Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Click click click click click.

Bruce stared at the line of letters that spread across the screen as his fingers moved across the keyboard. Words formed from the letters, sentences formed from those words, paragraphs formed from those sentences and those paragraphs soon filled the page until it joined the many other pages that had previously been typed.

Once the page number increased by two, his fingers stopped their movement for a second before his hand reached for the mouse next to him. He clicked to the website he had previously been on, creating a new tab and typing in a string of words.

Knock knock knock.

“Master Bruce, it's time to eat,” said the aged voice of Alfred from the other side of the bedroom door.

Bruce clicked enter and scrolled through the results that appeared from his search, eyes searching for anything that looked promising. He chewed on his lip as he clicked onto a link and read through it, eyes barely hesitating on the gruesome images on the side.

He highlighted a single sentence of text under one of the images, index fingers tapping idly on the mouse. His eyes squinted as he thought, head leaning closer to the screen despite the burning in his eyes.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap.

He sat back into his seat properly, switching back into his document and beginning to type once more. His eyes remained on the screen as he quickly filled the page and the one after it, more following soon after as he finally saw a lead in the case.

Knock knock knock.

“Master Bruce, please come out to eat. It’s been three days since you last ate,” he heard that aged voice say from the other side of the door. His fingers paused for a mere second before he continued typing, ignoring the other knocks and calls that came in the following seconds, minutes, hours, days.

He kept typing, eyes never straying from the computer screen as the pieces finally fell into place. A picture was almost formed, he simply needed to connect the final dots and he’d be done. Once he was done, he could send it to Gordon, pick up whatever case the man sent his way and then do whatever it was that Lucius Fox sent him.

Just a little bit more-

A hand on his shoulder shook him out of the stupor he’d put himself in, his head whipping up to look at the hand’s owner. He shrunk into himself as he saw the face of Alfred, the man’s face set into a determined line that meant Bruce wouldn’t be finishing his case any time soon.

“Master Bruce, that’s enough. Come eat.” Alfred’s tone was hard, not allowing any arguments. Bruce nodded before standing up from his chair, well attempting to. He only stood halfway before he collapsed back into his chair, hands flying to his aching head.

He felt Alfred’s hands hold his face, gloved thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his cheeks. Soft shushing noises left the man’s mouth as they both waited for the pain to go away. Bruce leaned into Alfred’s touch and whined softly before the pain slowly vanished.

Once it left, he reluctantly pushed Alfred’s hands away, looking down at his lap to avoid seeing his caretaker’s face. He’d made the mistake of looking up at him once and had seen the way the man’s face had crumpled in worry. He didn’t want to see how much of a burden he was to Alfred, no matter how much he knew that he was.

“It looks like you’ll be eating at your desk today. I’ll be back with your lunch in a minute, Master Bruce.” Alfred’s hand gently moved some strands of hair away from his forehead, tapping three times against his head before pulling away and leaving.

Bruce sighed and sat silently for Alfred to come back, fingers digging into his thighs as his mind, with no distraction, started its usual tormenting. His head felt heavy with the thoughts that floated through his head, the little voice whispering once more.

Before it could start its usual coaxing, Alfred came back into the room. The older man placed a tray of food before Bruce and gently moved his head to face it. He tapped Bruce’s shoulder three times and waited for him to start eating.

And Bruce did, if only to not further burden the older man with himself. The food was tasteless like it always was, settling like stones in his stomach. But he continued eating until the tray was clean, until Alfred pulled him up from his chair and laid him into bed.

Bruce could see how the older man’s face twisted slightly at how dirty the bed was, how dirty Bruce was, and he felt even more like a burden. But like always, he let Alfred pull up the covers around Bruce and card his fingers through greasy hair.

“Sleep, my boy.” The older man said softly, and who was Bruce to deny him?

Bruce closed his eyes even if he knew he would wake again in a few minutes from nightmares. He slowly drifted off and, like always, secretly wished he wouldn’t wake again.

Chapter Text

Bruce woke slowly, sitting up slowly. His hand came to rest above his heart, the beating for once comforting rather than agonizing. As he looked around, he noticed how everything was significantly brighter. Nothing seemed as dark as it had any of the previous nights.

He kept his hand on his chest as he slid out of bed to head to the bathroom, a smile slowly spreading across his face as he realized that he felt alive. Which meant that today was going to be a good day.

Good days were rare for Bruce, most of the time he had days where he simply felt empty, everything uninteresting and thoughts swirling with darkness, sleep rarely coming to him as every time he woke with tears and a hole in his chest.

Most of the time that was the case but then there were the other days, the bad days.

Bad days were ones filled with nightmares that haunted him while awake and Alfred having to pry Bruce away from the clutches of death, hold him down as he thrashed to get his chosen method or race to get help as he lay there slowly bleeding out.

Bad days were bad enough that Alfred knew what signs to look for to spot them before they worsened. The solution was the same every time, Alfred sedating him and sending Bruce into a sleep haunted by nightmares. Upon waking, the bad day would either pass where Bruce was back into a state where nothing truly mattered or it would continue and the cycle started again.

A cycle that left him with scars that taunted Bruce and horrified Alfred each time the man saw them, whether they be closed or open.

But today was a good day which meant Bruce wasn’t an active risk to himself. He was feeling alive and was free from his mind for a small amount of time and it was something great. Great in how he knew it would make Alfred happy, the older man free from the burden that was Bruce’s instability.

Bruce looked at his reflection in the mirror, grimacing at how disgusting he was. Nothing of the pretty Bruce Wayne the papers had once printed was visible. All Bruce saw was an unwashed haggard ghoul. Greasy hair, unflattering stubble, heavy shadows under his quite red eyes, oily skin and clothes dirtied with food and sweat stains alike.

Bruce looked away from the mirror, pulling off his clothes quickly to stop the creeping bad thoughts, stop the itch on his wrists that begged to be taken care of. Today was a good day, he couldn’t be thinking of things like that.

