Chapter Three: My Mother's Legacy, My Father's Dream
"Master Bruce? What on Remnant happened to you? Where have you been?" Alfred asks, worried sick for the boy who just arrived through the mansion's front doors. His clothes and hair are drenched from the rain and a layer of mud covers his pant legs. One of his shoes are even missing.
"Alfred. I need you to do something for me," the young boy replies. His face is blank, even more so than usual.
The butler's concern grows further, knowing something here isn't right.
"What? Bruce, what happened? Talk to me."
"My parents, Alfred. I know what I have to do."
"Bruce- "
"I finally understand what my purpose is."
"You're not making any sense- "
"I need your help, Alfred. Please, I can't do this without you," Bruce's face becomes pained at the thought.
Alfred, hearing the deep desperation hidden beneath Bruce's request, replies quietly.
"Bruce, I will always be here for you, I can promise you that."
A smile never graces Bruce's features, but a measure of warmth melts into his eyes that Alfred notices immediately.
"Then let's get started."
"With what, exactly, Master Bruce?"
Bruce begins walking forward, before replying over his shoulder.
"Facing my demons."
The words offer no comfort to the butler.
Outside, the choir of bats continue their song, the haunting melody lightly reaching Alfred's human ears. It was disturbing for reasons he could not yet explain, as if the bats themselves were calling out to him, or rather, the boy walking ahead of him.
Alfred turns and begins to follow, an ever-faithful butler to the last of the Wayne family.
He would follow Bruce anywhere, even into the coming dark. He made a promise, after all.
Not long later, Bruce stood in front of the family portrait that hours prior he had not been able to bear. Now, however, he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from its visage. The fireplace is lit, with freshly chopped wood burning away and bathing the room in its warmth. Alfred stands not far behind him, pouring his freshly made tea into two exquisite porcelain cups.
"While I'm overjoyed that you finally decided to leave your room and join me for tea, I must ask again Master Bruce, what is going on? You seem…"
"Determined?" Bruce interjects.
"…that's certainly one way to put it."
Bruce hums, his eyes not leaving the portrait. He had still not changed out of his soaked clothes, much to Alfred's dismay, although the warmth of the fire seems to be drying him off well enough for now.
"I had a revelation, Alfred."
Bruce takes a moment before reconsidering his statement.
"No, it was more like a dream."
"A dream about what, sir?"
"My father's dream, Alfred; to save Gotham from itself. I will show the people that their home doesn't belong to the criminals who infect it."
Alfred's hand stills, before lowering the kettle to the table next to him.
"Master Bruce, your father was an idealist, he spent millions in an attempt to fight poverty, to campaign against the corrupt. He believed that his efforts could inspire others to follow his example, that he could lead Gotham to a brighter future."
"…and what happened?"
"He married your mother, sir."
Bruce finally turns to face his butler, an expression of shock written clearly across his features.
"What?"
"Your mother, a faunus. Whatever good will he gained among Gotham's elite over the years was stripped away in that moment. Contracts ended, partnerships dissolved, all because he fell in love with a woman who they viewed as beneath them. They called her an animal in hushed words, looks of scorn fell upon the couple at every event they attended. Near the end, your father could hardly even start a simple fundraiser without pushback from his peers."
Bruce's hands tighten into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms.
"…their marriage nearly bankrupted Wayne Enterprises, Master Bruce."
The wall shakes, it takes a moment for Bruce to realize why. His knuckles drip with blood.
"My mother was a saint, Alfred, couldn't they see that? Not a day went by without a kind act, without a warm smile."
Years ago, his mother had taken him to a park to fly kites on a warm summer day. She was a bat faunus, yet she loved standing in the sun and her smile radiated even brighter than the celestial body.
"There is no feeling more blinding than prejudice, I'm afraid."
Bruce closes eyes briefly, taking a moment to process the information.
"If they couldn't accept my father for marrying a faunus, what chance have I? I am a faunus. It's clear that I can't do this the same way he did, Alfred. I need to be something else, something darker."
"Darker?"
"My father was a beacon of light for Gotham, a singular force attempting to drive back the darkness."
Bruce turns back towards the fireplace, his face darkens, the light of the fire casting deep shadows around his features.
"Instead, I will become the darkness. The good people of Gotham have lived in fear for too long."
He himself was a prime example of that, hiding from the all-encompassing fear in the comforting darkness of his bedroom. No more.
"It's time I give the criminals and the corrupt something to fear."
Alfred stands still and silent, contemplative, before speaking.
"For a moment I thought, hoped, that you were implying you wish to become a huntsman, but that's not what this dream is, is it?" Alfred asks, a wary sense of resignation seeped within his voice.
"No," Bruce replies, unaware of his butler's inner turmoil.
"As a huntsman, as a man, I can be killed, I can be corrupted, but as a symbol; maybe I can be something more."
"…and what symbol would that be, Master Bruce?"
Bruce's ears twitch.
