"… Mom?" Bruce gasped, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, "H-How, I-I-I- "
The spirit shook her head, a soft smile on her face. "I am not your Mother young one… I have merely taken this form in order to make this easier for you."
The answer was disappointing…. He didn't need the spirit taking on the form of his Mother… he needed his actual Mother. Straightening up, Bruce glared at the ghost. "Then who and what are you?"
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."
"Long past?"
"Your past…" The spirit held out a hand, "… come. Let us go."
Warily, Bruce took a hold of the offered hand, taking care not to startle in surprise when he felt the cool fingers clench around his own. Slowly he followed the spirit of his Mother towards the large windows, watching as they were flung open. However, as the ghost stepped out onto thin air, Bruce found himself trying to get rid of the death grip on his hand. "Please, I'm mortal! I'll fall!"
The spirit smiled, sending a pang of grief through Bruce's heart at how familiar it was to him. "Don't worry Bruce… whilst you still have a hold of my hand, you will not fall."
And with that, the spirit pulled him through the window and down towards the ground below. Bruce tensed as they quickly approached the courtyard that lay below the window, however, a few metres away from impact, there was a blinding flash, causing Bruce to squeeze his eyes shut.
When he re-opened them, he found himself standing in a very familiar corridor. "You've just brought me back into the house…" he grumbled, "… what's the point of that?"
Suddenly, a familiar figure raced past them, prompting Bruce to leap to the side in an attempt to avoid being run over. The spirit chuckled warmly at this, "These are the shadows of the past. They have no consciousness of us."
"The past? What- " Bruce shook his head, "T-that was Alfred… but younger, I'm sure it was!"
"A good friend of yours?"
"My Butl…. Friend. The best…. He was always there for me, usually when no-one else was."
"It's Christmas… most children would be running around in excitement. Where are you?"
Glancing around, Bruce quickly deduced which Christmas this was. Silently, he walked further up the corridor, closely followed by the spirit. Opening the door that used to be his parents' bedroom, their eyes instantly landed on the young boy curled up on top of the covers.
"You are… upset." The spirit whispered.
Bruce sighed wearily, "My parents were killed a few months before this… I wasn't really feeling in the Christmas mood."
"At all?"
"What was the point of Christmas, when the two people I loved most in the world were gone?"
"Maybe we should go to another Christmas?"
"There's no point…" Whispered Bruce, "… nothing was ever the same since they were killed."
"That's not entirely true…."
The younger Bruce blurred, aging before their eyes until he was in his younger twenties.
"Master Bruce!" called out a voice from the corridor, and the older Bruce found himself smiling at the sight of Alfred cautiously peering into the room, "Everyone is waiting for you Master Bruce. The first Christmas Ball held at Wayne Manor for almost a decade, a lot of people are very excited to see you."
Bruce watched as his past-self neatened out his tie, sending a shy smile towards the butler as the older man stepped in to neaten it himself, still talking about who was there and the snow falling outside.
"What a remarkable man." Whispered the spirit, a fond smile on her face as she watched Alfred.
Nodding in agreement, Bruce made a mental note to get Alfred something extra special this year…. Maybe some new cufflinks?
"Maybe we need to see another Christmas."
A blinding light surrounded them once again, and this time, Bruce found himself in the main entrance hall, where decorations hung from the ceiling and walls, and Alfred was busy decorating a large pine tree.
"Another annual Christmas party…" Bruce sighed as he turned to spirit, "… no matter how many parties the upper classes of Gotham go to, this one always seemed to be the highlight of the year."
There was a commotion from the stairs and a slightly younger Bruce made his way downstairs, closely followed by a small child.
"That's Dick…" Bruce couldn't help but smiled fondly, "… I think this was his first Christmas here. I think I tried to make it extra special for him."
"Hmph… unlike with Jason." The spirit muttered, causing Bruce to glare at it (especially as it sounded so much like his Mother when she was disappointed in him). They watched as the room filled up with everyone who was anyone, all laughing and chatting.
"How peaceful…" the spirit then whispered, smiling as she and Bruce moved through the crowd (literally!), taking in every familiar face.
And then Bruce froze up when he spotted a familiar woman heading towards his younger self. "Rachel…"
"…. You know this young lady?"
Bruce nodded silently as his past self met up with Rachel, a fond smile on his face. "She… she was one of my oldest and dearest friends."
"…. You loved her." The spirit gave him a knowing look as Bruce twisted around to try and protest, "And it looks as though she loved you."
They were surrounded by another flash of blinding light and Bruce found himself in the manor gardens, the snow lying crisp on the ground, watching his past self watching Rachel pace back and forth. Rachel was shaking her head in despair. "You can't keep doing this Bruce? Why can't you see Batman is making it worse?!"
Bruce sighed, remembering this exact argument as his younger self shook his head. "The criminals are scared of Batman, they think twice before doing everything! They think twice before they rob an old woman, or beat up a shop-owner for protection money!"
"But every psychopath has come out to try and be the one to take down Batman! No matter who gets killed doing it! What happens when Robin's killed? When you lose someone who's a son to you!"
There was only silence, as Rachel sighed wearily. "I loved you Bruce…. But sometimes you can be an idiot."
"You should go."
"… Pardon?"
Younger Bruce turned to her, a dark look on his face. "Leave…. Now."
Rachel shook her head, "You always do this! As soon as I disagree with you, you act like this, like…. Like every other rich jackass out there! I can't do it anymore! I can't stand here and watch you slowly kill yourself, and Richard, by running around and playing the hero!"
With that, she spun neatly around on her heel and stormed out of the room. Bruce sneered as his younger self simply sighed and headed to the window, "Idiot…" he muttered softly, "… You should've said something sooner."
The spirit frowned, "May I ask what happened to her?"
"…. She was killed. One of Joker's schemes." Bruce then shook his head, trying to get rid of the tears in his eyes, "Take me back…. I don't want to see anymore. Take me away from here!"
Sensing that Bruce was upset with him, the spirit attempted to reason with him, "I told you these were the shadows of the things that have been. That they are what they are, do not blame me!"
"LEAVE ME!" Bruce yelled, sinking to the ground and burying his head in his hands. When he next opened his eyes, he found that he was kneeling on the floor of his room. It was dark and silent, with no sign that anything ever happened.
Wearily, he climbed back into bed…. Just as the clock began to chime again.
A bright light filled the room again, which caused Bruce to dive under the covers in an attempt to save his eyes.
And then he heard another familiar voice.
"Come on Bruce! What did you used to say to me about hiding under my covers?"