He showered for a while, intent on washing off the evidence of his failure and making himself look like the person he was meant to be. Bruce Wayne, a man who had inherited his parents’ looks and had been called the darling of Gotham’s high society from the day the public had seen him.

By the time he left the bathroom, his skin was a soft pink color and he looked more like Bruce Wayne. He felt a lot better, even better than he had when he had woken up. It was amazing how something as little as a shower could have such a big impact.

He tapped his fingers against his side as he picked out clothes and quickly dressed in clothes that still smelled new despite Alfred having washed them. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually wore any of the clothes in his closet more than once or twice. They were all basically untouched and still so new.

He closed the closet quickly, turning away and pushing away his solemn thoughts. Today was a good day. Falling into the familiar rhythm of other days was not allowed. Good days were rare and he planned to enjoy this day to its fullest.

Even if he knew this feeling of peace and warmth wouldn’t last more than a day, that he would fall back into the throes of his nightmares.

Bruce left his room with hesitant steps, his heart hammering loudly in his ears as he walked past familiar paintings and decorations. He ignored everything that hurt to look at, his eyes staring at the floor as he walked to the kitchen where he knew Alfred was.

He slowly made his way there, his steps quiet. It felt strange to be walking through the manor to the kitchen. Remembering the last time he went out of his room was hard, he had snippets of sitting in the library and reading while listening to records his father used to own. He had been smaller than he currently was but he couldn’t remember an exact date.

Time passed without his notice after all. He was holed up in his room most of the time so it never was much of an issue unless he was working on a time sensitive case.

Bruce sighed, shaking his head to clear it of his thoughts. Today was a good day, everything was okay, he was okay.

“Master Bruce?” Bruce’s head looked up, eyes meeting Alfred’s. He’d made it to the kitchen while lost in his thoughts. Alfred was standing in the kitchen with an apron tied around his waist, his eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise.

Bruce had to push down the guilt that threatened to consume him as he smiled softly at the older man, walking further into the kitchen and opening a cabinet. He pulled out a mug before switching it to a teacup as he heard Alfred clearing his throat.

He heard a proud hum that made his heart flutter in happiness. It felt good to make Alfred happy especially after the ever increasing amount of days where Bruce caused him stress. God knows the man put up with more than he was paid to.

Bruce held the teacup in two hands as he searched for the boxes of tea Alfred always bought. He tapped his fingers on the cool porcelain as he searched, enjoying the sounds of his finger tips hitting the cup. It both sounded and felt nice.

He held the cup tighter as he pulled out one of the boxes, Chamomile it read, pulling out a packet quickly. The little packet was placed into the tea cup so he could keep holding the teacup with both hands.

Bruce looked at where Alfred was putting finishing touches on breakfast. The older man worked with a precision that Bruce had seen him put into everything he did. A precision that never seemed to falter as he moved through life.

He remembered watching Alfred in the garden, the man on his knees snipping away with small shears. Flowers were snipped and gently placed into a wicker basket, ugly parts placed into a metal bucket. His hands were quick only slowing as he moved to the next area.

It was comforting in a strange way to see Alfred work. His movements, so sure and effortless despite his age. Bruce had once dreamed of being like Alfred, his young mind looking at the older man with awe as he worked.

Nowadays, he simply wished to be left alone with only Alfred by his side. It was a selfish wish to have. Bruce knew Alfred had left behind his previous life for America, for Thomas and Martha Wayne and later for him.

He’d asked one day so very long ago if Alfred missed England, if he had any family in the land he had once served and left behind. The man had smiled at Bruce softly, patting his small head as he worked on dinner and simply said he was happy here with the Waynes.

Bruce had accepted the answer happily back then but now he couldn’t help but mull it over, wondering if Alfred regretted staying in America taking care of a man who had locked himself away for a decade.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle hand on his shoulder that softly tapped it three times. Alfred was looking at him with understanding eyes. He never could hide things from Alfred, the older man seemed to have a second sense when it came to seeing through whatever act he put up.

Alfred tapped his shoulder thrice again, waiting for Bruce to meet his eyes before speaking in that accented even tone of his, one that never failed to make his chest feel warm.

“Master Bruce, the table has been set.” Alfred took the teacup Bruce held away, patting his shoulder three times before pulling away. The butler turned and placed the teacup on the counter, grabbing a kettle and pouring water into the cup. “Do sit down, it’s improper to eat standing.”

Bruce hummed and did as told with a smile. Alfred for all his manners and precision never failed to save him from himself. From that day to now, the man had stayed by his side, pulling the pieces of Bruce Wayne back into place every time he fell apart.

And he did it all without hesitation.

Bruce’s smile became a bit softer as he silently laughed at how easily Alfred could calm him with phrases that were run of the mill. They weren’t meant to comfort Bruce, they were simply sentences that held barely any meaning and yet, the dark thoughts vanished without a trace.

Worries, fears, the guilt for making Alfred stay gone so easily. Alfred truly was Bruce’s rock in this world, knowing him better than he knew himself.

It was a thought that was immediately taken back as Alfred placed a plate with a vegetable omelet in front of him, his cup of tea coming right after. Bruce glared at the old butler who simply raised an eyebrow at him.

Bruce pointedly looked down at the atrocity in front of him before looking back up at Alfred. The older man simply stared back at him with that raised eyebrow, silently daring him to say something.

The two stared at one another before Bruce grumbled and begrudgingly grabbed his fork. He glared at Alfred once more before bringing a bit of the thing to his mouth, making sure to make his disgust known as he chewed.

“Honestly, Master Bruce, you would think you’d have outgrown this habit of yours.” Alfred clicked his tongue as he went back into the kitchen, leaving Bruce alone with his vegetable omelette. Bruce grumbled, glaring toward the kitchen as he kept eating. It wasn’t bad, Alfred’s cooking never was but he still didn’t like it.

