No.
It was the only thought he had as his legs gave out underneath him.
Not like this. Not after coming this far. Please. Just let me get back to Gotham. Let me save my city. That's all I want. I'll go peacefully. I'll let it happen. I'll live if that'll make you happy. Just not here. Not now. Please.
His legs ached beyond belief. His throat was dry in a way that he had never known before. The next village was anywhere for all he knew. But he couldn't get to it. He was done. He had climbed from that hole with what supplies he could muster and had gone through them. Days of walking. Days of knowing that the bomb was going to detonate soon. That he might be too late. Far too late. But he had to try. Try harder than he had before.
He threw one arm out after the other. Crawling as fast as he could. Pulling himself along the searing, scratching sand. Feeling his skin peel away from him as he did so. He kept going. Don't give up. Don't surrender. Go. Go. Go. Goddamn you, go.
But finally after three hours of this. He let it go. He put his head down and let the life leave him.
The water was his mother's kiss.
He gasped and looked up. His savior was standing with his back to the sun. Bruce was blinded. The canteen was given to him and he drank long and hard. His stomach knotted up from the effort of it.
Finally, the man knelt beside him. Bruce felt the tears come, hot and burning onto his cheeks. He pulled himself into Alfred's arms and wept long and hard. Wept like the first day he had been born. Alfred said nothing but put his arms around his son. He felt so thin and small under his hands.
Bruce pulled out of his embrace and looked at him.
"You still haven't give up on me?" he asked.
"Never," Alfred said.
He led him to the jeep. From there the plane and from there...
Gotham.