Bruce stares down at the pavement of…of the place. The one place he has never returned to. The one place he hasn't stepped foot in for over twenty years. Crime Alley. He felt the chilly breeze hit him, the cold stinging his cheeks. Strangely, being back here didn't bring him any anxiety or stress. He didn't even feel anger. He felt…pain.

Because being back here...it was like it was all happening again. He saw it all like that night had just been yesterday. He could smell the buttery popcorn from the concession stand, see the lights around the poster for "The Mask of Zorro" and the smattering of individuals gathered around the entrance to the new Sherlock Holmes film his father had mentioned, "Murder by Decree".

He can remember his excitement during the scene where Zorro does battle with Don Rafael Montero and his father jokingly covering Bruce's eyes during the kissing scene of the film.

He remembers the cold musky air of that night as they crossed through Crime Alley, how his father had put his hand on his shoulder to him of his fright. He remembers looking up at his mother as she smiled at him and put him at ease for the last time. He could never forget the sound of the gun clicking or the model of the gun. A Colt .45 automatic with "Series 90 Colt Mark IV" written on the barrel in embossed lettering and a small image of a horse, rearing up next to the lettering.

He couldn't forget the face of the man with the gun either. Long greasy brown hair and a long face with bloodshot eyes with a skinny build. He had a slight blemish on the lower side of his left cheek, and he sported a badly shaved goatee.

He remembers the man's words, asking for their money and for Bruce's Mother's pearl necklace. He remembers his father fumbling with his wallet, nerves taking over and how his mother gripped his hand.

He can still hear the sound of the gunshot, but the more vivid memory is his mother's blood curdling screen after the man shot his father. The shriek of panic and pain from his mother as Bruce watched his father fall to the ground in horror.

Bruce closed his eyes tightly due to the pain of these memories, his PTSD attack getting worse by the second. Bruce never heard the second gunshot, but he'll never forget the loss of his mother's hand holding his own.

His soft and dainty left hand hit him immediately as he turned toward her, watching the color being drained from her face as she fell to the ground. It all felt like it happened in slow motion. It had lasted a lifetime.

He remembers turning towards the man with gun, determination and hatred in his eyes as he stared straight at the man. At that moment, Bruce was ready to die. He was waiting for the man to shoot him, so he could be with his parents. But he didn't. The coward ran.

Bruce had turned back to his parents, looking at their bodies lying in Crime Alley. He fell to the ground, desperately telling them to wake up. He remembers trying to do the hemlock remover on his mother, trying in vain to revive her dead body. He'll never forget seeing his mother's normal perfect and smooth hair covered in blood. His father's white dress shirt was completely drenched in blood. He laid his head on his mother's bloody and lifeless body, violently crying. All he can remember after that was blood. All there was...was blood.

This is what had constantly plagued his mind for years. This was the true nightmare that he had tried to avoid and distract himself from, trying to resist the full weight of it. Lately however, Bruce realized he couldn't avoid it anymore. He had to accept it. He had to realize the weight of it and stop avoiding it…let it fuel him.

That was the issue that had plagued him for all these years, wasn't it? It was almost as if he had been trying to do all this to avoid facing the pain that night. Had he never allowed it to hit him? Is that what Batman truly was? Was it simply one more distraction for him to hide behind?

He had never accepted it. He would never move on, but he never even moved forward. That brought into question why became Batman. Was it to make sure no other child had to lose their parents like he had or was it to simply escape truly facing what had happened?

Bruce opened his eyes, allowing the full grief of that night hit him for the first time since he was ten-years old. The pain was immeasurable. In that moment, he wasn't Bruce Wayne or Batman, he was simply a scared little boy trying to hold back the tears and wondering why God had to take them from him.

As he stared at the exact spot his parents had been shot, Bruce remembered why he devoted his life to the streets of Gotham. To the protection of all life. It was because of the pain. He needed the pain.

The pain wasn't a weakness, it was a strength. He needed to feel the pain of their deaths to motivate him. He needed it to keep him grounded. To keep the rage at bay. To keep him from losing control.

Bruce looked around the dirty alley, soaking in the atmosphere. For so long, he had been afraid to feel the weight of his pain, but not anymore. Now, he had allowed their deaths to truly fuel him and that pain of the loss to become his strength.

His crusade had always been about the same thing, making sure no other child would have to grow up with the pain he had. That no other child would grow up to become another Batman. He would keep the promise he made on their graves. He wouldn't rest until he had made good on that vow. Bruce laid down a white rose, his mother's favorite, and departed from the alley. There was work to do.

HAPPY BATMAN DAY!!! As always, open to suggestions for future stories!