A/n: I'll say it one more time just to really hammer the point across. It's not going to be romance with rabbits and unicorns frolicking around a meadow.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Batman.

.

.

.

"No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side.

Or you don't."

― Stephen King.

.

.

Chapter 8 pt 2

Eight-year-old Bruce stared down at his feet from the uncomfortable plastic chair Alfred had placed him in, the tiles white and blue with a few odd yellow ones.

Rather ugly if he was honest with himself, his mother would have agreed with him. Tears sprung to his eyes and he blinked as the fat drops landed on his perfectly polished dress shoes, small body shaking as he tried to stifle the sobs that rose from his chest and past his lips without permission.

He was such a crybaby now like Greg said but he couldn't help it! He wanted his mum and dad!

"Oh Bruce my boy…" he was pulled into a hug by Alfred, the man's arms wrapping around his shoulders before he was lifted from the seat and placed in the butler's lap, something he hadn't done in years not since he was in preschool perhaps and not a moment after the that.

Now it was a rare comfort and it reminded him of the ones his mother would give, gentle and warm.

That only made the tears spring forth with more strength than before.

Alfred sighed softly and rubbed his young charge's back, blue eyes scanning the hallways for a glimpse of anyone with a camera aimed in their direction. The media had been a pain in the ass since the deaths of the Waynes and anyone who worked for a news station, paper or magazine had been trying to sink their claws into the young eight-year-old orphan and sole heir to the Wayne fortune.

No one had been more persistent than the board members of the company, most trying to get to Bruce without his knowledge in hopes the boy would sign over the assets to one of them, hoping he would give up everything his parents worked for and left him if they persuaded him.

Over Alfred's cold dead body.

Should anyone discover that Bruce was seeking help from a psychiatrist that would only bring more weight down the boy's young shoulders and Alfred refused to let that happen if he could help it. People were vultures and Bruce needed to learn how to avoid their sharp beaks and beady stares if he wanted to survive the world he was left in.

"Mr. Reece?" the secretary called out and Alfred placed Bruce on his feet before leading the boy towards the woman whose eyes widened slightly upon recognizing Bruce but other than that kept a professional visage, her perfectly manicured and styled nail pointing to the third door down the hall.

"Dr. Crane will see you now Mr. Reece."

Bruce walked into the office that was painted a cream color with paintings of flower fields and landscape views etched into a forever image framed by a dark wood. There was a single seater armchair and then a three seater couch directly opposite a glass table that sat primly in the middle of a lush carpet.

And the lone man in the office was dressed in a sweater and cardigan, blue tie under all the material, a polite smile on his face as he extended his hand out to Alfred and then Bruce.

His sessions with Crane were bi-weekly for an hour long and after a month and half of the man asking him questions he began to trust him a bit, slowly at first with tentative answers and then openly, telling him about songs his mother used to sing and how his father was actually very horrible at chess.

Crane who insisted within the four walls he called him Jonathan confided in him that he was an orphan as well and with that secret, Bruce felt as though he had met someone who finally understood.

"I need to ask you something Bruce." Jonathan said slowly and Bruce looked up from the comic book of Captain America to stare at his friend who wasn't much older than he was, a prodigy who gained his Ph.D. at eighteen and started his practice at twenty.

"What?" Jonathan hesitated before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his light blue eyes that were more grey than blue focused more intently than they had ever been before, even during their formal sessions.

"I think I've made a breakthrough in one of my studies, a drug that can ease the effects of PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder, the thing that makes veterans and people who have experienced horrible things in life. It can make their nightmares and attacks lesser and with continued use disappear altogether without making them all twitchy and detached as many other drugs do."

Bruce tilted his head "...That's good?"

Jonathan licked his lips and reached inside of his jacket pocket to take out a small pill bottle, tiny white pills rattling inside. "You're the only one I can trust with this knowledge Bruce."

Bruce puffed up a bit and he smiled.

"But the board won't let run any tests just yet, they need solid proof but are only willing to let me have lab rats or maybe a monkey to try it on but it won't be the same - the results won't be the same unless it's someone I can monitor, a human."

He was always a smart kid for his age, or so his father had told him so it wasn't hard to see where the good doctor was going with this. "You want me to test them for you?" his didn't mean to sound skeptical and immediately regretted it when Jonathan shrunk in on himself.

