Prompt Post - Part Ten
I am REALLY, REALLY SORRY about taking so long, guys, and about not being around much recently. I've been busier than I have in a while, and it just kept slipping my mind between uni applications and volunteering and all sorts- for some reason I thought we were much further off a new post.
If there is anything I haven't responded to, as of now, I'm ( Read more... )
But they had enemies, those jealous of their joy, and they called out to the darkness to destroy them.
The darkness teemed and roiled, until, at last, the great Demon King himself appeared before them and said: “Aye, that I may do, but for a price.”
“Gladly, we shall pay it,” they said.
“Give me one of your men. Dress him in rags and haircloth and leave him unshorn.”
“This we shall do, Great Dark One,” they said.
And the pact was struck.
Bruce Wayne prefers to try and remember his parents the way they were and not as he remembers them on that accursed night. He knows, of course, that they were humanitarians, contributing to charitable causes and championing human rights and healthcare within Gotham and the greater world at large. He remembers sitting awkwardly through charity galas, waiting for the first moment to slip away, and watching eagerly at the window for the towncar to return from the airport with his parents. Instead, he remembers the blood and tissue spraying across his face and chest, his mother’s pearls hitting the pavement, and the way they seemed to hang suspended in the air for a moment before finally falling.
His only consolation is that the homeless man who killed them, Joe Chill, will never get out of prison.
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On the road, the prince came upon an old man. The old man was bent and hobbled, struggling with a basket.
“What ho, old man? Be you well?” the boy prince asked.
“I am a traveler, as yourself, but I am weary and my bones are brittle and my house at the top of the mountain is ever so far,” the old man said.
“Then I shall help you,” the prince said and picked up the old man and his basket. They were as light as feathers, but the closer he got to the house, the heavier they both became. Still, he did not complain and pushed on, until they arrived at last.
The old man thanked the boy prince profusely and offered him anything within his power to give.
“I want justice for my parents and my kingdom,” the prince said.
The old man said, “And justice you shall have, if you but live with me for these seven years and do all that I say.”
The prince agreed and the bargain was struck.
Bruce is overseas when he learns that Joe Chill has been released from jail in exchange for testimony against the Marconi Crime Family. It drives him mad with a black fury unlike anything he’s ever known and he heads out into the night, recklessly searching for a fight.
He finds one in a bar in Dubai.
And at the end, when it has taken ten cops to subdue him and he sits in a sweltering jail, an older man appears.
“I’m impressed. You fight very well,” the man says, “But you could fight better.”
Bruce glares at him.
“The problem is that you lack a purpose,” the man says.
Bruce grunts, growls, and when he finds his voice, it’s a scratchy mess: “I have a purpose.”
“Oh?” the man asks. “And what is that?”
“Justice,” he breathes, though the word feels and tastes slick-black with vengeance.
The older man, if he senses it, does not seem to care and smiles at him, pressing a slip of paper through the bars. “Tell you what, young man, when you get out of here, come to the top of this mountain. I’ll teach you how to get your justice.”
Bruce takes the paper, pocketing it, and turns away. “I’ll think about it.”
They both already know he’s accepted.
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Writer-anon will take this heart of yours and stuff it in a box for safekeeping.
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At the end of seven years, the old man told him, “Dear boy, you have done all that I asked without complaint or question and you shall have what was promised you. But before you go, I have one more task for you. Make your way to the fortress. They have taken something most dear from me. It is in the tallest tower, wrapped in rags. Return it, but do not look upon it, and I shall not only give you your freedom and justice, but shall reward you most handsomely.”
The prince accepted, for he respected the old man, and went at once. It was no small feat, but he was clever, and made to retrieve the item from the tower.
An old guard tried to stop him, but no sooner had the prince turned to strike him down, than he stopped in horror for he knew the old guard, who had once watched him from childhood.
“Oh my prince, what wickedness has ensnared you?” the old guard begged. “Do you not know what you take from here? It is the Great Dark One’s most prized possession, a blade bearing his true name. Whoever holds it, holds power over him, for it alone has the power to kill him.”
The prince at once opened the bundle of rags and found a blade. Upon it was the true name of the old man, the Demon King, and he cried out in horror at how he had been tricked into working for such evil ends.
