A young scream echoed throughout the corridors, rivaling the storm's booming thunder, interrupted by the speeding steps of Masters Thomas and Martha. The cries had quieted by the time I arrived to see them comforting young Master Bruce. Another nightmare, I assumed. Bruce muffled something into his father's sleeves. Raising his head he carefully turned to his window, adorned with droplets of rain. The tree outside swayed in the wind flailing its barren limbs. "I saw him," Bruce said. "Saw who?" his father questioned. A flash of lightning cracked the sky, illuminating the room, save for the silhouette of the tree's branches. They spread like wings. Bruce retreated back under Thomas's arms. "The batman," he wept.

I suppose that's when it really began, the fear. The purpose. Only a few days prior to that night, Roger and Marla Elliot, the parents of Bruce's friend Tommy, joined Masters Thomas and Martha for dinner. Master Wayne and Tommy's father were both surgeons at Gotham General. While the adults ate, the two boys entertained themselves with a game of chess. Or rather, Tommy entertained himself by strategically toying with Bruce. Just when he was about to win, Tommy gained the upper hand, and scored a brutal victory. Later in the evening, when the dinner had become late night discussions, the boys did what young boys did, and tried to prove who was the boy and who was the man. The dares were abundant, but I put a stop to that. I remember young Tommy not liking that. Walking away, I began to hear the low whispers of gossip and myth. "Have you ever heard of the Batman, Bruce?" Tommy asked. When Bruce admitted no, Tommy chuckled. "Makes sense. It's a story for grown ups. Too scary."

"I won't be scared."

"Are you sure, little Brucie?"

"Yes!"

"Alright," Tommy said. "You ever hear of the Miagani people? The natives to Gotham before it was settled? They had this legend. There was man, a bad man. He hurt people. Kids. Bad kids, who lied and left home. At night, people would go into the woods and never return. When the Miagani figured out who the bad man was, they cursed him. But the curse didn't work. Instead, it made him stronger. His hair grew, his teeth became fangs, and his arms became wings. He was a batman. And he promised that for punishment of what they tried to do to him, he would torment them for as long as he lived, hurting the bad people and kids in horrible ways."

"Did he?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah. The Miagani were never safe after that. And they never killed the batman. But the Miagani people are all dead now, right? So the batman must be too, huh? But sometimes, at night, people swear they hear screeching, and flapping wings. They say they hear it more when they're not in the city. They hear it the closer they are to your home," Tommy warned.

"No they don't!" Bruce protested.

"Yeah they do! You have that giant cave under your house, don't you?"

"I don't know. My dad says there might be one."

"And you know bats like caves, right?"

"Shut up, Tommy."

"What, are you scared now?" Tommy mocked.

"Stop it!"

"Gonna start crying? Want me to sing Hush Little Baby?" Tommy kept teasing. "Scared the batman's gonna find out how bad you are? That your dad almost killed someone 'cause he was up all night 'cause of all your crying? That you're too scared?"

"I said shut up!"

Something knocked over. I rushed to the boys to see Tommy with his hands around Bruce's neck. Before I had the chance to move, someone behind me shouted, "Thomas!" It was Roger. Even though we were feet apart, the air of his breath was pungent with alcohol. "Get your ass over here!" he growled.

"But Bruce started it!"

"I said now!"

With a sheen of regret in his eye, Tommy obliged. "Get your coat. We're leaving." Mr. Elliot grabbed Tommy's arm, and pushed him towards the front of the manor. Once the echo of their footsteps faded, Bruce stood, tears welling in his eyes. "He's right, Alfred. I started it."

"Oh, Master Bruce. I heard what Tommy was saying. I think you finished it," I tried to assure.

"I pushed him. It knocked over dad's globe." And there it was, the globe, unbroken.

"It seems okay to me. And so does Tommy. You didn't hurt him."

"But I feel bad."

"You know what? I think that's okay, too. It means you have a good heart."

