Author's Notes: There is a ton of different stories about Batman. Many of the tales contradict each other as one would expect from over seventy years of comic book adventures. This story came about from trying to blend some of those stories together, what I like about the pre-crisis comics and the post crisis, along with some of my own ideas. It's hard to get information on a lot of the pre-crisis stuff. Some of the pre-crisis versions are just too silly. Some of it was too dependent on the idea of a multiverse. As a result some of the characters here are very much reinvented. Also, there will some OCs, most of them very minor characters.
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any other DC characters. DC Comics owns all rights. This is just a fun writing exercise.
If you're reading this then I am most likely dead. I probably have been for decades, possibly centuries. That is if I ever even existed. My name is Bruce Wayne. This is my story. This is how I became Batman. This is my journey to the cowl and the many adventures that followed…
Chapter One: Rise of the Bat
A giggling seven year old boy ran through the Wayne Manor. The boy wore a short sleeved shirt and shorts. The boy's hair was black. His eyes were blue. The boy carried a book with the label 'Diary' on it. The boy's name was Bruce Wayne.
"I'm going to get you!" a nine year old girl shouted running behind him. The girl was his cousin Kathy Kane. It was her diary he had. The Kane sisters, Katherine and Elizabeth were staying at the manor for the week while their parents Robert and Karen Kane were out of town. Kathy had long black hair and blue eyes. Her hair was pulled in a ponytail. She wearing a nice short sleeved blouse and a pleated skirt.
Her older sister fifteen year old Lizzie was a red head. Lizzie wore glasses. She was in a parlor sitting on a sofa with a book. Her clothing was very similar to her sister's though in different colors. Lizzie looked down at Bruce. She rolled her eyes. "If I were you I'd go to the attic. She would never look for you there."
"Thanks, Liz!" Bruce shouted.
Lizzie shook her head and went back to reading the book. Bruce ducked out of the room just before Kathy could reach it. He took off for the stairs. He ran up the steps with Kathy behind him. She had to stop on a stair landing to catch her breath. He didn't. Bruce kept running. He moved up the second flight of stairs then the third. He moved swiftly across the third floor until he reached a door that led to the attic.
Once up there in the attic, Bruce found an old beat up chair near an window and sat down to examine his prize. He opened a page randomly in the diary. He began to read aloud. "Dear Diary, I want be a Olympic gymnast someday. My gymnastics teacher says that might I actually have a chance.' Boring! This isn't anything I didn't already know!" Bruce tossed the diary over his shoulder. It smacked hard against the window. Bruce winced. Thankfully the window did not break. If it had, he knew full well that he would be in big trouble.
Bruce looked around the attic. He was seldom up here. There was, he noticed, a lot of junk. He opened up a box and found a photo album. At that moment Kathy came into the attic. "Alright," she said "Where is it?" "Where's what?" Bruce said innocently.
"My diary!" Kathy yelled. She yanked the album out of Bruce's hands. "What is this?" Kathy begin flipping through the album. "That's not you." She pointed at a picture. "Is that Thomas Jr.?"
Bruce nodded. Thomas Wayne Jr. was Bruce's little brother only two years younger. "Mom and Dad don't talk much about him. I don't remember him well."
Kathy looked sort of sad. "I do remember him. What happened to him was awful." Kathy was busy flipping through the album. Bruce saw his chance to get away. He moved toward the window. He grabbed the diary holding behind his back. He then ran past Kathy.
"Hey!" Kathy yelled. The chase was on again. They ran through the manor. They went down to the first floor. Bruce reached a door to go outside. He opened it and ran. Kathy caught him. She wrestled the diary away from him. Bruce escaped her grasp, albeit empty handed. He took off again laughing.
"Come back!" Kathy yelled, "Where do you think you're going? If you get lost Alfred and Martha will blame me!"
"I know!" Bruce yelled back, "Isn't that great!" He smiled. He knew the lands around the estate very well. The chances of actually getting lost were extremely slim. Now that his cousin had mentioned it though, he decided it was a great idea to make her worry. He kept running. He moved out of her line of sight. Suddenly he stopped as the ground began to sink. He fell through a hole in the ground. He hit the rocky ground hard.
Bruce looked around. It was dark. He couldn't see anything. There was only the sunlight coming from up above. He was, he realized, in one of the caves. Underneath the grounds of the Wayne Manor there were a bunch of caves. Bruce was not supposed to enter the caves. That was forbidden. His eyes adjusted a bit to the darkness. Something was screeching. Something was coming right at him. It was a bat! Bruce screamed.
Kathy stood by a back door in the Wayne Manor waiting for Bruce to come back. She turned the pages of diary making it certain it was still intact. When Bruce didn't come back in five minutes, she began to worry a little. Five minutes later, she walked into the large kitchen. The butler Alfred was there. He was a thin man with thick black hair and a thin mustache. He was in thirties. To Kathy's mind that thirty was ancient.
Alfred was standing by a stove stirring a cooking pot. "Miss Katherine," he said, "is there something I can help you with?"
