Years ago – Unknown date
An eight year old Bruce Wayne slowly made his way down the dark street. He almost didn't notice as the buildings around him became more and more distraught, and the people around him began to look more poverty-stricken. The world seemed to change around him as the elegant city he knew well turned into an unfamiliar place with rundown buildings covered in graffiti. Trash littered the ground, and trashcans had fires burning in them. Little Bruce made his way farther into the unnerving place, walking deeper and deeper into the slums of Gotham City. It was starting to get darker, and a cool breeze chilled the air. While walking down the street, Bruce began to catch the attention of low-level gangsters. He froze in fear as some of them called out to him, calling him names and gesturing for him to go over to them. Bruce stood petrified, unsure what to do. Just then, he felt someone's hand on his shoulder and he jumped. He turned around to see that a boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, had come over to him. He was not very tall, and he was wearing black jeans with an old disheveled black jacket over a t-shirt. He had spiky dark brown hair that was slightly unkempt and thick horn-rimmed glasses. As Bruce studied him for another moment, he could see a dark colored backpack slug on one of the boy's shoulders.
"You okay kid?" The boy asked, his voice calm, but slightly worried. "Where are your parents?"
"Dead." Bruce replied sadly, tears forming in his eyes. The boy looked sorry for him, and then looked around nervously. He put his hand back on Bruce's shoulder in a reassuring manner.
"It's not safe for you to be out here alone at this hour. Follow me for now." Bruce stared at the boy, not trusting him.
"It's alright. You can trust me." The older boy said, seeing the hesitation in the young boy. Something in his voice told Bruce that he was telling the truth, and he nodded slowly and followed the boy. The older boy led him through the labyrinth of the slums of Gotham City and Bruce quickly realized that he had no idea where he was and would be completely lost without the guide of the older boy. They walked for a while before coming to a small abandoned building that was two stories tall and completely rundown. After looking around nervously, the older boy forced the door open and led Bruce inside. Bruce surveyed the room as the older boy shoved the door closed. It was a fairly small room, and the windows near the back were either boarded up or smashed. An old staircase was in the far corner and there were a few blankets on the ground near a metal trashcan, below a small broken window. Bruce shivered, partly from the coldness of the air and partly from fear. He watched as the older boy moved over to the metal trashcan, dropping his backpack next to the blankets. Producing a lighter from his pocket, the boy picked up a piece of trash from the trashcan, lit it on fire, and then dropped it back into the trash. Whatever was in the trash caught on fire immediately, and Bruce slowly made his way over to the warm comfort of the fire. Despite the heat of the fire, Bruce shivered again, a few tears managing to slide down his cheeks from all of the mixed emotions he was feeling. He felt grateful that the older boy had helped him, but he also felt terrified, and anger and sadness still filled him from his parent's death. Bruce looked up suddenly as the older boy draped one of the blankets around Bruce's shoulders in a way to comfort him. Their eyes connected as the older boy nodded slightly, wordlessly letting the boy know that everything was going to be okay. After a moment, Bruce cautiously sat down on the other blankets and the older boy sat down a few feet from him, leaning against the wall facing him. He seemed to be studying Bruce, so Bruce decided to break the silence.
"What's your name?" he asked quietly, wiping the tears from his face.
"People call me…Harold. Harold Wren." Bruce noticed the hesitation in Harold's voice and frowned, confused.
"It's not your real name?" Harold shook his head.
"No. What's your name?" Harold inquired, trying to change the subject.
"Bruce Wayne."
"Tell me Mr. Wayne, why are you wondering around here alone? It's dangerous, especially if you're wearing that. People will do anything for some money." Bruce looked down, remembering that he was wearing his expensive two-piece suite.
"I wanted to somehow tell the evil criminals that they will never again get away with anything like murder." Bruce confessed. Harold raised an eyebrow.
"That's probably not a great plan."
"I miss my parents." Harold looked down, feeling sorry for the young boy. He remembered hearing about Martha and Thomas Wayne being murdered; they had just been killed the month before.
"My parents were also murdered." Harold admitted. He wasn't sure why he told Bruce; it wasn't going to make the younger boy feel better, but he felt like he owed the boy some truth about himself. Bruce looked up at Harold, his eyes wide with surprise.
"What did you do?"
"I ran." Harold looked at his watch and quickly asked Bruce another question before the small boy could inquire any more about his past. "Who is taking care of you?"
"My butler, Alfred."
"Do you know where he would be looking for you?" Bruce thought for a moment before shaking his head no. Finch considered this fact for a moment before talking.
"It's too late to get you home tonight. It's dangerous to go out at night," Finch said, talking to more to himself than to Bruce. "I guess you will have to stay here…" Harold smile slightly on the inside; the boy's young face seemed to fall at the idea that he would have to stay in an abandoned building in the worst part of Gotham. He knew that the boy had only known luxury his whole life.