The moon had just unfurled from behind a blanket of clouds when I heard Bruce's screaming. I was the first to arrive, the first to see him cowering in a corner of his room as a lone bat claimed the opposite one. "Alfred!" he cried. "Make it go away!" I scurried over to the windows, and opened a pane so that the bat could retreat into the night. Bruce maintained his position after I turned the lights on. "It's okay, Master Bruce. It's gone." But the tears kept coming. His parents then came into the room, questioning what happened. Bruce held out his arm, emblazoned with scratches and one nasty wound on his hand. "It bit me."

Though he was treated immediately, the bite got infected nonetheless. He spent the next few days in the hospital. A particularly bad fever kept him bed-ridden his first day. Thomas worked but still made time to visit when he could. Martha never left his side. She read him his favorite book, Abel's Island. Even Tommy came to visit with a chess set. He had a bruised cheek that he explained away as an accidental trip. Martha and I suspected differently, but kept quiet. To change subject, he suggested a game. In the midst of one grueling round, Bruce's attention drifted away from the game. "Bruce, you okay?" Tommy asked. No answer. He turned to see what Bruce was staring at. Outside his window, in the far off distance, was Wayne Tower. Martha looked up from her own book, and noticed what the boys were staring at. "How come Dad doesn't work there? It has our name on it," Bruce asked.

"Your father inherited the business from his father. But he wanted to be a doctor, and decided to let other men take care of us," Martha explained.

"Will I work there?"

"If you want to. Either way, it'll be yours some day."

Bruce returned to the game, but then it was Tommy whose mind was absent.

The next night, Bruce's fever spiked. He tossed and turned, muttering to himself. His father and other nurses rushed in with ice packs and tried to hold him down. For a moment he calmed down. He looked to his father at the foot of the bed, and smiled. Then it faded, and in place arose fear. Eyes widened. Screams unleashed. He wrestled against the nurses, trying to back away as far as he could into the wall behind him. "He's here!" he screamed. His gaze fell behind his father into a blank wall. There was nothing. And still. "He's here! He's here! He's here!"

The day after, Bruce was to be released. "What do you think? Do you like it here?" Martha asked.

"Not really."

She laughed. "Don't know how Dad does it, huh?"

"No. I don't think I want to be a doctor."

"That's okay."

Suddenly, there was chaos in the hallways outside the room. Two gurneys were being wheeled by, a man and a woman. Shouts overlapped each other. Something about a car wreck. The name Elliot repeated over and over. Martha got up from her seat to watch. A gasp escaped her. "What?" Bruce asked.

"It's Tommy's parents," she muttered.

"What? What happened?"

"I don't know, sweetie."

I saw Thomas enter the fray and take command, issuing orders and assigning duties. No one questioned him. They trusted him. When he saw who it was, he should have been compromised, should've been afraid. But that's not who he was. He led his team away, and the air of the hospital returned to its perpetual state of impending gloom.

"Are you okay, mom?" Bruce asked.

"Yes," she lied.

"Shouldn't you be with them? Or something?"

"Your father will take care of them. Besides, " she continued, sitting beside Bruce, coursing her hand through his hair, "I can't leave you."

"Why not?"

"We don't leave the ones we love, Bruce. We protect them."

The funeral for Tommy's father came and went, as did whatever grief he may have possessed did. He claimed to come away from the whole trauma with a new respect for Bruce's father, for saving his mother. So much so that he decided he wanted to become a surgeon, just like him.

On Bruce's ninth birthday, he and Tommy ventured into the woods behind the manor. They were within view from the kitchen window, exactly where Thomas had told them to play. Playful shouts and laughter were had. Then they were gone. Silence.

It broke with cries of help. The front doors burst open, Tommy's shouts immediately following. Thomas and I rushed to the boy. "It's Bruce! He fell down a hole! He's stuck!" Thomas sprinted through the doors, cutting through the gardens to grab some spare rope. I trailed after.