He just simply had never liked this dish. It looked good, tasted good but it still sat in Bruce’s stomach strangely. And yet Alfred still made the dish every once in a while, the atrocious thing always sitting perfectly on the same plate each time.

He glared at the piece of omelette he had on his fork before eating it. The less he glared, the sooner he could finish and be done with eating this atrocity.

By the time he finished, Alfred had come back into the room. The older man nodded approvingly at the empty plate but raised a brow at Bruce’s glare.

“Master Bruce, you’re much too old to be pouting over vegetables. Finish your tea and settle somewhere that isn’t your room. It’s due for a cleaning after all.” Alfred patted Bruce’s shoulder thrice before taking his plate and essentially shooing him off.

Bruce hid the small smile on his face behind his cup.

Hours later, Bruce was sitting cross legged on the den’s floor with papers scattered around him and a laptop in his lap. A plate of half eaten sandwiches sat on the table next to him as well as another cup of tea that had long gone cold.

Alfred had brought both in some time ago, clearing his throat and waiting for Bruce to take a bite of a sandwich before leaving with a simple sentence.

“Do try to remember to eat, Master Bruce.”

It was a simple sentence that had warmed Bruce and had him eating the sandwiches. Though he’d only gotten through half before he once again became focused on the case he was working on. A string of robberies that seemingly had nothing in common and had the police stumped.

It was a complicated mess of barely there clues that had his attention in a vice-like grip. Such a strong grip it was that when he was looking through case files and websites, he barely noticed the small popup that was at the corner of his screen.

He only noticed it when he scrolled down on a website and accidentally clicked onto the now full screen popup. Almost immediately another tab opened up and loaded to reveal a colorful page. Bruce frowned at the sight and went to close the tab.

He was only an inch away from closing the tab when something caught his eye. In the bottom right corner a popup appeared that had a small paragraph of text. It read, Welcome to the official website for Raising Robins! Here you can download and learn more about the game!

Bruce tilted his head at the small popup. It was a simple thing, barely worth any attention yet Bruce’s attention was piqued. He dragged his cursor away from closing the tab and began to read through the website.

It was as the little popup stated, an official website for a game. The website described the game as an adoption sim with four capture targets: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, and Damain Wayne.

(Bruce had to close his eyes at seeing that last name and take a moment to breathe. Wayne wasn’t an uncommon name but he hadn’t seen it used with anyone else but his parents and himself.)

It described the boys similar to how you would describe a dog. With words and sentences like “looking for a forever home” and “well mannered”. It made Bruce a bit sick to read such descriptions. Enough so that he went to close the tab again when he saw something that made him feel like he was melting.

On the right side of the screen was an image of a small tan boy with the bluest eyes and the brightest smile Bruce had ever seen, Dick Grayson, bold letters said. The boy was adorable, utterly so. Bruce scrolled down and saw more images of the boy and each one felt like a stab to his heart.

It was like looking at the sun with how bright his smile was. The boy’s smile reminded Bruce of his father’s, one that could light up a room and bring anyone to ease. His chest fluttered with warmth as a small smile crept across his face.

He scrolled further and again felt like he was being stabbed when a new boy appeared. This boy was light skinned with the softest shade of blue he’d seen, Jason Todd, it read. He was scrappy looking but adorable much like Dick was. When Bruce scrolled further and saw the image with the boy smiling such a shy bright smile that was so full of life and mischief, he had to pause and think.

Was he really falling for the pet shelter tactics?

The answer was a resounding yes as he continued scrolling again, silently cooing at seeing the different pictures of Jason, and saw a new boy. This boy was small and resembled Jason except he had a bowl cut, Tim Drake, it read. Another thing Bruce noticed was that Tim was small and thin. He was almost delicate looking, a tiny prince.

It reminded him of how he used to look when he was much younger. A small boy dressed in clothes that cost more than anyone should be paying for clothes and a sweet smile that charmed anyone who saw it.

Though unlike a young Bruce, the boy’s smile in the image was a smile that just barely hid how cheeky it was. Bruce bit down a smile at seeing the boy’s smile. It shouldn’t have made him as fond as it did but god did it make him feel so fond of the boy.

He scrolled again and saw the final boy, the one who shared the name Wayne, Damian. He was tan like the first boy, Dick, was but a darker shade and had olive green eyes. They were such a soft color but were sharp as the boy looked at the camera with visible disdain. Bruce couldn’t help but feel endeared upon seeing that.

He felt more endeared when he saw the boy’s grumpy faces in every picture but the last where it was him smiling made him melt even further. His smile was a tiny thing but it was so very heartwarming. A precious thing that Bruce was laying eyes on and wanted nothing more than to protect it.

Bruce couldn’t hold back the foolish grin on his face anymore and felt his cheeks hurt from how hard he was smiling. The pain from the smile continued for the next few minutes as he clicked the download button on the website and watched as the game downloaded.

The foolish grin stayed as he looked at the four images of the boys smiling while waiting, downloading them as well and placing them into a folder that had pictures from happier times inside. It was a strange thing to do considering the boys were nothing more than pixels on his screen, trivial compared to the pictures that documented happy memories but Bruce felt that it was right.

He didn’t know why but he did. The feeling only grew stronger as the images sat next to an image of Alfred holding a much younger Bruce who was smiling brightly and covered in grass stains. His smile became softer, warmer as he stared at the picture.

Seconds later, his smile became one of excitement and anticipation as a little notification popped up at the corner of his screen. Download complete, it read. A warm feeling settled in his stomach as he leaned against the couch behind him and clicked on the little notification.

Chapter Text

The final parts of the download process for the game didn’t take long, only a couple of minutes at most. The remaining sandwiches left were halfway gone when the game finally finished downloading and the game’s icon appeared on his homescreen.

