Breathe Again
First (and only) chapter
Bruce couldn't breathe, he was shocked, biting back tears and trying not to let them fall as he sank to his knees. His small hand found it's way to his mother's cold hand that laid limp next to her body. His mothers screams were still ringing in his ears, the sound of a gun being fired was haunting him as his mind kept repeating the scene before his eyes. Rain was falling down on them from the skies as the three of them were in that dark alley, Bruce being the only one who had any sense of life still in him. His shoulders shook as he still tried to keep the tears from falling why his mind was trying to get him to breath, his lungs protesting.
His small fingers wrapped themselves around his mother's cold fingers, hoping that hers would respond and take his hand into hers, assuring him everything was going to be alright. They didn't. They stayed as cold as the rest of her body, her heart still and her bright red lips slightly open, her lungs desperately trying to get some air.
“Mom,” his voice trembled under the tears that were finally spilling from his eyes, “come on mom, you got to wake up. Wake up!”
When she didn't wake up, not after shaking her limp body, Bruce finally got to the fact that his mother was never going to look at him again. Her eyes were never going to look in his direction and smile at him with those red lips. Another tear escaped from the corner of his eye and followed the salty trail that the other tears had left on his cheek.
“Dad?” his voice found itself again as Bruce crawled on his knees towards the lifeless body of his father, that was laying under his mother's. He didn't care about the mud getting on his suit, he didn't care about the dirt covering his hands and even a bit of his cheek even though he didn't know how it got there.
“You always told me that, if the heart stopped beating, you'd be with god, and the angels, does that mean,” Bruce choked on his tears, “does that mean mom is there now?”
His father didn't answer him, instead, the eyes that were once filled with pride over him and love were now staring ahead of themselves, looking at nothing while his mouth was open slightly. Bruce shook his father's body, hoping that the man would respond, look at him and tell him everything was alright.
But he didn't.
“Dad, are you there? Can you hear me? Please dad,” Bruce buried his head in his father's chest, not hearing his heartbeat made him only cry even more.
The pearls that were once hanging on a string around his mother's neck were now laying around him and the two dead bodies in front of them. The white contrasted the black and dark shadows of the alley, some of them had spots of blood on them, others were rolled in the mud and almost invisible to see.
A soft buzzing coming from his father's pocket alerted him to the fact that the world around him was still living its life, ignorant to what had happened in that one dark alley of Gotham. He fumbled through the pockets of his father's coat, in search of the cellphone and looked at the caller ID, almost relieved to see it was Alfred calling them.
“Hello?” Bruce answered, his voice shaking as he finally started to breath again.
“Young master Bruce?” Alfred's worried voice came through the phone, only making Bruce choke on his tears.
“They're gone Alfred,” Bruce cried, “they're both gone.”
“Master Bruce, what are you talking about?” Alfred asked, wondering what had happened to the boy and how he had came in the possession of Thomas Wayne's cellphone.
“Mom and dad, they're gone,” Bruce's eyes finally released all the held back tears, sobs coming out as he once again buried his head in his father's chest, his free hand clenching on the now blood soaked white shirt.
Alfred soon realized that something must've happened to have Bruce in such a frenzy and quickly asked the boy where to find him so he could come and pick him up.
“Master Bruce?”
The older man's voice echoed throughout the alley. Bruce's young face lifted itself up from his father's shirt and blinked through the tears in search for the older man and the origin of the voice and echoes.
“Oh god,” Alfred breathed out, quickly running towards Bruce once he found the young boy and pulling him up, seeing if he was alright. It didn't take a genius to see that there wasn't anything he could do for Thomas and Martha Wayne.
The long coat that Alfred had brought (Thomas Wayne's respectively) was soon draped over Bruce's shoulders while the older man tried to find a pulse with his two parents. Tears sprang in the corners of his eyes as he didn't find one but didn't let them fall. Instead, his hands took the cellphone from Bruce, who had curled up in a tiny ball while his eyes looked distant towards the corpses of his parents. His fingers dialed 911 immediately, his mind set on letting the police know what he was facing.