Kathy walked up to nervously. "Um, Bruce went outside. He was running toward the back of the land. It's been ten minutes."
Alfred looked alarmed. "There's nothing of interest out there. Just the cliffs and… and the sea!"
Bruce screamed himself hoarse. The bats came at him. They didn't stay but the fear remained. He had no idea how long he had been down there. His arms were covered in scratches and bites. He a heard voice shouting his name. "Master Bruce! Where are you?" It was Alfred!
Bruce shouted again. "I'm down here! Help! Help!" He heard the sounds of multiple voices. He didn't know what they were saying. Bats came at him again and he screamed.
"Hang on, Master Bruce!" Alfred shouted, "We'll get a rope. We'll get you out!"
The boy cried. The next thing he knew a rope was thrown down. A gray haired man in a business suit minus the jacket was coming down with through the hole in the cave's ceiling. It was Bruce's father Thomas Wayne. "Hang on son," his dad said, "I got you."
His father picked him. Bruce muttered in fright, "Bats…lots of Bats." Bruce's father climbed out of the cave with Bruce.
Bruce's mother Martha Wayne nee Kane and his cousins Lizzie and Kathy were standing there on the grass waiting for them, so was Alfred. The danger was over but Bruce was still shaking. He was now terrified of bats.
A year later Bruce was eight. It was early in the evening. Bruce was in the master suite of the Wayne manor, his parents' bedroom. His mother was dressed in a long white dress with a red and white coat over it. Glued to the coat was a pair of plastic rainbow colored fairy wings. Martha's black hair was pinned up tight against her head. She put a long blond wig over her hair. The last touch was a domino shaped mask.
"Nah," Bruce said looking up at his mother, "I don't think you look like a fairy. You look like a super hero! Are you going to hang with Green Lantern and the Justice Society? You could call yourself the Rainbow Moth!"
Martha laughed. "There aren't anymore super heroes. There hasn't been since 1955."
"That's not the way the comics make it seem," Bruce said, "And what about Superboy? Isn't he a super hero? And he's near my age too!"
A loud chuckle behind Bruce caused him to turn around. His father was stepping out of the master suite's bathroom. Thomas Wayne was dressed in a black and grey costume with a black mask and wings. There were two points on the top of the mask.
Bruce's eyes widened. "You look like a Bat-man! Neat!"
Thomas pulled off the mask. He raised a brow. "I thought you were scared of bats?"
Bruce smiled widely. "You not a bat, Dad! You're a Bat-man! I wish I could wear a costume like that!"
Thomas stepped closer to his son. He ruffled the boy's hair. "Maybe I'll save the costume for you to wear when you're older."
"I bet you win Top Prize, Dad," Bruce said.
Three hours later, Thomas and Martha Wayne dressed in their costumes were standing a ballroom. It was a charity function, a masquerade. The theme was Flying Creatures. There was a band on a stage at one end of the room. People moved about in a wide variety of costumes and masks.
The music stopped. A man stood on stage in a tuxedo and an owl mask. The man stood in front of a mike. "And now to announce the winners!" the man shouted, "The first prize goes to the man in the bat costume! Come on up!"
Thomas moved his way through the crowd. He walked up the steps of the stage. A little trophy was handed to Thomas. He took off the mask. A minute later, he walked back off the stage with the trophy in one hand and the mask in the other.
"Bruce was right, Darling," Martha said, "You did win Top Prize."
Thomas held up the trophy. He grinned. "This'll impress Bruce much more than me." He handed the trophy to Martha. He readjusted the mask back on to his face.
Gun shots pierced the air. Gasps and shouts came from the crowd. People begin move nervously. Some of the women and a few men fainted. Coming through the main door of the ballroom were men in suits and fedoras. They were gangsters.
Martha griped the trophy tightly with one hand. With the other hand she grabbed one of her husband's hands. "Oh Thomas," she said with more than a little bit of fear in her voice.
Thomas squeezed his wife's hand. "Just stay calm dear."
A heavyset man in his early twenties with brown hair and a cigar in his mouth appeared to be the leader of the gangsters. "I'm Johnny Moxon," he said, "I'll ask you kindly to not make any sudden moves. My boys as you've already seen can get rather trigger happy." Johnny Moxon and two other men walked through the crowd with guns in hand. With almost everyone else in the room dressed in fancy costumes, the gangsters stood out sharply.
"Is there doctor here?" Moxon asked.
"He's a doctor!" an old lady said pointing at Thomas.
Moxon moved near Thomas. He lifted mask off of Thomas's face. "Yeah, I recognize you. You're Dr. Wayne. You inherited that big company five years ago. You're in the papers a lot. What I don't know, is if you're a real doctor with a medical degree and everything."
"I am a licensed physician," Thomas said.
"You are? Good!" There was a savage grin on Moxon's face as he said, "You better not be lying to me, an' turn to have a degree in math or something. That be a real good way to get shot." Moxon pointed his gun at Thomas. "You're coming with me."