A little yellow “R” in a black circle. Bruce didn’t hesitate to place a half eaten sandwich back down on the plate and click on the icon. The game loaded almost instantly, another little loading bar appearing and disappearing quickly as Bruce finally entered the game.

Upon entering he was met with a black screen that remained black until the name “JL Games” flashed onto the screen. The name faded to black after a few seconds before being replaced by an image of a small black haired boy who was sitting atop a couple of crates. Seconds later soft humming echoed from Bruce’s laptop and the black haired began to swing back and forth.

An image of one of the boy’s black tight covered legs half way up, the other leg still. Following that image was the opposite leg half way up with the previously up leg was still. The game’s opening was cycling between these two images for a couple of seconds, that soft humming continuing.

Both the humming and leg swinging ended after a few more seconds as a muffled yell echoed. The image changed from the back of the boy’s head to one of the boy’s face in a bright smile, his eyes curved into small crescents and face split by a wide toothy grin.

Bruce felt his heart melt at the sight of the boy, Dick he noted immediately, smiling, internally cooing over how adorable the boy was. He stared at the image of Dick smiling with rapt attention until the image faded into one where Dick was running toward two faceless people, a man and woman.

His parents, Bruce assumed from how the man’s arms spread wide and wrapped around Dick, lifting the now laughing boy into the air. And wasn’t that such a thing to hear? Dick’s laughter was so happy that it made Bruce himself laugh quietly to himself.

He watched with a smile as Dick’s father placed him down and offered his hand to Dick. The boy took it almost immediately, still smiling so brightly as he took his mother’s hand as well. For the next few seconds, Bruce watched as the trio held hands.

His heart clenched at the sight.

Memories of his parents doing the exact same thing filled his head. Like Dick’s parents, his own had been smiling as they held his hands, laughing as he lifted his legs off the ground and they swung him back and forth.

Bruce’s hand lifted from where it rested on the desk, his hand reaching for the laptop screen as an unbearable wave of yearning and jealousy washed over him. His fingers touched the screen just as the image on screen zoomed in on Dick’s smiling face.

The screen remained a close up of the boy’s face for a few seconds, seconds that had Bruce simply touching the screen and wishing for something that would never come true before it changed to a far away shot of the three walking into a circus tent.

His hand fell away from the screen as it zoomed in on the circus tent and loud circus music began to fill the silent blissful joy. Despite it all, Bruce felt the corner of his lips twitch up as the screen showed various circus acts.

Clowns, elephants, fire breathers, strongmen and so much more were shown on screen much to Bruce’s amazement. He found himself clapping at the very short performances on screen, joining the audience that he could faintly hear.

Every act was absolutely brilliant, the performances seeming almost real with how they moved. Bruce’s previous sorrow was gone entirely as he watched it all play out on screen, especially as Dick appeared on screen atop an elephant, waving and smiling brightly at the audience and at Bruce.

Everything was so joyful, enough for Bruce to forget it all. That was until the game showed a quick view of the acrobat towers and went to black as screams erupted from the audience. The lively circus music continued to play, only growing louder in volume until it drowned out the screams of terror.

Bruce stared at the screen in shock as that circus music silenced everything. That was until it suddenly cut off and the screen showed Dick. Dick who had only seconds ago been smiling and waving at the audience, was standing under a spotlight with his face frozen in horror.

Then the boy’s face scrunched up and he let out heart wrenching sobs, sobbing his little heart out, trying and failing to say anything intelligible. Dick fell to the floor and Bruce watched with horror as he saw Dick’s pants become stained with red.

Bruce was given only seconds to take in everything that had just happened before the screen cut to black and the sound of Dick crying faded away, being replaced with the sound of wind.

The screen slowly brightened to reveal a dark gothic city covered in snow. Little snowflakes fell from the cloudy sky, nothing but little dots of white until one snowflake, a six pointed star, became the focus.

Bruce watched the small snowflake with unseeing eyes, still processing what he had seen with Dick. He didn’t know what exactly to feel. He had known that something most likely had to have happened to Dick, the game was an adoption sim after all, the website said he was an orphan like Bruce was, but he still couldn’t believe it.

Because the only way Dick could be an orphan was if his parents died which meant that what he just saw were Dick’s parents dying. Bruce swallowed down the discomfort, the action difficult to do as he refocused back on what was happening on screen.

The star-shaped snowflake was being blown through the dark city, its path filled with little loops and spins as well as the sight of life in the city. Faceless people dressed in a variety of winter clothes could be seen below and with the snowflake before the wind blew it back up again.

He silently admired the architecture of the city, anything to forget what he had seen with Dick. It was rather beautiful despite its dark and dreary appearance. It reminded Bruce of Gotham just significantly less cluttered in nature.

The city on screen became more cluttered however as the snowflake continued on its journey. The beautiful buildings, all towering and decorated, faded away into simpler buildings until the buildings became so simple and worn down. Buildings that looked the same in their dilapidation, the streets filled with grime and trash, the snow piles spread throughout the streets were almost gray, covered in dirt.

The people in the street weren’t much better. Like the people seconds earlier they were faceless but unlike those people, these people were noticeably dressed thinner. Bruce could see their bodies shivering, their skin flushed red from the cold as they rushed through the street. Though that was only for the lucky ones.

The further down the street the snowflake got, Bruce saw people sitting under awnings, makeshift roofs and wrapped tightly in poor imitations of blankets and coats. They, like the people rushing about, had reddened skin but Bruce could see that some of them were barely moving.

Bruce felt his stomach twist in discomfort, his eyes leaving the screen and looking at the room he was in, at the blankets and pillows that were neatly strewn about, at the little sandwiches Alfred had made him. He looked down at his clothes, how despite how simple they were, he knew that they were worth more than whatever the people on screen ever had.

