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Sometimes Bruce still had nightmares about the night his parents died. There were times when he’d been locked in the prison in Bhutan, he’d woken screaming from the same nightmare. Watching while his parents were shot, unable to do anything to prevent what was happening. He would work himself almost to the bone in that prison, picturing the face of their killer and imagining himself beating the man to death over and over again.
Alfred had told him it wasn’t healthy. Joe Chill was dead. Had been dead for years, thanks to an assassin. His one chance to get revenge for those years of loneliness had been taken away from him.
Would he have pulled the trigger, he wondered. He’d come close. Only Alfred and his childhood friend Rachel had known just how close.
Bruce had vowed that he would never let himself feel as helpless as that eight year old boy had again, but facing down a glorified thug like Carmine Falcone had scared him more than he wanted to admit. He hadn’t been ready then, but eight years of isolation in tough conditions could change a man.
Since he’d become Batman, he was the thing the criminals had nightmares about. It was deliberate. The one thing Bruce had been terrified of when he was small were bats. He’d fallen down a well, breaking his leg, and disturbed what seemed to him hundreds of bats, which had attacked him in panic. As he grew older, Bruce reasoned that the bats must have been more scared of him than he was of them, but still, even as an adult, he shuddered at the very thought.
The bats were the very reason why his parents had left the theatre that night and ended up in the darkness where they had been murdered in front of him. They’d been watching a ballet performance and the dancers had been dressed like bats. The rational part of Bruce had told himself that there was nothing to fear, but the irrational side began to panic. His father had noticed his discomfort at once and they’d left the theatre. Bruce had never gotten over that.
Spending months with the League of Shadows, training with them, had taught him to control his own fears and to use his own negative emotions as strengths. Once he’d returned, he’d decided to use the idea of bats to become Batman.
While it worked on the average petty criminal, there were still some who didn’t seem to get the concept.
Like Firebug, Bruce thought with a sigh. He’d been a soldier, stationed in the Middle East, but he’d returned home from a tour to find his family had perished in three separate incidents which he blamed on sub-standard housing. Firebug had taken to destroying the buildings, rather than taking revenge on the landlords or construction companies, and innocent people had died.
Bruce had gone after him, trying to stop him from blowing up a bank which Firebug had claimed had denied his parents a loan which would have allowed them to get out of the roach-infested hole they were living in. Only it had turned out to be a trap for Batman, who was, quite literally, trapped by a ring of fire. His armour protected him for the most part, but it wasn’t going to protect him from an inferno.
“Catch me if you can, Batman,” Firebug laughed. Suddenly his laughter was cut off with a squawk.
Bruce blinked as the flames were quickly extinguished, as if someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the air.
He growled when he saw the reason.
“Superman!” he said, before stalking past the blackened area and grabbing the stunned Firebug, intending on hauling him off to the police.
The blue-clad superhero said nothing, not even what had brought him to Gotham, just remained impassive as Bruce walked out without even a thank you.
It wasn’t until much later when Bruce stood on the roof of Gotham Tower that he became aware of a presence behind him.
“You know, I do believe it is customary when one saves your life to show some gratitude. Even to say thank you.”
“Settle for a truck?” Bruce said snarkily.
“I do not appreciate the sarcasm, Mr Wayne.”
“No one asked for your help!” Bruce snarled.
Superman sighed. “Fine. Have it your way.” He flew off again without a word.
Bruce returned to the manor and removed his armour. Alfred, clearly alerted to his re-entry, watched him from a corner of the bat cave.
“Any incidents?” the older man enquired.
“No,” Bruce growled, his voice raspy. He pulled the voice modulator away and his voice took on its normal deep tones.
“Are you sure there were no incidents?”
Bruce narrowed his eyes at his former guardian. It seemed someone had been telling tales.
“Don’t give me that look!” he snapped.
“What look would that be, Master Bruce?”
Bruce didn’t answer, stalking past the old man, going up to his bedroom and collapsing on the bed.
He was woken the next morning by his butler holding a tray.
