The Dark Corners of the Mind

Untitled Part 1

It was always the children in distress that triggered something in Bruce. Especially when he came across children having witnessed something traumatic, it more than once brought back traumatic memories from his own childhood, and sent him spiralling down a path of anxiety.

Tonight was such a night.

During his rounds as the Batman, Bruce came across a young boy. All alone, sitting in an alleyway and covered in blood, the boy had just escaped from an apartment, where he had witnessed his mother being murdered.

At the crime scene, Bruce was fairly able to keep it together still, but he already knew what inevitably would be coming later for him. It always went like that...

The first signs of his oncoming panic attack came during his ride home.
Bruce felt a tightness settle into his chest that usually accompanied these episodes, and his hands trembled around the throttles of his motorbike. He grumbled into his helmet, frustrated at the fact that he couldn't make the trembling stop. In fact, it even seemed to be spreading into his arms and shoulders already.

Bruce rode his motorbike into the cave under Wayne Manor. He just took the time to park it somewhat normally and take off his helmet, before stumbling over to the large workbench.
With still trembling hands, he took out the recording contact lens, dropping it onto its docking station to upload tonight's images onto the computer.
It was as if the universe was mocking him, for the first image that popped up on the screen was a shot of the bloodied boy in that filthy alleyway.

The tiniest bit of hope Bruce still had of preventing himself from fully falling into anxiety's arms was completely shot to bits by that single image.
The trembling increased yet further, rocking Bruce's entire frame now. Control over his emotions slipped more and more from him with every second. He felt his heartbeat pound in his chest and neck, with his vision turning tunnel-like.
"S–stop," Bruce whimpered weakly to his own trembling hands. He was desperate for this oncoming panic attack to just vanish, but he knew that wasn't how these things worked.
The fear he felt during such attacks was always the worst. It paralyzed him and left him unable to do anything else but curl in on himself and disappear into the darkest and loneliest corner of Wayne Manor.

Bruce wrapped his arms around himself as he felt his knees give way. He sank to the ground, letting the inevitable panic attack envelop him completely.
His chest constricted, making his breath catch high in his throat. The trembling of his entire body was made even worse by his now wracking sobs. He wasn't aware of his surroundings anymore. All that pressed down were fear and panic, and it weighed down heavy on his shoulders. Shoulders that couldn't handle this.

Bruce drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on top of them. This felt like the worst panic attack he'd had in a long time, and he had no idea how to get himself out of it again. Everything felt so hopeless and endless.
All Bruce could do was sit here and go through every excruciating second of this...

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Alfred heard the sensor go off that indicated the basement gate had been opened, and knew Bruce had returned from his nightly duties.
He frowned slightly at the clock when he saw the time. Bruce was back early, which worried Alfred. It wouldn't be the first time Bruce returned home sporting some sort of injury which required Alfred to patch it up again.

At first, Alfred tried to ignore the fact that Bruce was back alarmingly early. Maybe he just worried too much, and Bruce had simply returned because there was no crime for him to fight.
But the minute that thought came, Alfred realized his own idiocy. No crime in Gotham? Impossible! No, there must be another reason for Bruce to have come back home this early in the night.

So Alfred decided to have a look down in the Batcave to see what state he would find Bruce in. And he was sure glad he did...

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