DC One

Dark Knight

Arc 1 – Shade's Past (2)

Five years. It had been five years since Bruce left Gotham. Five years of fighting demons, conquering fears, and accepting the need for the darkness within him…

Bruce became weaker and weaker as time stretched on, minutes seeming like hours. The pain building in his shoulder had numbed most of his senses and dulled his vision beyond the dark corner of the alley. The last thing he remembered before falling unconscious was the face of an old friend lifting him from the streets.

"Alfred…" he thought, passing out moments later.


Bruce woke up in a pool of cold sweat, unsure of where he was but certain he was safe. After all, there was no one else he could turn to, no one else he trusted. It'd been years since they parted and the world outside of Gotham had unquestionably matured Bruce; however, Alfred could only see that young 8 year-old child that lost his parents within him. And no matter what, the older gentleman refused to lose another Wayne's life to that of a gun.

"I've done my best to dress your wound," Alfred stated sternly as Bruce sat up through the pain spiking out from his shoulder. Alfred handed him a glass of water with dissolving pills bubbling at the bottom, "It should help with the pain."

"Alfred—" Bruce began.

"Don't," Alfred spoke up, predicting the youth's need to explain. "I've been sitting here… watching you fight in your sleep, not unlike when you were a child. But there was a difference… a certain degree of control…"

Alfred Pennyworth, 56, had a strong, slightly grim look that matched his unkempt facial appearance: the product of his harsh past and Bruce's absence. The life of an attendant without a charge gave Alfred little to do with his life after Bruce's self-imposed exile. Years prior to becoming an occupant of Wayne Manor, Alfred served in the British military where the hardships of war mentored and perverted him. The only godsend he'd truly found during those times was a young, American doctor named Thomas Alan Wayne, Bruce's father.

Thomas and Alfred shared a unique bond passively inherited by the former's son. Ironically, their first meeting was a bit hostile to say the least; Alfred was bound by duty to take lives while Thomas was morally obligated to save them. Despite this, their mutual respect grew into a strong friendship and deep respect. That same friendship would grow into a new opportunity in Gotham for the retiring Brit.

Alfred continued, "I realize you're not the young man I once cared for. But I'm afraid if I ask where you've been or what happened to you these past few years or last night, it would ruin how happy I am to see you now."

"It's great to see you too, Alfred," Bruce returned.

A moment of silence left them both feeling relieved, Bruce needing comfort more than Alfred. It wouldn't last though; it wasn't meant to. Bruce knew being at ease was a distraction to his goal and the reason he came back to Gotham: vengeance. This had to be the last time they saw each other.

"It was good seeing you again but," the words left him as he moved out of the bed, grabbing the shirt Alfred set beside him.

"You're in no condition to leave, Master Wayne. I—"

"I'm not your master," Bruce interrupted.

"Perhaps," he sighed, "though, as it were I assumed we were still friends."

The basis of Alfred's words struck a nerve in Bruce. Somehow in his journey, he'd forgotten what it meant to rely on another; what it meant to have a friend. The absence of his parents was often filled by Alfred when Bruce needed a friend the most. Even in the times Bruce fought against his own happiness, Alfred never strayed from his side. It was the same now.

"Thank you, Alfred." said Bruce with a sincere smile.

"There's no need, Master Bruce. I swore an oath to you remember?"

"Yes, I do," he answered looking around at the small, tattered apartment room. "So why are you living here? Why aren't we at the manor—"

"The Wayne Estate is... in ruins," Alfred stated, receiving little to no reaction from Bruce.

"How?"

"An earthquake, about three years ago."

"Were you injured?" he asked mildly.

"A few reopened wounds from combat, but nothing that lingered long enough to slow me down," he returned sarcastically.

"And," concern weakened his strong voice, "what about my parents' grave?"

"Remarkably untouched," Alfred replied, delighted at the chance, "as if they had a guardian angel looking over them."

"I need you to take me there," Bruce asserted in a crass tone, standing to button his shirt.

Alfred was stunned by the request, but his reply came forth as if were second nature to him, "I'll bring the car around front. Try not to stain my shirt. I'm afraid my skills with stitches aren't as kept as your father's."

"I wouldn't know."

Bruce was left to his own thoughts as Alfred went to retrieve the car which remained stained by the young's man blood. Despite the pain of his gun wound pulsating throughout his body with every motion, Bruce felt oddly relaxed simply waiting on Alfred. Even knowledge of his family home's devastation didn't seem to move him. Instead, he was more so satisfied knowing that his parent's grave was still undisturbed.