"You don't have to - I mean, it's a silly question and I shouldn't have asked in the first place, just forget it okay?"

Bruce shook his head, dropping the comic "No no! It's okay! I don't mind!"

Crane shook his head and pocketed the pills "It's too dangerous for a kid, I really shouldn't have asked you Bruce."

Rolling his eyes he stood up from the couch and marched over to his older friend, the man blinking in surprise behind his rectangular glass frames as Bruce held his hand out, face set in determination and a flush of what could only be a bit of anger on cheeks.

"So what if I'm a kid! I'm your friend! Besides, Alfred is paying you to fix me and make me better, so if your medicine does what you say it'll do it'll make him really happy, so give it up Johnathan."

Crane stared at Bruce a moment longer before he chuckled and took the bottle out again, uncapping it and shaking three of the small white tablets in his palm. "You take three every day during the morning, all at once."

Going over to his mini-fridge he took out a bottle of apple juice and Bruce washed the pills down with it.

"You'll feel a bit strange at first but I promise you'll feel a lot better in no time." he reassured the boy and Bruce only shrugged, taking his book back up. A hand squeezing his knee made him look up again at the man "Don't tell anyone about this alright Bruce? If you do I could lose my practice and we won't be able to be friends anymore. It'll be our little secret okay?"

Bruce nodded a bit and Jonathan squeezed his knee tighter "If it works you'll make Alfred really happy. You want him to be happy don't you?" and of course Bruce did so he nodded "I promise I won't tell anyone."

Crane smile at him and pulled him into a hug "Thank you, you have no idea how much this means to me."

Alfred was told he was being given a new medication to help combat the nightmares, the butler being doubtful until Bruce reassured him he was willing to do it, even as he omitted the medication wasn't classified as safe for human testing.

First had came the hallucinations of shadows moving, of voices that sounded like his parents whispering in his ears. Then the maids and butlers who all wore wolf heads, snarling maws, and glowing red eyes, each surrounding him and reaching towards him with human hands that quickly turned into claws. Nightmares of the night his parents were killed, the last few moments of their life replaying over and over on a never-ending loop that made him cry during sleep and awake. Those nightmares were the worst.

Until they weren't and they stopped completely. No more shadows or wolf heads, no more panic attacks, and lost appetite. Bruce was healed, he was fixed and Alfred was happy.

Then the boy called Harry came with his glowing green eyes and hands that clung to Alfred, and Alfred - Alfred was happy, just not because of him.

.

.

Bruce stared at his reflection in the mirror and for once the unkempt hair and clothes, pale pallor and dark bags under his eyes didn't bother him because really, what did it matter now.

He replayed what had happened in his head several times, day and night and yet he couldn't find a solution to the problem, like a haze blocking out the rational side and only leaving the dark and messy parts for him to pick through like a beggar searching for food. Digging his nails into his scalp he tore his eyes away from his reflection to stare at his wall, plain and unattached to anything.

Never before had he seen Alfred so angry, so pissed off, especially at him.

The normally kind face had been pulled taut and mouth in a thin line - at one point Bruce thought he was going to bit hit from the fisted hands.

There wasn't any shouting, no dramatic build-up to the questions. Alfred had simply knocked on his door, opened it and closed it behind him, not moving from there even as Bruce had lazily asked him what was wrong.

He had very well known what was wrong, he was after all responsible for nearly killing the man's grandson.

"Should you ever even fathom the idea of placing a hand on Harry again I will pack myself and him our belongings and I'll leave you for the vultures, I swear it on your parents grave."

Bruce didn't think Alfred had been capable of such a cold persona towards him but the delivery of the short statement had made his heart pound in his chest, the echoes of it vibrating in his ears. His palms had turned sweaty and for a moment he felt light-headed.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about Alfred."

He hadn't meant to let that slip loose but by now lying to the butler was almost first nature rather than second but Alfred's already severe face morphed in an impression that Bruce had never before seen and it scared him to think that this was it, that he would be abandoned finally and left with nothing but memories.

"I don't know when you changed from that sweet child I took care of to this… monster, to this jealous creature that can not even manage empathy."

Bruce opened his mouth to rebuttal the accusations, and now he could hear his blood rushing, it sounded like a waterfall thundering in his head.

