The Inevitable
The Inevitable - A Batman Joker story. Chapter 1.
It had felt like it had been forever.
Forever since he had been home. His leather boots scuffed gently on the floor, still soiled with dark brown clay, his face blank and expressionless. He paid no mind to even closing the door as Alfred turned the corner, looking to his master.
"You've been gone longer than usual on your crusades, Master Wayne. In fact, days..." Alfred said dryly at first. Observing the vigilante closer, Alfred's composure deteriorated slightly as he bent forward, to get a better look. The moonlight distorted most of the detail, but he could tell that Bruce Wayne may had very well seen his worst days.
Even worse, there was an expression on Bruce's face that actually frightened him. After caring for him since birth, he had never seen such a great amount of pain on his master's face. He looked... broken. Utterly broken.
Alfred was shocked, and watched as Batman wordlessly stumbled through the hall, various bits of clay dropping to the floor. his wounds becoming more apparent as he walked away from the moonlight. Various tears resided on his suit, and the flesh beneath it. Blood dripped out of some, and others had already started to heal.
After finally taking all of it in, Alfred parted his lips to speak.
"Master Bruce, are you alright? Do you--" Batman stopped Alfred's frantic words in one swift but weary wave of the hand. It was a wave of silence. Alfred grimaced as he watched Bruce slowly climb the stairs, his head sunken low.
He slowly opened the door to his bedroom, the rooms darkness enveloping his body as he slipped in. Closing the door behind him, he lifted a single hand to the side of his shoulder. Suddenly, his eyes rose from the floor as a flash of rage came across his face as he felt the knife wound Joker had left on his shoulder. His hand quickly wrapped around one of the ears of his mask and he tore the mask off, tossing it to the side and then screamed. It erupted from his gut and quickly grabbed hold of his heart as he let it out.
"WHY?!"
He bellowed wildly.
But the rage of his shout soon crumbled into a quivering sound of sorrow, his eyes shutting tightly as he let his knees fall to the floor. He grit his teeth as the wound ground a bit against the cold marble floor. Hot tears burned down his face, the grit and grime of the city being washed away.
He ground his teeth and bared them, desperately trying to regain the composure he managed to have all the way home. Clenching his hands into fists, his gloves made a small squeaking noise. He inched across the floor, not able to bring himself to his feet. His body was finally shutting down on him, and he had not had any water, food, or rest for the days he had sought to stop Joker. But... in the end.
He shook his head a little, his vision blurring from the tears. No. Not now. Don't think about it. Just don't.
Grabbing the sheets of his bed, he attempted to pull himself up. Rising wearily, he slowly undressed himself. He peeled back the armor off of his body, and exposed it to the cold night air. The bruises and cuts seemed to ache all anew when the air was met, but Bruce slowly collapsed into the covers, his hands immediately gripping the covers. With a small sigh and a final breath, Bruce closed his eyes and crashed.
Forever since he had been home. His leather boots scuffed gently on the floor, still soiled with dark brown clay, his face blank and expressionless. He paid no mind to even closing the door as Alfred turned the corner, looking to his master.
"You've been gone longer than usual on your crusades, Master Wayne. In fact, days..." Alfred said dryly at first. Observing the vigilante closer, Alfred's composure deteriorated slightly as he bent forward, to get a better look. The moonlight distorted most of the detail, but he could tell that Bruce Wayne may had very well seen his worst days.
Even worse, there was an expression on Bruce's face that actually frightened him. After caring for him since birth, he had never seen such a great amount of pain on his master's face. He looked... broken. Utterly broken.
Alfred was shocked, and watched as Batman wordlessly stumbled through the hall, various bits of clay dropping to the floor. his wounds becoming more apparent as he walked away from the moonlight. Various tears resided on his suit, and the flesh beneath it. Blood dripped out of some, and others had already started to heal.
After finally taking all of it in, Alfred parted his lips to speak.
"Master Bruce, are you alright? Do you--" Batman stopped Alfred's frantic words in one swift but weary wave of the hand. It was a wave of silence. Alfred grimaced as he watched Bruce slowly climb the stairs, his head sunken low.
He slowly opened the door to his bedroom, the rooms darkness enveloping his body as he slipped in. Closing the door behind him, he lifted a single hand to the side of his shoulder. Suddenly, his eyes rose from the floor as a flash of rage came across his face as he felt the knife wound Joker had left on his shoulder. His hand quickly wrapped around one of the ears of his mask and he tore the mask off, tossing it to the side and then screamed. It erupted from his gut and quickly grabbed hold of his heart as he let it out.
"WHY?!"
He bellowed wildly.
But the rage of his shout soon crumbled into a quivering sound of sorrow, his eyes shutting tightly as he let his knees fall to the floor. He grit his teeth as the wound ground a bit against the cold marble floor. Hot tears burned down his face, the grit and grime of the city being washed away.
He ground his teeth and bared them, desperately trying to regain the composure he managed to have all the way home. Clenching his hands into fists, his gloves made a small squeaking noise. He inched across the floor, not able to bring himself to his feet. His body was finally shutting down on him, and he had not had any water, food, or rest for the days he had sought to stop Joker. But... in the end.
He shook his head a little, his vision blurring from the tears. No. Not now. Don't think about it. Just don't.
Grabbing the sheets of his bed, he attempted to pull himself up. Rising wearily, he slowly undressed himself. He peeled back the armor off of his body, and exposed it to the cold night air. The bruises and cuts seemed to ache all anew when the air was met, but Bruce slowly collapsed into the covers, his hands immediately gripping the covers. With a small sigh and a final breath, Bruce closed his eyes and crashed.