He didn't see Batman anymore after that. It was a scary thing, the whole incident with Mr. Dent, his father, and Batman and not seeing Batman again, made it feel like it might have all been a nightmare. James had seen his hero gunned down, and the image wasn't vacating any time soon. He realized that Batman could not only get hurt and that he could die, just like anyone else.
Of course, he thought a lot about how his mum had held him so tight that it hurt, and remembered that his sister had been brave enough not to cry and make things even scarier, and how Mr. Dent forced his dad to tell him that it would be all right. But more than anything, he kept thinking about how Batman had swooped over him and Mr. Dent and in a flash, even though it must have hurt, and how for a moment he thought that they were both going to fall and how that was okay because at least Batman and his dad had tried their best.
But then, together, they did save him.
It was all over, he'd thought as he looked over the edge, his father now holding him even tighter than his mother had, to Batman and Mr. Dent's sprawled bodies on the ground. Too shocked to cry, he just kept staring. It was over. It had to be over now, Batman was already hurt, the fall had surely killed him!
But it wasn't over!
True to the hero's he read about in his comic books, Batman got up even when Mr. Dent didn't, even when he knew what it would mean. He is a hero, he thought firmly. He didn't entirely understand what his father meant when he said that Batman was the hero Gotham deserved because he wasn't a hero; he'd saved them, stopped the Joker and took the fall for all the terrible things that Mr. Dent did because he'd been so angry about Ms. Dawes. If that didn't make Batman a hero, what did?
But then he started to understand with all the things that happened after. First there was the memorial service and James saw all the people cry and the felt strange in the suit his mother had chosen for him. It was the same one she'd chosen for his father's death, before she knew about the truth, of course. They didn't know what Mr. Dent done and James promised himself, even though he'd already promised his father, that he'd never tell. They wouldn't ever know what Batman had done for them, but James understood the courage that it'd taken for Batman to know that now. No one would be here, no one would be crying for their hero if it weren't for Batman; it still didn't seem very fair to James.
Then there was the manhunt he watched his father announce on the television. He could tell by the way he adjusted his glasses a lot that he felt uncomfortable, and could tell by the way his voice got quiet when he was forced to say that Batman was an outlaw that had to be brought in that he didn't want that to happen at all. His father didn't believe what he was saying, the same way that he didn't believe that it was going to be okay when Mr. Dent had them. Nothing's alright, James thought darkly.
It wasn't fair that Batman had to run away. But then, James had already learned because of his dad's job that a lot of things weren't fair. Like the Joker.
It hadn't taken very long for the Joker to break out of Arkham Asylum. That night his dad was talking very quietly with his mother, talking about leaving, talking about sending them away. His mother flat out refused; like Batman, the Joker could get them no matter where they stayed if he wanted to and she wanted their family to be kept together in case anything happened. James agreed with her, finding it unfathomable to imagine leaving his dad alone the city and them alone…wherever. And he'd never met the Joker (and if he was honest, he knew that he didn't want to) but believed as much as he did in Batman that it didn't matter where they were; and it seemed cowardly to run away. Batman wouldn't run away from the Joker.
The Joker was quiet for a long time, the city hadn't gone crazy yet; James didn't have to stay home from school and pretend that it was safer at home with mother and sister. But everyone was waiting. His father was home less and less, his new job forcing him to work harder. He looked tired all the time, and whenever he did come home, he told them that he loved them, and went to sleep. James always believed him when he told them that, but always felt a little welling of anger and jealousy inside his chest asking if he loved them so much why didn't he come home more?
That anger though, James knew that it wasn't fair and that his father was a very good man who was doing his best to make Gotham safe. James had never known it to be a safe place, having hardly ever gone out to playgrounds or over to his friends houses without his parents and no friends had ever come to visit him without their parents either. He tried to think of a safe Gotham, but he could never picture it in his head; he didn't know any better.
So, instead he'd go up to his room and look out the window. There wasn't really an actual view, just dark streets in the rain and cars making a sticky sound as they drove past on the pavement, but it felt good anyways. Sometimes, he imagined that a shadow went by, and would believe completely for a moment that it was Batman, coming to check on them. Maybe he was, so sometimes he waved out into the dark, letting him know that he still believed in him, still knew that he is a hero. He never told his father though. He'd heard his father say many times now that sometimes it was better to not know anything. James liked to believe that his father knew too though, and maybe he did.
Everyone was waiting…everyone was scared. When he asked his dad about the Joker and why he hadn't done anything, his was told that it was being done on purpose. That the Joker wanted everyone to be scared and wanted them to have to be guessing where he'd strike next. He was also told that he mustn't let that make him afraid, only that it should make him wary. With some cheek, James pointed out that it was Gotham, and they were always having to do that anyways. He felt sorry for saying it after when he watched his dad's eyes go dim behind his glasses, but he didn't know how to tell him that and ended up not saying anything at all.
On his birthday, James had a party. He was allowed to invite three friends over for a slumber party. Maybe because his dad was the Commissioner now, they were all allowed to come. They had cake, one not shaped like the bat he'd wanted but didn't dare to ask for, but one shaped like car, bright blue. He'd even been careful not to choose red, white, black or green. Anything to take his father's thoughts away from the manhunts on Batman and the Joker.
