Butler

The sound of thunder continued in a steady rhythm as I wavered between unconscious and conscious. Over and over, I would hear, DOOMrumblerumbleDOOMrumblerumbleDOOM-

-The thunder quieted, and I was left alone with my pain. I no longer remembered what had happened. I had no idea what was going on in Gotham. I was tired. I was in pain. I went back to sleep.

My eyes opened of their own volition sometime between an hour and a hundred years later. The sun was high in the sky and helped to blind me from the realities of the world. A dark thought entered my head and suggested that I might be dead. To tell the truth, I did not care in the slightest. I was a failure, I had lost everything, and I deserved to die.

The only surprise was that I was seeing such a bright light in my afterlife.

A sudden pressure in my side began to build and it felt as though my lungs were being trapped in a vice. The pressure erupted into a full-blown surge of pain - much more appropriate for my afterlife - and I cried out involuntarily.

"My sincerest apologies, Master Bruce," came the response of a hauntingly familiar voice. I jerked into clarity.

For some reason, my body would not obey me, but I was able to turn my head from side to side. When I turned to my left, I saw the barren remains of some old, burned-down building. It must have been massive in its time, but now only a few shattered and scorched boards remained. Whatever this place had been, it had now been completely abandoned.

When I turned to my right, I gave a sharp intake of breath. About a mile away was the skyline of Gotham, and a large plume of black smoke was coming out of the center. I was at first overcome with grief, but then I realized that the fact that I could see the skyline meant that whatever damage I was seeing was very localized.

Since no one was in my field of view when I turned my head, it meant that the person speaking to me was positioned toward my feet. I rose on my elbows to prop myself up, but then I remembered that Ra's al Ghul had pulled my shoulder out of the socket.

"Please sir, try not to move!" the voice admonished. The voice was familiar; it was British; it was poison. I had no doubts now about his identity. "I did my best to remove the armor and treat your wounds, but your arm is completely dislocated and, well-"

Suddenly Alfred's face came into view. The face I had never wanted to see again. The face of the man who had killed my parents, stolen their fortune, and used it to plague Gotham with organized crime.

I was in hell. And my tormenter was patching my wounds and grinning derisively at himself.

"You see, Master Bruce - My arms haven't the strength to reset the joint."

"Go away," I commanded.

Alfred's eyes widened as he saw the set of my eyes. "But, Master Bruce, your injuries - "

"GO AWAY!" I screamed and immediately regretted it. One of my ribs must have been broken. In between my next wheezing breaths, I said, "You are a monster… and I told you… that I never wanted to see you again… I told you to leave Gotham… and never come back… so… go… away…"

Alfred's expression began to harden then, from the butler who had served my family when I was a child, to the crime lord that had put Gotham under its boot. His voice was cold, quiet, and authoritative.

"With all due respect, Bruce: make me."

I stared at him for a long moment, before I turned a defeated gaze away from him and toward the sky.

"My ribs hurt."

"I should think so. Two of them are broken and three of them are cracked. I was surprised to find that you could still breath when I found you."

"How?"

"How what, Master Bruce? How did I find you? How did you survive? How did I get you here?"

I turned back to him for just long enough to express my annoyance before turning to the sky again.

"Very well. For your sake, I believe I can summarize," He walked away from me and began to work with something out of my line of sight. "Your instructions were very clear on my leaving the city, but you have to realize that a man of my means cannot simply take up roots at the drop of a hat. I had been using the sewer system to travel in and out of Gotham, and when the assassins detonated themselves, I was witness to several tons of concrete falling through the street.

"When I went to investigate, I was surprised to find your body intact for the most part, though you were barely breathing. I think it was your armor that took the brunt of the blast. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed you by the ankles and dragged you out of the sewers until I could get you to my car and drive you here. I am afraid that I may have bumped your head a few times along the way."

Suddenly, I realized what must have been making the 'thunder' sounds while I drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Where is here?" I asked.

Alfred's face grew dour and he pinched his lips uncomfortably. "I had hoped you would recognize where we were, but it has been many years, and I suppose it doesn't quite look the same."

