Bruce Wayne: Boy Wonder
The pistol felt cold against the palms of his bare hands, but the sight of it brought warm hope in a disturbing light. This wasn't the first time Bruce sat on the king sized bed of his parents' bedroom and held this gun. Even after the years of mental discipline and training, he was still unable to ward off the guilt that had haunted his mind like a pale mist for six years. He was only fifteen years old now, but he felt like an old man. His body was constantly tired, and he didn't know how much longer he could go on. He hadn't had a meeting with his psychologist Dr. Strange in over a year, but he knew that to give in and ask for help would only defeat the purpose of the mental practices he had learned from the monks of Tibet. But then again, suicide wouldn't be much help either.
"Bruce?" an old yet familiar voice came quietly from the bedroom door behind him.
"Tommy?" Bruce replied, knowing who was at the door before having to look. Quickly, he tucked the pistol under the sheets of the bed and stood, smiling wide as he saw the face of his childhood friend. He and Tommy met in a hug, clapping each other on the back. Bruce hadn't seen Tommy in six years since before he left Gotham. His blond hair had grown out, as Tommy had always gone for the casual look despite being born into one of Gotham's wealthiest families. Besides his being taller and more muscular, Tommy seemed like the same kid Bruce used to play Stratego with in the foyer of Wayne Manor when they were still little kids.
"Hey, buddy! Alfred let me in. I heard you were back in Gotham!" Tommy exclaimed smiling.
"Yeah, but only temporarily, I'm afraid. I'm meeting with Lex Luthor and Oliver Queen this week at a charity event." Of course this was only an excuse for Bruce's visit. He had other plans in the narrows of Gotham before returning to Europe, but he needed an alibi so as to remain unsuspected.
"Even as a teenager you're taking care of boring business nonsense!" Tommy laughed.
"Well apparently I'm not the only one! What's this about you getting a scholarship to medical school?"
"What can I say? My father left quite a reputation, and Leslie made a few recommendations as well." There was a silence between the two. Bruce pondered how these two boys were already living as adults because of the families they were born into. "You know, I still don't get how you have time for all of these educational vacations around the world," Tommy finally stated. "But then again, you did inherit all of Wayne Enterprises and you're parents' cash." Bruce's smile twitched in confusion. Was that jealousy he could hear in Tommy's voice? "I guess Chill did you a favor, killing off you're folks and all."
In an instant, Bruce had Tommy pinned against the wall, his bicep pressed hard against Tommy's Adam's apple. "Don't you dare say that what Joe Chill did was a blessing! I would give anything to change what happened those six years ago! I'd do anything to let it have been me who died instead of them!" Bruce yelled. Tommy could only emit pained choking sounds. Catching his breath, Bruce slowly let Tommy down, realizing what he had done.
"Jesus, Bruce! You nearly broke my neck!"
"I'm so sorry, Tommy, I didn't mean to! I just…"
"You know, you sure take everything for granted! Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position? To pretty much own Gotham City? Even the mayor doesn't have as much power over this godforsaken city as you!"
"Do you think I want anything to do with Gotham City? It's not like you were born into poverty, Tommy. You're Thomas Elliot, the son of Dr. Roger Elliot, the greatest doctor in all of Gotham!" Tommy looked up at Bruce and glared. Bruce's anger disappeared abruptly. "Damn it, Tommy, I'm sorry. I forgot."
"Even before he died in that car crash," Tommy said through gritted teeth, "he was only the second greatest doctor in Gotham after your father, the amazing Dr. Thomas Wayne." Tommy walked to the window and looked out at the wide lawn of Wayne Manor beneath the full moon. "Do you remember that outburst I had at camp when we were kids?" he asked, his back to Bruce. "Do you?" he yelled when Bruce remained silent.
"Yes."
"While Dr. Crane was taking care of me after that, he told me something that my mother used to make me memorize as a child before she almost died with my father." Tommy turned to Bruce and looked him in the eyes, glaring still. "Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil." Bruce didn't blink as his blank face stared back at Tommy's bottomless eyes. Tommy looked down. He looked back up, his anger finally gone. He walked to Bruce and put his hand on his shoulder. "We're all worried about you, Bruce. Me, Alfred, Leslie, Carmine. You can't blame yourself for what happened that night. You were only nine. You couldn't have stopped it."
As Tommy opened the bedroom door to leave, Bruce's asked him from where he still was, with his back to him, "What is a friend?" They turned to each other and examined the strangers before them.
"What is a friend?" Tommy asked again. "A single soul residing in two bodies." Tommy looked down at the marble floor and licked his lips. "One day you'll have to come back to Gotham to claim your legacy. You can't keep it hushed up forever. Whatever it is you're doing in the meantime, I want you to remember something. At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst." With that, Tommy left Bruce alone again, Bruce watching the door close, once again shrouded in the darkness of shadows.
Again, Bruce sat on the foot of the bed and took the gun from beneath the sheets. Looking deep into the single eye of the pistol, Bruce realized this weapon was not where his legacy lie. With all of his extraordinary strength, Bruce flung the pistol through the window, shattering the glass and letting in the night. With the night came a screeching bat into the room, that sat before him on a desk. As a child, Bruce used to fear the bats. Now, looking into the deep, black eyes of the monster, he saw something he hadn't seen as a child. A kind of dark hope, hiding behind its mask of fear.
As Thomas Elliot raised a pillow somewhere in Gotham and held it firmly against the face of his sleeping mother, the young teenager Bruce Wayne stood and looked out of the window at the dark city in the distance. He didn't know what kind of evil hid in the dank alleys of the corrupted city, but he was going to find out, one way or another.
"People think it's an obsession," Bruce thought to himself. "A compulsion. As if there were an irresistible impulse to act. It's never been like that. I chose this life. I know what I'm doing. And on any given day, I could stop doing it. Today, however, isn't that day. And tomorrow won't be either. They say that when you kill a man you not only take away what he was, but all he will ever be. I made a promise on the grave of my parents that I would rid this city of the evil that took their lives. By day, I am Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist. At night, criminals, a cowardly and superstitious lot, call me... Batman."