Dedicated to: Annie and Rebecca. Dealing with inner demons like you like it Annie; lotsa screaming and inner demons Becca! This is yer kinda story, Rebecca!
A dark figure could be seen sitting at a large grave. The grave was a human-sized angel mounted up on a pedestal that read, in large, capital letters, 'WAYNE'. Below it were two red roses, obviously just placed there. Sitting across from it was Bruce Wayne. He sat on his knees, on the ground. His eyes were fixated on the grave. In his hands was a small music box playing a methodical tune. It was a sweet piano-sounding melody that told more stories with that one tune than any storyteller ever could. Soon, a second tone to the tune would join it, signifying two people singing. Every time he played the box, it reminded him of his mother, for she used to hum it to him when he was going to sleep… It still even smelled like her. It was a circular orb engraved with turquoise and gold. On the top were two people dancing slowly across the small platform. When it stopped, the two people would be covered by four parts that hung around it, making it shape like an egg, almost.
As it slowed, the people disappeared behind their walls and Bruce pocketed the tiny music box into a pocket of his trench coat that hung open. He looked around to see that the sky was exceptionally dark for it being 6 PM.
'Hello Mother. Hello Father,' he prayed in his mind.
There was a crack of lightning and a wind picked up. Bruce looked around at the sky, and then looked at the grave.
'Looks like it's going to rain,' he silently said to them.
That's how he always talked to them. You'd never find Bruce actually speaking, or even moving his lips when he was talking to his parents.
'Amazing, isn't it? All these years and I'm still running around in storms without even an umbrella? Alfred has talked to me about that, you know. And Dick too. But Dick's just really bad at forgetting his umbrella. He's scolded me for, I don't know, *years*? I guess that's what a butler is good for! To nag at you for eternity or something!' He chuckled and shook his head. "Amazing…" he whispered.
He looked around the area and just shook his head. It was run down with old, rotting vines over the trees and fences.
'God, this place is REALLY run down! Sorry about that! Haven't been looking after this much, have I? That's going to change. Tomorrow, I'll hire some people to make this place beautiful again. Promise. You know, I wonder what those boys are actually up to…'
Nightwing crawled over a roof to the edge and swung down to a window. Slowly, he picked its lock and slid it open. He swung in silently and paced across the decent sized bedroom. He pulled something from a pouch and walked to a bed. He put it near the nose of the person sleeping there and pushed.
"ARRRRRGH!!!!!!!" Tim Drake screamed. He slammed his feet reflexively into Nightwing's chest to get him away. Nightwing flew to the ground. Tim sat up angrily. "What IS this stuff?!?!" He hurried and flipped on the light to see he was covered in shaving cream. "What the---?!"
Nightwing was hysterical. He couldn't even stand from where he fell he was laughing so hard.
"Oh my God! You should've heard yourself! It sounded like someone was *murdering* you or something! Bwahahaha!! If only you could've heard---Oh, wait! You can!" He pulled out a tape recorder that was going. He rewound it and played back Tim's scream. "Hahahaha! OH man! That was good!"
"Considering Dad and Dana are out, I have full clearance to KICK YOUR---"
Bruce looked at the ground before him. He was half shocked that it never seemed to show any evidence that he was ever there. He took in a deep breath and looked at the grave.
'Do I make you proud, Mother? What about you, Father? Are you proud of having a roof-running, over-obsessed, compulsive son? … Probably not. I've failed you, and I failed the promise I made to you so long ago, right here… I promised to prevent crime and prevent what happened to me from happening to anyone else. Dick, Jason, Tim… Perfect examples. Oh, I know, 'One man can only do so much, Bruce!' I've heard it all before. But I am MORE than one man… I took what people long dreamed of doing… Of soaring, of being respected in a world of super humans, and yet… Being mortal. I trained long and hard to become the best at what I do!!! But now, I'm beginning to wonder… Is it really enough?'
He bent over and slammed his fists into the ground. Remaining there, he shook his head slowly.
'I failed you… I failed Jason. And even now, I'm failing Dick and Tim. I'm supposed to be the World's Greatest Detective. But what good does that do when you can't even detect that loved ones-or anyone-are going to be in danger?'
Tim slid on his black and gold cape, and then, he slipped on his mask. He slid out the bedroom window that was still wide open. Nightwing was down below, leaning on a large tree. In his hand, he was jingling Robin's car keys. Robin hung on the windowsill and glared down at him.
"TOOK you long enough!" Nightwing smirked. "I could've been ready in a minute FLAT!"
"Yeah, well two minutes isn't that bad either!"
"Yeah, sure. You'd be amazed what could happen just in thirty seconds. Hey, look what I got!" he announced.
He waved the keys up in the air.
"You better give me those back, punk," Robin said lowly.
"You have to catch me first, wise guy!"