The drive through Gotham was long, yet pacifying. The two men only shared a handful of exchanges, mostly about the city's condition but it was enough. Their familiarity with one another made it easy to move forward without any explanation of Bruce's return. Alfred also knew the dangers of asking questions he didn't necessarily want the answers to. A quick glance into the rear-view mirror revealed a deep sense of regret in Bruce's eyes as he looked upon the city; a sight Alfred was not accustomed to. It made the man weary of the future ahead of them.

A few miles separated the manor from the heart of Gotham. Many of the self-proclaimed elite lived in the city outskirts; a show of arrogance and boastful pride. However, the Wayne family never fell prey to the need for stature. Its site, atop the peak of the city's limit, was chosen by Bruce's ancestors, the first Wayne family, as a means to see Gotham's growth over the ages. Now the home was in shambles and the city just a shadow of what they envisioned it to be.

"We've arrived, Master Bruce…"

Bruce looked upon his former home, wrecked by the elements and overtaken by nature. The main gate appeared to be pried open by trespassers, further evidenced by the graffiti painted across the mansion's outer walls. Unlike Bruce, Alfred was weary of the many warning signs littered across the yard, though, he was uncertain if it was confidence of eagerness that guided his young ward.

"During the quake, I attempted to save as much of your family's valuables as I could," Alfred informed as they made their way through the broken front door, "However, a group of miscreants took advantage of the aftershock to best me. In the end, I only managed to safeguard your father's journals, everything else what outside my grasp."

"Don't worry about it Alfred, material things can always be replaced," Bruce said, admiring a torn portrait of his father and mother that barely hung above the crevice splitting through the manor.

"Even still, it can be difficult to replace the memories that accompany them. Master Thomas would have wanted you to have his journals."

Bruce looked back at Alfred with a daunting gaze, unable to silence the memories of his parents, "When was the last time you visited them?"

"Their anniversary, as always. I would have visited more but…"

"It's okay. I never expected you to tend to them. It was my responsibility."

"Master Wayne…"

"Please, stay here. I need to see them alone," Bruce directed, now faced with the opportunity to mend his past grievances.

"As you wish sir," Alfred yielded, allowing Bruce to venture forth on his own accord.

In the midst of walking down the corridor, Bruce discovered an overwhelming longing for the one thing he'd lost in life: his childhood. A single night in the galley of Gotham's Auditorium redefined most of his life when his parents were murdered.


Thomas Wayne had gathered nearly everyone with a title of power or significant wealth to the auditorium in the hopes of conveying his plans for Gotham's future. Thomas wished to better his city in the same vein as his father and forefathers alike. Unfortunately, he'd only gathered the crowd to his own execution.

Alfred and Bruce were both in attendance, though, they would only become aware of the tragedy from the echoes of gunshots and screams coursing through the halls. Alfred's first thought was to protect Bruce, a task made difficult as a multitude of people began to bombard the corridors in search of an exit. The hardened veteran withstood the pushing and shoving of frightened men and women whilst holding on to Bruce's hand with every ounce of his strength. Still, it only took a slight moment of weakness for their hands to be forced apart, separating them between the flock.

With no sign of Alfred amongst the many faces racing around him, Bruce crawled alongside the wall hoping to make his way back to his parents. Eventually, the youth accomplished his task to great horror...

"Mom… Dad…!"

The tears of an innocent boy would not be enough to wash away the blood of his parents.


Bruce was careful with where he chose to walk through the Wayne plot. Though visually it appeared unaffected by the quake, the soft texture of the ground exposed its frailty. To anyone else, ignorance would blind them to the sinkholes scattered across the gravesite. Bruce shared a similar reality since he no longer was what he appeared to be either.

"Mom… Dad… I've come home," Bruce spoke aloud, kneeling down at his parents' gravestone. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to come see you again. I told you before I left, that I'd do better to honor your memory… I—" His words were halted by the sudden drizzle of rain. "I just wanted to be… ready for the storm to come."

Bruce bowed his head in a moment of silence ignoring the downpour that had set in. The rain did well to hide the tears Bruce cried. Never again did he desire to feel the pain of such loss…

"Master Wayne!" Alfred yelled out, snapping the mournful man from his grief. "We have… company."

Bruce rose to his feet, turning to see Alfred just inside the backdoor of the manor. Just in front of Alfred, Bruce recognized another man who had taken care of him following his parent's murder. The very same man sheltered Bruce from the sight of his parent's lifeless body that fateful night and would go on to be named Bruce's legal guardian. His name was…

"Harvey Dent."


A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, if so, be sure to leave a review. And if you really enjoyed it check out DC One: Man of Tomorrow.