A/N: So little bit about this. My husband gave me a prompt of just "write about an ice cave that's not an ice cave." And that's it. It turned into this and this is just writing practice because I've never written anything close to Batman fanfiction. So constructive criticism welcome!
Bruce entered the through double doors probably ten times his size, leading into the enormous marble-stoned foyer. It was lit by the moonlight spilling in and revealing the elegant staircase across the grand hall. The wind from the snow storm slammed the door shut behind him. He jumped and continued, rubbing the goosebumps off his arm.
He took light steps into the manor. Atop the staircase hung a sizeable portrait of the family that used to live here. A man who looked wise beyond his years, handsome and caring. Next to him stood a woman with a graceful smile, loving and kind. And in front of them stood a happier boy with all the love of his parents.
He looked around and everything seemed just as he remembered, but it wasn't. It didn't feel like home anymore. The manor held no warmth - the entire place was tinted with icy blue hue from high ceiling to stone floor.
The gusts howled outside mimicking a man in muffled agony.
He trekked past the staircase and opened the door into his late father's study. Books and books lined the walls and a mahogany wooden desk stood in the middle with a plush velvet wooden chair to match. Off to the side, he spotted a fireplace, but he never knew how to light it. He tried for the light and it came on with a flicker
He picked up the leather-bound book on the desk and flipped it open. He could see his father's handwriting – it was a journal with a list of patients he managed to save and his appreciation for his ability to save lives. The last one dated on the morning of the play.
The pages were suddenly wet with drops. Bringing a hand to face he realized he began to cry.
"Master Bruce?" He heard running from the entrance.
"Alfred…" He whispered. The loyal butler caught him by surprise, gathering Bruce in a relieved embrace as he turned towards the door. His arms hung at his sides and dropped the book.
"You mustn't run off like that, Master Bruce. It's bloody reckless for you to run off in a storm like this." Alfred Pennyworth began to scold him, wrapping a blanket around Bruce. He must've seen something on his face for it to immediately soften the way it did.
"It's cold in here, Alfred." Streams of tears began to freefall down his face. "It's like an ice cave without being an ice cave."
"it will get better, sir." he consoled. Alfred carried the boy, blanket and all, as he began to sob and made for the entrance. "We'll make it your own just yet."