Gone for Seven (and a half) Years

[heirtogotham]

Bruce spent eighteen months on a barge, sleeping in the engine, eating after the rest of the crew, and being tortured by daily beatings from the same men daily. He grew a spine, he put on muscle, and he learned how to survive the way no kid from a privileged life should have ever known. He learned from the best of the ship the ways to keep alive, how to outsmart and out think the bulkier and well toned. In the end, he didn't win, but he never lost -- he gained.

 Time spent in Europe for a year taught him a few things: how to steal cars, trust no one, and the mob exists even there. Rumors had been flying since he left home, where was Bruce Wayne, did he die, was he in an asylum, who was he with? All things he heard about through passing, seeing his name on newspapers, and then soon he stopped seeing them all together. But there was talk on the streets of Italy for weeks of a price being offered for the whereabouts of him, something no doubt Alfred and Mister Earle concocted, hoping to find him in one piece.

 Which was how Bruce ran into a man names Charles Malone, a face he didn't know but a name he was familiar with because of another dimensional version of himself used it.

 A moment of reawakened, the darker pitted side of Bruce had to take action; this Malone character was onto him, following him, and when the moment came that they were cornered by him in an alley, Bruce took the chance. The man looked in need of the money offered, and any little chirp out of him that he had seen Bruce would ship him right back to the States and everything he learned would've been for nothing.

 So, in that moment, Bruce kicked the man in the groin, sucker punched him across the jaw, and watched him reel backwards against the cobblestone pavement, blood dripping from his mouth. A gun still in his hand, Bruce took it, picked it up, and shot the man three time in the back of the chest  and watched until he didn't breathe anymore. It wasn't done well, it was messy, but... no one seemed to notice, not down here in the lowest parts of the city, where people died and no one noticed, a lot like Gotham.

 He stripped the body and dragged it further down the alley, stuffed it into a trash can, doused it in a the half left bottle of alcohol he found earlier, and lit the man one fire with match. Bruce had taken the man's wallet, his ID, anything he had that would give him a name, and it was then he knew. Charles Malone was now what he would call this other side of him who acted when Bruce could not. Their first kill, a needed kill to continue on, and Charles was sure it would not be the last.

 Bruce Wayne could not just disappear and no one ever see him again, unless he was dead. And there was no body to be found.

 Later, when the stench and fire died down, Charles took the ashes in the can and dumped them into the river, holding on to a small matchbook, the only one torn off to light the fucker on fire, the rest he would save. This would be the permanent reminder of this moment.

 ---

 They spent time in Africa, stealing food where needed, people here weren't into pretty boys like Bruce, didn't care if he starved or not, and people needed it more than him anyway, so he would never beg. He became a criminal like the people he intended to fight against, learned that sometimes it was necessary, or you'd die. Just like with Malone; eat or be eaten, Charles had reasoned with Bruce, making the first kill the only the darker side ever told Bruce about, but there were more, over the next few years, and the matchbooks added up quickly, taped to the inside of the black journal they were keeping track of the ventures in.

 Bruce never figured the matchbooks represented each kill, as they had always collected matchbooks, they liked them, so it went unnoticed, as they never wrote about the kills, just let them be.

 Moving east, however, food was harder to come by and many men took to Bruce like flies to honey, offering money or food for sexual favors. It worked well, enough money for a few days of food. Bruce only did it when he had to, when starving would surely kill him, and when Charles didn't make a means to destroy the person afterwards. They had to skip town a few times for that reason, people would suspect.

 In Japan he finally found some refuge, learning from some great masters of martial arts, adapting his own style to many he was taught for the years he spent there, leaving when they said they could no longer teach him. It was then Bruce thought about going home, to Harvey to Rachel and Alfred... but something was missing, something he knew he was waiting for, but couldn't quite put his finger on.

 Months later, in travels, he met up with a few men, hijacked a shipment of Wayne Enterprises goods and was ultimately caught. Bruce refused to give his name, when sent him on his way to run down Chinese prison. He fought prisoners there daily, six or more at time, always coming out winning, until one day they had enough and locked Bruce by himself.

 There he met Henri Ducard, a well to do man representing Ra's al Ghul from the League of Shadows, a group of ninja vigilantes, eco-terrorists hell bent on changing the world, an interest that sparked both sides of Bruce. The man helped Bruce get out of the prison and gave him specific instructions on how to find him in the Himalayas. A blue flower was sough out and Bruce was faced with nearly three years of the worst and more excruciating pain and suffering from training he had ever had.

 Days of no sleep, skiing for a week straight, meals of rice and vegetables and sometimes fish, beatings for wrong doing, rituals of master and apprentice -- things no one person could ever endure for long, but Bruce proved himself worthy and with that Ducard seemed more than pleased.

 Until the day that Bruce was ready, faced his fears, overcame it all and burned down Ra's house. It was not pleasant for Charles, who would gladly of joined Ra's in taking lives for those who deserved it, but Bruce pushed the darker side down and explained later that it could not work that way, and they did agree, but not without days of argument.

 Ra's died, and Bruce had ultimately saved Ducard's life before skipping out of town to Kathmandu, where had called Alfred.

--

 Back in the States, he kept low for six months, inventing his version of The Batman, finally making appearances, talking to Mister Fox as WE, keeping things low with Mister Earle as well, who was not quite ready to announce Bruce's return either, as it would have a negative effect on the pending sale of shares of the company. Just as well, Batman and Bruce couldn't be seen in town at the same time, so he waited.

 During those months of not being seen, Bruce went through the manor, through his things, not once trying to think of Rachel or Harvey, aware they were around, that Harvey was ADA and Rachel was helping, that they would be who he needed soon, but at the same time he was avoiding. Mostly because he found an unopened letter address to Dent, scribble out in his hand writing. The letter he wrote to him and that Harvey never had gotten.

 Harvey Dent didn't know he'd be back, didn't get the message, didn't know that Bruce loved him and would return...

 That made it all a little harder. Things would be difficult and Bruce knew that Harvey, now, could never see that letter, it'd be dangerous, especially if things got ugly around here in the billionaire's attempt to keep things under control.

 So, months after Batman had been seen for the first time, Carmine Falcone tied to flood light, Bruce finally made a move to be seen in public, much to Earle's demise. Tabloids and newspapers went crazy, and Bruce, with Alfred's help, came up with a seven year vacationing gimmick, where he spent most of his time drunk and enjoying himself on a private island.

Too bad there was no tan to show for it.