Sorry everyone for not writing sooner. So much had been happening. I had lost my mother quite suddenly on July 4th and then I got LASIK which left me quite blurry. I am trying to get back to a schedule and hopefully this will be therapeutic. I must warn everyone that the content is a bit darker and will continue to be so since this is the story of Bruce and him coming to terms with his subconscious memories which are quite dark indeed. Please review ( LOVE REVIEWS) and I hope you all enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. DC does, but I love them as my own. I am not making any money on this. A few sections in this story also cam e from past comic editions (ex.silver age) where Bruce's history was revealed a bit differently. Some names have changed but DC owns them all (The funny thing is, I didn't realize the connection to my story until recently. I guess it was a subconscious thing I read and took in or some damn good guessing!)
Chapter 2
Alfred could hardly believe that he had gotten Master Bruce home without so much as a scratch on his face. During the car ride, Bruce had kept screaming and mumbling about being poisoned. Bruce refused to believe that the mask that was once covering his handsome features had now been removed , torn into two with the strength of his bare hands. Bruce continued to Alfred's dismay, pull on his flesh, clawing at the delicate skin attempting even to draw blood.
"Oh, God," he kept saying. "Why won't this monster let me go?"
Alfred wondered if Bruce had been discussing his predicament with an invisible entity or if it was a cry for help for his other self. Either way, Alfred couldn't tell. His vision was blurred with tears.
Alfred pulled up to the front door of Wayne Manor. Bruce's breathing had become ragged and strained. He could hardly keep his eyes on the young man's face. It looked ashen. Dark circles were forming under Bruce's hazel eyes which were barely able to remain open.
"Alfred…" soft whispers floated in the air as Alfred did his best to capture them even for a moment.
"I am here, Master Wayne."
Once the elder gentleman had gotten the younger one to his room, the darkness began to fall. Alfred let the curtains remain open hoping that if Bruce could see some light in the night shining through that he wouldn't give up wherever he was in his dark place.
"Master Wayne," Alfred started, "What happened, young sir?"
Bruce's eyes opened for but a moment. His face seemed to be relaxing. Suddenly, the gripping intensity of the hallucination he was having overcame even the strongest mind. Bruce's eyes became void of any light and Alfred heard him whispering something barely audible to his older ears. Alfred leaned in closer to Bruce's lips and realized he was hearing a tale that had never been told before. Maybe it was lost in the subconscious or perhaps a bit of this poison created it. However, even in false stories a grain of truth can always be found. Alfred knew that this was one truth he wished he didn't have to hear.
Bruce was once again 8 years old. He looked around his surroundings. He could see the fog thickening in the distance. He could feel the pavement beneath his $100.00 shoes. He could smell his mother's perfume and his gaze found hers. Was this real? Was this a second chance? Bruce's heart began to pound but he lacked the words to express it. As he was deciding his next move, he saw something he had never recalled during his flashbacks. Joe was in the distance watching and waiting, but so was someone else whispering and taunting him. It was Falcone. Bruce heard bits and pieces of the conversation.
"Do it, Chill. I will pay you big time to snuff 'em out. They are do gooders and they haven't done any good for you, have they?" Bruce could see Chill's eyes narrowing at that remark.
"If you take 'em out, the payoff will be big. I can guarantee you that. I mean I have never done you wrong now have I, Joe?" Joe's face softened as he turned to Falcone and nodded.
Bruce felt his body run cold. As 8 year old Bruce dealt with his demons, Alfred did his best to ward off the new ones trying to drown Master Bruce in his own mind. He didn't' seem to be doing a very good job. It had been nearly two hours since the toxin's admittance and Bruce was not showing any signs of getting better. The words he was mumbling about Chill and Falcone made little sense to Alfred, but he tried to piece it together while keeping his focus on the present and future where Bruce's attention rarely dwelled anymore.
Little Bruce, gazed down at his father's broken body, which was bleeding out from the wound. He saw him looking up at Bruce and trying to tell him to run. Bruce looked over expecting to see his mother's body on the ground as well, but it wasn't. Her flesh had not yet been harmed. Chill had her though. He was holding her close and looking at the spilled pearls he had torn from her porcelain colored neck. She was a beauty. Falcone never said he couldn't have a little extra. Chill glanced back into the alley at Falcone who simply nodded. Chill stepped over the begging Thomas Wayne (Falcone said he had begged for mercy.) and began to do things Bruce had never before witnessed in his young life. His face could barely lock onto his mother's pleading eyes. Thomas kept begging Bruce to run but Chill placed a gun on the boys' forehead and told him if he moved a muscle he would blow his brains out. Young Bruce felt an overwhelming need to vomit.
The need to vomit came through to the real world as Bruce throw up on the bed where he lay. Alfred, although unprepared, quickly cleaned up the mess and prayed that this was Bruce's way of fighting this toxin. Bruce's eyes had that same lost look Alfred had seen so often in the middle of the night in his past days caring for the young man. Bruce began to speak. Alfred had to move closer to hear the words and wished that he hadn't for they were all the same.
"He's raping her…, "he rasped, "He's raping her…"
