Rain poured down as Bruce Wayne knelt by his parents' lifeless bodies in Crime Alley. Tears stung his eyes as he wondered how this had happened. How did he let this man kill his parents? Why didn't he do anything? He pounded the ground with his fist. He wasn't sure who he was more angry with, himself or the man who shot them. It didn't matter. His father, Thomas Wayne and his mother, Martha Wayne, were now dead because he couldn't stop the man that shot them. He knew he could have tried something, anything. He sobbed uncontrollably as the sirens grew nearer. The police were almost there. He wondered what they would do?

Two officers approached and looked down at him. One of them had a kind face, a thick mustache and glasses. He said warmly, "Why don't you come with us son?"

Bruce nodded and got up slowly. Grasping the hand of the officer. The other officer stood there rubbing his head, and said, "Geez, what the hell happened?"

The man whom Bruce walked with called back to him, "What do you think? It's a homicide! I'm taking the boy back to the precinct."

The rain got heavier as they approached the waiting police cruiser. The friendly officer let Bruce sit in the front seat, he got in and they drove away. Bruce peered out the windows at the streets of Gotham, wondering to himself how much worse things could get for him. Everything was already so surreal. He knew it was his fault that his parents got murdered. He didn't do anything to stop the man, and it was his fault they were in that alley in the first place. The lights outside seemed to dance off the rain water splattering on the car's windows. Bruce shivered. What was going to happen now, he thought. What could he do?

They arrived at the precinct and Bruce was guided to a room that didn't really feel like a room. It was blocked off by high walls that didn't reach the ceiling, he could hear all the goings on outside of the office he sat in. He heard an intense fight between two officers and a violent criminal. He then overheard two officers talking about getting laid? Whatever that means. There was a small group of officers that walked by that were talking rather loudly about a double homicide in Crime Alley, my parents he thought, as tears streamed down his face. He thought he couldn't take it any longer, then the familiar face of the officer whom he met in the alley popped into the office.

He walked over to Bruce and rubbed his shoulder, "Are you doing OK, son? Do you need anything?"

Bruce shook his head, he didn't know what to say. Didn't know if he could say anything at all.

A large man walked into the office, and yelled at the kind man who was talking with Bruce, "Gordon! What the hell are you doing?"

The man wore an expensive looking suit, Bruce wondered if he was the police commissioner? He had to be to be talking to this officer like that. Gordon replied slowly, "I'm making sure this young man is comfortable, all things considered, sir."

The man nodded, "Yeah? Well, while you're shooting the shit with the rich boy in here, there's chaos going on out here! Get your ass back out here, Gordon, or you'll face a demotion!"

He left the room and slammed the door behind him. Gordon turned back toward Bruce and smiled, "I better go and help them out there. Please, don't hesitate to ask for help from anyone here. My name is Gordon, Jim Gordon." He extended his hand, Bruce shook it.

"Bruce Wayne."

Gordon smiled, "Pleasure to meet you, Bruce."

Gordon turned and left the room with a sigh. He wished dearly to stay with Bruce a little while longer until his butler arrived to bring him home. This was no place for an eight year old boy to be. No place at all. He couldn't focus on that however, as several officers were trying subdue another criminal who was trying to escape.

Bruce shook as he gazed around the office. He was hoping that Alfred would get there soon. Suddenly, the room went dark. "Hello?" He called out, but no sound was heard. It seemed everyone had just suddenly left him behind in an instant. The office door swung open violently as a man dressed in ragged clothes approached. He walked with purpose towards Bruce, as he pulled out a revolver. Bruce recognized his face, it was the man who killed his parents! How did he get in here? Where were the police? The man cocked the gun and squeezed the trigger. Bruce winced as he expected to feel pain like he had never experienced in his life.

Bruce woke up gasping for air. He sat up and looked around his bedroom, relieved that it was only a dream. He looked over to see Alfred watching over him, a look of concern crossing his face. Alfred reached over to Bruce and placed a hand on his shoulder, "It's OK, Bruce. It's OK. You were just having a nightmare."

Bruce could feel tears stinging his eyes again. It was so real, so vivid, he could have sworn it was real. It had only been three days since that terrible night. And the next day was to be his parents' funeral. Bruce wasn't sure if we was ready for it, but he had no choice. He felt tears running down his face as he stammered out, "I-I miss them Alfred. Why did it have to happen? Why couldn't I do anything to stop it from happening?"

Bruce began to sob as Alfred held him close, rocking him back and forth, comforting him as best he could. He rubbed Bruce's back and said, "There was nothing you could do, Bruce. Sometimes, men who are desperate will do desperate things. It was not your fault at all. You understand? It was his, he made the choice to pull the trigger."

Bruce continued to sob, "I miss them so much Alfred."

"I do too," Alfred said quietly, trying to hold back his tears, "I do too."

Bruce looked at Alfred through tear stained eyes. His thoughts were a maze of emotions. Sadness for the loss of his parents, anger at the man responsible for this crime and guilt because he knew there something he could have done. Alfred was all he had left for family. He just buried his face in Alfred's shoulder as he continued to rock him back and forth holding him close.

"What time is it, Alfred?"

He looked at the clock on the bedside table, "It's almost six in the morning. I guess I better prepare a bit of breakfast then."