It’s a year or two before Bruce realizes what he’s gotten himself into.
Ra’s is generous and patient with him, at first, and keeps him away from the other students in the mountain base. He trains him personally and lets few others interact with him. It is made clear that Bruce is a favored protégé and, though it bothers him a little, he becomes used to it quickly.
Ra’s is a good teacher and Bruce has a purpose now. He’s being groomed to be the greatest crimefighter the world has ever seen.
But then, things begin to change.
Slowly, Ra’s starts sending him out with the others: small missions at first, retrieving and relocating items and money. Then the items become people, and the deliveries are no longer threats, but violence, and he realizes that this is not the place he thought it was.
Ra’s assures him they are criminals and that this is justice, but Bruce still has a nagging feeling that something isn’t right.
He thinks, perhaps, that it’s time for him to move on.
“It’s a pity you feel that way, Bruce,” Ra’s says. “But, tell you what, if you do this one last little thing for me, I’ll let you go with my blessing.”
He parts the curtain, revealing Joe Chill on his knees, and hands Bruce his personal sword.
“Kill him and claim justice for your parents.”
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“You have served me well, dear boy. You are free,” the old man said. “But before I give you your reward, you must answer me one question truthfully.”
“As you wish,” said the prince.
“Dear boy, did you look inside the rags?” the old man asked.
“Yes, I did,” said the prince and plunged the blade into the old man’s heart. “Here your evil and all the horror you have wrought ends.”
But the old man merely laughed as he lay dying. “Foolish boy, don’t you know what you have done? You would have been free and I would have given you the greatest of treasures as I might a son, but now this curse that was my fate is yours!”
With a clap of thunder, the old man died and the prince arose, forever transformed.
And that was how the lost prince became the Great Dark One.
Bruce doesn’t know why or when or even how he made the decision and, in some distant part of his mind, he is screaming that Ra’s is right, that this man he’s trying to save is the man who killed his parents in cold blood, and that he should kill him because it’s his right. But it doesn’t matter, because the second he refuses to kill him and raises that sword to prevent Ra’s from doing it to prove a point, he becomes an enemy of the house of al Ghul and he now has to fight if he wants to live beyond today.
“You fool!” Ra’s howls at him, enraged. “You would have been as my flesh and blood! I would have made you a prince in the League of Shadows!”
“You would have made me a murderer,” Bruce counters, blocking, “No better than him.”
And then Ra’s smiles cruelly and intentionally steps into a strike that should have only wounded him. The blade slides through his flesh cleanly as Bruce can only watch in horror while his momentum drives the blade all the way in. “Go back to Gotham, boy. You may cling to your moral superiority as much as you wish,” Ra’s hisses, clutching at him and drawing him closer with inhuman strength, “But you and I will both know the truth. You are a shadow.”
Ra’s eyes then roll back into his head, his breath stopping.
It takes all his effort to wrest free and, badly shaken, Bruce flees.
But the blood does not come off his hands.
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Oh, Anon, I love you! Really, this is amazing. I love the tiny Fairy tale parts at the beggining, it's so sublime and helps you get in the story.
I'd give you anything you ask me for if you continue. My heart in a box? My firstborn? It's defnitely gonna be my firstborn, isn't it? ( LOL)
Lovely, really. Thank you for filling! <3
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Ahah, all magic comes at a cost, but writer-anon assures you it'll be a fair price. (Perhaps a favor, instead, lol.)
In all seriousness, I'll try to add more today. I got called into work yesterday before I was able to add more.
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He left the mountain and, one-by-one, hunted them down, turning all the powers of the darkness upon them until they begged for mercy and returned his kingdom to him. But when all those men had finally paid for their treason, the prince found that he was not satisfied.
Saddened, he left the palace and wandered through every street, until he came to tavern. Inside, there were many men crowded to one side and but one single man on the other.
“What ho, who is that?” the prince asked.
“Leave him be, master. He is a murderer and thief,” one man said.
“How do you know this?” the prince asked.
A second man said, “Oh, but we have all seen it with our own eyes.”
“Then should he not be punished?” the prince asked.