Nightwing sprinted off into the shadows.
"NIGHTIWNG! ARGH!" He dropped down and took off after him. "Give me those back! Or else I'm gonna tell Alfred! He's going to ground you!!!"
'Trigger… Trigger…' Bruce repeated over and over in his head, still hunched over. 'Just like me pulling the trigger… Had I known, I *would* have done it first… No I wouldn't have, I would have prevented it… But I didn't when I SHOULD have… Now she'll never walk again. Ever. She tortures herself, you know. She thinks that I don't see it. On a subconscious level, I'm sure she knows better… Oh God, when did things start going so wrong? Was it the day you were both killed? …Or was it *before* that, father?'
He looked up as he heard three voices. He immediately recognized the loud bellows of two, and the equally loud "ambassador" scolding the two.
"Both of you young men calm down!" Alfred Pennyworth ordered. "This instant! Master Timothy, do behave!"
"Tell him to give back my keys and leave me ALONE!" Robin said.
Alfred stood between them, trying to keep them from killing one another. Nightwing winked teasingly and shook the keys loudly.
"Come on, Timmy, you know you want to get a wedgie, you know it… Come and try to mess with me and get one free wedgie, people!" Nightwing joked.
"Why I oughta--!!!!"
He lunged for Nightwing, but Alfred caught him. He put his arms under and around Robin's arms and his hands behind Robin's neck to hold him there. Nightwing laughed, looking at the hold.
"Wow, Alfred! I've never seen you do something like THAT before!" he said.
"There are many things that I can do, Master Nightwing. Now, give the young man his keys."
Robin stuck his arm out stiffly from the hold Alfred had him in. No matter what would happen, he'd never hurt Alfred, or even disobey him. He respected him too much. Nightwing, with exactly the same feelings over the old butler as Robin, groaned and handed them to him.
"Thank you," Robin said. Alfred released him and he put the keys in his belt. "Nightwing, now I can't sleep. You want to do some rounds?"
"Can I see your girlfriend?"
"NO!"
"Eh, okay. Then lets stand with Alfred. Why ARE you here, Alfred?" Nightwing asked.
"Master Bruce is visiting with his parents," Alfred responded ruefully.
"Oh… Well, we all know that'll take a while, so we'll wait with you," Robin said. "Right, Nightwing?"
Nightwing nodded.
After the voices died down, Bruce looked to the grave again. His eyes glanced over the stone that was visible only through the dim light that managed to wedge through the gray clouds. Now it began to sprinkle just lightly.
'I can barely think of that night… That night… I barely remember the movie itself… I can remember… everything… and yet nothing… I don't want to remember, but it's there…'
It continued it's small drizzle. Bruce didn't even seem to notice it. He stared at the grave harshly. Anger began to flood his eyes.
'I know work is stressful… How can it NOT be? I try to help people as Bruce Wayne too you know. But it just doesn't have the same effect… Or feeling. I know it can be stressful…'
His eyes began to water up from the emotion that was locked in the pit of his stomach. The emotions twisted his insides in unbearable pain that he had to lean forward slightly to control it. And still, he couldn't take his eyes off the grave. In his mind, he replayed the night. The bullet ripped through his father's chest, and then his mother's. They fell to the ground hard and the mugger took what he desired and ran off. A little Bruce, frightened and realizing he was alone, began to sob uncontrollably over their bodies.
"That image has haunted me my entire life," he whispered out, not caring if anyone heard him any more. "I've tried… For over twenty years I've tried to get rid of the images… I can smell the gunpowder even now. And even now, I want to scream in horror… I love you both so much, no matter what happened… I love you…"
He paused. His eyes, filled with tears still, grew into flames of anger. He boosted up on his knees and glared at the head stone. He ran his hand through his midnight black hair, jets of water breaking loose and finding their way along his jaw line.
"But did you ever love me, dammit?!" he said loudly. He pointed towards the family name accusingly. "I'm sure you did that last day, but what about the days before that?!"
Nighwing raised a hand in the air.
"How come it's raining way over there where Bruce is, but not here?" he asked.
"Didn't you know?" Robin asked. "It always rains during dramatic graveyard scenes, but since we're the comedic relief, we have to wait until we become *dramatic* enough for the story. And this time, the weather is supposed to pick up according to Bruce's feelings. Want to see the script?"
Nightwing smirked.
"Naw… Stupid extra jobs. I'm calling my agent after this."
"Oh, do not fuss Master Nightwing," Alfred intervened.
"We're just jo--"
"At least you're getting paid," Alfred continued, playing along. "*I* can't even pay the rent!"
Nightwing and Robin laughed at his words. Nightwing patted him on the back and just snickered. But then the three men heard Bruce yelling and stopped, jaws dropped, for they never heard him yell about or at his parents. And what they were hearing surprised them beyond anything else.