“Bats are nocturnal,” he groaned.
“You have a visitor, Master Bruce. I suggest you eat your English muffins and join us downstairs.”
Bruce stared bleary-eyed at the older man. How did the old man manage to be so chipper when he had barely had five hours’ sleep?
By the time he had eaten and showered, he was a lot more awake. He sought out the man downstairs and found him in the kitchen. There was a younger man wearing ugly horn-rimmed spectacles sitting at the kitchen table, chatting amiably to the older man while drinking tea.
Alfred obviously heard him come in and turned.
“Good morning Master Bruce,” he said cheerily, as if Bruce hadn’t been woken at what felt like the crack of dawn.
His visitor looked at him, smiling, but with a wary look in his eye.
“Mr Wayne,” he said in a voice surprisingly different from the one Bruce had heard the night before.
“Mr Kent,” Bruce said shortly. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
Alfred snorted. Bruce ignored him.
“I came to talk.”
“If this is about joining your little boys’ club, I’m not interested.”
“For your information, Bruce, it’s not a boys’ club, considering we have at least three female members.” Kent tried for a charming smile.
“Does that include your fiancée?” Bruce asked. “How is the lovely Lois Lane, if I may ask?”
“She’s fine. Working on a big story about Intergang.”
“I’m surprised you’re not there now.”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“How many times do I need to say that I’m not interested? I don’t need the Justice League.”
“After what happened last night, I would beg to differ.”
“I was doing fine without your help.”
“So fine you would have ended up burnt to a crisp. Your armour can only protect you from so much, Bruce.”
“I told you, I’m not interested.”
“I get that you have issues with Oliver, but he’s done his penance. Let it rest.”
Bruce snorted, glaring at the younger man.
“Look, just come to a meeting next week. Take the time to get to know the others. Let them get to know you.”
Clark left soon after without getting any kind of commitment from him. Bruce sat in the library, staring at the picture of his parents, taken soon before they died.
“I’m afraid, sir, you won’t be getting any answers from them.”
“Alfred, damn it ...”
“I would smack you for swearing but unfortunately you are not ten years old anymore.”
Bruce studied his guardian. What exactly was the man trying to say?
“This childish hostility has to stop,” Alfred admonished him.
Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t understand ...”
“Do you remember reading Shakespeare, Master Bruce?”
“What does that have to do with me joining the Justice League?”
“You are continuing to hold the actions of a teenage boy over the head of a man who has learned from his mistakes. Yet you fail to see your own culpability.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Remember the Prince in Romeo and Juliet who says ‘All are Punish’d’.”
“I still fail to see the relevance.”
“You claimed to Oliver Queen you were there in the schoolyard when they were bullying Alexander Luthor, yet you did nothing. You also did not step up when young Alexander turned on his only friend. You blame Oliver for what happened to that boy, yet you reserve none of the blame for yourself.”
“At least I didn’t act like a bully,” Bruce shot back.
“You did nothing to stop it, when you had every opportunity, Master Bruce.”
Bruce wanted to turn and berate his guardian for stepping way out of line, but Alfred had already gone, leaving him to brood.
Clark’s expression registered surprise when he showed up the next week, but he quickly hid his surprise. He turned to the others. Bruce only knew a handful of them. He recognised Dinah Lance, who he’d run into in Gotham when she’d been chasing down Catwoman over a jewel heist.
“Guys, in case you didn’t know, this is Batman.” Clark turned back to Bruce. “Batman, this is Martian Manhunter, Impulse, Cyborg, Aquaman and Mera, and Superboy. I believe you know Black Canary, and of course you know Green Arrow. Uh, this is Green Lantern – he’s one of our newest recruits, the Wonder Twins, Stargirl and Zatanna.”
He vaguely knew Zatanna, since he’d met her when they’d both been small. Her father had known his parents well.
He said nothing about the fact that Clark didn’t introduce them in their real identities, instead preferring to sit and observe Superman in action. It became clear very early on in the meeting that Superman was the undisputed leader of the league. Every one of the members, even the older ones, appeared to look up to Clark, and why not, Bruce thought cynically, since out of most of them, he was the least human.