“Aye,” the first man said. “But the guards will not do it, for he took their sons and daughters, and were they to act, he’d do them harm.”
“That is not fair,” the prince said.
“Aye,” the men said, “but that is the way of things.”
“That way is no more, men. You shall have justice,” the prince said and, at once, threw off his cloak. He cursed the villain then and there with a terrible fate befitting his crimes, but it did not satisfy him longer than a single moment. He immediately hungered for more.
And so he went into the world, seeking out all those that had been wronged and left without justice.
As Batman, Bruce finds a sort of strange peace with himself. He cannot erase what has happened, but he can make amends and, perhaps more importantly, prevent another child from going through what he had.
Joe Chill has paid for his crime, a fact which leaves him with no satisfaction.
Vengeance and justice, as he has come to learn, are two very different things and Batman must be more justice than vengeance if he is ever to change this city. Gotham has more than its fair share of criminals left unpunished and it is easy enough to soon find a comfortable medium between extremes, one that criminals will not forget and the police will forgive him for employing.
Always, though, he embraces terror and uses it as his ally in the night, bearing down and crushing his enemies in spirit. It thrills him, sometimes, in the way they react, screaming and running from him, as if he were their personal fury come to devour them.
As Bruce, he was a powerless child. As Batman, he is powerful, and it is becoming harder and harder to separate himself from the cowl.
“Master Bruce, your arm,” Alfred warns him. “You should be resting.”
“I can’t,” Bruce says, even as he watches the monitors in the cave. “Someone needs to protect these people.”
“I believe the police can handle this for one night,” Alfred says, sternly.
Bruce ignores him.
Batman is needed.
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But that did not stop him, as his thirst for justice was unquenchable.
It was then that he met the boy.
Batman is more than an urban legend now. Batman is a terrifying reality of Gotham, implacable and absolute, and he is watching, always.
Bruce loves it.
The way in which he’s maneuvered himself and pressured certain crime rings is forcing the major crime families to sit up and pay attention. He’s been watching them for weeks and noting the movements. There’s a shakedown in leadership coming up in the Falcone family, maybe soon, and rumors that they might expand their territories. Smaller players like Zucco might get eliminated if they’re unable to deal with the aggressive Falcone's plans for expansion.
And when they move, he’ll be there to take them down.
But first, he must be elsewhere. There are some acts in the name of justice that only Bruce Wayne can do and this charity event is one such act.
He sighs, adjusts his tie, and picks up the program for Haly’s International Circus.
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“I want justice,” the boy said. “My parents were good and kind. A terrible man killed them and now goes unpunished. I cannot pay in coin, but my hands are steady and I shall work as long as I must to repay you, oh Great Dark One.”
“Then you may yet work forever,” the prince said.
“So be it,” the boy said and the bargain was struck.
He sent the boy to work at once, fetching the tools of his magic from all over the world and sending him to deliver the results of his craft. In this way, he schooled the boy in the art of justice and the dark magic that sustained him, though it did scare the boy terribly. But the prince was not without some pity. He gave the boy many fine things, silks and damasks, and sometimes indulged him in childish games, all for which the boy was most grateful and thanked him.
More and more, the boy began to smile in his presence.
And little by little, the prince learned to smile once more.
Bruce did not expect to be a father, he realizes that now. But, somehow, he is and it’s a hair-raising, often confusing adventure in awkwardness and a strange sort of camaraderie.
It takes a year before he’s really fully used to seeing the boy in his house.
It takes months for Dick to find the Batcave.
But it took him all of five minutes to work his way into Bruce’s heart.
The boy is kind and strange and wonderful in so many ways. Sometimes, he is joy and fearlessness and sometimes he is nothing but fear and misery.
Dick is, in many ways, a lot like himself. It’s true, they’re linked by the common tragedy of losing their families to murder and the desire for justice, but Dick is different. His family was different. And, this time, Bruce is there to control and guide the damage this child has endured away from those dark paths he once chose to tread. He doesn’t want the blood on his hands to stain Dick.
He teaches him everything he knows, molding Robin out of Dick from the very sawdust of the center ring, and tries to be better, a little more human, a little less Batman for him.