Bruce didn't hear everything that Alfred said in the phone as his eyes looked at his parents, their bodies already cold while he wrapped the coat that Alfred had draped over his shoulders around his tiny frame. He didn't care what Alfred said to the police, the people that started to surround the scene and take away the bodies of his parents. He just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. Wake up, crawl out of his bed and crawl in the bed between this parents. That's all he wanted right now.
Feeling a warm hand on his shoulder, Bruce looked up from the now, sealed off with ribbons, part of the alley. His eyes were red, puffy and the salty tears had left several trails on his cheeks. He hadn't cried since Alfred arrived. He was led towards the police station, where he was left alone in one of the offices, alone to his thoughts again.
He didn't like being alone, not now. But Alfred had been called away to deal with more legal business that he didn't want Bruce to handle right now and the police men were too busy informing the news reporters outside, eager to take his picture and to get an inside scoop on what had happened that night.
An older cop entered the room, looking at Bruce with warm eyes. Bruce didn't recognize him and slightly shrank back in his chair as he man kneeled down in front of him with a sympathetic smile on his lips. The soft features of the man slightly reminded him of his father.
“Is that you're fathers?” the man pointed at the coat that Bruce was now just holding.
The young boy nodded carefully, not knowing what to say to the man, or how to respond to such a soft voice talking to him. A voice that didn't immediately belonged to Alfred.
“It's okay, it's alright,” the man managed to smile up at Bruce before carefully taking the coat from the young boy and wrap it around his shoulders.
“There you go,” the man breathed out, looking at Bruce, “it's okay.”
His hand found it's way to Bruce's cheek and wiped away a single tear that was appearing in the corner of the boy's eye. His thumb stroke Bruce's wet cheek as they made eyecontact.
“Gordon.”
The black man, the police commissioner Bruce guessed, called the cop away. The man, named Gordon -a name Bruce would remember- shot one last glance at Bruce, his hand pulled away from his cheek the moment his boss had entered the room. He patted the young boy's shoulder and left him to his thoughts.
For the first time that evening, Bruce found himself breathing again.
His small fingers wrapped themselves around his mother's cold fingers, hoping that hers would respond and take his hand into hers, assuring him everything was going to be alright. They didn't. They stayed as cold as the rest of her body, her heart still and her bright red lips slightly open, her lungs desperately trying to get some air.
“Mom,” his voice trembled under the tears that were finally spilling from his eyes, “come on mom, you got to wake up. Wake up!”
When she didn't wake up, not after shaking her limp body, Bruce finally got to the fact that his mother was never going to look at him again. Her eyes were never going to look in his direction and smile at him with those red lips. Another tear escaped from the corner of his eye and followed the salty trail that the other tears had left on his cheek.
“Dad?” his voice found itself again as Bruce crawled on his knees towards the lifeless body of his father, that was laying under his mother's. He didn't care about the mud getting on his suit, he didn't care about the dirt covering his hands and even a bit of his cheek even though he didn't know how it got there.
“You always told me that, if the heart stopped beating, you'd be with god, and the angels, does that mean,” Bruce choked on his tears, “does that mean mom is there now?”
His father didn't answer him, instead, the eyes that were once filled with pride over him and love were now staring ahead of themselves, looking at nothing while his mouth was open slightly. Bruce shook his father's body, hoping that the man would respond, look at him and tell him everything was alright.
But he didn't.
“Dad, are you there? Can you hear me? Please dad,” Bruce buried his head in his father's chest, not hearing his heartbeat made him only cry even more.
The pearls that were once hanging on a string around his mother's neck were now laying around him and the two dead bodies in front of them. The white contrasted the black and dark shadows of the alley, some of them had spots of blood on them, others were rolled in the mud and almost invisible to see.
