A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! The last chapter was a bit slow for my taste, but don't worry. This one's gonna start off with a bang.

Literally.

Spark

Bruce heard the explosion from three blocks away.

The news spread quickly. There'd been a GCPD raid on the Merc, an illegal weapons store deep in the heart of the Narrows. In the firefight that ensued, someone hit an explosive. Only one person died: Evan Pike.

The next day, Bruce went back to the Pike's apartment. It somehow smelled worse than the day before. The door was propped open so he let himself in and found Gar putting on a long, silver glove.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Gar whirled around in surprise. He smiled, "Hey, Bruce. I was making a suit, so I won't get burned again," he said, holding up his fully-covered arm for Bruce to see.

Bruce furrowed his brow. "Why would you get burned again?"

Gar nodded to his left leg which was thoroughly bandaged.

"So…they're making you start the fires?" Bruce pieced together.

Gar shrugged. "I guess." He nodded to the couch in the corner and asked, "You want a soda or something?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I can't. I'm supposed to take that to Penguin," Bruce told him, pointing to the long, wicked-looking knife on the table.

Gar nodded. "Oh, okay." He went back to fidgeting with the sewing machine. He had this weird look in his eyes and he seemed different than the day before.

"You know you're gonna get yourself killed, right?" Bruce asked him.

"Says the guy who works for the most dangerous man in Gotham," Gar retorted.

"Setting fires and stealing things are two very different jobs."

Gar scoffed. "I'll be careful."

"Well, careful ain't enough," Bruce mocked. "Look what happened already."

"It was fun, Bruce," Garfield told him. "I actually kind of enjoyed it." He went back to fidgeting with his glove.

"Yep. You're gonna be bacon," Bruce said in exasperation.

He started to walk away. Gar shouted at him, "My brothers said I did a good job!" Bruce stopped and Gar continued, "It's the family business."

"They're not your family," Bruce retorted. "Your mom used to bang their old man is all. You don't need them," Bruce told him. "You don't need anybody. Look at me, I'm free."

Gar scoffed and shook his head. "You know, I remember when we were little and you showed up at the Narrows. You looked for your mom every day. Snot all down your face from crying, so don't act like you don't want a family."

"Don't talk about my mother," Bruce growled, getting in real close to Gar and giving him his most threatening glare.

Apparently Gar wasn't intimidated. "Who cares if you're free?" Gar asked him. "What good's freedom if you're alone?"

"What good's family if you're a slave? What's good's family if you're dead?" Gar clenched his jaw, shook his head, and turned back to his work. Bruce scoffed. "Whatever." He walked away, saying, "Go on, get yourself killed. I don't know why you'd even think I care."


Bruce trudged into Penguin's headquarters, stabbed the knife into the table, and then slumped down into one of the chairs at the far end of the room, kicking his feet up onto the table. The stupid Pikes, stupid Alfred, stupid Gotham…why couldn't they all just leave him alone for once?

Penguin wasn't even fazed by his demeanor, mumbling, "Teenagers," and then picking the knife up to examine it. Butch entered the room. He gave a nod to Bruce, which Bruce ignored.

Penguin sighed and told Butch, "It doesn't make any sense." He gestured to the bottom of the knife's handle and said, "This is the Wayne family crest."

That got Bruce's attention real quick.

Butch asked, "So what?"

"Why does Galavan want an antique knife that belonged to the Waynes?" Penguin asked.

Bruce racked his brain. Wasn't Galavan the name of the guy running for mayor? It wasn't surprising that a Gotham politician was working with Penguin, but still, he'd seemed like a half-decent guy. At least as far as politicians go.

Penguin turned over the blade and said, "There's something here. Something to understanding Galavan, to beating him."

Butch shrugged. "Well, if you wanna know about old-time Gotham, talk to Edwige."

"Edwige?" Penguin asked.

"She runs the antique shop down on Fifth and Jefferson," Bruce chimed in.

Penguin raised an eyebrow and asked Bruce, "How much have you overheard of this conversation?"

Bruce tilted his head to the side in fake confusion. "What conversation?" he asked, playing dumb.

Penguin smiled and nodded. "You know, Butch, I really, really like him. He reminds me of a younger me, don't you think?"