Then I remembered. When I had taken down Gotham's crime lords, I had ordered my men to burn down a particular mansion that had belonged to Alfred.

My parents' mansion.

My old home.

"It's the only place I have now," Alfred continued. "There is not much in the way of shelter, but I know I am safe and I have a place convenient to the city until I am ready to leave permanently."

I wanted to be angry with Alfred. He was the murderer of my parents and the top criminal mastermind in Gotham, but I could not find the energy to be mad. I suppose I should have been grateful; he had saved my life and brought me to safety, but I felt no gratitude.

I looked into his face and felt nothing. I was defeated, destroyed, and empty. My life was now devoid of meaning, my body was broken, and my spirit had been annihilated. If I could have managed it, I would have willed myself to die, but try as I might, I could not summon the energy.

When I looked at Alfred, though, I could tell that he felt the same emptiness I felt. For the first time, I could understand the depths he had been brought to and what had led him to make his choices. We had gone separate paths in these intervening years, but we had arrived at the same destination of ruin. I don't think I could ever forgive him, but in this moment my mind wandered to a new, potential history; one where I never found out who killed my parents, one where Alfred raised me, one where I never became a vengeance-driven maniac who dressed like a bat.

"What do you want?" I asked after the silence had stretched too long. Alfred's back straightened and he pursed his lips. Apparently, he had been waiting for me to ask this exact question.

"Master Bruce, I will not deny the heinous nature of my crimes. I have failed you, your family, Gotham, and myself. I never expect you to forgive me for my sins, but I would be remiss if I did not find some way to try and atone for what I have done. I know that you are in a bit of a tight spot. I can provide you assistance and resources, and I can personally vow that I will stand with you to whatever destination you seek. I… I am truly sorry, Bruce. I wish you knew how much."

It was a tempting offer.

Without the League to back me, I was treading water and sinking fast. Aside from that, I was also badly injured, and the very idea of moving - much less standing - by myself was daunting. With his help, I could get away from Gotham and start over. Alfred would also be a perfect sounding board for when I finally settled down and tried to figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

Then again; he had made similar vows to my parents, so I could never truly trust his loyalty.\

I honestly have no idea what I would have answered, and I likely never would because, at that very moment, a shadow fell over me and Ra's al Ghul spoke.

"Bruce, you are remarkably difficult to kill."

I turned to face him. He was alone - as well as I could tell - and his expression held more curiosity than anger. It was as though I were a puzzle he could not yet solve. This did not prevent him from holding a naked blade to my throat, however.

"Whatever will I do with you, Bruce? I cannot allow you to return to the League, and I still have to punish you for interfering with my plans."

"You will put the sword away, sir!" Alfred demanded. I made a sound of protest, but Alfred waved me off. "This man is under my protection. I will not allow any harm to come to him. If you want to harm Bruce in any way, you will have to go through me."

I looked between the two men standing over me. It was a marvelous tableau of contrasts: Alfred, the old Englishman exuding the confidence and stolidity of a soldier while standing across from the most dangerous assassin on the planet who seemed bored with his blustering.

"Very well," Ra's declared after a moment of consideration. "I accept your offer."

In the space of a heartbeat, the Demon's Head drew his sword and thrust it deep into Alfred's chest.

I screamed, but the effort sent racking coughs through my body. Alfred's mouth moved as though he were screaming as well, but no sound emanated from his crumpling body. His face landed next to mine, and I could tell from the emptiness of his eyes that he had already died. My vision blurred and I felt rivers of tears pour down my face, but I still could not even stand to meet the murderer who stood above me.

He seemed not to mind.

"Well then," Ra's cooly announced while bending to grab a handkerchief off of Alfed's body to wipe his sword. "I will consider your debt paid. Know this, though: the League of Shadows will have a permanent mark on your head. Should you ever cross paths with me or any member of my organization again, you will be immediately killed on sight. Watch your back Bruce, and appreciate what little remains of your life."

At that, Ra's left me in the ruins of my childhood home with the corpse of my oldest friend and worst enemy lying next to me.

I never knew when or how long I was fully alone and I didn't care. I just cried and coughed until consciousness could hold me no longer.