It was all some sort of nightmare.
There he was, lying in some dark alley behind a theater bleeding to death while some thug ran off with his wallet. Had he not been dying it might have actually been funny; him, taken down by a common street thug? It really was laughable.
It was also familiar. It felt as though he'd been here before. And in a way maybe he had, except last time it had not been his blood that stained the pavement, but theirs.
As the memories of that night washed over him he took a shuddering breath only to have it turn into a muffled scream as pain rippled through his chest. Why did it hurt so much? He had been shot before... No, Batman had been shot before. But he wasn't Batman right now. Right now he was in disguise, and he was disguised as Bruce, the Billionaire Playboy who didn't chase criminals and who didn't drive a tank and who wasn't supposed to get shot. And that's why it hurt, because Bruce didn't know how to handle the pain like Batman did.
Maybe if he thought of something else, maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much... I wonder if dad hurt this much when he – NO! Think about something else…
Sirens sounded somewhere in the distance, but to Bruce they sounded as if he was hearing them through water. The pain in his chest continued but it was only a dull throb now, his body slowly going numb as the world continued to feel less and less real and more and more like he was floating.
It was funny, because he had felt numb on that night, too. Except then it had been because of the bullets imbedded in his parent's bodies rather than because of one in his own. Thought you were going to think about something else?
But he couldn't think of something else. He almost couldn't think about anything. Thoughts raced through his head and collided with one another in one jumbled mass. Had he been able to focus he would have realized that he was in shock. But he couldn't focus and the thoughts kept racing, becoming harder and harder to understand as more and more of his lifeblood flowed freely onto the pavement.
Get up! One side of him roared, so suddenly that it would have startled Bruce had it not come from within his own mind. But Bruce didn't want to get up. As more and more of his strength left him, so too did his will to fight. He was tired, and didn't he deserve to rest after all that he'd been through, all that he'd done?
He just wanted to lie there in the warm, comfy darkness that was slowly spreading across his field of vision. No… he protested silently. I don't want to...
Batman growled at this, and he struggled to fight his way free and to take over, fighting to push Bruce into the background. But somehow Bruce remained, staring into nothingness as he struggled to breathe.
Fight it! Get UP! The part of him that was Batman roared again, but for the first time Bruce ignored it.
It's funny, actually. I always thought I'd die as Batman, fighting to free Gotham from the scum that want to take her over… Maybe by taking a bullet for the mayor... Or for that stupid new DA... Some way worthwhile, you know? Never thought it would be like this... Bruce closed his eyes with a resigned sigh as the strange feeling of weightlessness began to vanish, leaving him feeling heavy and exhausted in its wake. But then again, maybe this is fitting. Dying like… like they died.
No! The Batman roared again. We're not giving up now - not after everything! Now fight!
I don't want to... I'm too tired... Bruce argued half-heartedly as he continued to slowly fade farther and farther into the awaiting darkness.
Batman snarled. What about Alfred? What about Gordon? If you're not willing to fight for us then fight for them! They need us! Gotham needs us! Now hold on!
Alfred... Alfred will understand... he'll be fine… Bruce argued weakly, trying to convince himself that what he said was true. It had to be true, because the thought that Alfred would suffer because Bruce hadn't been willing to fight was more painful than the hole in his chest that he could no longer feel.
Batman snarled an answer, but somehow Bruce couldn't quite make it out. Eventually he became aware of another voice calling to him from somewhere, and he strained to understand what it was saying. "-old on, Mr. Way... Par...med...s on... way... Be fine..."
But Bruce was too far gone to respond. As he finally slipped into oblivion another voice whispered to him, this one much clearer than the last. Don't be afraid...
It sounded like his father.
A/N: Please review.