Moxon forced Thomas to walk out of the ballroom. Thomas was escorted to a car. He was wedged in the backseat between two tough looking thugs. The car moved down the grim, dark streets of Gotham. The car was driven to a warehouse near the Gotham Harbor. At gunpoint Thomas was forced out of the car and into the warehouse.
On a pile of blankets on the floor was a man who was bleeding greatly. It was a man who looked like a middle aged version of Johnny Moxon. His eyes were alert. This was man was staring up angrily.
"My uncle Lew Moxon," Johnny Moxon said, "He's suffering from a gunshot wound. You're going to perform surgery on him. You going to save him."
Thomas looked around the warehouse. Besides the wounded man there were only three others. Thomas knew he was going to get killed even if he managed to perform the surgery. He didn't even have the proper tools. There was no way he could do this! Thomas made a show of kneeling down and examining the wound. "It's not too serious," Thomas said, "Not if he gets treatment in time."
"I already figured that," Lew Moxon said speaking up for the first time. Lew Moxon winced in pain. He pointed at Thomas's costume. "Say what kind of doc are you in that getup?"
"One who just came from a costume party," Thomas answered.
Lex Moxon smirked. "Good answer!"
The other three gangsters were standing close by. They visibly relaxed. Thomas stood up fast, seizing the moment. He knocked the three standing gangsters out with a few quick unexpected blows.
Lew Moxon glared up at Thomas. "Why you-!" Lew drew out a small hand gun from a pocket. Before the senior Moxon could fire it, Thomas kicked the gun out of his hand. Thomas made certain that the guns were out of the injured gangster's reach. He tied up Lew and the other three gangtsters. He then walked out of the warehouse. He found the nearest payphone.
A short while later police cars and an ambulance were there in front of the warehouse. A young red haired police officer in a blue uniform was smiling as he talked to Thomas. "It's not everyday that a man in a costume saves the day," he said.
"Well, I won't be making a habit of it, Officer Gordon," Thomas said, "You can be sure of that."
Lew Moxon was carried away on a stretcher. He was tied to the stretcher. He was struggling fiercely. He was yelling at Thomas. "This isn't over, Wayne! You going to pay! I'll make certain that your entire family is dead!"
Two year later, Thomas and Martha Wayne walked out of the Monarch Movie Theater with their son the ten year old son Bruce. They walked down a street known as Park Row. Thomas wore a business suit and a coat. Martha wore a nice dress, a fur wrap, and a strand of pearls.
Bruce was jumping up and down with excitement. "Did you see how he moved with that sword? It was amazing!" Bruce shouted. He moved his right arm through the air as if he were wielding a blade.
Thomas and Martha both laughed. The laughter stopped when a man came toward them with a gun. He was a thug. There was not much that remarkable about him. His face was average. His one standout feature was not even a feature. The man wore an blue cap. "Hand over your money," the man said. He grabbed at the pearls around Martha's neck. The necklace broke sending pearls flying everywhere. The man fired the gun shooting both Thomas and Martha dead. The man ran away. The image of the man's face was burned into Bruce's memory.
The bodies of Thomas and Martha were on the ground. Bruce fell to his knees in shock. Tears streamed down his face. Everything after that was a blur for Bruce. When the cops arrived he barely even relised they were there. One of the cops was James Gordon.
Within the hour, Bruce was being checked out at a clinc by a Doctor named Leslie Thompkins. The doctor was a kind woman with white blond hair. Bruce sat on the examining table looking almost catatonic. The police officer James Gordon stood nearby shaking his head.
"It's a horrible thing, a terrible tragedy," Gordon said, "I've got a baby girl at home, Barbara. She's only two. If something were to happen to me and my wife, I can't imagine what might become of her." Gordon looked at Doctor Thompkins. "I met Thomas Wayne once, two years ago. He stopped some gangsters by accident, all while wearing a Halloween costume." Gordon shook his head again. "And now this happens. Does the boy even have family nearby that he can go to?"
Doctor Thompkins nodded. "Yes, his uncle, Philip Wayne lives in Gotham County. I used to know the family quite well. Back when we were children, I used to go to school with Philip and his wife Eleanor."
"Quit talking as if I'm not here!" Bruce yelled, "My parents aren't dead! They can't be! They can't!" He burst into tears. The doctor hugged Bruce and comforted him.
Three days later a funeral was held in the Wayne Family cemetery near the back of the family's estates. Many people were there. Bruce didn't care. All he could do was stare as the coffins containing his parents' bodies were lowered into the ground. The sky was overcast. It began to rain. Alfred was at Bruce's side. Alfred opened up an umbrella and held it over Bruce.
Bruce glared at a man who looked very similar to his father. This man had a thick mustache and dark brown hair. This man was five younger than Bruce's father. This man was almost a stranger to Bruce. This man was Philip Wayne. Standing beside Philip was a woman with short blond hair, a woman who was visibly pregnant. She was Eleanor Wayne, Philip's wife. Bruce didn't want to go live with his uncle. He was not given a choice. Alfred would paid to continue to take of the Wayne Family Manor making certain that didn't it fall into disrepair but he would not be allowed to looked after Bruce. To the ten year old, Alfred was the only family besides his parents that he wanted; but Alfred was not related, not by blood or by law.