It’s not easy, though, not by far.
Bruce doesn’t understand how to be a parent, more often than not, and Dick doesn’t always know how to approach him either. They make mistakes and tempers flare more often than not.
But seeing him smile is worth it.
It’s the only time he truly feels happy.
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I've written fairy-tale style in the past and it's always a lot of fun.
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*Shrieks* Omg, Really Anon, i'm really into this. Your FairyTale-esque parts are magnificent. I'm eager to see the rest of this!
I'm just asking about the firstborn so i can, y'know, have a first born (?) I shall wait then, Dearie
( What i'm picturing Alfred as Geppeto? Godamnit, brain)
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But this only saddened the boy.
Time and again, the prince tried to cheer him, but of no avail, for the boy only became more distant.
At a loss, the prince fashioned a doll in the likeness of a boy from an old yew tree and brought it to life with his magic.
"Surely, this shall mend his heart!" the prince said.
The criminals are getting wilder, more dangerous, less sane. And it’s getting harder and harder to let the boy who has become his son in all but the flesh go into danger.
But Dick isn’t a little boy any more. He’s coming into his own, both as a superhero and a teenager, and as much as he adores Bruce, he is starting to chafe under the authority.
Bruce notices it most clearly off the field, when their lives aren’t on the line. It’s a grimace here, a roll of the eyes there, and a huff of disagreement as his back is turned. It’s the little things Dick fights him on that he wouldn’t before and it’s frustrating.
Half the time, Dick is driving him up the walls, but Bruce can’t, - won’t take it out on him: it’s the criminals that feel it, instead. Bruce knows that it worries Dick and makes him fight Bruce even harder on the point of restraint (he's not slipping, he's not, he's still in control), but he needs to get it out of his system somewhere. He’s afraid of what he might do if he doesn’t and, god help him, Dick’s his son - he doesn’t want to hurt him. All he wants is for Dick to be safe and happy.
And yet…
It’s not always bad. They still play pickup games and watch movies. And when they do, it’s for one moment like the world is perfect again and he can pretend that maybe he is just a normal civilian dad with his son, no worries about Gotham or the Justice League or those missing hours to haunt him.
Then, there was Jason.
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The Little Yew Boy was tough and strong and unfailingly kind, but he was also terribly innocent and fell into all sorts of mischief without meaning to. And so it was that he was always being rescued from some adventure or another.
“You should be more careful, my brother,” the boy told him, “Or the prince shall be mad and return you to kindling before you can become real.”
“Fiddlesticks!” the Little Yew Boy said. “I am as real as you or he.”
And the Little Yew Boy went out to play.
Days passed and he did not return. The boy searched high and low, but none had seen him, and so, with a heart heavy in dread, he returned to the prince and told him everything.
Jason comes into their lives unexpectedly, just as Dick’s cutting his teeth on the new Nightwing identity. He’s a street kid, full of spunk, and, arguably, has more guts than sense.
Bruce first spots him tailing them a few weeks before Dick makes the switch. It’s a shadow, gangly and more burglar than martial artist, that hangs a little too long in their six and slowly inches up on them. Then, after Dick switches to his new suit and it’s clear to the media that Robin is not returning, he starts getting reports of a boy dressed as Robin, stopping petty crimes in the Crime Alley area.
It doesn’t take long to find the kid. He’s not exactly shy and he’s even less shy about voicing his opinions. He also kicks like a mule.
Dick immediately takes a shine to him.
Bruce wants to say no, he does, but Dick is happy and engaging with the younger boy and Jason needs guidance and looks so happy in the Robin suit, like he’s finally found where he belongs. He’s a good kid, too, and honest to god trying to help others, even if he hits a little too hard.
How can Bruce refuse?
But, when all is said and done, Jason is not Dick and it’s not easy, not in the least. Things that worked with Dick don’t with Jason and some nights it feels like Bruce can do nothing right between the pair of them. Other times, the world just seems to slide into place and Bruce doesn’t know what to do because he’s never felt happier.
Then, one night, while he is away on League business, Jason goes off on his own and he doesn’t come home.
“You need to come back,” Dick says. “It’s the Joker. He has Jason.”
The world shatters.
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