"But let me make myself exceptionally clear. Should you ever, ever find the need to lay a hand on Harry, to speak a single bad word towards his person I will walk out that gate and never come back. He is my grandson, my family and at one point in time so were you - I don't know what happened. What made you turn so ugly without my notice and I'm sorry for that, for my negligence."

Bruce couldn't breathe. Alfred was threatening to leave him.

"But that still doesn't change the fact that should he ever come to harm again and you are to blame, you shall be on your own."

Alfred's frown lessened a bit "Now tell me the name of the others who were involved."

He had given up Gregory and the others, had told Alfred in explicit detail everything that he had done and watched happened and this time Alfred really did hit him, a slap to the cheek that burned and ached even now though the damage was long since healed.

Lawsuits were being spoken of, the other boys family's not believing the word of a butler and a 'troubled boy who was using their sons for advancement' even though Bruce was easily ten times richer than any of them.

To say that he now had no friends was an understatement and within just two days he was subjected to bullying that was normally left for the weaker kids in the high-class private school, Gregory taking personal satisfaction in dropping his books into the toilets, three semesters of notes gone along with the pocket money he was given each day to take to school.

His eyes wandered back to the full-length mirror, chest burning and eyes stinging. He wanted his mother, wanted her to hold him and kiss him on the head like she used to. He wanted his father to rub his back and tell him how proud he was of him, to ruffle his hair and make his mom scowl because she had just spent a few minutes styling it to her liking.

He wanted them back and if he could give everything he owned to get them back he would because now all he had was Alfred -

A wet sound tore from his lips and Bruce could barely register his reflection crying back, because now he didn't even have Alfred.

He was alone. Everyone abandoned him. Everyone hated him.

Burying his face into the pillow he was gripping Bruce let the burning tears soak the pillow that was his only form of comfort but not a proper substitute for either of his parents or Alfred.

"Mommy… I want you back… please come back…"

It hurt to breathe but he couldn't stop crying, the tears escaping even with his eyes closed, nose stuffed and hiccups choking him every now and then.

"Bruce…"

"Bruce… it's okay."

He hiccuped, looking up at the voice and his heart stuttered to a stop before restarting at the image of his mother standing in place of his reflection, clothed in her favorite red dress, dark hair done up and lips spread in a gentle grin.

"M-mom… is - are you real?" the pillow dropped from his grasp when his mother pushed against the glass of the mirror and it seemed to shiver, a ripple moving from where her hand was pressed and then slowly outward, like an optical illusion her hand pushed its way out of the mirror. Bit by bit more of her body escaped until she fell out, Bruce scrambling from his bed to help her up.

The hug that he was enveloped in was as warm as he remembered it to be, as tight yet gentle as she had always gave them.

"Mommy… mommy… mommy." her name was like a mantra on his lips and Martha Wayne kept her face hidden in her son's neck.

"I-I m-m-missed y-you so-so mu-much!" he wailed, clinging to her and she hummed "I-I th-thought you w-were d-dead! Wh-why did yo-you leave me m-mommy… why…"

"Bruce… sweetheart. My little angel, but I am dead." she giggled and Bruce pulled back slowly, a horrid scent reaching his nose.

With a startled scream he pulled away from his mother, her face as if acid was eating away at her flesh dissolved in some areas, the skin greying, bits falling off to reveal fat maggots feasting on her rotting flesh. There was a hole in her chest and her smile tapered off, hands boney, the palms having a horde of fly larvae as she reached out to him.

"Give mommy a hug Bruce."

Bruce shook his head, eyes wide as he stared at the zombie that tilted her head, beautiful blue eyes now cold and dead.

"Give mommy a hug Bruce."

"N-no! Yo-you're not my mother!" his heart was thundering against his rib cage and though he wanted to run, needed to run away his limbs were frozen.

Martha tilted her head back, frame shaking as if she was shivering, the pale lips opening and for a moment Bruce believed she was going to scream but soon he watched in morbid fear as her jaw broke, lips spreading wider and wider.

A hand appeared first, wet with a yellow liquid and the zombified Martha Wayne jerked, body shuddering and the tight skin tearing at the seams as more of the person pushed itself from her throat. Bruce tried to scream, scream for Alfred, for someone to help him but he suddenly found himself mute, his panic skyrocketing further.

Martha's skin split completely, worms, beetles and flies falling to the ground and Bruce wailed as his mother's skin, almost as if it was now boneless like a snake's shed skin pooled around the standing figure of what he thought to be a man. Bruce was trembling, cold sweat slipping from his forehead and mixing with the saltiness of his tears.

