Chapter Text
Where did we go right?
I think about it all the time
If I had paid closer attеntion
Maybe I could take us back to therе and then
---
The fist slammed into Bruce’s jaw, a kiss that left his skin alive and singing. He leaned away from the bruiser, a mammoth at 6’5” with a disgusting reach. Bruce had just enough time to anticipate a jab at his shoulder, sidestepping it and responding with his own right hook. It landed squarely into the other man’s chin. He was rewarded with vicious cheers and an opening - one he ignored, one he took. A flashy uppercut (okay, maybe he didn’t ignore the cheers) was enough to take his opponent down for the count. Bruce had a straight face, but something feral inside him roared alongside the crowd.
His hand was yanked into the air, as much as the 5’6” referee could muster. “Your winner, folks! Fred Coin takes it with 8 to 3 odds! See Randy at the till for your payout.”
“8 to 3,” ‘Fred’ muttered, as he took his meager prize from the fight organizer and stalked out. More proof that underground markets were inefficient - limited info and all that. How were the people betting against him supposed to know that 5 years ago he’d fought Bane and survived?
“8 to 3 ain’t too bad… especially when you bet a hundred,” purred a voice behind him.
Bruce rolled his eyes. “Selina, I told you -”
“You tell me lots of things,” she interrupted, teeth of a coy smile visible even in the dark. “I just wanted an authentic underground experience. You know I don’t get out much.”
He couldn’t help but grin. “Sure you don’t.” He offered his arm and together they slinked out the back, thankfully unseen by anyone who was out a couple thousand because of him.
For as many of the Batman-esque parts had been taken out of it, the sleek black of the Batmobile was still recognizable . Bruce opened the door for Selina, gentlemanly as always - she took the opportunity to pounce on the driver’s seat, winking at him. “Nice guys finish last, Bruce.”
“I didn’t think I finished last today - what does that say about me?”
“Good point. Glad your hobby of beating up poor people has found a way to adapt.”
A couple of years ago that would have stung, but now it was just funny. Giving up Batman was a complicated decision that he’d gone back and forth about for a long, long time, but having Selina understand it (somewhat) made a massive difference. Her teasing - and brutal honesty - forced him to accept his decision for what it was. Now he was committed to making Gotham better as Bruce Wayne, instead of incessantly questioning his choices, wondering if he could make a bigger difference in some other way.
He gave Selina a large smile. “You’re right. Maybe I should look into bullying rich people?”
“That’s my thing. Get your own.” She gunned it into the former Batcave. “Have you considered my proposal yet?”
“It’s a no.”
“Bruce - think about the good we could do. We could adopt so many -”
“We are not renaming it the Catcave. I’m gonna take a shower.”
“So much for the philanthropist.”
Bruce was already out of the car. “Philanthropy means loving people , Selina.” He recognized the smug silence these days. “I see the joke coming, don’t bother.”
---
Scalding hot water pounded Bruce’s skin, pummeling away grime and revealing cuts and bruises he hadn’t noticed until now. The hot water was an addicting escape to the frigid air of Gotham and he reveled in the opportunity to linger in it. He recalled a psychology article he’d read that said lonely people take longer showers because the heat simulated human contact. It made him snort. The only person that touched him in the past three months had been the guy he’d just knocked out.
Selina was a good friend - his best friend, even - but she was more of the “alone together” type than touchy-feely. After taking some time to work herself out away from Gotham, she’d confessed that a lot of her advances on Harvey and himself were driven by a desire to explore and conquer rather than a desire for that kind of intimacy. He didn’t hold it against her for a second. It was… intense to connect with someone who saw both sides of you. Without that, most of his relationships hadn’t really worked out.
For not the first time in a while, Bruce’s thoughts wandered to Harvey. He still felt an echo of the surprise he’d felt when he got the call.
“I’m out, Bruce. Doctor says I’m okay to leave Gotham for a while. I want to see you before I go.”
Fists clenched til they turned numb. Deciding what gift to get - if he even should get a gift. What would even go on the card? “Congrats on curing the illness I gave you.” “Good on you for getting help from someone other than me.”
Bruce was so hard on himself that the softness that Harvey showed him was shocking. He felt himself pulled into a tender hug, by strong unsteady arms that made him feel… safe. Comforted. Forgiven. He was too surprised to properly hug back. His best friend.
He almost wished he’d been punched instead. Been tackled to the ground, pinned down by the weight of Harvey and his guilt. Anything he’d be able to do, to accept, to earn forgiveness, Not these tender touches, the upset in his eyes. While they spoke, Harvey had brushed away tears in Bruce’s eyes that Bruce hadn’t even noticed.
“Bye, friend. I love you.”