Tommy led us to Bruce, far behind the manor where the woods reclaimed dominance. He had fallen down a steep slope, slick with mud, which burrowed into the ground. As we approached, a quiet weeping grew louder. "Bruce?" Thomas called out. Then the crying ceased. The wind died. Nothing.

Then something. Soft screaming.

No.

Screeching.

A flurry of bats erupted from beneath, swirling into the air. Amidst the deafening beating of wings was Bruce's scream. When the bats dissipated, Thomas secured the rope around a tree and repelled down the hole to retrieve his son. When he emerged, in his arms was a bruised and messed little boy, shaken. "Sorry, Bruce," said Tommy. He followed after his friend, head hung in some unknown shame.

Later, Thomas laid Bruce to bed, treating his injuries. "You know what? You don't look so bad," Thomas joked. "I bet you're not even hurt. What do you think Alfred?"

"A born trooper, he is, sir."

Bruce shyly smiled.

"So what happened out there?" Thomas asked.

It took a moment for Bruce to answer. "I fell."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Tommy didn't dare you to do something?"

"Well…he dared me to look in the hole. But then I fell."

Thomas sighed. "You guys shouldn't have been out there. What if you both had fallen?"

Bruce shrugged.

"Is Tommy always like that to you?" Thomas pressed.

"No. Not all the time."

"You think sometimes is still okay?"

Another shrug. Unsure. "He's the only one at school who talks to me."

The lack of objection from Thomas meant he knew it was true. So did I. He dabbed some rubbing alcohol on a cloth, and mended Bruce's cuts. He recoiled in sharp pain. "It stings," he observed.

"Sorry," said Thomas. "Was it dark down there?"

"Yeah. I could see their eyes. The bats."

"You know why they attacked, right? Because they were scared. They wanted to scare you, too."

"It worked."

"It's okay to be scared, Bruce. But you don't have to be."

It was raining the night Officer Gordon called the manor. There could have been a hurricane, but nothing was going to stop me from getting to Bruce as soon as I could. The precinct was in a commotion when I arrived. Phones rang, dispatches were made, and lowly criminals yelled from the holding cells. Another ordinary night for the men in Gotham's particular shade of blue. I just never imagined I would be in the midst of it. Not even young Bruce. Especially him.

Gordon greeted me in the halls, and led me through the maze of cubicles. Whispers were traded among their inhabitants.

"…did you hear about the shooting?..."

"…which one?..."

"…the Waynes..."

"…kid saw the whole thing…"

"…butler coming for him…"

"…Christ, a butler…"

"…kid just saw his parents…"

"…kid just got handed the world…"

I did my best to ignore them. I believe Gordon tried to as well, but his gait betrayed his chagrin. Like he expected better of his colleagues. He explained what happened, all the while exchanging reports and orders. It was work, afterall.

It happened just outside the Monarch Theater in an alley. A mugging. Just one man. He was still out there.

Earlier that evening, Thomas suggested a trip into the city. A family night. Bruce wanted to go the movies. They were showing Dracula. His parents tried to dissuade him, remembering his past traumas. Bruce wouldn't concede. At 12, he was a budding young man. He was too old to be scared, he said.

At last, we were in the commissioner's office. Bruce sat with his back to us, staring out a window into the black windswept night. He was wearing his father's jacket.

Days later, when we buried them, it was still raining, and Bruce still hadn't cried. Eulogies were read, and condolences were given. Most of the people in attendance Bruce had never even met. A one Lucius Fox introduced himself to Bruce, recounting the friendship of he and Master Thomas. He regretted that occasion being the one that brought them together. Tommy and his mother were the last to leave. Bruce never said a word to his friend the entire time, but Tommy never left his side. When all was said and done, and the last raindrop felled, Bruce retired to his parents' room. I thought it best to leave him alone for the time being until I had prepared dinner. When that time arrived and I went to retrieve him, he was gone. I search all over the manor to no avail. The sun was almost set, and I had no idea where he was. Frantic, I combed the surrounding grounds outside, and still nothing. He wasn't even at his parents' newly christened resting place. It wasn't until the final hour of light that I found him. He had retreated to the cave entrance he fell down long ago. He just sat at the edge of the slope, staring into the abyss.

