AU story:Bruce Wayne is a bitter man, hating the world for the death of parents and the life he didn't choose. Can his old friend Lucius Fox change his heart?

A Bat Christmas Carol

With Great Respect For Charles Dickens

By

Part 7: A City Without Hope

The city was as dismal as any place could get with the exception of the Christmas Market. There were pockets of joy and people doing their best to celebrate, but where there was celebration, there was an equal amount of darkness where evil intentions thrived. It was in these areas that the Spirit took out a cup similar to the one that Bruce drank from, and in those areas, the Spirit sprinkled what looked like water. The water reshaped itself into some birds as well as a large bat. They flew into the darkness, exposing the crime, and bringing light to a darkened world, if only for a little while.

Bruce thought he was imagining it, but everywhere the Spirit went, he sprinkled his water into the darkest corners of Gotham.

"Spirit why are you sprinkling that water," Bruce asked. "And why does it change shape?"

"Water is hope, and hope is freely given to those who sorely need it," said the Spirit of Christmas Present.

"But the water changed into shapes . . . "

"You noticed. Those who have no hope become desperate. They need hope most of all. Observe."

Bruce watched as the Spirit sprinkled water on those with families. He also noticed even though the Spirit sprinkled water in certain areas where the darkness was deepest, the water had little effect.

"Spirit, why doesn't the water work there?"

"For those, it is too late," the Spirit stated. "They have chosen a darker path."

Bruce watched as a woman scantily dressed emerged out of the shadows. She was more a girl than a woman, not more than Tim's age, Bruce observed.

"Want a good time?" the girl enticed.

A man with a switch blade came forward.

Bruce backed up. They were heading in their direction. They weren't supposed to see him. "Isn't there a policeman around?"

"He was a police officer," the Spirit said. "I thought you said they had nothing to do with you. That woman used to work for you. And that man fought a losing battle and lost. He gave in to the pressures of others."

"What?" Bruce was surprised at that. "Stop this at once!" He demanded, but the man and the woman did not hear him. He was forced to turn away when the man forced himself on the woman. "Spirit, take me away from here!"

"Not yet,"

A figure dressed in dark clothing and wearing a mask swooped down and kicked the man. The man with the knife lashed out at the dark figure, slicing through the dark clothing, drawing blood. Bruce could see the blue eyes of the dark figure. There was determination, but Bruce believed because of the figure's size and build, the figure would be overpowered. And yet the dark figure did overpower the man with the knife, kicking out and connecting, using a martial arts technique that Bruce had never seen. Then the woman attacked the dark figure who tried to save her. And soon the dark figure had to flee leaving the man and woman behind.

"I don't understand."

"Many try to fight, but soon become discouraged, or killed. There is no one to protect them. Did you not recognize that man?"

"Should I?"

The spirit did not answer him.

"Spirit? Spirit!"

Bruce turned to find he was alone. Then he heard the chimes in the clocktower. And then the deep tone of the hammer striking the hour. It had begun. He raced through the darkened streets of Gotham, witnessing several atrocities against innocent citizens. The sound of the Gotham Clock Tower continued to be heard in the distance, ringing out each moment, counting down to the exact hour. Bruce's heart raced. He needed to get back to the Manor, back to his warm bed, but the Manor was miles away. No, that wasn't it. His family home had been destroyed in the earthquake. He chose to live with his partner, and his partner was long dead.

Bruce was suddenly brought up short when a figure emerged from the deepest shadows. It was dark and menacing, and Bruce felt the cowardness rise in his own heart. He recognized the shape from when he was a child, a night-time horror that had always been in the back of his mind, ever since he fell into that old well, and into an immense cave. He could not get away from that memory.

The Spirit stared down at Bruce its red eyes glowing.

"Are you the Spirit of the Future?" Bruce asked.

The bat-like Spirit nodded but did not speak.

"Won't you say something?" Bruce asked, but the figure didn't give out a single peep. The bat-spirit's wings fluttered from a non-existent breeze. Then they enveloped Bruce in their depths, reminding Bruce when he fell and was surrounded by hundreds of startled bats. The darkness didn't last long, and Bruce found himself outside a towering building.

"When did he die?" One man said.

"Last night," another answered.

"He was not that old, even so, do you know what's happened to his money?" A third asked. "This city could get back on its feet with all those billions."

"How should I know," the first answered. 'I just know he didn't leave it to me."

"The funeral is probably going to be cheap since he didn't provide for it."

"I'd go if there was food," the second said.

Bruce couldn't believe those three people. They were so callous, but didn't he do the same thing when his partner died?

The bat-spirit's wings unfurled, and once again Bruce was enveloped in their embrace. They ended up in a pawn shop. The man who owned the shop looked over some goods.

"Real Sapphire, you say?" The man brought out a small glass and examined the gems in the cufflinks. "I'll give you 50 for them."

"They are worth a lot more," the man said, his back to Bruce.

"60, not a penny more," the man added.

"I've got something you might be interested in," a woman came in, her sultry voice got the men's attention.

"And what would that be?"

The woman pulled out the object from her coat. "Perfect natural matching pearls."

"My, my," the man's mouth watered. "I'll give you 200 for them."

"Make it 500 and you have a deal."

Bruce's face blanched when he spotted the pearls. 'It can't be. They must belong to someone else.'

"Oh, and I have this," the woman stated.

"His shirt?" the man was surprised. "I don't sell used clothing."

"That shirt is made of the finest silk. You won't find a hole in it. They would have wasted it. Cotton is good enough for him."

"Wasted it?"

"They would have buried him in it."

"You don't mean you took it off him with him lying there?"

"He's not going to need it. It's not like he's going to catch cold."

"Oh Cat, you have such a sense of humor."

Bruce was appalled at the callousness, that strangers would steal from a dead man. Until he got a good look at the man who brought in the cufflinks.

'No, not Alfred,' Bruce said to himself. 'No, it can't be him. Alfred has a cousin that looks like him. Maybe that's who it is.' He fired Alfred, and yet he had to wonder whom it was who still gave him breakfast every morning still without being seen? Had Alfred really left? Was he waiting for this very thing? To steal from him?

Even so, the look-a-like got Bruce thinking. Who was the man they were referring to? It was obvious the man had been well off, much like himself. The Spirit left the shop, which gave Bruce a chance to talk with the bat-spirit.

"I understand, I think. The man they are talking about could be me, but that conversation, such callousness. Is there no one who has any feeling with regards to that man's death?"

The bat-spirit enveloped Bruce in his wings once more, and the strange thing was Bruce began to feel comfortable within the bat-shaped spirit's wings. It reminded him of something long ago, but for now his thoughts were interrupted as they entered another home, a couple that Bruce did not recognize, but what the couple said shook Bruce further to his core.

"Jarvis, did you go see him? Is he going to relent?"

"I did go see him, Alice, but he's past relenting. He's dead."

Alice stared at her husband then brought his hands to her mouth and smiled. "Do you know what this means?"

"Yes, it means we'll have more time," Jarvis said. "We'll be able to raise the money and whoever takes over our loan we'll be able to pay it off."

"I'm so happy, Jarvis. Never before has a death made me so happy."

"Spirit, no that's not what I meant," Bruce lamented. "Please, show me some tenderness connected with a death or those conversations will haunt me forever."

The Spirit wrapped his wings once more around Bruce, letting the shadow fall. Once again, they ended up at the Grayson home, a home he remembered was filled with warmth and joy. The house practically radiated with that joy, but this time, the house was quiet and felt cold. There was no joy and on the door was a black wreath.

'Oh no.'

Continues with Part 8