Bruce stared at the coffins as they were covered with dirt. He swore then that he was going to make certain that others didn't suffer as he did. If it was in his power no one in Gotham City would loose their parents the way he did. If only he had been strong enough or skilled enough maybe his parents wouldn't have been killed.
Hours later, an expensive Cadillac drove up to a large two story house in a upper class suburban neighborhood. The driver was Phillip Wayne. In the first passenger seat was his wife Eleanor. In the backseat behind Eleanor was the ten-year old Bruce.
"We're home," Philip said.
"This will never home," Bruce said, "Only Wayne Manor is home." Bruce crossed his arms and stubbornly refused to get out of the car. Phillip had to drag him out.
"Bruce, whether you like it or not," Philip said, "this is your home for the next seven to eight years."
"No, it's not!" Bruce shouted. He swore in his mind then that he would move out of this place before he was eighteen, before he was sixteen if he could help it.
The years passed. Many times Bruce would run away from his Uncle's home. There were only two places he ever ran to, the Wayne Manor and Leslie Thompkin's clinic. If he was found at the Wayne Manor he was very often found in the library. Bruce's grades in school were so good that he was skipped up several grades. At the age of fourteen he was ready to graduate from high school. With his uncle's grudging approval he made plans to go to a college in New York.
At a kitchen table one summer morning the teenage Bruce got in an argument with his uncle. As it happened far too often, Philip was the one was doing all the yelling. "Why can't you act like a normal teen for goodness sake!" Philip shouted. Philip was in pajamas with a bathrobe. He had a newspaper in his hands which he slammed down on the table.
Bruce was dressed for the warm weather in casual but expensive clothing. He checked the watch on his left wrist. "I've never been normal," Bruce said, "Not in the four years I've been under your roof."
Philip groaned. "Don't remind me."
Standing in the front of the stove in the large kitchen was a middle aged woman with her grey hair pinned up in up a bun. She wore an apron over practical old fashioned clothing. She was Alice Chilton. She was the housekeeper. She was Bruce's second favorite person at his uncle's house. Mrs. Chilton was flipping pancakes in a skillet. She severed up the pancakes and brought them to the table.
"Thank you, Mrs. Chilton," Bruce said, smiling warmly.
Philip scowled at Bruce. "You can be civil to her, but not to me?"
Bruce's face was void of emotion as he said, "I'm never anything except civil."
"You're never any nicer to me than you have to be," Philip said, "I might as well be a stranger, the way you act around me! I've tried to be a good father figure. I have!"
That, in Bruce's opinion, was precisely the point. He didn't need another father. His thoughts were quickly interrupted.
Philip's daughter the three year old Helena Wayne walked into the room. She was Bruce's favorite person in the household. Though she was sometimes annoying, she was also very sweet and very loving. She was a cute little thing with black hair and blue eyes. She was currently wearing footed pajamas. Her hair was up in pigtails. When they were out in public she was often mistaken for Bruce's little sister. Bruce never minded that. Philip and Bruce were sometimes mistaken for father and son; that Bruce minded immensely. Philip was never mean to Bruce. He was never bad but Philip was not Bruce's father; and Bruce never wanted anyone to think otherwise.
Helena ran forward toward Bruce hugging his legs. "Kathy's here!" she shouted cheerfully. Walking behind the little girl was the sixteen year old Kathy Kane.
Bruce turned to look at his older cousin. She was slightly taller than him. She was a beautiful young woman, a fact Bruce knew from the way that even grown men in their thirties stared at her. She was way too much like a sister for him to think of her in a romantic sort of way. They had attended the same private school, the one she would still be attending next fall. Kathy had long wavy black hair which was worn loose. She was dressed causally in jeans and a t-shirt. She smiled at him and said, "You ready to go the circus today?"
"The circus?" Helena asked. She looked up excitedly. "Will there be Elephanies? "That's Elephants" Bruce corrected.
Philip raised his brows. "The circus? Is that where you're going today? Didn't you go yesterday?"
"I don't know Mr. Wayne," Kathy said, smirking, "Bruce here, might just decide to join the Circus."
Bruce snorted. "That's your dream Kat, not mine." "So what is your dream?" Kathy asked, "To flirt with a certain teenage acrobat?"
"For the last time Kat," Bruce said calmly, "I do not have a crush on Mary Trace."
Philip groaned again. "Just get going Bruce, wherever it is you're going. I don't care what you do. You've made it plenty clear that you don't want me to. I really don't need to deal with your brooding today."