"Master Bruce?"

Nothing.

"Master Bruce, we really should get you inside. It's almost dark."

Silence.

"Bruce, please. It's not safe out here."

"He didn't come for me," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Master Bruce?"

"He didn't come for me, Alfred," he continued. "He came for them, because I was scared. It's all my fault."

"No, no, Bruce."

He turned to me, weeping. "They were right, Alfred, but I didn't listen to them! I made them leave! I was scared, and it's all my fault!"

I pulled him to me, embracing him with all that I could. "Don't say that. You can't believe that, Bruce. You cannot let yourself believe that."

His response was tears, and a hug.

Some days, I don't know what he decided to do then. Maybe he let himself believe it. Maybe he didn't. Perhaps it depends on the day, whichever drives him to his purpose.

If his peers were already too intimidated to speak to him before, then in the years forward, Bruce's classmates were too afraid. In truth he didn't make it easy, and for that I don't blame him. He withdrew from almost all aspects of life. He would sit in the back of classes, the back of trains, and seclude himself in the darkest corners the manor had to offer. He made himself invisible. As was tradition, Tommy was the only person who seemed capable of penetrating Bruce's cold façade. But even then, they only saw each other sporadically. After Roger's death, Marla had begun to exhibit a more possessive nature, only further catalyzed by the murder of Thomas and Martha. When Tommy wasn't in school, or with Bruce, he was with his mother. That wasn't too popular a pastime for teenage boys.

Around 14 years of age is when Bruce's need for privacy had reached almost compulsive measures. The only knowledge I had of his doings were what he did at home, and what he chose to disclose to me about school, which mostly consisted of an academic discourse. It would be many years before he would finally tell me what happened to him in his adolescent years, a time so pivotal for any person.

He would cut class, justified to himself by the fact that he was so far ahead of his classmates. He was even advancing past Tommy's level of aptitude in most areas. He wandered the streets of upper Gotham during his escapades at first. People frequented the prestigious shops and restaurants, seemingly oblivious to the woes that plagued the rest of the city. But you can't blame someone for what they don't know. They seemed decent people. Bruce loved to people watch, and what he cared most for were the little things people did for each other. Returning lost wallets, telling each other the time, or helping a kid cross the street. It all gave some sliver of hope to Bruce that people had the best intentions. That they were trying.

But as his excursions became more regular, his destinations drew him further from familiar dwellings. He began to see the ugly in Gotham, the side that everyone but him had known about, the side that people like his parents fought so hard to redeem. Brutes claimed ownership wherever they went, placing themselves above others. He saw people taken advantage of, and discarded. Even cops, the men and women who had sworn to protect and serve, turned a blind eye when it benefited them. He had learned that the city was hurting, and that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

One day, when he was 15, I was notified by Bruce's school to come pick him up. He had gotten into a fight. When questioned, he told me about how at lunch, he and Tommy were eating together, minding their own business. A group of seniors, particularly known for their confrontational attitudes, began to hassle them. They targeted Bruce, at least at first.

"Ol' Brucie over there thinks he's better than us, just because he doesn't have to answer to anyone," said one boy.

"What about his butler? Oh wait, Bruce's probably taking it from him in the ass. Old man and a young boy. Has to get lonely in that big house, huh, Bruce?" chimed another.

Bruce ignored them as they continued their barrage of vulgarity. When they realized they wouldn't get a reaction from him, they turned their efforts to Tommy.

"What about you, Tommy? Bruce is either too deaf or too stupid to hear us. Won't talk to us. Or maybe his throat is sore from sucking you off all night."

"Nah man, Tom's got his mommy for that."

"I don't know man. He might get the best of both from Bruce and his mommy."

"Just leave us alone," Tommy commanded.

"Aw, what's the matter? Feelings get hurt? Wanna call for mommy?"

"Yeah momma's boy!"

"You big titty baby!"

