A/N: Hello my faithful readers!
Do not worry I am not dead, far from it! Work has been hell and I recently moved into a new place with my two best buds. I hope to start updating my fanfics (this one in particular) a bit more often.
I tried to go for a more psychological angle with this. I hope you enjoy.
- TFS
He couldn't feel a thing.
He could hear the faint beating of his own heart.
He heard the soft murmur of voices, some panicked, some calmed.
He heard the gunshots that took his parents.
He heard the first scream of the first criminals of his first reveal.
All of this was passing through Batman's mind in a breath. He could only watch it all pass. Some call their inner sanctum a bright, happy place where their worries were null and void. For some it was a summer meadow in the middle of a large field, or perhaps it was a remote island in the middle of a calm ocean.
Batman's was the void.
He sat on a throne of stone, mind dull. How did he get here? Where was Alfred? Shayera? Clark? Anyone? He tried to move but he felt his arms were as heavy as lead. His neck more so, he was forced to watch his life flash before him.
The first night that he discovered his purpose.
His first kiss.
The reveal of his costume.
Listening to his own thoughts and hearing his own voice sounded alien to him. He groaned, it echoed through the void. He pulled himself from the stone throne and collapsed on his hands and knees. He panted quietly, feeling warmth surge through his body as he tried to gather his wits. He managed to lurch to his feet and watch as he saw Bruce the millionaire make a scene, both drunken and sexual. He felt a flush of embarrassment crawl up his neck and with a wave of his hand the memory fled to the back of his mind.
"Bruce?" a voice called.
He looked into the pretty blue eyes of Diana.
Wonder Woman.
His friend.
A few other thoughts and her panting voice crept into his mind and he growled in frustration, waving them away.
He saw the memories, the heated nights of he and Shayera. He could remember the feel of her warm hands rubbing up his sweating chest. Her spice lips pressing to his in a twisted sort of want and need. He found himself panting now, realizing how badly he wanted her. He rubbed at his eyes.
"Hello?" he called out.
He saw pearls flash across his vision.
He heard his mother scream.
He saw his own mirror of innocence shattering into a million pieces.
He relived a memory, however brief, as he swung from a roof top and crashed down into a robber. He was younger then, first starting. He delivered his kicks and punching carelessly. He recalled putting those three into a hospital with broken limbs. A small smile pulled along his lips. How things were different back then. How he had to deal with just Gotham. His city. How did the Batman's reach go so far?
He saw the images of the League.
How his friendship with Clark grew
His partnerships with Green Lantern, Hal at the time.
The shared, close, intimate conversations he had with Diana.
The sparring matches with Shayera.
The few, intellectual conversations with J'onn.
The few smiles he managed seeing Flash joke around.
Did the League make him? Or did Batman make the League? Certainly his own finances paid for the Watchtower and all of its technology. But would he have done it anyway when it was time to retire Batman and give the mantle to someone else? Could Batman even be retired? He shook his head in frustration. No, Batman was an ideal more then it was a physical presence.
He looked back to his throne of stone. Had he wandered from it that much? He walked back to it and he slumped down into it. He saw his memories, the good ones, from his childhood and he looked at them. The nights spent with his father, the grounds he had to explore. How Alfred in his infinite wisdom and courageousness cared for him when his father wasn't there. How he still did so despite the many years that passed.
Would he be missed if he left right here and now? The two shots to his chest, or was it three? He couldn't remember. He just remembered the pain, the fiery pain that claimed him and threw him here in the first place. He knew the medicine the League had access to was plentiful and potent enough to bring him back but did he even want to?
He saw their faces stricken in sadness.
He recalled Shayera's face stricken in a permanent sorrow when Jack died.
Joker's laughter crept into his thoughts, making him grit his teeth.
He could only imagine what the others would feel. He knew Clark wouldn't be the same. Diana even more so. He was no fool. He saw how she looked at him and he would be an idiot to realize he didn't feel for her to. But how? He was an emotional wreck. What he had with Shayera was special, but he had doubts that she would stay with him. What they were doing was nothing more then a way to distract themselves. There was love there, but at the same time there was a chasm that they could not cross. They could not commit to each other.
He was already committed to his work, till death.
He sighed and looked up at the roof of the void and closed his eyes.
It was time to go home.
He opened his eyes and his hearing came back first. The beeping was soft and he could see the eternal night of space outside of the bay's window. He took a deep breath, feeling the ache in his muscles. How long had he been out? He cared little at this point as he sat up, feeling fire blaze along his stomach and chest. His feet settled on the floor. He disconnected and shut off the machine and removed the few wires in him. He rolled his shoulder to pop it back into its proper place.
He looked to his costume and without a thought moved and put it on. He was still quick at it. He was tugging up the cowl as he was leaving. He was silent in his movements. By the fact the lights were off, everyone was asleep. Or on duty. He wasn't sure. He made his way to the monitor room. The Javelin was gone but he had his own way to get back home. He went to the transporter room and he tapped a few keys on it. He needed to go back to Gotham. He hasn't seen his parents in awhile.
He just stepped onto the platform and in a glimmer of light he was in the every raining skies of Gotham. It was queerly refreshing as he made his way through the cemetery. He welcomed the chilled silence of death, one he was all too familiar with. His chest was aching and he felt warmth on his stomach. Perhaps he wasn't quite done healing.
It didn't take him long to stand in front of the graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne. He heard the distant crack of lightning and the rumbling yawn of thunder. He approached and brushed some grime away from the grave before he placed his hand against it.
"Hey Mom, Hey Dad," he murmured.
And for a brief moment, Batman forgot the wounds, the worry of being a vigilante. All he focused on now was having a nice, long talk with his parents.