"The resemblance is uncanny," Butch replied in monotone. "But anyways, Edwige. Trust me, boss. She knows things."


Bruce left a little while later, not caring enough to listen in on what an old kook thought about an even older knife. He walked home on a different route than usual, subconsciously deciding to pass by the Pike's apartment building.

It was getting dark outside, meaning the criminals of Gotham were gonna come out to play, soon. Maybe he should do the same? It'd been a while since he'd gone on a spree, and he'd kind of missed it.

There was supposedly an apartment on Lincoln and Ninth that was supposed to be empty for a couple of days, some rich couple going on a vacation in Coast City. He could probably get there before anyone else, and even if he didn't he had his gun…

Floyd's gun.

It was Floyd's, not his. He was just holding onto it until he could meet with him, again.

He could go and loot the house. Or he could go pickpocket a couple drunks at a nearby bar. Or he could just turn in for the night and get a good sleep for once.

He did none of these things.

Instead, his feet took him across the rooftops to the Gotham City Book Depository.

Why was he there? Simple: that was the first place the Pikes were gonna hit tonight.

A better question would be what reason he had for going there. That answer was a lot harder.

He scaled down the fire escape of a building next to it and settled in. He figured that he might be able to stop Gar from doing any more damage, maybe even help him escape his brothers.

However, when he reached the lowest platform on the fire escape, he heard voices down below him. He froze and listened. The voices were familiar, distinct.

James Gordon and Harvey Bullock, one of the best cops in Gotham and one of the sleaziest.

From the look of it, they were on a stakeout. Bruce couldn't drop down from there without being spotted, and he was too late to try and find another way down. So he was stuck there and had to watch as a familiar grey van pulled into the alleyway.

Bruce swore under his breath. This was gonna end really, really badly. He just knew it.

His worst fears were realized when a tall, skinny person in a grey, foil-ish suit stepped out of the van carrying a flame thrower.

Bruce wanted to call out at Gar to get back in the car, to run, but he couldn't. He'd just get them both caught and that wouldn't help anyone.

Gordon and Bullock approached the van with guns drawn. Gordon yelled, "GCPD!"

In a split second, everything went bad. Gar's brothers sped off in the van, leaving him to fend for himself against Gordon, Bullock, and their reinforcements which were sure to arrive in a matter of moments.

Gar leveled the flamethrower at the cops, yelling, "Get back! Please! Get back!"

"Drop it!" Gordon told him. "Put down the weapon!"

Bruce always hated it when cops said that. Like, oh yeah, let me put down my only defense while two people walk towards me with guns. Cause that's a great idea.

So, naturally, Gar didn't put down the weapon.

Instead, he lit it up and blew waves of fire between himself and the cops, momentarily pushing the police back in surprise. He looked to be doing pretty well for himself until the weapon suddenly stopped working. Gar started shaking it in desperation.

Gordon yelled at him to drop the weapon.

Then, everything went even worse than before.

Out of nowhere, a police officer in SWAT gear came up behind Garfield and grabbed him, trying to rip the weapon from his grasp.

Gar screamed at the officer to let him go, fighting back as much as he could. The cop kept telling Gar to drop it, and Bruce prayed a prayer to whatever God was up there that he would. It didn't pan out that way.

Bruce watched in utter horror as Gar slipped from the cop's grasp and lit the ground underneath the officer on fire. Bruce had never seen someone burn before, and he hoped that he'd never have to again. The officer ran towards Gordon, screaming in utter terror as he was burned alive.

Bruce moved without thinking, lowering the ladder underneath him to the floor and yelling, "Garfield!" He looked up at Bruce in surprise, but Bruce offered no explanation other than, "Come on! Follow me!"

"Where are we going?" Gar demanded.

"Anywhere that isn't here," Bruce replied, "unless you want to get arrested for cooking a cop."


And so Bruce and Gar spent the next hour or so running for their lives, ducking through alleyways, constantly changing directions to avoid being followed. Finally, they arrived at the roof of the Gym. Bruce let them in through his bedroom window and they climbed in as silently as possible. Bruce locked the door and then turned back to Gar who was staring at the floor guiltily.

"My bad," he muttered.