Bruce had hunched over a moment. But then, the winds around him began to pick up as he rose to his feet, pointing at the grave.
"You were gone all my life! And every time you WERE there, it was a mind game! 'We love you so much son! We're so proud!" Versus "Get the hell out of here, Bruce!" One minute I was your son, the next minute…"
He breathed in deeply, the anger growing into something larger than he ever felt before.
"WHY did you HIT us, FATHER?!" he bellowed out. "WE NEVER DID ANYTHING TO YOU!!! They say that children learn to abuse their children from THEIR parents! Well, let me tell YOU, Thomas Wayne, I NEVER laid a hand on MY sons!"
He collapsed to his knees and beat the ground weakly with his fists. Tears came out as if it were that night all over again.
"I told you I hated you, Father," he whispered. "The first time you *really* hit me damagingly… I told you I wanted you to die… I never thought that the next day, you and Mother really would see an early grave… And I never… I never forgave you… I said I would when the night was over… but I never did…"
He coughed slightly, sitting up. He looked up as the clouds continued to get darker and the night began to arrive. Words came from his mouth in anger at that. He was bound and determined to finish what he had to say. He knew he'd never be able to again. He looked at the grave.
"When Jason was killed… The only thing I could ever think of is how--how *helpless* he looked lying there among the rubble. The moment I touched him, I knew he was dead. Kind of like with you two. I felt like I had betrayed him… Let him down like so many other people did before me. It's so damn amazing that these things happen to you, to Jason… To the other two and Alfred and Barbara… But what about me? I just don't understand! What makes me more special than the others? …No, that isn't what I want to know. The answer I need is… Did you ever love me before that last day, Father? Was I your son? Or was I just your child--there is a difference, you know."
He stared at the grave long and hard. Almost as if expecting a real answer to come from it. He knew that answer would never come, but he felt like he needed to try it anyway. Finally, he shook his head.
"You seem like a figment of my imagination anymore… Like tales from an old storybook. But that's all right. In my heart I know you're real. Perhaps you're with me everywhere I go, hence why I've lived so long. I don't know… And I don't care anymore. I know I'm not invincible, but at least I know I don't need guardian angels at my side. Why have angels at your side to protect you from outer attacks when the real problem comes from the demons within? Maybe you need to protect someone who *really* needs it. Like Dick or Timothy. They're the ones who need the protection out there. Someone condemned to years and years of grueling punishment for unknown things doesn't need guardian angels. Every time I needed you in life, you were never really palpable… But in death, you're always beside me… As if we're locked in that same course as the dancers on the music box."
He looked down at the sleeves of his wet jacket. Snapping his head to each side, he managed knocked more water loose. He glared at the family name again.
"Happy bloody anniversary… How many years will that be now that you two will be side by side since marriage?" he asked sourly. "Forty-five? Forty-six? Does it even matter anymore? I'd be kidding myself if I said it didn't, but… I just don't understand anymore!"
Pulling out the music box, he threw it onto the damp grave and stood. He walked over to the angelic stone and leaned on it.
"Here it comes… The question of the year…"
He choked on the words he was about to speak. He was afraid to even think the words, but he knew he had to ask it. He wouldn't have the guts to say to ever again, so he needed to say it then.
"I found a journal of yours, Father. Part of it read 'When my son turns eight, Martha-love and I have decided it would be wise to start him on a different path than what he originally thought possible. We both just pray that he'll keep to his end of the deal.' ……… Was it in your plans to make me something more than a common mortal, Mother, Father? If so, was it out of concern for others? Or love for me? Or perhaps it was to live out some morbid fantasy you yourselves couldn't do on your own…"
He backed away to stare at the grave. He knew that no answer would come, but he figured it was worth a try. Gulping again, his eyes began to water up.
"I don't think I understand anything anymore…" He dropped to his knees and held his face. "Forgive me… Forgive me, please… Such cruel words… actions… unfair… My love for you is undying… Forgive me…"
Nightwing frowned in the general direction of the grave and Bruce.
"Silence… That's not good with Bruce after he's been yelling. Someone should go talk to him… Tim?" he asked with an offering gesture.
"Hey man! You ward, me friend. This is YOUR duty!" Robin objected.
"Alfred?" Nightwing asked, turning.
"I am afraid Master Robin is correct, Sir. You are one of the few Master Bruce will listen to." Nightwing grumbled something. Alfred 'tsked' at him. "You had better watch that mouth, young man. You are not too old to have a soap bar put in your mouth," he quipped.
"Gee, thank you Alfred," Nightwing mumbled.
The music box was placed atop the base of the grace by the angel's feet. Bending down, Bruce kissed the cold, wet stone gently. He painfully stared at the grave a moment, and then turned and started to head away. Nightwing separated from the shadows next to him and walked beside him.
"Bruce…?" he asked warily.