Tommy leapt from his seat at the leader of the group, pushing him to the ground. Bruce recoiled in shock. Tommy's hands were wild and aimless, hitting whatever piece of flesh they could find. The other boys attacked Tommy, pinning him to the ground. They kicked and kicked. Blood spilled. Before he even knew what he was doing, Bruce charged one of the boys. The rest of the boys ceased beating Tommy, staring in disbelief. When it faded, they attacked Bruce.

The story came to a stop. I waited for Bruce to continue, but he didn't. In the rearview mirror, I could see cuts and bruises adorning his face. But compared to the other boys I saw in the office, his was pristine.

"What happened?" I pressed.

"I don't remember."

"You don't?"

"Not all of it."

"What do you remember?"

His gaze turned to the rear window, to the aching city that passed us by. "I stopped them," he said. And then something happened. His eyes. The look he possessed. I will never forget it. I can't.

It wasn't pride.

Or regret.

Neither glee nor anger.

It was the closest he would ever come to a true smile again. It was purpose.

"I stopped them…"

For the remainder of his high school days, Bruce seemed a different person. He befriended new people, and saw them when he couldn't see Tommy. He participated in a number of clubs, and even ran for student council his senior year. In no surprise to people who merely knew him by name, he won by a landslide. In fact, that's putting it modestly. Every youthful accolade that could be earned was his. Best Smile. Best Hair. Best Dressed. Most Talented. Most Likely to Succeed…

There was a rumor that when he won Prom King, people literally bowed before him. It never happened, and the rumor started outside of his school. But such was the reputation that Bruce now owned. He ended school as Valedictorian, while Tommy claimed Salutatorian. The two could have gone anywhere they wanted for college, but they chose to remain home and attend Gotham University. By all rights, Bruce was at the top of the social world, and his reign was to be everlasting.

It was all a lie.

It was part of the game, and Bruce knew exactly how to play it. Whether he suspected I saw through him or not, I never knew. But maybe he never tried to hide it from me. At home, the false smiles faded. Perhaps that was his way of telling me. Even then.

Fall came and with it began classes. Bruce majored in Business and Tommy pursued a pre-medical degree. The two had planned to be roommates, but Marla forbade Tommy from leaving her alone. So instead, Bruce opted for a private dorm. Though he came back on the weekends, Bruce told me that Tommy confessed his envy of Bruce's freedom.

"The grass is always greener, isn't it, sir?"

"Sometimes I wish I had a mother to smother me, Alfred."

"I know. But I think we know that she and your father both would have let you fly or fall on your own terms. How do you like it there so far?"

"It's okay," he shrugged.

As the semester progressed, the fraternity rush began. Bruce chose to pledge to the long running Omega Gamma Delta, much to the annoyance of Tommy. But time progressed, and Bruce was soon one of the more respected members, and Tommy's envy grew even stronger. If only he knew that none of it was real. Bruce was at the parties, at the events, and even in the pictures. Never in all that time did he express any genuine pride in belonging there. When asked why he would do that to himself, he only said, "It's what they want to see."

The last month of senior year, I awoke to a most disturbing news report one early morning. As some students were walking to class, they came upon a ghastly sight. In the center of the campus's main courtyard was a young man tied to the statue of Solomon Wayne, beaten and bloodied, with a note pinned to his chest that simply read "Rapist." The student was confirmed to be a member of Omega Gamma Delta. Right after the news report ended, the front doors opened, and I heard Bruce calling out, "Alfred?" I rushed to him, to see if he was okay, and if he knew anything about what had just happened. Grimacing and tears welling, he collapsed to the floor. He caught himself by bruised hands, stained by dried blood. Yet there was no cut on him.

"I was too late, Alfred."

"What happened, Bruce?"