Bruce scoffed. "Yeah, it was 'your bad'. What were you thinking!?" he demanded.

"I was trying not to get thrown out on the streets is what I was thinking!" Gar shot back. Bruce's nodded for him to explain and Gar said, "My brothers threatened me into all of it. They said that if I didn't work with them, I wasn't family. And if I wasn't family…then they'd have no problem selling me off for a quick buck."

Bruce huffed. Those sickos. "We need to get you out of Gotham, tonight," he told Gar.

Gar scoffed and shook his head. "I don't have money."

Bruce thought about that. He didn't have too much money left, just a bit of change…

Then, Bruce smirked. "What were you saying about getting sold off for a quick buck?"

Gar gave him a wary look. "Why do you ask?"

"Because," Bruce continued, his smirk turning into an evil grin, "I have an idea of where we can get some money." He nodded to the flamethrower which Gar had left leaning up against the wall. "Does that thing still work?"

Garfield nodded. "How would that help us?" he asked.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "It's called a stick up, and that thing's gonna help a lot."

"Wait," Gar said, stopping Bruce from exiting. "Who are we sticking up? Isn't that kinda…you know…wrong?"

Bruce scoffed. "You know, for someone who roasted a cop an hour ago, you sure are square." He pulled on a black overcoat and grabbed his old baseball cap and bandana. "But don't worry," Bruce told him, "once you see this place, you won't feel bad for robbing 'em."


Bruce intentionally never let himself get excited about robbing people. It was a job, a way of survival, nothing more. However, this place was an exception to that rule.

Deep in the Narrows was a warehouse. All of the windows were blacked out and the doors were constantly chained shut. To any passerby, it would seem like any other abandoned building in the Narrows. But Bruce knew better. Through a secret door under the building, you could get into the main room where certain 'auctions' took place for the wealthiest and most corrupt of Gotham.

Bruce knew of a loose window above the catwalks that was easy enough to pry open. He'd only robbed the place twice, and usually it was with a bigger group than just two people, but he had a good feeling about this one.

Electronic music blared in the background as the auctioneer announced to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen! Or should I say pimps, hoes and thieves? Do I have some product for you today! Do you like what you see?" The crowd cheered in approval.

"What the…" Gar started.

"I know," Bruce agreed, "this place is awful. You see why I wanted to rob 'em now?"

Garfield's expression hardened and he nodded, pulling on his mask and getting his flamethrower started.

There was a long cage in the back of the room, filled with barely-dressed young women. A man took two of the girls from the cage, restraining them with chains around their necks. The auctioneer took the chain and yelled over the crowd, "Bidding will start at $800 apiece!"

And so the bidding went. Gar muttered, "Shouldn't we be doing something?"

"Wait," Bruce told him as they stood in the back corner of the room, hidden from view. "Wait until the bidding stops for these two. The more money the freaks have on hand, the faster we can get out of here."

"But, aren't we helping them?" Gar asked, nodding up to the cage.

Bruce sighed. "If we did, they'd just end up back here, again. Trust me, I've seen it."

"Why?" Gar asked.

"I'll tell you later, just trust me on this one, okay?"

Gar huffed. "Fine," he muttered.

About that time, the auctioneer announced, "I got $2,500, going once! Going twice! Sold to the gentleman in the burgundy hat!"

"Now!" Bruce told him. He raised his pistol in the air and fired a few rounds, startling the crowd and giving Bruce enough time to get up onto the stage. "Hey pervs!" he yelled. "This is a robbery!"

"Milo! Kill that punk!" the auctioneer told one of his men.

Garfield, who'd gone unnoticed up to that point, shot a wave of fire across the audience.

Milo put his gun away real quick.

Bruce threw his empty backpack onto the ground and told the crowd, "Now, each of you put all your cash in the bag."

A particularly brave, or particularly stupid, gangster got up on the end of the stage and challenged, "Or what? I ain't scared of a couple of punks like you!"

Bruce rolled his eyes and asked, "Gar, would you mind?"

"My pleasure," Garfield responded, sending a wave of fire at the man. He shielded himself with his coat and surrendered quickly, coughing up all of his money onto the stage.

"Anybody else got a problem?" Bruce asked. No response except for a rush of people giving up their money. "Yeah, I didn't think so."