Without realizing, Bruce’s hands had started to wander as his brain had willed himself deeper into the sensations. Harvey’s gentle embrace. Fuck, even the grapple he’d been caught in earlier that nigh triggered something primal and hungry in him that he couldn’t hold back. His face was flushed in the steam and his body was sensitive to the touch. Sighing, he gave into temptation, resolving to salvage some sleep from whatever was left of the night even as he moaned into his fist and thrust against his palm to thoughts he refused to dig too deep into.
---
Bleary-eyed, Bruce dragged his aching body through the motions. Somehow every day had completely different problems to take care of but all felt the same. Out of bed, quick shower, brush teeth, suit, breakfast, kidnapped by Wayne Enterprises for ten hours. First off today was a meeting with one of his CMOs to discuss advertising synergies between the healthcare tech wing and the education initiatives planned for the next fiscal year. Poor guy was so excited to present his ideas - and so early in the morning - that Bruce had to agree.
That was the biggest change that had taken place over the next five years - passion. It used to be that a younger Bruce was the one trying to push innovative ideas, change the way they did things. Now, everyone fought for their ideas to change the future. Bruce had overheard one of the board members muttering “who needs Batman when you can get a team of 23 year olds?”
He’d laughed, but the thought was sobering. Instead of giving up, Batman’s absence had inspired people to take up his mantle, in whatever form, to help the city. Bruce could only hope they’d do a better job than he did. His thoughts almost drifted to a certain day five years ago, but by now he was a pro at avoiding that one.
His next stop didn’t help, though. The Arkham Center for Rehabilitation and Care (though it would always be Arkham to him). Bruce drank in the drops of sun before going inside - he remembered well the claustrophobia of being locked in. He hadn’t hesitated to pour millions into improving it - no amount of police or federal agents or Batmans could replace actual, genuine help and support. And maybe he just happened to hold a grudge, but if the grudge served to get that place more windows and less knives, then so be it.
Stepping inside felt odd, and not just because of the receptionist seeing him and frantically texting. Bruce had made it a point not to come back while he was still inside, out of respect and boundaries. This was his second trip here in five years. He busied his trembling hands by fixing his tie.
“Nice to meet you, Dominic,” he said, reading the name tag and putting on a winning smile. The receptionist’s eyes sparkled in misplaced awe.
“H-hi, Mr. Wayne! We’ve missed you around here - well I’m new, but I heard you haven’t visited in a while, s-so -”
He was kind. To Bruce, at least. It was refreshing - innocent kindness was sorely needed here. “Mind pointing me in the direction of the new auditorium?”
“O-oh!” He blushed. “They’re waiting for you in the green room, right down there.” Bruce thanked him. “And if there’s anything else I can do for you… please let me know.”
Bruce smiled, almost responding with a blush of his own even though it was a man coming onto him. He supposed the forwardness was attractive in its own way. Loneliness clawed at his impulses, but he shook it off. Bigger priorities.
He was a little unsettled by how many people were flitting around the auditorium’s green room (a backstage compartment to be used before getting onstage). Arkham management, reporters, even some patients that he’d been assured “wouldn’t bother him one bit”. He’d spoken to one of them and the patient had seemed totally fine if a bit embarrassed - the normalcy of it all, as if the building they were in hadn’t created monsters, gave him vertigo.
One of the senior director’s assistants did some stage makeup on him in a hurry (“So you’ll look as handsome on camera as you do in here”) and tidied him up. Thankfully, she did a better job hiding a bruise on his jaw than he’d done this morning. “Need any help with what to say? I’ve been given a script you can read if you like.”
“No,” he smiled gratefully. “This is one of my few chances I can speak from the heart and still be diplomatic, so I’m going to take advantage. Thank you though.”
The senior director himself smiled at that, squeezing his shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne. Break a leg.”
From the stage he heard a booming voice: “and now, for the man of the hour: Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises!” Bruce opened the door and walked onto the stage.
Raucous applause and blinding lights greeted him, and the benevolent philanthropist greeted it back. He smiled like his eyes weren’t screaming in pain. He gave a friendly wave to the reporters - that slander business 5 years ago? Water under the bridge. They absolutely did not make him sick.
“Good morning, everyone,” he said as soon as he reached the mic. “Thank you, Director, for the generous introduction. I appreciate the kind words, but you guys know me. No, what we’re here to talk about is the Arkham Center for Rehabilitation and Care. I’m sure many of us here, like me, are Gotham natives. We know what Arkham is - it’s weird to see it with a new coat of paint and a new name, like it’s supposed to make us see it differently. See its patients differently. I know this building has touched a lot of peoples’ lives, and not always for the best.”