Bruce wiped his eyes, how could Alfred think of food at a time like this? They had to get ready to bury his parents. His father and mother, whom he loved so much were now gone forever! Breakfast, food in general, didn't matter right now. Bruce nodded as Alfred marched out the room. I guess I can make myself eat if I need to, he thought. His stomach lurched as he thought about where they were going that day. He climbed out of bed and trudged downstairs. Rain poured outside the windows, and the house felt cold and lonely. It was only him and Alfred now, it had never felt more empty than it did right then. He stared out the windows at the pouring rain and he thought about how it rained the night his parents died, how he had gotten soaked through his clothes as he cried.

"Bruce?" Alfred called from the kitchen, "breakfast is ready!"

"I'll be there in a minute," Bruce said, though he wasn't sure if really meant it. He was beginning to wish that he had been shot too. Then at least he'd be with his parents right now.

Alfred came out to the hallway and saw Bruce staring out the window. He frowned, the poor boy has taken this so hard, he thought. I wish there something I could do to ease the pain he's feeling right now, Alfred crept up behind Bruce, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Bruce sighed, he was too tired to keep crying any more he just wanted to be left with his thoughts. Alfred stared out the window too and said, "Your porridge is getting cold."

Bruce said nothing, he sniffed back a tear.

"I also cooked up some of your favorites, eggs, bacon and a small stack of pancakes. There's freshly squeezed orange juice too."

Bruce replied, "Thanks Alfred."

Bruce turned and walked into the kitchen leaving Alfred there staring out the window. Poor poor boy, he thought, I do hope the funeral isn't too much for him today. He walked back into the kitchen to keep an eye on Bruce while he ate. Bruce couldn't help it any more, his hunger had taken over and he was stuffing his mouth with bacon and eggs, sipping his orange juice and having a bite or two of porridge. Alfred smiled, at least he can still eat. He had barely had anything the last two days, and he was beginning to get concerned for Bruce's health, but seeing him finally eat eased some of his worries.

"I trust it's to your liking?" Alfred said warmly.

Bruce nodded and said with his mouth full of pancake, "It'sh dericioush!"

"I'm glad you're enjoying it." Alfred grabbed his coffee cup and took a sip.

"Alfred," Bruce said, "Why do you drink coffee? I tried it before, it's gross!"

Laughing, he replied, "One day Bruce, you'll drink coffee too. You'll find it has a way of waking you up and preparing you for the day."

"A drink can do that?"

Alfred nodded, "It can."

Bruce looked mystified, it must be magic, he thought, "Wow!" Was all he could say.

He finished the rest of his food in an instant, and sat there with Alfred, wondering what was going to happen that day. He knew the funeral was going to be sad, and he wondered if he was going to be able to control his emotions through it. Alfred's thoughts were similar, he was more concerned with Bruce though, whether or not he'd be able to make it through the day without getting weighed down too much his emotions. Despite the nightmare Bruce had had, today was actually off to a good start.

"I guess I'd better go brush my teeth."

Alfred nodded, "I think so Bruce."

Bruce hesitated to ask, "Wh-when's the funeral?"

Alfred looked at the clock, "It's at ten o'clock."

"Is it OK if I read some comic books until we need to get ready?"

"You may, Bruce."

Bruce smiled, at least I'll be able to do something fun this morning, he thought. He climbed off his chair and went to go brush his teeth. The rain was still pouring outside, but Bruce didn't care. For a few hours at least, he could escape from Gotham and go into another world in his comic books. Alfred finished his coffee and sighed, he's started to get a bit better, he thought. Here's to hoping the rest of the day goes as smoothly. He collected the dishes and began to wash them, day dreaming about happier times with the whole Wayne family. He could feel tears begin to sting his eyes as he remembered the good times. Always so fleeting, he thought.

The phone rang, breaking him out of his thoughts. Who could be calling this early in the morning, he thought. He wiped his hands on a cloth and picked up the phone, "Hello, Wayne Manor?" He said as courteously as he could.

There was a lot of commotion on the other end of the phone, and the voice was hurried, but kind, "Hello, this is police Lieutenant Jim Gordon, good morning."

"Good morning, sir," Alfred replied.

"We just wanted to let you know that we've apprehended the suspect in the shooting of Thomas and Martha Wayne," Alfred nodded his head, though he knew the other man couldn't see him. "We were hoping that Bruce Wayne could come in to verify his identity."

Alfred said, "I'll see if he can do that sir, we have the funeral this morning, but perhaps we can come later in the afternoon?"

Gordon sounded pleased, "That would be excellent. I'll be in touch, and please, take care of Bruce. He seemed like he was in an awful place the other night."

Alfred smile, "Don't worry Lieutenant, Bruce is going to be well looked after."

"Good, please call me if he tells you anything more about what happened. I want to handle this case personally, I feel like I owe it to him."

Alfred nodded again, "I certainly will."

Gordon paused then asked, "I don't think I got your name, sir?"

"Alfred, Alfred Pennyworth, I'm the Wayne's butler."

He could hear Gordon writing notes on the other end of the line, "OK, great, thank you so much Alfred. Good luck today. I'll talk to you soon."

"Thank you Lieutenant, good bye."

Alfred hung up the phone and could sense Bruce was standing behind him. He turned and regarded him with a smile, "We will need to go to the police station this afternoon."

Bruce looked puzzled, "Why?"

"They may have caught the man responsible for what happened, and they need you to provide a positive identification of him," Alfred replied, he knew this might not go over too well.

Bruce nodded, and said flatly, "OK."

With that, Bruce walked out the room to go read his comics. Alfred mused, "That went over like a lead balloon."