The man, no the scarecrow's head tilted and amid the panic and fear from the two small holes in the badly stitched sack Bruce saw eyes, recognized them even but wasn't given a chance to dwell on where he knew them from because the man - the creature stepped forward and in the same voice of his mother, gentle and sweet it reached out to him.

"Give mommy a hug Bruce."

He shook his head and the thing paused, arms lowering as it spoke again, voice morphing until it got deep and gravely "Give mommy a hug you little brat."

He shook his head, tears blurring his vision.

"Give mommy a hug you fucking shit."

"I want a hug you little cunt."

Bruce could only continue to stare at the creature, eyes flickering between it and his mother's flesh that pooled around its dirty shoes, her dead eyes focused on him.

When he looked back to the scarecrow because that could be the only name for it he found the creature's face a few inches away from his, close enough that he could smell the sickening scent of decay.

"I WaNt A HuG YoU DiGuStInG LiTtLe CuNt!" it screamed at him, voice distorted as if it couldn't settle on one tone and it laughed soon after, a screeching thing and Bruce whimpered when his shoulders were grabbed in an iron grip.

"All alone. No one wants you. Die you little shit. DieDieDieDieDieDieDie!" every second that ticked by maggots crept from between the stitches on the sack that covered its face, some of the fat worms falling onto Bruce's legs and hands.

Centipedes and fatter longer worms slipped from the things' mouth and Bruce idly realized there was a growing warm wetness between his legs that spread down his pants.

"You pissed yourself! You pissed your pants!"

The scarecrow rested its forehead on Bruce's, more larvae falling and crawling along his skin until he covered in the maggots as well and he could only stare, wide eyes, tears slipping down his already wet cheeks as the black threads of its mouth popped open to reveal sharp teeth and a mouthful of fat white larvae and the moment Bruce screamed again it leaned forward and pressed it's mouth to his, the worms falling into his and slipping, crawling around his mouth and down his throat until he choked.

He couldn't breathe, he could move. He was going to die.

He was going to die.

"Bruce! Bruce!"

He was going to die alone.

"Someone call an ambulance! Bruce! I need you to breathe for me, child! Breathe goddammit!"

The voice sounded familiar but he could still feel the creeping of the maggots moving around his throat, threatening to move lower and further into his body.

A sharp sting to his cheek made him flinch and the tightness in his chest loosened a tiny bit but it was enough for him to draw in a shaky barely there breath.

"That's it, my boy, that's it, breathe for me!"

His body was jerking as if he had no control over his limbs but he followed the voice and drew in a hard fought for half lungful of air, then another and another.

"Bruce…" he flinched at the sound of his name and it was only when his vision could focus again among the tears he recognized Alfred's terrified face, skin pale and blue eyes wide with worry and fright.

The man was careful with him, moving him away from the puddle of vomit that had several small white pills that were half dissolved in the stomach acid.

"Why would you… what happened Bruce? Why would you try to -" Alfred couldn't bring himself to say it and Bruce blinked tiredly, exhaustion taking over his features but Alfred tapped him on the cheek to keep him away until the sound of the sirens came closer.

"'M 'lone. N'b'dy wan' me… n'mom… nn'daad… n'you. 'T 'urts... "

He didn't want to start crying again because not only did his eyes burn, they hurt but the tears refused to stay within his tear ducts and he found himself sobbing again but unlike before Alfred cradled him close murmuring reassuring words that meant very little to him because it hurts, the lonliness hurt.

His stomach clenched and acid burned on the way up then out, more undigested pills and what little food remained in his stomach landed on the ground, some dribbling down Alfred's arm. Bruce groaned, choking on a sob. By chance he looked up at the gathered help who were blocking his doorway and though it wasn't much of a view he watched through blurry eyes as green flashed between the black and white canvas of the maids clothing, the wheelchair making minimal noise as he rolled by.

He knew the look of disdain well enough. He had seen it on his face in the mirror everyday since the other boy arrived.

.

.

A/n: I still don't know why people are assuming whatever relationship these two will have is going to be 'loving' but no it won't be. You'll see eventually~

In other news, has anyone here watched Hotel Artemis? I have a one-shot written between Harry and Everest but there's no tab for the movie on here that I can see.