DC Oneshots

Le Morte d' Wayne

In the rain the pavement shone like silver. The light of the full moon danced across the rooftops, giving the rundown buildings a jagged feel. It took little effort for Bruce to imagine he was in a cave, facing off with Don Rafael. Elena needed him, and he was just the hero to come to her rescue. He leaped onto a crate, brandishing a rolled up newspaper like a mighty sword. "On guard, you scallywag!" he whacked Father across the chest with his sword, grinning ear to ear.

"No!" Father's eyes widened in mock horror, and he stumbled back, clutching his fist to his heart. "You slay me!" He feigned falling, heedless of his overcoat dripping in a puddle. At the last moment he bounced up and tackled Bruce into his arms, the two of them laughing senselessly, as he spun Bruce around Peter Pan style. Bruce's airy laughter brightened the dark corners of the alleyway.

"The way you two behave," Mama sighed, from beneath her umbrella. "You would think we just saw a pirate movie," she raised an elegant, dark brow at Father, her mouth forming a thin line. He begrudgingly set Bruce down. Bruce started to protest, but lost his nerve when he saw the hard look Mother shot him. She pulled him towards her, and busily started to fix his askew tie, muttering to herself as she did so. She combed back his damp black hair. Shiny black hair, just like her own. Bruce tried to catch her words, but her speech was quick and clipped. He hated when she slipped into her home tongue. That's how he knew he was in big trouble. He caught the word 'halfvit,' which he knew to mean 'idiot' from the numerous times she would use the word after he did something stupid. Mother straightened, her back as rigid as a queen's, satisfied with her handiwork. "Honestly boys if you are going to play Zorro, do it right," she said, slipping back to English.

Bruce scowled. She was always telling him what to do, even how to play. "He was a vigilante, that's pirate enough in my book!" he stuck out his tongue at her.

"What an attractive little gremlin you make Brucie," Mother laughed, her laughter like the tinkle of bells.

"Mama!" Bruce protested. "I'm much too old to be coddled," he complained, running deeper into the alleyway, splashing through puddles.

"Not so far drothi!" Mother called, a warning in her voice. Bruce paused at the old nickname. It had been a while since Mama called him 'little bird,' in her tongue. She usually reserved those phrases for special occasions, like when he fell into a well, and scraped his knee.

"Let the boy have some fun," Father said with a carefree grin, his fair mustache twitching as he spoke. "The car is just around the corner, Martha."

"There is an ill wind blowing through, Beloved," she said, scanning the alleway fretfully.

Mama worried too much. It was a nice night. Nothing sinister was afoot. Bruce carelessly climbed up onto a fire escape, dangling from the railing. He almost lost his grip when he saw a young girl staring back at him through the bars with a pair of green eyes that were as green as cat's.

Martha's heart twisted in her chest as her son dangled off the railing by one hand. One slip and he'd be as dead as her kinsmen. "Bruce Van Wayne you get back down here this instant!"

Bruce observed the other child curiously. He considered telling his parents about the strange girl he found, but when he looked back she was gone. He leapt back down and scurried to his parents side.

"That movie was amazing!" Bruce ran circles around Mother, trailing his coat behind him like a cape, too excited to stand still. "Imagine if Zorro came riding through Gotham on his horse right now!"

"Well son, I'm not so sure a masked vigilante would be welcome on the streets of Gotham. Sadly, they'd probably just lock someone like Zorro in Arkham."

A shadow broke away from the wall and suddenly Bruce was staring at the barrel of a gun. His heart leapt in his chest, and a scream bubbled in his throat. But he was a Wayne through and through, and Waynes never screamed. The man seemed ten feet tall with a build like a wrestler."Listen carefully fancy-pants," The masked man aimed the gun at Father. A noise like a dying bat sounded in the alleyway. Bruce searched for the source of the noise, only to realize a second later it was the sound of his screams.

"Give me all your money now!"

"Easy now lad," Father held up one hand, holding his wallet, not daring to blink. "We can come to an arrangement."

Mama shoved Bruce behind her protectively. "Everything would be okay Bruce," she straightened her back, as if preparing for a fight, and faced the intruder boldly. A single gunshot shook the alleyway. At first Bruce thought it was the clap of thunder. But a blossom of red bloomed on Mama's white dress. She looked down at her chest in shock, and then glanced at her son sadly. "Be strong drothi," Mama cried, tumbling to the ground. There was another clap of thunder. Scarlet liquid splashed across Bruce's face. Father crumbled next to Mama, his blood turning the puddle scarlet. Bruce's vision was obscured by tears. The criminal aimed his gun at Bruce, and he could care less. There was no point in living if his parents were gone. Cool gray eyes stared at him through slits. Bruce tried to be strong like Mama wanted him to be, but try as he did he couldn't quench the traitorous tears streaming down his face. The man slipped the gun back into his pocket. "Smell you later kid," he growled, disappearing back into the shadows.

This couldn't be happening. It was a nightmare any moment now Bruce would wake up from, secure in bed and Mama would tell him stories of the benevolent Rao and his subjects. He flew to Mama's side, and nudged her. "Come on Mama!" Bruce cried into the crook of her neck. He ignored the blood that stained his fingers and the undeniable fact that there was no pulse. It was an illusion. He had seen illusions before; John Zatara was proof the impossible was possible. This was just another show, any moment now the curtains will draw shut and the audience would roar with pleasure. Mama and Father would get up and bow to the adoring crowd, and complement Zatara on his masterful illusion.

Bruce waited in the cold unrelenting puddle for them to stir. They remained as still as the dead owl he found on the grounds once. Father had wiped his tears away and explained, 'That which is born, must return to the earth.' They had buried the barn owl under the whooping willow in the backyard and marked it with a slab of stone. Bruce wasn't ready to bury his parents' too. He still had so much to learn from them.

"Wake up Ma! We have to go home!" Alfred would be waiting for us. Father's glassy eyes stared up at the heavens unseeing, just like the barn owl. Bruce crawled over, body trembling, and closed Father's eyes. At least now it looked like he was sleeping. Mama stared up at the heavens, much like she did in life. Bruce could imagine she was seeing all the way to Saturn, but she wasn't smiling this time. He shut her eyes too, his fingers trembling. "Please don't be dead," he buried his face in her neck. No pulse greeted him.

Bruce did not know how long he sat there, soaking in a puddle of his parents' blood, the noise of the city echoing around him. The first sight of dawn cut across the sky when the police showed up. The flash of siren lights was a knife in Bruce's heart. He hadn't imagined the whole thing. His parents truly were gone. From his peripheral vision he could make out shadowy figures lifting the bodies of his parents onto a stretcher. Another wave of panic flowed through him. He was about to crumble when someone wrapped a blanket around his shoulder. He looked up into a pair of trusting brown eyes.

"Mind if I join you?" the young man's red mustache twitched as he spoke. Bruce eyed the badge over his pocket. He didn't really have a choice in the matter, did he now? The detective slid onto the stool next to him. "My name is James Gordon. I am a detective." Bruce could see that, the badge told him as much. He looked away and focused on the cityscape instead. It shone like the lost city of El Dorado under the rising sun. The sight filled him with disgust. It felt like the worst kind of betrayal; nothing should be beautiful today. Gotham was a vile, cruel place where the worst of humanity collected. His parents were the only bright spot in Gotham. Gotham's hope died with them. "What is your name?" the man asked, as if he didn't already know the answer. He searched Gordon's face, but there was nothing there but sincerity.

"Bruce Wayne," Bruce said at long last, his voice coming out small and hesitant.  

This was painful to write, but I loved every second of it. Please vote and comment. I love to hear from my readers.