Kathy had a car, a yellow convertible. She had just gotten a month ago, a gift from her father after she got her driver's license. It was this car they used to get to the circus. Kathy parked the car in an empty field near the tents. There were trailers. There were animals being moved about. There was a buzz of activey. The circus would be in town for the next few days. There were nightly shows. There were none in the mornings. The cousins had not come to see a show. Kathy glanced at Bruce who sitting the passenger seat. She knew why she was here but she didn't really know why he was. There were times when she didn't understand him at all. He was so serious. He was so dedicated to his studies. He was just so intense.
"Ready to go hang out with your new girlfriend?" Kathy said. If she teased her cousin much, it was with good intent. She wanted him to lighten up. He didn't smile enough anymore.
Bruce just rolled his eyes. "She's not my girlfriend." Kathy smiled at him. "I bet you wish she was!"
They got out of the car. They moved through the crowd of circus workers. Kathy loved it. She loved being around the circus. She loved watching the things that went on behind the scenes, all the stuff that had to be done to get ready for a show. Kathy and Bruce walked in the big tent. There was a net set up. Up high two acrobats moved through the air. Both were dark haired. One was the sixteen year old Mary Trace. The other was John Grayson. Their clothing was tight fitting but plain. It was practice outfits. The fancy costumes wouldn't be worn until later in the day when it was near time for the show to start.
Kathy loved watching acrobats move. She had trained in gymnastics ever since she was five. It no longer seemed enough. She wanted to be an acrobat. That was not possible as she lived under her parents roof. For now, she would have to content herself with watching others perform the stunts she longed to do.
A woman standing nearby smiled so widely she positively beamed. She appeared to be in her thirties. She was overweight. She was dressed in a plain looking dress. Her light brown hair was cut short in a somewhat out of date hair style. There were round glassed perched on her nose. There was something respectable and old-fashioned about her. She did not seem to belong at a circus. "That's my baby brother up there," she said pointing at John. "I don't often get to see him seeing as I live in Bludhaven and him being on the road so much."
"He's your brother?" Kathy asked, "I thought his entire family was in the circus."
"Oh they are," the woman said, "Most of them. All the Graysons are acrobats. It might be hard to believe now, but I used be able to do things like that. I left the circus many years ago. I'm Harriet Cooper. I used to be Harriet Grayson. You can call me Mrs. Cooper."
"You left?" Kathy said in disbelief, "Why would you ever want to do that. It must be the greatest feeling in the world to up in the air like that! "
Mrs. Cooper looked at Kathy kindly. "Many things are better, my dear. Things like love and marriage. I left to be with my Henry. I never regretted it." Mrs. Cooper turned her attention back on the teeange acrobats. She sighed softly. "They make such a great pair, don't they? I can just it now. They could call themselves, The Flying Graysons. That name hasn't been used since Dad died. It'll be so great to have more Grayson acrobats."
"Grayson?" Kathy's brows went up. "Mary's last name isn't Grayson. It's Trace."
"It may not be Grayson yet," Mrs. Cooper said, "but it will be. Anyone with half a mind can that they were meant to be together. They may not see it yet but it doesn't make it any less true. They'll make such a great couple. They already work so well together. Of course they'll train their children too."
"Their children!" Kathy said.
Mrs. Cooper nodded. "The cirrus is not the best life to raise children in but my brother John, my half brother really, has too much of the Rom in him. Unlike me who only has that heritage on the father's side, he has it on his mother's side too. Asking him to give traveling and the road, is like asking a bird to give up flying or a fish to give up swimming."
Kathy was puzzled. "Rom? What's that?"
"Romany," Bruce said sounding irritated, "The Rom are the Gypsies."
"That's right young man," Mrs. Cooper said, looking pleasantly surprised. "You are very smart. There are not many young folk your age who would know that."
As soon as Mrs. Cooper turned her back away, Bruce shot her one of his fiercer scowls. Kathy wondered why he was so upset. Was it because Mrs. Cooper was such an annoying busybody? Or maybe Kathy's earlier teasing was actually right. Maybe he did have a crush on Mary Trace.
Kathy ran out to the car. She grabbed her Polaroid camera out of the glove box. When she came back to the tent. Mary Trace was back on the ground standing near Bruce.
"Are you going you to take our picture?" Mary asked.
Kathy shrugged. The annoyance on her cousin's face caused her to make up her mind. "Sure, why not?"
Mary and Bruce smiled for the camera. Kathy pressed the button. The light flashed. A few seconds later Kathy was looking at the photograph. There was something off about it. One wouldn't know it unless one knew Bruce well. Bruce's smile was fake. The emotions were anything but sincere.
Bruce walked off with Mary. Kathy moved around the circus looking at various activities and talking with people about the circus life. She snapped pictures every chance she got. If she couldn't run away with the circus then she was at least going to have pictures to look at and daydream about. If she had thought she could get away with it she would tape the pictures all over her bedroom walls. She knew better. Her parents would have a fit if she tried.
Hours later, in the afternoon, Kathy was driving away from the circus. Sitting in the passenger seat, Bruce asked, "Can we go to the Wayne Manor?" "You want to visit Alfred, huh?" Kathy said, "Does Philip know?"
"He does not," Bruce said, "You know he wouldn't approve."