He told me of the fraternity's end of the semester party, a farewell to all of the senior members. It was traditionally the largest party of the year, and that year's was particularly grandiose. Everybody on campus was invited, especially the women. Alcohol, drugs, everything debauchery required was in abundance. Bruce promised himself he would only stay for a little, at least for what seemed necessary. When he returned to his room to gather materials to take to the library to study, he overheard what sounded to be screaming coming from the down the hall. Investigating, he knocked on the door the sounds seemed to emanating from. "Occupied," a voice shouted through the door. A second voice screamed, muffled but desperate. Bruce knocked open the door, and saw a member of his fraternity assaulting a young woman. Immediately, Bruce knocked the boy off of her, throwing him into the hallway, grabbing the young woman to leave with him. Once safely away from the fraternity house, Bruce appraised her condition. She was drunk, but not so much that she couldn't speak coherently. "What did he do?" Bruce asked.

"He…he," she tried.

"Did he hurt you? How far did he…what did he do?"

She began to cry. "I think he was almost done." Then she fell to ground, sobbing. When she was ready, Bruce accompanied her to the police station nearest to the campus. Surprisingly, it wasn't busy, but they were made to wait nonetheless. When they were finally seen, Bruce informed the front desk that they needed to report a rape. The attending officer was immediately skeptic. "Were you drunk, honey?" the officer asked.

"What does that matter?" Bruce asked.

"Sir, I'm asking her. Were you?"

The girl sheepishly nodded.

"Uh-huh. Did you say no?"

"I-I don't know. Not at first. But then I did. I didn't…want it."

"But did you lead him on, sweetheart?"

"I can't believe this," Bruce exclaimed. "They're not going to do anything. Let's go." Bruce led them to the exit.

"Hey! Aren't you Bruce Wayne?" the officer called out to them.

Bruce didn't answer.

He took the young woman back to her home, making sure that she was with people that she could trust. When she reassured that she was, he left to go back to the party. He didn't know how it was possible, but it was even wilder than when it began. There was hardly a face he recognized in the house. It didn't matter. He only needed to find one. People swayed by him like crashing waves of the ocean. The loud music and eclectic lights were thunder and lightning. A storm to wade through.

When he finally found the man he was looking for, he found him talking to another woman. They were heading upstairs. Bruce followed them, ducking into his room to retrieve a ski mask and dark jacket. Donning them, he then marched to the man's room, again knocking the door open, this time off its hinges. The man and woman leapt back in fear.

"Leave us," Bruce whispered to the girl. She obliged.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the boy shouted.

Bruce answered by grabbing his neck, and throwing him up against the window. Then he kicked him through it.

They were on the second floor, but a tree outside slowed the fall. Bruce climbed down it to the boy who was trying to run away. Bruce caught him, and forced him to the ground. The boy tried calling for help. The music proved to be too loud.

"You don't even care about it, do you?" Bruce growled.

"Look man, I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Liar."

A fist came crashing down on the boy's face. And then another. And another. And they kept coming.

This time, Bruce remembered them all.

Bruce was to finally take his place at Wayne Enterprises in the fall. It made the board members nervous, but he assured them that his efforts would be collaborative. Meanwhile, Tommy had been accepted to many prestigious medical schools, including a nationally renowned one in Metropolis. It was his first choice of schools. He and Bruce decided that they had to spend as much time as possible together. At that point in their life, they were really the only lifelines each other had.

Tragedy struck in the midst of the summer. Marla had been diagnosed with liver cancer, and it had progressed a fair amount. However, she still had a fighting chance, especially with her resources. Unfortunately, upon the diagnosis, she demanded that Tommy stay in Gotham with her. She needed him. Naturally, Tommy obeyed. Bruce could see the world in his eyes wipe away when Tommy told him the news. Bruce offered anything that Tommy or his mother might need, whether it be extra money, or an inside track with the medical side of Wayne Enterprises. Tommy refused.

Months went by and Bruce's appointed reign was fast approaching, while Marla's health deteriorated. It was to be expected with her specific illness and treatment. In all of his spare time, Tommy never left her bedside. He wasn't allowed to.