About that time, the girls in the cage started clamoring and yelling for the two of them to help them. Bruce swallowed his conscience and continued picking up the money, filling his bag until it could be closed anymore. He slung it over his shoulder and started to walk away, announcing to the crowd, "And for the record, all y'all suck!"

He walked off of the stage and towards the exit. Garfield covered their exit, blowing fire at the crowd as they left.

Bruce blew past the man guarding the exit, sliding over the hood of a car and taking cover as the man yelled after him. Bruce heard the sound of Garfield's flamethrower and the man screaming in terror, and then the door slammed.

Garfield came up next to him, laughing. "Oh, my God."

Bruce nodded, still on an adrenaline high. "I know right? Let's go!"


The next morning, they walked to the nearest bus station. Gar had changed his fire-fighter getup for regular clothes, packing away his equipment in a duffel bag Bruce had lent him, along with the rest of the money they'd stolen.

"So, where you gonna go?" Bruce asked him.

Garfield shrugged. "South to start, then I'll go west, I think. I hear Starling City is nice this time of year."

Bruce nodded. "Good. Just get far, far away from this hellhole."

Garfield smirked. "Why do you stay here?"

Bruce shrugged and shook his head. "No idea. I've tried to leave, but…"

"You can't," Gar finished.

Bruce nodded. "I got too much baggage to leave, you know? Still got stuff to do."

"Did you and Zee ever work out?" Gar asked.

Bruce shrugged. "We kinda dated for a while. Then…well…it just ended."

"Shame," Gar said. "You two always seemed great together when we were younger."

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, we were. I always thought you had a thing for her."

Gar shrugged. "Maybe…I haven't thought about that in forever, though." He paused and then asked, "So, about those girls last night…why would they have ended up back there?"

Bruce sighed and kicked a stray beer can. "The first two times I robbed that place, I broke the locks, let 'em all out. They could've left, could've ran, but they stayed."

"So, they just wanted to stay?" Gar asked.

Bruce shook his head. "No, they were begging for us to let 'em out, actually. Then, when we did, they all just froze up. The door was open, and they didn't take it."

Gar sighed. "That's so messed up."

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, it is." Bruce took a deep breath and asked, "Gar, the scars on your arms, how did you get them? You didn't have them when we were kids…"

Gar got a far off look in his eye. "When dad died, when Joe took over, he never let me leave the house. All I did was cook and clean. When I messed up…" He paused and restarted. "Bruce, I was in that house for years, no escape. I tried to get out a couple of times, but…"

"You got caught," Bruce finished. Gar nodded. Bruce patted him on the shoulder and told him, "I'm really sorry, Gar. I had no idea. I would've…"

"It's fine, Bruce," Gar told him. "It made me who I am. Made me stronger."

Bruce nodded. He heard the screeching of wheels behind them and turned. His face drained and blood ran cold as ice.

"Garfield…" he started. Barreling towards them was the Pike's van. "Run."

It all happened too fast. Bruce reached for his gun, but fumbled with it. The van door was thrown open and Joe grabbed onto Garfield before Bruce could even raise a protest. Finally, he got the pistol out, but Joe knocked it away.

He felt a sharp pain in his left leg and his body dropped to the floor and he writhed in pain. The van sped off, leaving Bruce lying in the street, his left leg soaked in blood.

Have you ever heard of those stories where a mom is able to lift a car off of her child or something? Someone doing something completely impossible under normal circumstances, but being too jacked on adrenaline to notice?

Yeah, somehow Bruce managed rip the knife out of his leg and then chase after the van through twelve city blocks, his left leg bleeding profusely the whole time. He lost the van really quickly, but he had an idea of where it was going. Granted, he wasn't going straight there. He had to make a quick stop first to restock on weapons.

The back room of Penguin's headquarters was stockpiled with shotguns, pistols, grenades, rifles, anything you could ever ask for.

Now, his luck had been off for the past couple of weeks, so he figured the universe owed him a favor. All he needed was for nobody to be at Penguin's. That was it. That was all he asked.

The universe apparently hated him.