He looked back at the screen, once again swallowing down his discomfort, and saw that the snowflake’s journey had finally ended. It was no longer being blown by the wind, instead it was slowly falling down, soft music beginning to play as it landed atop a small hooded head.

The image zoomed out and Bruce saw a small boy in a red hoodie sitting in a dark alleyway, away from the eyes of hurrying passersby and the other unfortunate folk. He was huddled against the side of a dumpster, a piece of cardboard under him and his hoodie essentially his only source of warmth.

The boy was thin, very thin and was so small. Bruce felt his heart clench at the sight of him, the discomfort from earlier coming back with a vengeance. Poverty was something he was aware of, as well as the cruel realities that came with it but it wasn’t something he thought of. Why would he when he had everything he could ever want?

He bit his lip as he watched the boy shudder violently, his little hooded head lifting from where it was resting between his knees. Bruce sucked in air as he saw the boy’s face, bruised and extremely flushed, yet he could still tell who it was.

It was Jason.

Jason sneezed softly, his sleeved hand coming up seconds later to wipe away the mucus that had come down. He sniffled before coughing, body once again shuddering. The discomfort Bruce felt tripled at the sight.

He reached for one of the pens he had scattered around him as well as a paper. He had the pen tip against the paper, ready to write out what he wanted before freezing. His hand quivered violently as he thought of that night, the reason as to why he never went outside or interacted with others outside of Alfred or Lucius.

The pen slipped from his grip and Bruce stared at it. He was tempted to just leave it there but he glanced back at his laptop screen and saw Jason reaching into the pocket of his thin hoodie and pulling out a dirty ziploc bag that had barely half of a granola bar.

His little fingers opened the bag and tore off the smallest of pieces, his eyes empty as he placed the tiny piece into his mouth and closed the bag. He was careful in folding the ziploc bag, holding it like it was a treasure because to him it was.

Jason looked at the granola bar longingly before sighing and putting it back into his pocket. He shivered and curled into himself again, slowly chewing the tiny piece of granola in his mouth, savoring what Bruce knew wasn’t going to fill him.

Bruce looked back down at the pen on the floor, glancing once more at Jason’s tiny shivering form before grabbing it once more. He quickly wrote out a note to Lucius, telling him to provide more funds to charities, especially the ones in his family’s name and to set up shelters, programs for the homeless.

Anything that they might need because despite Bruce’s reservations about people in general, he couldn’t bring himself to not help when faced with an example of what he knew others went through, homelessness and starvation.

A small smile spread across his face as he put the pen down, folding the paper and placing it onto the table with his sandwiches. That smile fell almost immediately as Bruce heard loud yells coming from his laptop.

He looked back at the screen just in time to see Jason’s body jolt up, his legs almost sliding out from underneath him as he began to run. With horror, Bruce was forced to witness the small boy run as fast as his small body could carry him from large dark shadows behind him, red cruel expressions on their faces.

Bruce’s breath hitched as he saw the shadows get closer to Jason’s small form, a dark clawed hand reaching forward and only an inch away from the boy’s hood, getting closer and closer before black.

A black screen just like with Dick, the music that he hadn’t even noticed, one with a beat that set Bruce’s heart ablaze with fear, fell silent. It was silent and dark for a few seconds before Bruce saw that little six pointed star snowflake slowly falling from the top of the screen, its descent as gentle as before.

But unlike before, the snowflake didn’t land on a small red hooded head. No, instead Bruce watched with utter horror as the snowflake was crushed by a large boot, a sick crunch echoing so very loudly.

Then nothing but that boot on screen until, until red began to solely escape from below the boot.

A tiny whimper sounded.

Then the screen cut to black once again and Bruce was given a total of five seconds to process what he had seen before a new scene began. This scene was so starkly different compared to the beginning of Jason’s part, it was so bright.

Shining lights and sparkling jewels, a large room bathed in a golden glow with people dressed to the nines, their laughter echoing loudly as they held little glasses of champagne. It was a gala, Bruce would recognize it anywhere.

Even if he now had faint memories of the galas his parents had taken him to, it was rather easy to identify. After all it was hard not to when every gala was the same. The elite of the city dressed in clothes worth more than clothes should, jewels covering their bodies as they flaunted their wealth to each other and manipulated each other into business deals.

The image of the elite stayed on screen for a few seconds before it slowly changed into a close up of a closed door that opened seconds later. A waiter pushing a cart came out and revealed a dark hallway behind them.

It was a looming darkness, all encompassing, not a single thing visible beyond a few inches.

Until Bruce noticed a tiny figure hiding behind a plant, their little head peeking out. The child glanced around quickly before running into the dark hallway before the door closed.

Bruce couldn’t see anything, nothing at all until a tiny light brightened the screen only slightly. It was a tiny ball of light that Bruce could only assume the child was holding.

And so began their journey, a journey much like the snowflake’s from Jason’s part. Bruce watched as the ball of light slowly made its way through the dark hallway, twisting and turning at times. As he watched, Bruce took this time to think about what he had seen in Jason’s part and the implications of what had happened.

…It wasn’t a pretty picture, the complete opposite in truth.

There wasn’t any arguing on what had happened, no matter how much Bruce wanted to deny it. The shadows, the men, chasing Jason had ended up catching him and hurting him.

A little voice in his head, the one that was so loud at times whispered into his ear about the what ifs, what if the men hadn’t stopped at beating Jason? What if they killed him or the absolute unthinkable?

…Bruce didn’t want to think about this anymore.

Today was a good day and a good day it would remain even if he felt sick. What was happening on screen wasn’t real, the boys didn’t actually exist, they were nothing but pixels on a screen, everything was fine, Bruce was fine.

Bruce didn’t feel fine though.

Bruce refocused back onto the happenings on his laptop screen, pushing down the thoughts and feelings about what had happened to Jason, shifting slightly where he sat as he watched the little ball of light stop in front of a dark wooden door. He heard faint rustling, the little ball of light moving up and down erratically before stilling as the sound of the door creaking open echoed.

