(no subject)
Who: Batman, Joan Leland/Batwoman, Harvey Dent/Two-Face, Nick Keyes
What: A discovery
Where: Gotham, Arkham, Wayne Manor
Patrolling alone was something of a comfort after constant partnership with Leland recently. It was more dangerous, surely, but he had worked alone for three years before she had come along and it was nice to get back to the basics. Back to throwing muggers into brick walls just hard enough to hear them get a couple of bruised ribs for their trouble and then dropping them off for the police to handle. Occasionally he thought that they weren't worth the trouble of keeping alive before he realized that that was the kind of thought that would lead him down a troubled path.
Batman stalked in the shadows cast on the sidewalk as a result of tall, leaning buildings and faulty street lights. For once he was on the ground, the harsh smell of sea salt from the docks finally fading from his nose as he got nearer his destination. He hadn't intended to come here and had been purposefully keeping himself away from the area as of late. Batman tended to wander if he wasn't 100% vigilant and would end up in Crime Alley, standing where his parents were shot, brooding. He had no business brooding while on patrol and he knew that, so the best solution was mostly to skirt around it deliberately.
It had been in his best interests to stay away tonight, he realized. In the exact place his parents died, there was a body. His body. No. No. It just looked like him. Brown hair, brown eyes dilated widely postmortem, all trace of fear gone in the expression death gave a man. One long slash across his throat, just like the others had died, leaving the bloody skin to peel out on the wound, the raw, bloody insides exposed. Below, on the man's bare chest was a bat carved in crudely, the most telling part of the entire thing. Batman had seen worse mutilation, wounds that made him far more sick to his stomach, but this man looked like him. It was little more than a superficial resemblance, if Batman was being honest with himself, but looking at this person, staring up into oblivion on the dark gray pavement, he picked out things that looked just like him. His ears and the slant of his upper teeth.
Bruce was supposed to have gotten braces when he turned eleven. That had been the plan.
Batman contemplated standing up. When he had dropped to his knees, he didn't know. This was no time to get sentimental. It was just a body. Just a body that looked like him. Killed -- or just dumped -- in the same alley his parents were shot in. In the exact goddamn spot his family had dropped to their deaths and he had gotten down on his knees and cried for them. He wasn't a child anymore, and he wasn't supposed to be Bruce Wayne right now. Nobody would take him to the police station and comfort him this time. This wasn't his family killed.
After several moments on the ground, he stood up, called Gordon and relayed what he had found. His voice didn't crack.
The trip to Arkham was a blur of buildings and sirens getting progressively further away from him as he tried his hardest to get away from Crime Alley, away from that damn body, and to somewhere where he could relay the necessary information. A quick call to Leland assured him that she would be on the roof waiting for him. When he got to Arkham, he bent over, hands on his knees, winded from the quick trip half-way across the city, sweating profusely in the heat of the suit, and trying not to think about the face that looked like his on the man with the bat in his chest.
What: A discovery
Where: Gotham, Arkham, Wayne Manor
Patrolling alone was something of a comfort after constant partnership with Leland recently. It was more dangerous, surely, but he had worked alone for three years before she had come along and it was nice to get back to the basics. Back to throwing muggers into brick walls just hard enough to hear them get a couple of bruised ribs for their trouble and then dropping them off for the police to handle. Occasionally he thought that they weren't worth the trouble of keeping alive before he realized that that was the kind of thought that would lead him down a troubled path.
Batman stalked in the shadows cast on the sidewalk as a result of tall, leaning buildings and faulty street lights. For once he was on the ground, the harsh smell of sea salt from the docks finally fading from his nose as he got nearer his destination. He hadn't intended to come here and had been purposefully keeping himself away from the area as of late. Batman tended to wander if he wasn't 100% vigilant and would end up in Crime Alley, standing where his parents were shot, brooding. He had no business brooding while on patrol and he knew that, so the best solution was mostly to skirt around it deliberately.
It had been in his best interests to stay away tonight, he realized. In the exact place his parents died, there was a body. His body. No. No. It just looked like him. Brown hair, brown eyes dilated widely postmortem, all trace of fear gone in the expression death gave a man. One long slash across his throat, just like the others had died, leaving the bloody skin to peel out on the wound, the raw, bloody insides exposed. Below, on the man's bare chest was a bat carved in crudely, the most telling part of the entire thing. Batman had seen worse mutilation, wounds that made him far more sick to his stomach, but this man looked like him. It was little more than a superficial resemblance, if Batman was being honest with himself, but looking at this person, staring up into oblivion on the dark gray pavement, he picked out things that looked just like him. His ears and the slant of his upper teeth.
Bruce was supposed to have gotten braces when he turned eleven. That had been the plan.
Batman contemplated standing up. When he had dropped to his knees, he didn't know. This was no time to get sentimental. It was just a body. Just a body that looked like him. Killed -- or just dumped -- in the same alley his parents were shot in. In the exact goddamn spot his family had dropped to their deaths and he had gotten down on his knees and cried for them. He wasn't a child anymore, and he wasn't supposed to be Bruce Wayne right now. Nobody would take him to the police station and comfort him this time. This wasn't his family killed.
After several moments on the ground, he stood up, called Gordon and relayed what he had found. His voice didn't crack.
The trip to Arkham was a blur of buildings and sirens getting progressively further away from him as he tried his hardest to get away from Crime Alley, away from that damn body, and to somewhere where he could relay the necessary information. A quick call to Leland assured him that she would be on the roof waiting for him. When he got to Arkham, he bent over, hands on his knees, winded from the quick trip half-way across the city, sweating profusely in the heat of the suit, and trying not to think about the face that looked like his on the man with the bat in his chest.