He was able to get into the back room easy enough, taking a pair of double-barrel shotguns and a couple extra round of ammunition. When he came back out, however, the main room was no longer empty. In fact, there stood none other than James Gordon himself.

Bruce leveled his shotgun at Gordon's chest, standing behind Penguin's throne to hide his wounded leg.

Gordon raised his pistol back at Bruce, telling him, "Hands in the air, Kyle!" Bruce ignored him. "Drop the gun," Gordon insisted.

"Like hell I will," Bruce responded. The world started to tilt sideways, so he leaned against the chair for support.

"Where's the other kid?" Gordon asked.

"Who?"

"We got both of you on tape," Gordon told him.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Gordon," Bruce lied.

Gordon sighed. "He's burned down half a dozen buildings. Killed a cop. You're running with a bad partner, kid."

"You don't understand. He was forced to do all of that!" Bruce argued.

Gordon stared at him for a few moments and then apparently decided that he was telling the truth. He put his gun away, but Bruce kept his shotgun trained at his chest. "Okay," Gordon told him. "Let me help him. Who is he? Who's forcing him to do this?" Gordon asked. Bruce clenched his jaw, trying to decide whether or not to let Gordon help him. He was wasting time! "Look, there's a lot of angry cops out there. He's gonna get shot on sight unless I get to him first."

Bruce knew he was losing a lot of blood, too much. He lowered his gun and used his now free hand to support himself even more. He sighed. "His name is Garfield Pike. His brothers took him back. Joe and Cale Pike. They, like, kidnapped him. They're the ones who made him start burning stuff in the first place. It's their fault the cop died!" he told Gordon.

"The Pike brothers?" Gordon asked. "Why'd they burn down Wayne Enterprises' buildings? Who paid them?"

Bruce decided to lie this time. "Why the hell should I know why the Pikes do anything? They're freaking nuts. They treated Garfield like a slave, they burned him, they chained him to a wall."

"And you're angry about it," Gordon summed up. "Is that why you're armed? You gonna go after the Pikes? Rescue your friend?"

"No," Bruce lied.

"That's a yes." Gordon told him, "Look, you're gonna get your friend and yourself killed. Let me handle the Pikes."

Bruce scoffed. Everything was fuzzy now. "No offense, Jim, but I like my chances better than yours."

He started to walk away, but Gordon stopped him. Good thing, too, because if he'd taken one more step, he would've probably passed out and face planted. "Why get involved?" Gordon asked him. "Why risk your neck? Who is this guy to you?"

"No one," Bruce told him. "Just a kid in the neighborhood."

Gordon sighed. He looked Bruce dead in the eye and told him, "I give you my word, I will do everything I can to keep him safe. But you have to stay out of it." Bruce gritted his teeth. He knew he shouldn't trust a cop. He should just go after Garfield himself. Then again, in the state he was in, he could barely even walk. He nodded. "Tell me where he is," Gordon said.


After Gordon left, Bruce was able to wave down a cab. He had never gone to the place before, but he'd never been injured like this before. So, desperate times...

A tall, beautiful dark-haired lady opened the door.

"Bruce?" she asked, clearly surprised. "What're you doing here?"

"Hi, Dr. Thompkins," he started, but he never got to answer why he was there. Instead, his leg finally gave out and he fell through the doorway. Within a few seconds, the world went black and he passed out.

He didn't know how long he'd been out when he'd come to, but it wasn't mid-morning like it had been.

Thompkins noticed his stirring and told him, "Whoa, there, Bruce. Don't move. You lost a lot of blood. Just rest."

"Garfield," Bruce started. "Is he, what happened?"

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Who's Garfield?"

"The…the guy who burned the police officer, you know…" Bruce tried to explain. He was so light headed that putting together a simple sentence seemed like a lot of work.

Thompkins handed him a glass of water, which he took thankfully. She told him, "I cleaned up the wound, although I wouldn't recommend jumping off of any buildings anytime soon."

"How'd you know about…" Bruce started.

Thompkins laughed and told him, "Selina's told me all about you."

"Selina…" he said wistfully. His heart dropped in his chest at the thought of her. It was funny, she was probably off at some charity gala, helping feed the poor and homeless, and meanwhile he was running around with a cop-killer and getting into standoffs with police officers.