When he opened his presents, things started to feel normal again, before all the strange things that'd been happening with Gotham's theatrical cast of heroes and villains alike. Andrew had given him a new colouring set; Robert, a movie; and Grant gave him neat book about sharks from around the world. When he was finished, James felt relieved that no masked men with superpowers had showed up among his gifts. Even as he knew that the colouring set would be hidden in his room along with his Batman drawings, he didn't want his dad to think about it tonight. Not when he seemed so happy, not when he'd taken the night of specifically so that he could be there.
Later that night after everything had quietened down and the sugar had worn off, his mother sent them to bed. Of course, they hadn't actually gone to bed straight away and talked instead about school for a while, but it quickly turned to Batman.
"What do you think of Batman?" Andrew asked him. James didn't answer right away, thinking about what his father had said, but also still finding it hard to understand. How did he explain that Batman wasn't a hero, or rather, he was only the hero that Gotham deserved? He didn't remember how his dad said it exactly.
"He's…a Dark Knight," he finally answered, taking the end of his father's explanation. Peering into their faces through the dark he could already see that they didn't understand.
"My mom said he's a murderer," Grant said, as though it would be the final verdict. James wondered why he'd invited him, but tried to remember that Grant didn't know the real story. Couldn't know the real story.
"But he's so cool!" Robert said, waving aside Grant's comment.
"I think he's the good guy. My mom said that it's the Joker's fault, that Batman had to do things that everyone else couldn't because of him," Andrew said. James felt a rush of gratitude towards Andrew for saying that and wanted to agree and try and convince Grant that his mom was wrong, that Batman was doing everything he could and that if he'd done nothing it would have been even worse. He wanted to tell them how Batman saved him; he didn't say a word.
After that, James listened to his friends fall asleep, thinking about the things Batman did for them, which he did just as much as anyone else but wasn't afraid of believing that it was the right thing. Batman always did the right thing. That's the only reason James made sure that he did the right thing too and kept the secrets; or at least, it was the thing that reminded him the most. His dad always tried to do the right thing too, but as much as he loved him, the caped crusader always came to mind first.
James unzipped his sleeping bag enough to get out and went to the window and carefully opened it. I want to be just like him too, he thought, looking out to dark windows and roofs across from him. I want to do what's right, no matter what, even if it hurts me, no matter how scary it is. I want to be a Dark Knight too…I don't know if dad would like that.
It was cold out, the rain taking any warmth from the city and washing it away. James closed his eye and imagined spreading out his arms, but they were wings, and gliding through it, feeling the droplets hit his skin like little pricks from bees. He tried to imagine what the suit felt like, wondered if it was warm, wondered if it made you feel stronger. He wondered what it was like to be a shadow in the night, wondered how to find where the trouble was. Eyes still closed, he moved his arms as though he knew karate, or jujitsu or whatever it was that he used to fight the bad guys. James smiled as he opened his eyes, feeling more brave even when he was just pretending. Right now, he felt like he could go tell his dad, right now, that he wanted to be just like Batman.
Across the way, he saw a fluttering in the dark, maybe just an animal, or a shadow. Lifting his arm eagerly, he waved out, straining his eyes for the tell-tale cape and helmet. He couldn't see anything, even though he was trying as hard as he could. But there was nothing, just the dark and the rain and the sticky cars with their wheels forever peeling of the Velcro like pavement. He sighed and put his hand back down on the windowsill, the rain filled air feeling thick when he breathed. It probably hadn't been him.
"James," he heard a growl. James stiffened at the sound of his name, but relaxed, recognizing the sound.
"Batman!" he hissed quietly, leaning further out of his window and looking the balcony roof beside him. Hardly visible in the dark, James found the bat man's face and grinned widely. He checked behind him to make sure that his friends were sleeping; they were. Grant was even snoring.
"James, I need you to give this to your father, it's very important," Batman said, handing him an big brown envelope. James took the envelope and nodded eagerly.
"Okay," he promised. Looking at Batman, he looked the same as ever, his armour glinting in the electric light and eyes black as the sky above. He had to tell him what he thought.
"Batman? I still believe in you," James confessed earnestly. He felt like he had to say it the same way that his dad needed them to tell him that they loved him and the way that his mother needed to tell him that he was doing a good job. They always meant it but he didn't know if Batman needed to hear it, but he hoped that it helped anyways.
"Dad…Dad said you were the Dark Knight. Like…in King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, but different. I know that you're still doing the right thing!" James said hurriedly, beginning to feel nervous. Batman's appearance didn't scare him, but his silence certainly did. He waited another moment, still searching hopefully on what he could see of Batman's face for a clue if anything he said helped.
"Thank-you. Happy Birthday, James."
With that, the bat man disappeared into the night, leaving James clutching the envelope.
"He knew that it was my birthday," James told his father happily when he gave him the envelope.
After that, it all started happening again, and the Dark Knight rose to guard the city, just like his dad said he would.