The little child holding the light walked into the room and shut the door behind them quietly. Seconds later, the little ball of light turned off and Bruce finally saw who the boy was. Black hair cut into a bowl cut and blue eyes that were filled with fatigue as he placed the now dark ball of light onto a wardrobe.

It was a bit dark but Bruce recognized him as Tim. Little Tim who looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders despite how small he was. It was strange and unsettling to see. No child should look like Tim did.

Yet there Tim was on screen, exhausted.

Bruce saw why seconds later as Tim turned around and the image on screen changed to show what Tim was seeing. His face darkened immediately.

A man was lying still in a bed with wires and machines surrounding him. He was so still, the only indication that he was even alive was the rise and fall of chest, monitored by the machine next to him that made soft beeps.

The image on screen changed back to Tim who stared at the man before walking towards him with soft footsteps. A little pitter patter that ended as soon as the boy was close enough to lift himself onto the bed.

Tim grabbed the still man’s hand as he sat on the bed, his tiny hand dwarfed by the man’s much larger ones. The boy stared at the still man, not moving an inch as he watched the rise and fall of his chest.

It was only then did Bruce notice that the two of them resembled each other, the man looking like an older version of Tim. Father and son, he guessed. A guess which was proven right only seconds later as the image of Tim and his father blurred and a photo frame became the focus of the image.

The photo was displayed next to the bedside table. There were three people in the photo, the man, a woman and Tim.

The man, Tim’s father, had an arm around the woman, Tim’s mother, with a large hand on Tim’s small shoulder. It was a pose Bruce was familiar with, achingly so for a portrait of the Waynes with that exact pose sat in a room he hadn’t set foot in for years.

The portrait had been commissioned only days after the main family portrait had been completed and hung in the foyer for all to see. It was a much more informal portrait, both his parents standing and smiling with a young Bruce smiling brightly at the painter.

A certain type of feeling worked its way through his chest as the picture became clearer, every little detail so very similar to that portrait. The family was smiling, their eyes crinkled in joy as they looked at the camera.

He wondered idly if the picture had been taken like how the Wayne family portrait was captured. Had the three spent time laughing and teasing each other before the button was pushed? Did they have to retake the photo because they couldn’t stop laughing? Were they unable to stop themselves from leaning down and kissing little Tim’s cheeks, their faces glowing so brightly when they heard him giggle?

Bruce shook his head, reaching for a sandwich. He brought the small thing to his mouth, biting into it and chewing as he pushed away memories of happier times. The memories made him feel warm and so filled with love but they also came with a certain bitterness.

After all, those happy memories were just that. Memories.

Bruce sighed, biting into the sandwich again as he refocused on the screen. The bitterness stayed as he watched the image on screen switch back to Tim who was now lying against his father, wedged between his arm and chest. His hand was now clutching his father’s shirt tightly.

A soft rhythmic thumping began to play, Tim’s head inching closer to the man’s chest. Bruce could hear the faintest of sniffles and the rustling of fabric.

Babum…babum…babum…

Tim’s head was now resting on his father’s chest, his eyelids drooped from exhaustion. The grip he had on his father’s shirt was loosening as sleep crept onto him.

The scene was sad but peaceful. If Bruce ignored the machines and wires, he could pretend that the image on screen was of a son sneaking into his father’s bed for comfort, the two close together as the boy fell asleep in his father’s embrace. He could pretend that everything was fine with the man, that everything was alright.

Babum…babum…babum…

Tim was most likely doing that. He was seeking comfort from his father who hadn’t moved the entire time, the arm nearest to Tim laying not on Tim’s back but on the bed.

Bruce leaned back against the sofa behind him, watching the screen with an empathy that ached to have. He too had spent nights curled into his parents’ bed, pretending that they were still there, that when he opened his eyes in the morning they would be there smiling at him softly.

Babum….babum….babum….

His fingers curled slightly as he kept watching the screen, waiting for the inevitable. He’d been burned twice already, he knew that something was coming, that the little boy with drooping eyes would go through something traumatic, something that could never be undone.

Babum…..babum…..babum……

The wait continued and it filled Bruce with dread, a dread that marred the image of Tim finally falling asleep on his father’s chest. His eyes were closed and his body lax, curled into his father. The boy was adorable but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to fawn over him when that dread continued to loom over him.

Babum…….Babum…….Babum…….

Tiny soft breaths accompanied the beating and the sight on screen was still peaceful. The screen was slowly darkening, fading to black and Bruce waited. But nothing happened. All he could hear were those tiny breaths and that rhythmic heartbeat.

Yet that dread continued, growing as the seconds ticked by. Bruce didn’t know why until the heartbeat played softly.

Babum………babum………babum………

The heartbeat was slower.

Babum……….babum…………babum…………

It was getting slower.

Babum………….babum………….

Silence.

Then a sound that had Bruce’s own heart stop.

A beep that just kept going.

The sound was so deafening that he missed the sounds of someone waking, a soft little grumble and a yawn.

He didn’t miss the tiny voice speaking though.

“Dad?”

Bruce’s blood froze, chest aching as that beep slowly faded away and the final part began. The screen slowly brightened as Bruce sat as still as a statue. An image similar to the beginning of Tim’s part appeared on screen.

A room that screamed wealth and would make anyone feel pressured to be in it. It was filled with people dressed in black who stood in perfect rows and columns. Each of them as still as Bruce once, their chests barely rising and falling, eyes staring straight ahead without blinking.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by in silence, the people on screen unmoving while Bruce’s mind was in turmoil. His arms wrapped around his body, his fingers applied pressure to the areas they touched, grounding him as he tried to not fall into the emotions he was feeling.