The night before his tenure at Wayne Enterprises was to begin, Bruce went to the city to visit Marla and Tommy. When he arrived to her floor, he saw doctors carting Marla's body out of her room. Her face had contorted in agony, eyes silently screaming for help. At the other end of the hallway, in an elevator, was Tommy. They caught each other's gaze just as the doors closed.

"What happened?" Bruce asked one of the doctors.

"Heart attack. Out of the blue. Damn shame. She was getting better. Should've seen her yesterday. Didn't look like she belonged in here."

Bruce watched them wheel her away into the far reaches of a corridor. Then he took off towards the stairwell, hoping to catch Tommy before he left the building. He wasn't anywhere to be seen when he got to the bottom. Hopeful, he continued through the doors. Down the night street, he saw Tommy walking. He ran, calling out to him. Tommy didn't hear him. Bruce kept running, until he bumped into his friend.

"Tommy! I just saw. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. I don't know what happened."

"Doctors said it was a heart attack."

"Is that what it was? She just started writhing, and I don't know, I panicked."

"I'm so sorry, Tommy."

Bruce embraced him. Tommy reciprocated the gesture hesitantly. Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw something glistening beside Tommy's feet.

"I think you dropped something." Bruce leaned down to pick it up, and saw that it was a syringe. Tommy froze, and Bruce saw the fear that captivated him. The two friends stood beside the desolate road. Bruce knew in his gut what had happened, but in that instant, told himself every lie to try and prove himself wrong. He saw in Tommy's eyes that his mind raced too, clawing at slivers of deceit to reason his way out of this. Staring into each other, they knew right away what was about to happen. Maybe they thought if they kept quiet, the conflict would pass them by. Reject them. Or they were holding ground, waiting to see who would break first. It was like one of their games. Their last. The air was so still, so silent, it was as if the entire city waited with baited breath.

"What are you doing with this?" Bruce asked redundantly.

"What makes you think that's mine?" Tommy played along.

"They said she was getting better."

"Apparently not."

"Where are your tears, Tommy? She was your mother."

"…She was my captor."

Tommy struck Bruce on the side of his head, kicking his legs out beneath. He sprinted down the alley to their left. Recovering, Bruce chased after him. Tommy's escape was futile. Bruce caught up, crashing him into the ground, pinning his arms.

"What did you do, Tommy?"

"What did you think I was gonna do, Bruce? Stay here with her like some ailing pet she refuses to put down?"

"How could you?"

"I don't expect you to understand. How could you, when you were handed the world on a golden platter when you lost your parents? You had everything! Everything that I deserved! Everything that was mine!"

"You're sick, Tommy. You need help. I'm going to turn you in."

Tommy laughed. "What are you going to tell them? That Thomas Elliot murdered his own mother? They won't believe you. You know they won't. Besides, do you really trust the people who let your parents' murderer get away to do anything?"

"They'll have to."

"Right," Tommy scoffed.

"You're just like him. No. Worse."

Tommy's smile faded, and turned into a disappointed frown. "This is what I am, Bruce. Don't pretend like you didn't know. You always have. But you lied to yourself. Because I was your only friend. You knew when you saw that needle. You knew when my drunk of a father had that crash. You knew that night of the story, all those years ago. But there's no batman coming for me. Just like he didn't come for your parents' killer. You should be grateful to him. He freed you from pain. The same pain I've freed myself from."

"My parents weren't like yours, Tommy."

"They all are, sooner or later, in some way. Goodbye, Bruce." Tommy hit Bruce on the head with a loose brick, knocking him unconscious. When he awoke, Tommy was gone.

Bruce wandered into the main hall in the early light of morning. Dried blood caked the back of his head, running down to his neck. He stood stoic as I approached him, staring at the floor.

"Master Bruce, are you alright?"

He looked up at me, and I saw in his eyes a gaze I had only seen once before. Though he was only a young boy then, he had the face of a weathered man, and the same held true in that moment. "I'm leaving, Alfred."

"I'm sorry, Master Bruce? Leaving?"

