fates. They blindly followed his lead and he could not prevent it, he could not stop them.
He saw Barbara shot down; she lay broken and bleeding at his feet. He saw Jason's mangled body in the wreckage of a demolished building. He saw Tim, the loss and the pain and the misery etched on his face as he slowly receded into the darkness of the cave. And he saw Dick, on his knees in agony, in the clutches of the affliction that raged through his body.
There was nothing he could do, he was helpless as he watched their fates unfold. Why? Why were they made to suffer when he was left whole?
Then he heard a voice whisper behind him, "Are you?" He whirled around to face an empty blackness. The voice echoed around him, "Are you whole?"
He sank to his knees, the darkness before him lit up and he could see the alley and his family. His heart wrenched inside him as he saw himself, a child, trying desperately to revive his fallen parents. He saw the blood pulse through his tiny fingers as he tried to stop the flow from their wounds and he saw the pools of blood form under them in spite of his pitiful efforts.
"No, I will never be whole again."
He looked down at the blood on his hands. A ruddy glow emanated from the walls of the cave as blood flowed down them, filled his cave, his home. It pooled around him and rose higher and higher as it filled the cavern.
He knew whose blood it was, as it threatened to drown him, he knew: All the victims, all the people killed in this war. Innocents. Cut down by his enemies, the enemies he could not, would not destroy. All the blood, all the lives ended because he could not do what was necessary… All his fault. He was sinking in it, drowning and he didn't fight back, he was tired of fighting. He lay back and let the blood cover him…
Then a child's voice whispered…"You have to keep trying!"
It was familiar, heard long ago, but it didn't matter now. He had tried, and he failed, he could not stop the war, he could not stop the blood from flowing.
The child's voice whispered again…"Promise me you won't give up!"
He had made promises before, promises he could no longer keep, impossible to keep. He sank deeper, only his hand remained above the surface of the lake of blood that filled the cave, his home, then it too began so sink as he gave in to his desolation, finally defeated by the war he could never win, he surrendered.
Then a small hand reached into the bloody lake and grasped his. It's tiny fingers were warm and strong as the small hand clenched his and pulled him out. Out of the blood, out of the darkness of the cave where he had lived for so long and into the light.
He was on his knees, in a forest, there was a small wound in his hand and it was bleeding. He looked up but it was too bright, he could not see the figure that pulled him out of his despair, it shined with the radiance of the sun…"Who are you?"
All he received in response was an echoing whisper in his mind that said…"You have a purpose…"
He looked down, at his hands, in one there was a scar in the center of his palm, small, white, from a long time ago, the first scar in the first battle of this futile war he endlessly fought.
Then the ground began to shudder and break apart. He was sinking, his legs below the surface of the ground felt nothing, an empty place was beneath him. He struggled and clawed at the dirt and dead leaves around him but they sank with him. Just before he submerged completely he heard that echoing whisper once more…"Make your own way…" Then he was falling again, falling, and he knew he would die when he finally hit bottom but that notion didn't frighten him…
End.