A soft buzzing coming from his father's pocket alerted him to the fact that the world around him was still living its life, ignorant to what had happened in that one dark alley of Gotham. He fumbled through the pockets of his father's coat, in search of the cellphone and looked at the caller ID, almost relieved to see it was Alfred calling them.
“Hello?” Bruce answered, his voice shaking as he finally started to breath again.
“Young master Bruce?” Alfred's worried voice came through the phone, only making Bruce choke on his tears.
“They're gone Alfred,” Bruce cried, “they're both gone.”
“Master Bruce, what are you talking about?” Alfred asked, wondering what had happened to the boy and how he had came in the possession of Thomas Wayne's cellphone.
“Mom and dad, they're gone,” Bruce's eyes finally released all the held back tears, sobs coming out as he once again buried his head in his father's chest, his free hand clenching on the now blood soaked white shirt.
Alfred soon realized that something must've happened to have Bruce in such a frenzy and quickly asked the boy where to find him so he could come and pick him up.
“Master Bruce?”
The older man's voice echoed throughout the alley. Bruce's young face lifted itself up from his father's shirt and blinked through the tears in search for the older man and the origin of the voice and echoes.
“Oh god,” Alfred breathed out, quickly running towards Bruce once he found the young boy and pulling him up, seeing if he was alright. It didn't take a genius to see that there wasn't anything he could do for Thomas and Martha Wayne.
The long coat that Alfred had brought (Thomas Wayne's respectively) was soon draped over Bruce's shoulders while the older man tried to find a pulse with his two parents. Tears sprang in the corners of his eyes as he didn't find one but didn't let them fall. Instead, his hands took the cellphone from Bruce, who had curled up in a tiny ball while his eyes looked distant towards the corpses of his parents. His fingers dialed 911 immediately, his mind set on letting the police know what he was facing.
Bruce didn't hear everything that Alfred said in the phone as his eyes looked at his parents, their bodies already cold while he wrapped the coat that Alfred had draped over his shoulders around his tiny frame. He didn't care what Alfred said to the police, the people that started to surround the scene and take away the bodies of his parents. He just wanted to wake up from this nightmare. Wake up, crawl out of his bed and crawl in the bed between this parents. That's all he wanted right now.
Feeling a warm hand on his shoulder, Bruce looked up from the now, sealed off with ribbons, part of the alley. His eyes were red, puffy and the salty tears had left several trails on his cheeks. He hadn't cried since Alfred arrived. He was led towards the police station, where he was left alone in one of the offices, alone to his thoughts again.
He didn't like being alone, not now. But Alfred had been called away to deal with more legal business that he didn't want Bruce to handle right now and the police men were too busy informing the news reporters outside, eager to take his picture and to get an inside scoop on what had happened that night.
An older cop entered the room, looking at Bruce with warm eyes. Bruce didn't recognize him and slightly shrank back in his chair as he man kneeled down in front of him with a sympathetic smile on his lips. The soft features of the man slightly reminded him of his father.
“Is that you're fathers?” the man pointed at the coat that Bruce was now just holding.
The young boy nodded carefully, not knowing what to say to the man, or how to respond to such a soft voice talking to him. A voice that didn't immediately belonged to Alfred.
“It's okay, it's alright,” the man managed to smile up at Bruce before carefully taking the coat from the young boy and wrap it around his shoulders.
“There you go,” the man breathed out, looking at Bruce, “it's okay.”
His hand found it's way to Bruce's cheek and wiped away a single tear that was appearing in the corner of the boy's eye. His thumb stroke Bruce's wet cheek as they made eyecontact.
“Gordon.”
The black man, the police commissioner Bruce guessed, called the cop away. The man, named Gordon -a name Bruce would remember- shot one last glance at Bruce, his hand pulled away from his cheek the moment his boss had entered the room. He patted the young boy's shoulder and left him to his thoughts.
For the first time that evening, Bruce found himself breathing again.