Both Kathy and Bruce knew that Philip Wayne didn't want Bruce running off to the manor. He used to run there all the time. He had been a very clever little boy. The different ways he found to get from one side of the city to the other were downright amazing. He had been a regular little escape artist. It was especially miraculous when one thought about how dangerous a city Gotham was. It had been a long time though since Philip had put a serious effort at stopping him. Alfred always sent Bruce back. Over the years they had worked out a visitation schedule in order to stop those dangerous trips. It was weekend visits mostly, about once or twice a month. Bruce was not supposed to go to the manor at other times, like now.
"Uncle Philip doesn't have to know," Bruce said, "Let him think we spent the afternoon at the circus as well."
Kathy shook her head. "The whole afternoon? Not a chance, Bruce! I'm not staying at the Wayne Manor that long. I'll drop you off there for an hour. I've got other things to do. If you're not out front after that then it's your problem not mine. You can explain to Philip why Alfred's escorting you home in a limo again."
As Kathy's convertible pulled away, Bruce stood on the front steps of the Wayne Manor. If Alfred didn't answer the door he was either to have a find to away to sneak or he was going to have to wait outside for the next hour. Bruce's inheritance would not be accessible until he was twenty one. All of his pocket money from his trust fund, was going into savings. Savings that he planned to use in the next few years. He couldn't afford to take a cab. The other options he could think of were too questionable. When he thought about all the crazy stunts pulled when he was ten, eleven and twelve, the fourteen year old wanted to cringe.
It was not every twelve year old that accidentally encountered Solomon Grundy. If the semi-retired Green Lantern hadn't shown up, then Bruce wouldn't be even alive. He had known that other people could die, his parents had. He had not been that aware of his own mortality until that moment. That and a few other incidents had made him a bit more practical minded and a lot more cautious.
Bruce stood patiently on the steps. He rung the door bell again. The door opened. Alfred was there. Only the slight widening of the man's eyes gave any hint that he was surprised. "Master Bruce," Alfred said, "What brings you here this afternoon?" Alfred moved aside allowing Bruce to step into the manor.
Bruce smiled slightly. "What makes you think there's a reason?"
Alfred shut the door. He stared at Bruce. He raised a brow. "Master Bruce, with you there is always a reason."
"I just wanted to see you," Bruce said, "I want to be around you as much as I can. I won't be seeing you much for the next few years."
"Why is that?" Alfred asked.
"I'm not just going away to college," Bruce said, "I'm not going to be back in Gotham much for the next several years."
"Really, Master Bruce?" There was a certain expression on Alfred's face, a certain tone to his voice that hinted that at his disbelief.
The manor entrance hall was spotless. There was furniture yet the manor was somehow vacant feeling. There were chairs and tables covered in white sheets. As Alfred and Bruce walked side by side further into the manor, the teenager told the older man about his plans. He had told Alfred some of the stuff before but not all of it. Alfred was the one person Bruce trusted most. He was one of the few people besides Bruce's parents that the young man had ever greatly confided in. Alfred had never betrayed that trust.
A few months later, in an large apartment in Manhattan, Bruce and the housekeeper Mrs. Chilton were unloading boxes and suitcases. Part of the agreement Bruce made with his uncle was that the housekeeper came with him when he went off to college. This meant an off campus apartment instead of the dorms. Bruce understood what Uncle Philip was up to. Bruce's uncle did not trust a fourteen boy to be set loose on his own in a city. In a very real sense, Bruce was still not out from under his uncle's control. As much as he liked Mrs. Chilton and thought she was nice, he could not help but think of her as his uncle's spy.
The middle aged housekeeper came through the living room with a large box in her hands. It looked heavy. "Would you be a dear and please help me?" she asked.
Bruce rushed to her aid. He took the box from her. "Where do you want this Mrs. Chilton?" he asked.
"The kitchen," she said, "Isn't it nice to be moving to a new a place?"
"Very," Bruce said, sarcastically. It would have been nicer if he was as independent as he wanted to be. He had a plan for that.
Mrs. Chilton scolded him. "Now, now, don't be rude. I know you would rather be on your own. At your age it's remarkable to even have this much freedom."
That, Bruce had to admit was true. He planned though to have a lot more freedom in the next year.
One week later, the fourteen year old Bruce Wayne walked into a gym. There was a man who looked middle aged. He in was a boxing ring sparing with a much younger man.
As the middle aged man stepped down from the ring he wiped sweat from his brow with a towel. Bruce walked right to him. "Are you Ted Grant?" Bruce said.
"Who wants to know?" Ted asked.
"I do," Bruce said, "I know that you used to a vigilante know as Wildcat. I know that you were a member of the Justice Society of America." As Ted's eyes widened, Bruce pressed on, "It's in the public records. It has been since 1955. It was fairly easy to find out. But that's not why I am here. You're one of the best at training in boxing. I want you to teach me."
Ted Grant chuckled. "Kid, what are you, twelve? Where are your parents?"
Bruce looked at Ted coldly. "They're dead."