He paused, letting the emotion settle. “But Arkham is changing. This used to be our magic fix. Instead of responding to our issues, we’d just lock them in here and pretend they didn’t exist. Anything we didn’t want to see - any one - in here for good. But as we have seen so many times in the last decade, problems don’t go away when you ignore them. They build, get stronger. It’s high time we accept that.” Solemn nods in the audience. Good.
The crowd was silent in the pause, rapt and awaiting what he said next. “I hope that instead of seeing what Arkham once was, we can see what it is now and what it can be in the future. A new chance for Gotham. A new chance for ourselves. Maybe we can change, too. Address our challenges head on, innovate and adapt, instead of ignoring them. Maybe we -”
“Bold, coming from a Wayne.” Woah. A familiar voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere. The crowd erupted into frenzied whispers. They knew that voice too. Bruce’s head swam. He’d misheard something, surely.
A black figure landed on the stage, mere feet from him. His height, though much more built looking like this. Clad in shadowy black, sturdy and armed to the teeth with different gadgets. The shadow he cast drenched the stage behind him in darkness.
“Batman..?” Bruce must have been hallucinating, some bad trip. His voice echoed back to him shaky and weak through the speakers.
His other self nodded at him. “That’s right, Bruce Wayne. You would prefer to treat criminals with kindness. How convenient for you.”
“I.. I don’t…” It had been a while since Bruce had needed to keep playing one of his characters in a high pressure situation, let alone one where he was sure he was having delusions in front of a crowd of donors. ‘Batman’ shoved him aside from the podium with little difficulty and took the mic.
“People of Gotham,” ‘Batman’ addressed the crowd, much like Bruce had done. “Do not let peace or money make you forget what has been done to you. Do not let yourselves be manipulated out of getting justice. As Wayne said, this institution has harmed countless citizens of this city. Allowing it to stand is nothing less than an insult to its victims and a danger to those it has not yet killed. If the authorities will not do what is right, then it seems I must return and fight for this city once again.” He turned and made eye contact with Bruce. “Your false idols will reckon with their crimes soon enough.”
And just like he’d done so many times five years ago, he grappled away, leaving Bruce there with a frenzied mob. Obvious problem aside, he worried about letting easily triggered inmates mingle with civilians. He was scanning the audience looking for any danger when he heard the ticking. His old instincts about danger flashed hot and fearful in his brain, far too late.
Bruce made it two steps before the stage exploded and he was swept away into oblivion.
---
He woke slowly, registering buzzing, sharp light, fuck - broken ribs. His head pounded. Oblivion always made for some shitty rest. Then all at once his eyes opened and Bruce was in a hospital room.
Selina gasped. “Oh thank fuck.”
His chest warmed at the sight of her. He knew she wasn’t leaving again, but it felt good to see her sitting by his side anyway.
“Hey,” he rasped.
Her eyes were filled with genuine worry - that was a bad sign. “Hey, asshole. I’ve been sitting here for hours. What do you remember?” she asked him carefully.
What did he remember? “Uh. Given I’m in a hospital bed, I’m assuming not all of that was just a bad dream.”
“Always the detective.” Selina sighed. “It wasn’t a dream, Bruce. I saw the video feed before the bomb went off - it’s him, somehow. I was hoping you knew more, but clearly…” she trailed off, frustrated.
Bruce frowned deeply. “There’s footage?”
She nodded and showed him. There he was, looking indistinguishable from his memories. A skeleton plucked out of his closet to torment him. The voice modifier made him sound identical to the original too. It was convincing enough for the public - think tanks and internet forums were already fighting over whether ‘Batman’ had a point.
“How many casualties?”
Selina paused before responding. “A dozen. Three times that were injured. Sticky bombs in the green room and on the ceiling of the auditorium. The audience will mostly survive, but the people that were backstage with you…”
His mind flashed back to the kind assistant and Senior Director. Arkham needed them, and their lives were snuffed out in an instant by a lunatic vigilante in a mask. By… him.
She winced at his expression. “They’re saying that the renovations made the building sturdy enough to survive and not kill the entire audience, Bruce. I know how it looks, but this is not your fault.”
“I know,” he murmured. “I just… I don’t know how to cope with this, Selina. What do you do when the demons from your past start causing casualties?”
She looked at him with heartbroken eyes. “I wish I knew. I’ll give you a second to process.” She kissed him on the forehead and left the room with a final pitying glance.
Bruce sighed and held his face in his hands. A dozen people were dead that were alive this morning. How many lives was Batman going to ruin?
“Speaking of demons from the past…” Bruce looked up. John Doe stood in the doorway like a bomb on an airplane. “Hi, Bruce. Aren’t you a sore sight for eyes?”