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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.
The hearing went as Bruce had suspected it might; Chill was let off on parole for being a snitch against Carmine Falcone, whom he had spent some time in a cell with in prison. It wasn't fair, to say the least, but it was what it was, and Bruce knew more than ever that things had to change or people like Falcone and Chill would continue to go free for the crimes they committed.
There was only so much one person could really do, and Harvey and Rachel, as idealistic and headstrong as they were, could never do it alone. It was time for Bruce to face the music and get on with his life, the new path he knew he needed to take to become the very thing the city needed him to be.
His only regret was the way it would hurt Harvey and Rachel.
They would understand, in the end. They had to.
Bruce stood out in the halls of the courthouse, waiting to see Chill carted off, released from prison, and as he leaned against the wall, eyes meeting the gaze of the man who murdered his parents, Bruce saw the suddenly panic and pain there. The sound of gun going off was the only thing heard around the reporters and police, and a woman was carted off in cuffs and Chill lie dying on the floor, bleeding to death.
That was that; Bruce felt nothing else at that moment was dread and relief, so consumed now with the need to move forward.
---
A text sent to Harvey explained that Bruce was going to run some errands and he would be home later. A lie, but he would apologize in the letter he sent out, no return address, to the manor for Harvey. Where Bruce was actually headed was the restaurant where Falcone frequented, along with every other corrupt cop and judge in the city, who took bribes from the mob to keep their nose out of their business.
Bruce, however, was taking something Harvey said to heart; someone had to stand up and show the mob that people weren't afraid of them. The billionaire was going to do just that.
It wasn't hard to get in, Bruce had been patted down, checked for weapons, and shoved in front of Falcone, who just looked at him, and remarked about something to do with Bruce not having been armed. Bruce stood silent, reading and watching the man, the uncle to the kid who made his life hell a month ago, turned his world upside and made him second guess everything.
Maybe he should be thanking him, but the words that came out weren't that at all. "I'm not afraid of you."
"Ya should be kid, it'd do you good to know your place."
Bruce didn't know he'd done, but the rage in his chest swelled and he hopped over that table so quick the guards couldn't get to him before he sucker punched Falcone right across the jaw. Three pairs of hands were on him, dragging him back, and Falcone was laughing, snickering and praising.
"Ya got guts, Wayne." No nodded to the men. "Take him out back. Let him go. He ain't worth the time. I've heard stories. Worthless. "
And he was tossed out onto damn rain slicked street, a punch to the gut and slap across the face, and they left him there, seemingly unharmed and free to go. They thought he was joke, heard stories no doubt from someone in the Falcone ring about what happened with the man's nephew and him, fabrications no doubt of what the event had actually been.
Fine. That was fine. They would fear him later. He vowed that much.
He shucked off his jacket, handed it and all his cash over to a homeless man, mentioned to him to be careful who saw him with it, someone would be looking for him at some point, and then he took off, walking slowly across the bridge, removing his suit jacket, tossing it into the water, his tie as well, anything of value he couldn't afford people seeing him with. down to just his slacks and a undershirt, he saw a large cargo ship about to depart. A quick overview and he realized it was head to Europe. No better place to start, he thought.
He looked down at his cell phone, the last bit of his belongings in hand, and threw it into the sea.
"I'm sorry, Harvey," he whispered before stealing away on board the ship.
[Sent via mail, no return address, to Harvey Dent at Wayne Manor, to arrive June 14th]
Harvey,
I've been trying to get down into the words the things I need to say to you. I've tried for the past week to tell you in person, but every time I look at you, I can't find the means to bring my voice to the surface. It's only because I don't want to hurt you and this will ultimately hurt you more than I wanted it to, but it has to happen.
I hope you'll forgive me, in the end. I hope you know this is for the city, like we wanted. It's bigger than us, Harv. I can see that now and I know you'll understand, no matter how much this might hurt.
I'm leaving. I'm going traveling to find my path, something that I've only just noticed and realized since we met older versions of ourselves. I see now, with your help and the push of other people, that the city can't go on this way, and I can't do much to help it the way I am now. I have to change and with that I have to do it alone, I have to find what will make me a better person. For everyone. The City. Everything.
Please don't hate me. You've taught me so much and it's because of you that we are doing this. You and Rachel have pushed me forward, and now it's my turn to finish what you started for me.
Don't come looking for me. I don't plan to be found. But trust and know I will return to you, someday, when everything is in place.
Wait for me?
I love you.
Sincerely -- and Always -- Yours,
Bruce
For weeks now, Bruce had been feeling as thought something were stirring in his body, something was changing since the day he was assaulted by Falcone's nephew. Whether it was seeing the light, that things couldn't stay this way on the path he was headed, or whether that good people did exist and he wanted to be one of them, and not just another schmuck who took revenge. There was a lot of that already, T was a good example of that, and not that Bruce didn't adore him, but something about him killing Falcone's nephew left a few nerve endings unsettled.
Was it really the way to gain justice? To kill those who killed or raped? All these thoughts have taken a tole on Bruce's mind and he'd slowly started to change his habits, one small thing at a time.
And yet, he still bought the gun, hid it away, and thought about all the ways he wanted to see Chill die, to watch him breathe his last breath while his eyes did nothing more than bore into Bruce's soul. That's how he wanted to remember the man who murdered his parents.
But standing in his way were a few people, namely Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes.
Harvey would be disappointed, T would understand. But it was disappointing Harvey, and leaving him when he was hauled off to prison that ached at Bruce the most. Somewhere down the line he had fallen in love with Harvey, unintentionally, and it was going to kill the boy when Bruce was gone -- he just knew it.
Not to mention what it would do to Rachel.
And both of them now had jobs in the court system. They would both see his case. Disappointed was bound to happen.
Bruce had taken off, leaving the house the minute he heard from Harvey. He had grabbed the gun he bought, stuffing it into his sweatshirt pocket and then grabbed his last pack of smokes off his dresser. He headed out to the building at school that Harvey had taken him to, the just starting to set. When he arrived, he shut the door behind him and stood out on the edge, just looking down. He didn't need to drink or be high to know when things were calling his name, and that height was really calling.
Instead, he turned off his phone, lit a cigarette and pulled the gun out, weighing it in his hand, wondering if any what he had planned his whole life was really worth it.
Harvey Dent
Ty watched the bartender for a minute, "This place isn't bad. I'd hate to see it close."