Ted apologized. "I'm sorry kid. I didn't know."
Bruce continued to give Ted a cold look. "Don't be. You had nothing to do with it. It happened years ago when I was ten."
"That was what?" Ted asked, "Two years ago?"
"Four years. I'm fourteen not twelve." Bruce crossed his arms. "I'm not some little kid. I'm a college student." What was Ted Grant? Some kind of idiot? Bruce was not short. He never had been. There was no way he could be mistaken for twelve.
Ted started laughing again. This only confirmed Bruce's opinion. Ted Grant was not the brightest man in the world. Intelligent or not, he was supposed to be a very good fighter. That was why Bruce was here. Bruce barely kept himself from scowling at the retired Wildcat.
Ted was now shaking with laughter. "That's a good one, kid. You had me going for a minute. Tell another me another one!"
"This is not a joke. I did not come here to be patronized," Bruce said, "You will train me."
Ted raised a brow. He was smirking as he said, "You wanna bet?"
A few weeks later in a dingy shady looking bar, a man in a worn out tuxedo sat with a beer filled mug in hand. A ruined top hat sat on the man's head. The man was old and tired. He had been many things during the course of his life. At the moment he was drunk. His name was Giovanni 'John' Zatara. He stared into the mug remembering happier times. He wasn't even certain as to why he was in New York. He really didn't care.
The bartender yelled at someone, "Hey, you can't come in here!"
Zartara didn't even bother to look until that Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Zatara turned his head.
The one tapping him on the shoulder was a dark haired youth. "You're Zatara!"
"You look kind of familiar," Zatara said, "Have we met?"
The youth nodded. "A few times before." He smiled slightly. "You knew my parents Thomas and Martha Wayne. I'm Bruce."
Zatara just stared at the boy. Bruce went on speaking. "You're an escape artist. You're an expert at sleight of hand. You're one of the greatest!"
"You mean he used to be," the bartender said, "Now get out of here! You trying to get this joint in trouble?"
"I do not think this establishment could sink much lower," Bruce said.
"You're underage kid! Now scram!" the bartender shouted.
Bruce glared the bartender. His expression was more kind as he looked at Zatara. "Please sir, will you teach me?"
The bartender shook his head. "That'll never happen!"
"The man's right," Zatara said, "I'm a has-been. I'm, how do you say it? All washed up!"
"Please teach me," Bruce said, "Please."
"You're stubborn. That's a commendable trait." Zatara lifted his mug. He drained the last of beer. As he put the mug back down, he said, "Alright, I'll see if I can teach you something. We will find just how much of the old skills I still have."
Bruce trained in boxing with Ted Grant during some evenings. On other nights Bruce trained with Zatara. During the day, Bruce went to college, declaring a major in business and studying a unusual set of electives. He had no intention of graduating from the University. He was merely biding his time. When he was fifteen he had filed a petition through the family court. He went before a judge and was declared a legally emancipated minor. This gave him some control over his trust fund but he still could not get the rest of inheritance until he was twenty one.
Bruce immediately quit he University. He began traveling the world. He started by attending a semester at Cambridge University in England, then the Sorbonne in France. While he was in France he also studied under the famous French man hunter Henri Ducard. Bruce would attend multiple schools across Europe all while picking up other useful skills as well. He was seldom at any one school for long. During those college yeas he would return to Gotham City once or twice a year. This would eventually change. By the time he was seventeen, he was beginning to get tired of Europe and the schools.
At the age of eighteen Bruce traveled to Asia. He would a spend lot of time there. He would trained by Kirigi and later others including an assassin named David Cain.
Bruce would return to Gotham City for the first time in many years, when he was twenty five. It was winter. Bruce stepped out of a car in the front driveway of the manor. He was dressed warmly in a coat and gloves. He looked up at the manor. "I'm home. I'm finally home," he said.
In the manor a few minutes later, Alfred was there. He was much older looking than when Bruce was a kid. Aflred's hair was thinning. What hair there was, was on the sides of Alfred's head and turning gray. "Welcome back, Master Bruce," Aflred said as he took Bruce's coat.
"It's been so long," Bruce said, "It's been years. It's good to see you Alfred. I'm going to have to call Kathy soon."
"That I'm afraid will not be possible," Alfred said, "I believe that Miss Katherine is traveling with a circus."
Bruce laughed. "I'm not surprised. She always said since she was fifteen that she wanted to join one."
Alfred raised a brow. "If you had not lost communication over the years, you would have known. I believe you will find a stack of letters up in your father's study."
"What do they say?" Bruce asked.
Alfred raised both of his brows. "I would not presume to read your mail sir. All I know is the letters are from Miss Katherine. She, unlike you sir, can mangae to write while traveling. There's a smaller stack as well from Miss Helena."
Bruce smiled. "I haven't seen Helena since she was little. I can't be belive she still cares enough to write."
"I believe," Aflred said, "That she saw you as an older brother."
Bruce nodded. "I'll have to swing by Uncle Philip's place."