It was difficult especially when he saw a door open on screen, a man and woman dressed in green clothing coming out. The man and woman were stunning, dangerously so. Everything about them set Bruce on edge almost immediately.

His fingers dug further into his skin.

As the man and woman walked toward a now revealed throne, Bruce saw that there was another new person. This person was held within the woman’s arms, his little head held highly and a tiny frown on his face.

It was Damian.

He was tiny, just a tiny baby who could be held with one arm. Bruce’s heartbeat quickened as he watched the three go toward the throne. The man sat down, the pressure in the room growing heavier as he did so.

The woman, Damian’s mother he assumed from how similar the two looked, stood next to the man, placing Damian down onto the ground. That action made Bruce feel like someone was stabbing him as it made Damian look smaller than he already was.

The boy tried to stand like his mother, head held high and hands clasped behind his back but unlike his mother, the posture made him look young. It looked like a child mimicking their parents rather than the power move that it was.

He was too tiny for it to be fear inducing.

The image on screen zoomed in on Daimain’s face before focusing on the man who made the hairs on Bruce’s neck stand on end. He raised a hand and his mouth opened but instead of a voice, grandiose music began to play.

The music was loud, dominating as it took control of the scene, growing louder as the image on screen kept switching to different angles of the man. Each angle was unnerving, the man’s power radiating off of him through the screen.

It kept building up until it hit its climax as the man pointed toward Daimian who took a tiny step forward. The image switched to a close up of Damian’s eyes, hardened with the tiniest bit of fear present. Then the screen faded to black.

It remained as such for a while with only that grandiose music playing.

So Bruce took the time to process what exactly he had seen in Tim’s part.

…He didn’t know what to say or think to put it bluntly. The only thing he could really say was that the entire thing was horrifying. Not in the way that Jason’s part was. No, it was horrifying in the sense that Tim had been comforted but then had it taken away.

Just like how Dick’s parents had died at a place that Dick obviously considered home, taking with them the joy associated with the circus, Tim’s father had died in his home in front of Tim who had gone to his father’s side for comfort. He had gone for comfort, for love, had gotten it but then had it ripped away soon after while the boy slept.

It was like that night.

Bruce had been so happy. They had been so happy. They had been laughing and smiling, Bruce had been holding onto their hands. Then, then…

Bruce’s eyes slipped shut as he swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. He felt his face beginning to crumple, the motions so easily recognizable after all these years. The furrow of eyebrows, the scrunching of his nose, the downturn of his lips as a wordless cry fought to escape.

No, he thought with a frantic desperation, today’s a good day.

A good day.

Bruce was torn from his thoughts as a loud cry of pain echoed, his eyes snapping open and focusing onto the laptop screen. His eyes burned more as he saw Damian on the floor, a small cut on his hand bleeding. Dark shadows towered over him, one arm raising and pointing past Damian.

Damian’s little head lifted, head turning.

Slowly the image zoomed out, Damian and the shadows around him became smaller and smaller. Green, green, green, nothing but green until Damian and the rest were nothing but tiny blurry figures and the top of the green mass was shown.

A mountain, one that was a behemoth of nature. Bruce stared at it with dawning horror as he watched the shadows turn and leave Damian alone, the little boy watching them leave with an empty expression.

It was silent acceptance for the situation from the boy like what was happening was normal. It made Bruce’s already bleeding heart ache, his stomach twisting and turning as Damian stood, dusting himself off before beginning his trek up the mountain.

Slowly, Damian’s figure became invisible, swallowed by the mountain. The music that still continued to play slowed, falling in volume where it was nothing but a whisper. Yet, despite that, the music still echoed in Bruce’s ears.

For it sounded like it was laughing, vicious whispers being passed between lips, mocking the small boy, looking down on him, disappointed in him. It made Bruce scratch at the thin skin at his wrist, the discomfort growing as the sky changed from a bright blue to an inky black with glittering stars, over and over.

The process ending as the dark night sky became covered by dark storm clouds that Bruce could only see because of a deafening crack of thunder that lit up the night sky, silencing the quiet music and introducing the sounds of heavy rain and small whimpers.

The image on screen changed from the dark sky to Damian who was laying bonelessly in a small muddy hole under a large tree. His dark skin was flushed with illness, olive green eyes hazy as they fluttered from the effort to stay awake.

Bruce’s bleeding heart weeped for the boy, his eyes continuing to burn as he watched the boy, the toddler weakly twitch and curl into himself further. His body huddled into the mud as if that would help him keep warm, like it would save him the fever that ravaged his body.

Bruce’s mouth slipped open, a wordless plea escaping him as he felt his body begin to shake, that wave of overwhelming sorrow washing over him once more. He silently begged for Damian’s suffering to end for someone to take him into their arms and simply care for him like he deserved.

The toddler’s breathing was getting progressively worse, ragged then desperate inhales as he struggled to breathe. Another small whimper escaped the boy, a silent plea that was met with only the howling of wind and the drum of heavy rain.

It continued on like this for a few seconds, Damian lying still in that muddy hole, his body shivering and so so pale, the flush of illness his only source of true color. The toddler’s small hand weakly grabbed onto a small twig, bringing it to his chest and curling around it.

It was eerily similar to how Bruce had once held onto the rabbit plush he’d carried around as a child and that thought made his heart ache even further. The boy seeked comfort and all he had was a small twig to act as such.

Another silent plea left Bruce’s lips and for once, his wish was answered.

It was answered slowly, quietly. Bruce didn’t hear it until the sounds of footsteps echoed over the wind and rain. By then, Damian had lifted his head from where it lay on the ground, mud caked on the side of his face, barely covering the scrapes and bruises marring his skin.

The boy’s grip on the small twig tightened as he tried to lift himself off the ground to no avail. He barely rose an inch before falling back down to the ground, a small gasp escaping him, eyes slipping shut.

Yet Damian didn’t fall back to the ground, instead hands caught his face, cradling it gently as if Damian was a piece of glass.