"Get some rest, Mr. Wayne." Harold suggested, and Bruce nodded.
ooOoo
Bruce slowly opened his eyes, panic seizing him as he woke up in an unfamiliar place. Before he had too much time to think about it though, the events of the night before dawned on him slowly. He sat up slowly, noticing Harold sitting right where he had been the night before. He was reading some complicated looking book, and Bruce wondered what he was reading. Harold looked up from his book, noticing Bruce.
"Morning Mr. Wayne." Harold said, closing his book and putting it into his backpack.
"Morning Mr. Wren." Bruce replied, smiling slightly. Besides Tomas Elliot, Bruce didn't have any friends, but he was beginning to consider Harold as a friend. He decided to try to find out more about the mysterious boy who had helped him.
"Are you from Gotham?" He asked, trying to sound casual.
"No. Just passing through." Harold responded, not sure where the conversation was leading.
"Why?"
"I guess you could call it… studying."
"What do you mean?"
"It's complicated." Bruce frowned slightly, not knowing why Harold was being so secretive.
"Why are you staying here?" Bruce asked looking around the abandoned building.
"It's free." Harold responded with a straight face, and with anyone else Bruce would have assumed that it was a joke, but he couldn't tell with Harold.
"Where do you live?"
"I have a place with my friend in Cambridge, Boston."
"But where are you from?"
"Does it matter?" Harold's response came out harsher than he meant, and he instantly felt bad.
"Sorry." Bruce apologized, and Harold shook his head.
"Don't be."
"How did you end up in Gotham?" Bruce questioned, and Harold sighed slightly.
"…It's a long story."
"Where is your friend?"
"He's on… vacation." Harold could feel himself becoming increasingly annoyed with all of Bruce's questions, but Bruce didn't seem to notice.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"Do you go to school?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
"Sorry… I like knowing the answers." Bruce said a bit sheepishly, beginning to notice that he was bother Harold with all of his questions.
"It's fine, Mr. Wayne." Bruce hesitated for a moment before coming to the decision of asking Harold one more question.
"Mr. Wren?" Despite being annoyed with all of Bruce's questions, Harold smiled ever so slightly; he enjoyed how formal the boy was.
"Why did you run?" Harold's smiled faltered as he sensed the direction the conversation was going.
"When?"
"After your parents were killed. You said that you ran. Why? Why not stay and fight?"
"It wasn't that simple. It was either run or…" Harold hesitated and looked away, not sure what to say. Memories he had buried deep inside himself began to flood back to him. "I didn't really have a choice. It wasn't a battle worth fighting."
"Is ridding this city of the evil that took my parents' lives a battle not worth fighting?" Harold looked up at Bruce, and he could see that the young boy was serious.
"Bruce," Harold began, deciding to tell the boy the truth about what he thought, "If you want to take it upon yourself to help the innocent, and help rid this city of the evil that lives in it, I think that you should." Bruce considered the meaning of Harold's words and together they sat in silence until Harold spoke again.
"Well Mr. Wayne, I believe that it is time to get you home."
ooOoo
Bruce followed Harold as he led the way out of the slums of Gotham. They walked in silence, but it wasn't an awkward silence; it was more of a peaceful silence. It wasn't long before Bruce began to recognize the buildings and before he knew it, they arrived at the Gotham City Police Department. Together they made their way into the police department and walked only a few steps before gaining the attention of a police officer, who walked over to them.
"Bruce Wayne!" The officer said in surprise, instantly recognizing the young boy.
"He was lost, so I thought I would bring him here." Harold said smoothly, not quite lying but not telling the full truth either.
"Thank you. Good thinking on your part to bring him here. You alright son?" The officer replied, directing the question to Bruce. Bruce nodded and the officer smiled.
"Hey Foley!" The officer called loudly over the noise of the police department, "Please call Alfred Pennyworth and tell him that we have found Bruce."
"Sure thing Jim." The officer, Foley, replied. Harold shifted a little, and Jim turned his attention to him.
"Thanks again for bringing Bruce here, Mr.…"
"Wren. Harold Wren." Harold replied and the officer nodded.
"Thanks Mr. Wren. I'm Officer James Gordon." Gordon said, introducing himself. Harold nodded his head slightly to Gordon before turning to Bruce.
"I should go. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Wayne." Harold had barley finished his sentence when Bruce stepped towards him and hugged him. After a moment Bruce let him go and took a step back.
"It was nice to meet you too Mr. Wren." Bruce said with a small smile, and to his surprise Harold smiled back at him. After a moment, Harold turned and left the police station.
Hey everyone! I hope that you enjoyed the flashback! Sorry that it has been a while since i have last updated. Anyway, I finished this chapter extremely late at night so if you see any mistakes, please let me know. Reviews are always welcome. Have a great day.