"Gotham's upper-class hated my parents, hated my mother, because they were afraid of her. They feared the change that she represented; a bat faunus living amongst them in high society. I can represent that fear; I can carry on my mother's legacy, as well as my father's dream."
Bruce turns back towards Alfred, a look of intense determination striking through the butler's heart.
"I'll be more than just a bat faunus, Alfred; more than a man, more than a huntsman."
The faunus ears atop his head stand proudly, the loving smiles of his family sits behind him and the fire rages beneath their portrait.
"I shall become a bat."
Emerald laid comfortably in the clinic's bed with a warm meal in her belly and her wounds fully bandaged. The clinic itself wasn't anything extraordinarily lavish, but it was far nicer than any place she ever had the pleasure of sleeping in before. A warm atmosphere enveloped the small room she had been placed in, clean white walls on each side, and a large curtain that could easily be moved to wrap around her bed if she needed a moment of privacy. Across from it lies a small desk with paperwork piled neatly atop, and a simple bookshelf placed directly next to it.
She had never felt so safe in her life, snuggled up in the white bedsheets with no sense of danger anywhere. It was a moment of stark contrast to well, every other day; prior to this she had to fight to survive for as long as she could remember. She had never met her father, and her mother had died many years ago, so for most of her life she had been living on the streets, alone.
Because of that, of course, she had turned to thievery for a lack of better option, taking whatever she could, whenever she could. It had been a necessary evil, food and water cost lien, and that was a resource far too scarce to rely on. Handouts from the few kind strangers she could find was never enough, not in Gotham, where the average person would sooner cut off their hand than give a helping one. It was just how the world worked for people like her, she had come to accept that long ago.
More than that, however, was simply the thrill of theft itself. The way her adrenaline would spike, and her heart would race during every pickpocket gave her a feeling like no other, not to mention the sheer satisfaction she would feel from taking something she needed, to steal something from the system that abandoned her.
She wasn't so sure she felt that way anymore.
Earlier that night she had almost died, it hadn't exactly been the first time, but it was easily the most visceral. She could still feel the injuries of the encounter, the black and blue bruises hidden beneath the thin gauze, even after the spoonful of medicine she had been granted had worked its magic.
It had been a cold reminder of the cruel world she lived in. A terrible night in a long running series of terrible nights.
The worst part, however, wasn't even the injuries, it wasn't even the gluttonous man or his fists.
It wasn't how close to death she had come to in that dark alleyway.
It was just how accepting she had been of it; how ready she had been for all the cold nights alone and agonizing aches in her empty stomach to finally just… end.
She had been prepared to die…
…that is, until he showed up.
Bruce Wayne.
The name he had introduced himself as had been instantly recognizable in her memory, it was a name that appeared frequently on the newspapers she relied on as makeshift blankets. Some called him the Prince of Gotham, others, of course, just called him an animal. She knew how the faunus were treated among humans and money really can't buy your way out of that, she figured. She didn't really know much about him though, not yet, but she would, she wanted to.
He had saved her, after all, gave her hope when she thought there was none.
She could still remember the way his pale blue eyes seemed to glow in that alley, as if it were a guiding light emerging from the darkness. A beautiful lighthouse in her deep sea of apathy, after a hurricane of torment.
She could also remember the way those same eyes lit up in untamed wrath as he beat upon her assaulter.
Not exactly the knight in shining armor she had always read about in thrown away picture books, the ones who rode in on their loyal white horses, slaying dragons and rescuing beautiful princesses.
No, Bruce Wayne was no white knight; he was something else entirely.
"Emerald? Are you still awake?"
Emerald's eyes snap open in surprise and she has to physically stop herself from jumping out of the comfortable bed, an automatic reaction she had gained over the years.
"Whoa, hey, you're okay, it's just me."
"Ah... I'm sorry Doctor Thompkins, you just surprised me is all," Emerald responds in a quiet voice, embarrassed.
"It's quite alright dear, not the first time I've seen such a reaction in this clinic, and I very much doubt it'll be the last. How are you feeling? Is the medicine kicking in yet?"
"Mm, it has, thank you so much for your help."
"Oh, it's no trouble at all, dear, I'm always happy to lend a helping hand," Leslie takes a pause, before continuing.
"…are you sure you don't wish to talk about what happened? A young girl such as yourself has no business being that bruised."
Leslie declines to mention the obvious malnutrition, nor the worn clothes. She knew a homeless girl when she saw one, after all. She had seen more than enough tragic stories working in the clinic.
"No, thank you. It's not important anyways, Bruce saved me- "
"Of course it's important, Emerald," she interrupts, "I'm very glad that Bruce arrived in time to protect you, but you shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. You are far too young to be in that kind of danger."
"…I've gotten to used it," Emerald replies, a sort of acceptance leaking from her voice that could only be born from a lifetime of exhaustion.
"That's the problem," Leslie responds with a sigh, before taking a moment to consider something.
"…Emerald, how would you feel about a job?"
An empty bottle of wine hangs precariously from dainty, pale fingertips before falling to the floor.