Oliver kept shooting him curious glances, but Bruce stayed silent, continuing to listen.
Finally the meeting was over and those who didn’t have their own cities to patrol stayed for drinks. Oliver approached him.
“How is Chloe?” Bruce asked, if only for small talk.
“She’s fine,” he said. “Getting big now.”
“She must be well into her sixth month,” he replied.
“Yeah.” Oliver scratched his nose. “Listen, Bruce ...”
“Don’t even start, Oliver. The only reason I’m here is because Clark asked me to.”
“Not to mention the fact that he saved your ungrateful neck last week,” Oliver returned.
“Fine. Say what you want, but I’m not about to change my opinion of you.”
“And what opinion would that be?”
“You’re arrogant and reckless. You risk not just your neck by being out there, but that of your wife and baby too.”
“How am I risking them?” Oliver asked.
“The world knows Oliver Queen is Green Arrow. How safe is Chloe and that baby of yours going to be while you’re out patrolling?”
“Chloe can take care of herself,” Oliver told him.
“Not while she’s pregnant, she can’t.”
“Look, fine, maybe I am taking a few risks, but I’m trying to do what’s right for my city. What are you doing when you’re not Batman? You’re out making a laughing stock of yourself all while thinking you’re better than everyone else.”
“Keep this up, Oliver and I may rethink my decision to join your League.”
“Well, you know what? With that attitude I would rather you stayed away from us.”
Bruce snorted. “I think I’d rather stick around, just so I can keep an eye on you.”
“Yeah, and who’s watching you while you’re watching me?”
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Oliver. I don’t like you. I never have. I think you’re brash and arrogant, not to mention the fact that you’re a bully, and oh, let’s not forget you committed murder.”
“Maybe you forgot that Lionel Luthor murdered my parents!” Oliver hissed.
“Oh spare me the Greek tragedy. So you punish Lex for something his father did? I saw my parents murdered in front of me.”
“What’s your point?”
“You continue to use their deaths as if it’s justification for your actions. The fact is, you’re nothing but a spoilt brat. Being on that island for two years didn’t change you. It just made you think you’re even more entitled than you were.”
“You hypocrite! You berate me for wanting to destroy the man who killed my parents, yet you go after the guy who killed yours.”
“Fine, call me a hypocrite if you want, but we both know what kind of man you are!” He glanced at the others who didn’t appear to have heard the argument. All except Clark, who he imagined had been using his super-hearing. There was a frown on his face and he glanced in their direction.
“The rest of them may have forgotten what you are, but I will never forget. I will be ‘professional’. I’ll do my job, even save your neck if I have to. I’ll be civil, but don’t for a second mistake that for friendship. I will never be your friend and I will never trust you. There is only one reason why I’m joining this little boys’ club and that’s to make sure people like you and Kent there don’t step out of line, because the minute you do, I will be all over you like a rash. You got that, Green Arrow?”
Oliver’s face was white with fury, but he nodded and turned away. Bruce stood, looking out over the city of Metropolis, not even acknowledging the quiet presence beside him. Superman stepped out of the shadows.
Bruce had his issues with Clark Kent too, but he could say one thing for the man. He had never killed anyone. Not that he wasn’t capable.
“Say whatever you’re going to say.”
“What do you want me to say? I’m happy you’re joining the League, but not when you’re running the risk of alienating other members.”
“He had it coming.”
“Did he? You know, Oliver has worked hard to become the man he is. He made his mistakes. Let them lie.”
“I can’t do that. I will never trust him. Never!”
“Then I feel sorry for you Bruce. If you never learn to trust, you will always be alone. I learned a long time ago just how lonely that is.”
Bruce shrugged and sighed. His mother would have once told him to never bear a grudge. But Martha Wayne was gone, long since buried under six feet of Earth, her voice silenced forever by a bullet. Killed by a gunman out of desperation. He would never forgive that man for as long as he lived.