The boy melted into the hands almost instantly, his body sagging as those hands moved to lift his small body into a green covered lap. Long brown hair cascaded onto Damian’s face and the boy sighed softly.

And that’s when the person cradling Damian was revealed.

It was the woman who had held him in the previous scene, his mother. And that much was clear aside from their resemblance with how the woman’s face was so different from the previous scene.

In that scene, her face had been nothing but a blank canvas. Now, she was a colorful painting, one that made Bruce’s heart settle as she rocked the toddler in her arms. Her hold on her son was strong, protective.

It reminded him so much of his own mother, especially as the woman pressed a kiss to the baby’s head, a hand leaving the boy’s body to wrap the boy in the cloak she wore. She wrapped the boy tightly, swaddling him and bringing him closer to her chest.

Damian only lay his head on her chest, his eyes slipping shut and his face relaxing as the woman stood and began to walk further up the mountain. She rubbed soothing circles on Damian’s small back, humming a song that Bruce recognized as a lullaby.

As she slowly disappeared into the woods, the screen darkened until he was staring at nothing but a black screen. The woman’s humming continued, her voice so soothing.

Her humming grew in volume until it was a steady hum in his ears as the screen brightened once more with wealth, one that was much like the wealth shown in Tim’s part. Though instead of a gala, it was a party.

Yet the people were still dressed to the nines though they weren’t as ostentatious as the gala people’s. They were more low key in their wealth, a trait only those who were part of the upper one percent had. He recognized the clothes they wore as ones that sat barely worn in his own closet.

Simple bracelets and necklaces flashed brightly as the party goers chatted with one another, some sitting while others stood off in little groups, smiles on their faces as they laughed. As such, not a single one of them noticed the small figure that lurked in the shadows of their wealth nor how the shadows seemed to sharpen in the corners or outside the windows.

A mistake that would be their downfall as Bruce could come to realize as seconds later the image on screen switched from the many party goers to a man dressed in a bright blue suit with a large smile on his face.

The man had kind eyes and perfect shiny teeth that drew in most of the party goers like flies to honey. Men and women surrounded him, hanging off his arms and his every word as if everything the man said were gospel.

Bruce could understand why. The man shone the brightest out of everyone in the room, his charisma radiating through the screen. It was an unfortunate thing as one second the man was laughing brightly at something a woman next to him said and the next, the lights flickered and a dark red line formed across his throat.

Bruce’s stomach dropped at the sight, his hands shaking violently as he sat there unable to look away from the horror show happening on screen.

The man in the bright blue suit’s realization was slow, his perfect teeth still in a smile before slowly his lips fell. His hand twitched before it fell slack, the glass of champagne he held coming crashing to the ground, drawing the attention of everyone just as blood began to spill from his neck.

Wet gurgles echoed loudly as the man’s body stepped backward before his head slid right off his neck. The wet thunk the man’s head made as it hit the table as well as the following thud as both it and his body hit the floor caused Bruce to violently flinch.

His hand came up to his mouth as he watched as everyone in the room stared at the man in the bright blue suit’s body lying twitching on the ground, his head face down in a growing pool of blood.

Not a sound could be heard.

That was until someone dropped a champagne glass and a woman screamed. It was as if time was unfrozen, everyone in the room screaming in horror and frantically fleeing while some brave souls rushed to the man’s bleeding body.

It was utter pandemonium. People were screaming as they ran toward the doors, pushing at each other in their desperation to escape the room. Their screams only grew more frantic and fearful as those at the doors pulled at the doors to no avail.

This realization came with something that Bruce was able to tear his eyes away from, his hands coming to cover his ears to silence the screams of terror and wet gurgles. His fingers dug into his palms as he shut his eyes tightly.

Memories of that wretched night filled his head, the smell of gunpowder filled his nose, the scream of terror as a body fell to the floor, followed by the overpowering scent of blood that he could taste as he sat there in a pool of blood.

Pain, pain, pain, pain, his heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest, his throat so raw, so broken as he screamed and begged for anyone to help, for his parents to wake up, pain, pain, pain, fear, so much fear as hands wrapped around him and lifted him out of the air, a final scream, a final call for-

The sound of something crashing snapped Bruce out of the spiral he’d found himself in, his heart beating so loudly as he stared with unseeing eyes at his laptop screen.

Red viscera, once lively beings now strewn about in lifeless heaps.

Bruce’s breath came out in ragged exhales as if he’d just ran a marathon. Sickness built up in the back of his throat as he saw a child, Damian, standing with a sword in hand in the middle of the massacre.

The boy was expressionless, his eyes looking at the bodies as if they were insignificant. If anything, he looked annoyed at the blood that stained his shoes.

Seconds passed before the sound of the door opening echoed in the now grave of a room and in walked Damian’s mother. She, like her son, looked at the gore around her with disinterest and walked through it with mild annoyance as it stained her shoes.

When she reached the small boy, she took him into her arms and smiled at him. Pride radiated from her as she pressed a kiss to his head, cradling his face as he melted into her embrace with a puffed out chest indicating how proud he was with her silent praise.

The screen slowly faded to black and it was only then that Bruce realized that throughout the entire scene, the humming had never stopped. It still continued as a dead lamb appeared on screen, a sword stabbed through its neck.

The lamb’s eyes stared at Bruce the entire time it was on screen, trapping him as he stared back with that humming still playing.

It felt like forever until the screen faded to black once more and the humming faded to nothingness. The screen remained black for a few seconds before the little “R” from the game’s icon appeared on screen.

And then it was like what had happened never happened.

Soft music began playing and the screen brightened considerably, an image of a study appeared on screen along with five different buttons. Start, Load Game, Settings, Quit, and Achievements.

Bruce stared at the cozy image on screen before slowly closing his laptop and emptying the contents of his stomach on the floor.