"You're the only good person I know, Alfred. I know…," he paused. "I hope there are good people in Gotham, and if there are, they're not enough. I can't stay here. I can't keep doing nothing." He turned to leave, and all I could do was watch him go. I knew it wasn't my place to dissuade him. It wasn't my right.

He stopped at the door, and caressed the aging stone that sheltered him for so many years. It belonged to many generations before his, but in his time since he was a boy, the manor had acquired new scars, pained by the absence of the people who kept it. They were memories of the home his parents made.

"…Look after everything, Alfred." And then he was gone.

He didn't look back.

It wasn't long before people began to wonder about Bruce. The heir to the throne of Gotham was nowhere to be found. It was the subject of news and tabloids for months, the disappearance of the last Wayne. As with all things, it was forgotten in time.

For seven years, I waited.

For seven years, I remembered.

The early sun's light phased though the coffee house's windows and glinted off the side of my tea cup as I gazed at it, spectating as that same light pierced through the steam that arose. It was my special Sunday tea, and I had gone far too long without it. Just as I raised the cup to sip from, a small group of people rushed by the window.

Not long after, another group flurried by. They had gathered in front of the electronics store across the street, viewing the TVs that were showcased. Then, the volume of the coffee house's TV rose. "…the return of the Prince of Gotham. Sources claim that Bruce Wayne was scene at the airport early this morning."

The tea almost spilled out of my hand as I reeled in my seat to watch the report. On screen was a blurry photograph of Master Thomas. Or so it seemed at first. In that one photo, it was if all the years gone by were gathered into one moment. The boy that left was not the one who returned. That old, familiar expression. It was permanent. It was embedded.

It was Bruce Wayne.

An overcast sky loomed above as I waded through the fallen leaves of the forest behind Wayne Manor. Deeper and deeper I ventured. My small journey ended when I came upon my old friend, standing in front of the cave from so long ago. He heard my approach, and turned to me.

"Hello, Alfred," Bruce smiled.

"Master Wayne. It's been…"

"I know. I've missed you, too."

"Truthfully, sir, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever return. I began to wonder, well, I wasn't sure what to wonder."

"To be truthful, too, I wasn't sure if I would ever come back. I wondered if I would even miss Gotham. And then I remembered."

"Remembered what, Master Wayne?"

"Everything," he sighed. "There are good people here, Alfred. They deserve something to remind them of that. To remind them that awful men and women don't dictate their lives." He turned away, back towards the mouth of the cave. He stood like he was greeting an old friend. Nostalgic, and proud. "Do you remember the story Tommy told me?"

"I don't quite recall, sir."

"About the batman. The one who was supposed to punish those who did wrong. I stopped believing it not long after that. I told myself I did, anyway. But even as I grew older, and saw the pain everyone was going through, that everyone chose to ignore…there was some part of me that thought he could do something about it. But now I see the truth."

"And what's that, sir?"

"That he's not real." Bruce slowly backed away from the cave, and began his stride back to his old home, a long forgotten glint in his eyes.

"Not yet."

Beneath the foundations of Wayne Manor, beneath all the years and memories of small footsteps echoing in the halls, a gathering of unseen neighbors commenced in the vast caves. Bats clung to every surface there was to grab hold of to finally witness the simultaneous culmination and inception of Master Wayne's grand endeavor.

The cave was completely unrecognizable from the first moment he ever saw it. It was not a place of rest, and not a place of retreat. But a place of purpose. A purpose imbued within every crack of wall surrounding it. At the center of it all stood Bruce, donning his new life. Claws protruded from his hands, and black leathery wings furled beneath his arms. He turned to me, holding his hands out, waiting for me to give him the last piece of his new form. A new face to hide the man underneath. And just like that, he was something else.

Something more.

All that remained was the eyes. The eyes that I first saw in that sad, angry, and lonely boy so long ago. The eyes that told me there was something different waiting for him. That there was meaning. There was reason. There was purpose.

The boy was gone, and he had been for a long time.

He was vengeance.

He was the night.

He was the Batman.