Alfred's face suddenly became grim. "You don't know Master Bruce, do you?"
"What?" Bruce asked cautiously. The way Alfred was acting, Bruce had the feeling he was about to receive bad news.
Alfred tilted his head down. "Your uncle, his wife, and their oldest daughter Susannah, were murdered six years ago. You were complety out of comuncation. No one has been able to get in touch with you for years."
Bruce felt numb. He could hardly speak. "Helena? What of Helena?"
"I believe," Alfred said, "that she was sent to live with her mother's relatives in Italy."
In a parlor hours later that same day, Bruce was sitting in armchair near a fireplace. He had a newpaper in in his hands. It was getting dark outside. Alfred walked into the room with a cup of coffee. In the fireplace a fire roared. Bruce stared at the flickering flames. Alfred sat the cup down on a small table beside the armchair.
Bruce took the cup and began to sip. "I've traveled all around the world, Alfred. There's so many things I've seen and done. Yet, it's never enough. What happened to my parents. What happened to my aunt and uncle, Helena's parents, and to Susan…"
"You cannot stop all the tragedies of the world," Alfred said. There were more newspapers in the room besides the one Bruce was reading. There was a pile of them on the floor, newspapers from all over the country, from Gateway City, Coast City and others. Alfred bent over. He began picking them up. "You cannot save everyone, Master Bruce."
"No, Alfred," Bruce said, "I can't. But I can save some." As Alfred straightened up with the newspapers in his hands, Bruce pointed at the front of the newspaper he was still reading. It was the Daily Planet from Metropolis. The headline read, 'WHO IS SUPERMAN?' There was an blurred image of a black haired man in a red and blue costume with the letter S stylized on his chest.
"A superhero sir?" Alfred asked.
"A vigilante," Bruce said, "I can't work openly. A disastrous encounter with the FBI when I was twenty taught me that. There were men in the 1940's who wore masks and costumes. There were teams including the Justice Society which operated right here in Gotham. I've got skills that are just as good as those mystery men, better than some of them."
Bruce handed the newspaper to Alfred. Bruce placed the coffee cup back down on the little table. "Don't look so disapproving Alfred. There are things the police can't handle. Some of the Green Lantern's old rogues gallery are still occasionally active in this city. You know that. I have the strangest feeling things are only going to get worse. That others will show up. That I'm going to be needed. If I'm going to do this though, I'm going to need a symbol, something that will strike fear into the hearts of the criminals."
"What would that be, sir?" Alfred asked.
"I don't know," Bruce said. Bruce continued to stare into the flames even as Alfred walked away. It was begining to rain outside. There was a window near the chair. The sky was lit up by lightning. Bruce was muttering to himself, thinking aloud, trying to figure things out. "It must be something black…something frightening…something terrible…"
The lighting flashed extremely bright. Without warning something hit the window. The glass broke. A bat flew through the window then fell dead on the floor. Bruce stood up startled. He gazed down at the bat. "That's it! A Bat! It's a like omen…a sign… I shall become a bat!" Bruce shouted.
Alfred ran into the room. "Master Bruce, sir! Are you alright?"
"I'm fine Alfred," Bruce said excitedly, "I just figured out my symbol. It's a bat! Now I have to figure a costume design."
Alfred raised a brow. "I believe Master Bruce that I might be able to help with that, if you will follow me."
Bruce and Alfred moved through the manor, to the master suite. "My parents' room?"
"It has not been touched much over the years," Alfred said. He guided Bruce to his father's walk-in closet. There were old suits and outdated clothes. There was a strong smell of moth balls in the air. Alfred pulled something out of a drawer. It was black and gray. "This was your father's," Alfred said, "He designed himself."
Bruce's eyes widened. "I remember that Alfred. It was for some costume party. I remember seeing it when I was little."
"More than a party happened that night," Alfred said, "Your father got into a bit of accidental crime fighting while wearing this costume."
Bruce's jaw dropped. "He did?"
Alfred nodded. "It seems almost as if this is fate."
A few minutes later Bruce was standing in front of a mirror in his father's old masquerade costume with the black wings and mask. It was too loose in some places and too tight others. "I am Batman!" Bruce shouted. He shook his head. "No, this isn't quite right, but we're on the right track." Bruce removed the mask and the wings.
A few minutes after that, Bruce was in another section of the manor, his father's study. He sat at the desk still dressed in the gray of his father's costume, minus the black mask and wings. He had a sketch pad on the desk. He moved a number two pencil across the page. He then got out coloring pencils. After a few minutes he stopped. He put the pencils down. He picked up a picture that was on the desk. It was a picture of his parents.
"Thank you Father," Bruce said as he fingered the picture frame, "Wherever are you, if you can, I know you are watching out for me."
Bruce stared at the open page in the sketchbook. The image was a costume design heavily inspired by the one he was wearing. The major changes included a cape and a cowl instead of the mask and wings. On the center of the chest was a yellow oval shape with a bat in the center. "This is the costume design I will wear as Batman!"