"Mother?" a young girl in white timidly calls out.
"Huh… Weiss? Is that you?" a woman replies, her voice slurred from obvious drunkenness. She shares many similar features to her youngest daughter, beautiful white hair and ice blue eyes graced upon a fair face that speaks clearly of a life of privilege.
"Yes, mother. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you would join us for dinner tonight? Winter ships off to the academy tomorrow and I was hoping we could all congratulate-"
"Is your father there?" the drunken woman interrupts.
"…yes, mother."
The woman scoffs before reaching for another bottle, one of many sat upon a small table near the lavish white couch she is resting upon.
"Mother?" Weiss asks in hopes to regain her attention.
"No, Weiss. I will not be joining him."
"But what about Winter- "
"I said no, Weiss."
Her mother uncorks the bottle.
Weiss looks down, traitorous tears threaten to escape her eyes. It's only a lifetime of training with similar situations that prevents them from fully doing so.
"Yes, mother," the words turn to bitter ash after leaving her tongue.
Weiss leaves the room; her mother continues drinking.
It's an all too familiar scene to the girl, yet one that she would never grow used to. Neither would be the one awaiting her.
A cold atmosphere greets Weiss immediately as she enters the overly lavish dining room of her family's mansion. A long table stretches from wall to wall with an impressive feast laying upon it, all manner of food present, with a chandelier hanging overhead that probably alone costs more than the average Atlesian home.
Weiss shivers.
Present at the table, sat apart from each other of course, are the remaining members of her family; the Schnee family. Her father, Jacques, taking his place at the head of the table, a small, fine glass of wine sat within his fingertips. He is a drinker like her mother, although his responsibility as CEO of the family's dust company and his subsequent time away from the liquor prevents him from fully falling into the same drunken habits.
Her younger brother, Whitely, sits closest to their father, still impressionable enough to believe him to be the great man he attempts to present himself as.
Once, long ago, she had admired her father the same way he did, now, however, that façade has crumbled and all that remains from those misplaced feelings is dust.
Her sister had always warned her of their father's true self, being the eldest she had seen it for herself.
Winter Schnee, the member of the family she felt the closest connection to, and the woman she admired most.
She is also the one currently having a very heated argument with their father, not something unusual for the two.
"-don't get to control my life anymore!" Winter all but screams out at the man who hardly raised her.
Though, this argument held a deeper animosity than any she had ever witnessed prior.
"Of course I do, Winter. I am your father; that won't change regardless of your newfound status as an Atlesian military dog. You will return to the family's company sooner or later, once this childish charade of playing toy soldier ends. That is not up for discussion." Jacques replies, somehow the words drip with far more malice despite the measured tone they're spoken in.
Her father was good at that, he knew exactly how to get under your skin without ever having to raise his voice. It was a skill he had gained over the years as a successful businessman, and one he had never shied away from bringing home. It was something she truly hated about the man, and that list was getting longer and longer every year.
Winter growls in frustration. "If you think for a second that I'll ever step foot in this damned mansion again after tonight; you are sorely mistaken father."
The words make Weiss freeze in place just as she makes it to her chair, her pale hand locked in place upon its finely crafted wood. Neither person notices her turmoil.
Jacques sneers. "We shall see what your commanding officers have to say about that, I am their sole supplier of dust after all."
Winter only scoffs in response to the clear threat.
"I never realized you held such a poor poker face, father. I know you; you would never risk profits for something so petty."
Winter slams her hands down upon the table, the untouched banquet of food and drinks shaking in response.
"Now, here's what's actually going to happen old man; I will leave for the academy tomorrow morning, I will excel and graduate, and most importantly; I will never be your pawn again," with her point made, Winter turns and walks away from the table. Her hand reaches the exit's doorknob just as Jacques offers his final threat.
"Winter, if you walk out that door, I swear to you; you will be disowned. This is your final chance; I won't allow someone with such poor judgement to lead my company after I'm gone."
"… that's what I'm counting on," the young woman replies, before walking out the door.
Silent tears fall from Weiss's eyes, dripping down her pale cheeks. Her hand tightens its grip on the laminated wood of her chair.
"…what a waste." Jacques speaks softly, almost uncharacteristically so, after a moment of contemplative silence.
His eyes turn towards his crying daughter, only now noticing her presence. He hums in thought, before speaking.
"Weiss, clean yourself up, such a display is unbefitting of the family's heir," he speaks, commanding the attention of his youngest daughter.
Ice blue eyes turn towards her father and meet his matching pair. The meaning behind his words are apparent to the young girl; now the heiress to a company her heart is unprepared to lead.
He does not ask for her blessing to do so, he does not need it.
The tears continue to fall.
"I understand, father."
A/N: Ah, there it is. There's the 'Batman: Year One' line: I shall become a bat, that I've been wanting to write. Not really sure if it came across the way I hoped it would on paper, but I'll leave that up to you guys. Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, I'll be back with another one as soon as I can.