Chapter Text
Prologue
Bruce Wayne's face was full with the same euphoric glow that he had worn in the theatre. He begged his parents to catch up as he leapt in the streets, reenacting his favourite scenes from the play. His dramatic swordplay with the air led them down an alleyway, away from the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets into a gloomy, eerie alley.
Martha looked at Thomas anxiously and called out to her son, "Bruce, come back dear, it's dark!" She spoke in a tone that masked her fear, not wanting to frighten her son. Bruce came back, completely oblivious to where he'd led the three of them. Thomas put his arm around Bruce. Thankfully, the street was deserted, and they continued on. "Don't let go of Bruce," murmured Martha, "Not here."
"I won't. Besides, we're almost at the car. We'll be out of here with Alfred any minute." Martha was not convinced and eyed every corner nervously.
No sooner were they about to turn the corner that would lead them to the car than a figure blocked their path. It spoke with a hoarse, gruff voice, "You're that Wayne guy, aren't you? You're that rich prick." Thomas didn't react to the insult and said, "I am. Is everything okay?"
The figure stepped into the light. His face was gaunt and terrifying. Every instinct told Martha to run, but she kept herself rooted to the spot, trying to block Bruce from the view of the man. His grin was maniacal and murderous and his matted hair was thick with grease and dirt. "Yeah, my night just got a lot better. I bet you've got a shit-ton o' money. Hand it over." As he has stepped into the light, they had seen a glistening of silvery light at his hip. A pistol aimed directly at the three of them.
"I'll give you everything I have," Thomas said, "Just please leave my family alone." He withdrew his wallet and gave it to the man. He removed his watch and give him that too.
"The necklace," the man said, aiming the pistol directly at Martha where the pearls on her neck hung.
"Don't point that at her!" Bruce shouted, indignantly. The elated glow in his face had vanished and was replaced with a look of fury.
"Shut it you little shit!" the man said. He turned the gun on Bruce, aiming it directly at the boy's face.
"No!" Martha and Thomas shouted in unison. Thomas quickly stepped between the two and there was a loud bang. Thomas went toppling backwards and sprawled on the ground. Martha and Bruce both screamed and there was another gunshot. Martha now laid lifeless beside her husband, her blood spilling onto the floor of the alley. Nothing happened for a few seconds. Bruce couldn't understand. They couldn't be dead. They just... couldn't. Any moment now they were going to get up. His parents were okay. Bruce could hear the sound of distant sirens now
He looked up into the cold, merciless eyes of the man. The man stared directly back, contemplating what to do next. There was nothing that boy could do. He wouldn't need to die. The sound of sirens drew closer and the man lowered the gun. One final look at Bruce and he bolted out of the alley into the darkness. Bruce fell to his knees next to the bodies of his parents.
They did not stir. They didn't respond when he shouted and screamed for them to wake up. Bruce screamed and sobbed and yelled until his voice was hoarse. He couldn't have been yelling for more than a couple of minutes, but those moments dragged on for what felt like years.
Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Bruce turned to see the face of a young police officer and another turning the corner. "Come with me, kid. it's not safe for you here," the officer said. As they passed the officer's partner, he said "Shit, Jim that's-"
"I know, Harv'. I know. Call it in and don't let any civilians near the scene. No press."
Bruce led the officer to the car where Alfred stood waiting. As soon as he saw the expression on Bruce's face and the absence of Thomas and Martha, the butler rushed to his master's side. Kneeling down, he asked, "Bruce, what's happened? Where are your mum and dad?" Bruce's eyes were still full to the brim with tears. When Bruce saw that Alfred was also crying, he rushed into his arms. There was a long silence, broken only by the sniffs from Alfred and Bruce.
The officer called Jim finally said "Is it okay if Bruce comes to the precinct? The best chance we have of catching whoever did it is if we have a description and if Bruce tells us what happened."
Alfred opened his mouth to speak but Bruce cut across him, "Yes."
Soon after, Bruce was led into an interrogation room and was sat down. Officers watched and murmured as he passed them. He heard some asking why Bruce was here and others who already knew the news were telling them. In the interrogation room, Jim pulled a chair next to Bruce, rather than opposite him. "Sorry about the location, this place isn't really designed for comfort." Bruce said nothing, he just nodded his head, not really thinking or caring about his surroundings.
Jim continued: "My name's Jim, by the way, Jim Gordon. I'm gonna need you tell me what happened. Can you do that for me? Once you tell me what happened, we can get a sketch artist in here and you can describe the guy to them. It... it would help a lot." Bruce nodded again, and then began to recount the events of the night to Gordon.
He told Gordon about how they had cut through the alley, how the man had appeared, and how he had pulled out a gun, demanding their possessions. Bruce told Gordon about how the man had aimed the gun at his mother. How he, Bruce, had told him yelled at him not to. How the man had turned the gun on him. He told him how his father had stepped between them, how his father and mother had been shot because of it. How it was his fault that they were dead.
By the time he had finished, tears had started to form in his eyes again. He looked quickly at the floor, away from Gordon's face. "I'm so sorry, Bruce. I need you to understand though, it wasn't your fault. None of this was. We're going to find this man, and we're going to put him away for the rest of his life. It's the least we can do for what he did to your family."
"I don't want to put him away. I want him dead," Bruce said. "I want to kill him."
Gordon paused before speaking, but then said, "I'd be surprised if you didn't. If someone did this to my family, I'd probably feel the same way. But I don't want you to think like that. I've seen what vengeance does to people. It only brings more killing and suffering. The people who do it think what they're doing is justified. They ignore justice. They think they get to pick and choose who gets to take lives. Once they start it never stops. Maybe the first few really do deserve it, but sooner or later, you'll make a mistake, and somebody who doesn't deserve it gets hurt."
The sketch artist came in before Bruce could say anything and their conversation was cut short. He described the features of the man in great detail, making sure to spare no details. Finally, he was allowed to leave. He thanked Jim and left.
There was silence in the car journey back to the manor. When they got there, Bruce wished Alfred goodnight, and began to climb the stairs to his room. The moment Bruce felt confident that Alfred had fallen to sleep, he crept down the stairs of the mansion. From a young age, he'd learnt every spot on the floorboards that creaked and knew exactly how to avoid them. Once downstairs, he snuck into his parents' study.
With him, he took a match and a candle. Inside the study, he switched the light off and struck the match. Bruce lit the candle and took a photograph of his parents from the desk. With his free palm lifted in the air beside him, and after a deep breath, he said, "I swear, by the graves of my parents, that I will do all in my power keep my city safe. I will fight the corruption and crime of Gotham until my dying breath. I will forever remain on the side of justice over vengeance."