Bruce pushed himself up off of the couch he'd been laying on. The blood rushed from his head and he almost fell, but he managed to steady himself out and hobble over to his where his jacket was hung up. He told Thompkins, "Well, thanks for helping me, but I have to go…"

He was interrupted by the door opening. On impulse, he reached for his gun and aimed it at the newcomer.

Just his luck: it was none other than James Gordon.

Bruce took a deep breath and dropped his gun to his side.

"Oh, hey, Bruce," Gordon said nonchalantly. "What're you doing here?"

"You know each other?" Thompkins asked.

Gordon nodded. "Yeah, we do." He grabbed a beer from his fridge and took a long drink from it.

"So?" Bruce asked. "Is Gar okay?"

Gordon sighed. "I'm sorry, Bruce. He's not gonna make it."

Bruce felt a knife go straight through his heart. He looked at Gordon with nothing but shock and hurt. "You said that you'd help him!" he protested.

"I tried, Bruce. I tried," Gordon told him. "But he didn't wanna go quietly." He took a deep breath. "I think he wanted it to end this way."

Bruce raised his gun to Gordon's forehead and told him, "Give me one good reason not to blow your brains out."

Gordon raised his hands into the air. "Bruce, I know you're hurting but please calm down…"

No. He was too far gone to calm down. Bruce flipped the gun around and swung the butt of the pistol into Gordon's temple, putting him on the ground. He aimed the pistol down at him and screamed, "I trusted you! You lied to me!"

"Bruce…I'm sorry, it just went a different way," Gordon started.

"SHUT UP!" Bruce demanded. "SHUT! UP!"

Thompkins stepped in between them and Bruce raised the pistol to her forehead. "Bruce, please stop. Selina wouldn't want you to do this."

That was all he could take. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. He hadn't cried in front of people since he was five, but he couldn't take any more pain.

Bruce's knees buckled and he screamed.

The two adults watched on in shock as the mask of Bruce Kyle broke.

Bruce didn't care. This was all he could take. This was his breaking point. He looked up at Gordon, tears pooling in his eyes, and told him, "I'm done talking to you. I should've never trusted a cop…" He aims the gun at Gordon and tells him, "I swear on my life, if I ever see you again, I'll kill you. You hear me, Gordon?" he choked out.

Gordon nodded.

Bruce grit his teeth and rose to his feet, keeping his gun trained on Gordon the whole time.

He turned and walked out of the apartment, tears still streaming down his cheeks.


He didn't know how he ended up sitting on the edge of a rooftop. He looked down at the pavement, ten stories below. He made no effort to stop crying, he didn't want to. He deserved to feel this pain.

What would happen if they found him down there, dead? Would Gordon get arrested for influencing a suicide?

He scoffed bitterly. Probably not.

Hell, he doubted anyone would even care.

Gordon had betrayed him.

Alfred hated him.

Zee wouldn't talk to him.

Floyd would abandon him in a heartbeat.

Garfield, who Bruce had neglected for years even though he was being abused, was dead.

And Selina…she was better off without him in her life.

No one needed him.

So why keep fighting?

What was the point?

Would Gotham be a better place without him?

He looked down at the gun in his hand. It'd be quick. Easy, even.

Bruce dropped the gun behind him.

No.

He'd beat the Narrows.

He'd beat Gotham, even if it killed him.

That was his purpose. That was why he kept fighting.

He couldn't quit now, he'd lost too much, fought too long.

He wouldn't just survive Gotham, he'd defeat it.

But most of all, he couldn't leave her. Selina may've been better off without him, but he wasn't better off without her.

And there was no way in hell that some random rich-kid was gonna take her from him.

A/N: So, that was a really long chapter (at least by my standards). I really wanted to give you guys a Christmas upload but I kept procrastinating so I ended up writing this whole thing in a four-hour sitting again, which is a really bad habit of mine but oh well. This chapter was especially difficult to write since I personally don't enjoy this arc, but there were a few really big moments in this chapter and having something to work towards made it easier. Anyways, thanks for reading and if you have any questions/comments/critiques, please review! Hope you enjoyed and until next time, ciao for now!

Also: next chapter will finally be some BrucexSelina interactions. It's been way too long.