Bruce spun to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. He cringed and squinted his eyes shut -- he wasn't about to mess with the man this time. But, to his surprise, Bruce didn't do anything but hold his shoulders.
"Dick, answer me a question," he said, his eyes pleading frantically.
Nightwing looked at him and tried not to look surprised at that.
"O-okay…?"
"Have I been unfair to you? Or Jason? Have I *ever* laid a hand on you or treated you with less respect than you deserve?"
Nightwing's white eyes were wide in shock and his jaw dropped. He quickly covered it and looked at the shaking blue eyes of Bruce's. Knowing it best to tell him the truth, Nightwing sighed and reached one hand up to Bruce's left arm in comfort.
"You've… acted like we were less… But deep down, I guess we knew better. And NO, Bruce, you've never hit us… Unless it was on the back of the head for making a bad joke about someone's appearance, to their face," he said, trying to get Bruce to smile a little.
Bruce stared at him a moment longer, a look of fright and horror of some internal demon spread across his face. Nightwing began to realize that this time, he wasn't going to need Bruce -- the man that was always the saver of the day… This time, Bruce would need him.
"Dick… Are you telling me the truth?"
"…Your father hit you and your mother?" Nightwing choked out, still shocked over that. Bruce closed his eyes as he backed away. He gave one nod and turned from him. "God Bruce… I never *knew*. I'm so sorry…"
"I suppose part of it was my fault…" He smirked slightly. "I kept bugging him when he was drinking… So some of it was my fault."
He shrugged and looked away, hands at his sides. His tone was almost of that as a teenager talking about what his father would do to him when he got home, not like a man who lost his father at a young age.
"*No*!" Nightwing barked, grabbing him by the shoulders. "I thought you were smarter than that, Bruce! You were too young to be at fault for something like that! You know it, somewhere in your heart, Wayne… You have to…"
"I don't know *what* to know anymore, Dick…" he whispered, looking down. "Every time I think I'm getting it, something comes and twists my life on an unexpected turn. Do you honestly think I intended to live my life like this?"
He pushed Nightwing away and began to walk. Nightwing grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.
"You're avoiding the main subject, Bruce. We usually let you slide when you normally do that--Not this time. Tell me. Tell me you understand you're not at fault for anything-the abuse or their deaths, and mean it."
"What difference will it make?" Bruce asked, not looking at him.
"For me? Not much. But for you? Maybe an absolution you've waited to come to you for so long. Maybe you can break this cycle!"
"I can never break the cycle, Dick. You're the proof, standing right there."
"… Maybe so. But at least you'll know why you're fighting."
Bruce paused and sighed. His heart pounded as his breathing slowed. He turned to Nightwing and shook his head. In his head, he could feel his blood palpitating with the rhythm his heart was beating out in his chest.
"I know why I'm fighting. I'm fighting because I promised to prevent it from happening to anyone else… Though, unfortunately I've… I've *failed*…"
Nightwing smiled.
"The times you succeeded outweigh those times *greatly*, Bruce Wayne."
"…You don't blame me for…?"
He trailed off, not sure if he should continue. Nightwing fake-dusted his shoulder.
"I've grown quite a fondness to tights, thank you. Some people say only pansies wear tights. Well, let me tell YOU, if that's true THIS pansy can take out anyone 'cause he's had the main man as a teacher."
"Wow, you're admitting to having one."
Nightwing walked over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was GLAD Bruce was getting off the guilt trip thing and would do anything to keep him off it.
"Listen. Talking man to Batman, I have only one thing to say…" He lifted his hand and showed he held Robin's car keys. "You sure taught me to be sneaky!"
"You're asking for trouble," Bruce said.
"Point and case: Robin present is going to try to take on Robin past, both trained by you. Who will win? Lets find out, shall we?!" he asked anxiously.
Bruce chuckled slightly and shrugged.
"Go ahead. I'll catch up in a moment."
The look Nightwing gave him was read immediately. He was concerned that Bruce wouldn't follow. When Bruce gave a nod, Nightwing ran for where Robin awaited. Bruce glanced back to the grave and smiled slightly.
'Whatever you had planned, my parents…' he thought to them once more. 'I'm beginning to think I should agree with it… I mean, I'm doing what I think you did, only I've been able to stick around to see it… I love you both so *very*much.'
"NIGHTWING!!!" Robin screamed angrily.
"Mwahahaha! Come and get 'em, Boy Turkey!" Nightwing yelled. "That's it! WEDGIE TIME!"
There was a crash, followed by Nightwing's incessant laughter.
"Oh, Master Dick! Was that *really* necessary?" Alfred scolded.
There was another crash, and more objections from Alfred. Bruce inhaled deeply and rolled his eyes. Shaking his head, he jogged that direction to break the two Boy Wonders apart.
The Answer