SUMMARY: He could always give up.
DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to DC Comics. I just fantasize about them.
NOTES: Fanfic100 challenge #1: Beginnings.
He could always give up.
Bruce leaned against the headboard, feeling aches in places he hadn't known existed. Cuts, nicks, bruises, a serious sprain, and at least two cracked ribs.
Who would blame him if he quit this insane endeavor before it even began? Alfred? Hell no, the man would probably dance in the streets at the very thought, accompanied, no doubt, by Leslie.
The image of Alfred and Leslie capering through the streets of Gotham forced a chuckle from his throat. It made his ribs burn but it felt good nonetheless.
His parents?
Bruce swallowed against the lump in his throat that hadn't shrunk in all these years. What would his parents say? He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the scene. "I'm a vigilante, haunting the night. Beating up criminals. Well, actually, getting beaten up."
He swallowed again, realizing he had no idea what Thomas and Martha Wayne would have said, what they would have thought. They'd died before he had a chance to know them properly.
He couldn't do this for them. If he was determined, it had to be for him, for his loss, for his pride. He was going to have to study more, learn more, do it right.
"Begin as you mean to go on," he whispered into the darkness.
--end--