Chapter Text
The universe hated Bruce Wayne.
The billionaire did not know what else to do with his life. Wherever Bruce decided to go, something appeared to make his life impossible.
The sound of monitors and medical machinery was the only thing heard in that room. The faint murmur of medical staff in the corridor further manifested the dying atmosphere that a hospital represented. The white walls and chemical smell only made his mood worse. Bruce didn't like hospitals. Too much was happening at the same time around him. While in one room, families celebrate the birth of a new member, in the next room, a family is mourning the loss of one of their own. That was why he preferred the cave, where every corner radiated the message of his mission. It helped him focus on being there. An environment that he could manipulate at will, that he could control, unlike the improvement of the child lying on a stretcher in front of him. Various machines were attached to his frail body, focusing more on his neck area, where a vent was attached above his throat to help him breathe.
Bruce still could not believe all the events that had occurred in the past days.
He remembered reviewing the latest data regarding the Wayne Industries cyber thief in the Batcave. They had only attacked the profits of the charities he sponsored recently. Bruce had to admit; that it was a smart move. Those winnings were recorded days after being collected, giving the thief time to withdraw small amounts and send them to phantom accounts that only existed at the transfer time and then disappear from the network. This working method showed expertise in the cyber field, so it was safe to assume that they had been doing this for a while now. Bruce still hadn't lost large amounts to alarm him but considerable enough to require immediate attention. He wants to grab the idiot who thought they could steal from Bruce Wayne without suffering consequences. Bruce had placed his third child, Tim, on the case as the network was one of the minor domains. It would serve as a distraction now that Tim was recovering from the surgery he'd had a couple of weeks ago. A mission with the members of Young Justice went wrong, and now the teenager had to retire from vigilante life until full recovery. That made Tim grumpy, and he rarely left his room in Mountain Justice. Bruce hoped this case would shed some light on him and help him find his role outside the mask. He just hoped that whatever he wanted to be would involve more sleep and less coffee dosage required.
An incoming communication alert popped up on the Batcave's computer monitor, causing Batman to pause his work for a moment so he could accept it. He didn't bother to see who was calling him; he didn't have time for other people's problems.
"I’m busy."
"Wow, Spooky, I felt hurt. Not a hello, or how are you?" Green Lantern's irritating voice ricocheting off the rocky walls of the cave, Batman glanced at the Galactic Guardian's image to return his attention to the task at hand.
"What do you want, Jordan?" the night knight demanded sharply, dryly; he didn't like people wasting his time
"Someone got up in a bad temper." Hal muttered under his breath before clearing his throat, "Okay, straight to the point then. Captain Marvel has not reported to his shift on monitor duty." that caused Bruce to stop typing. All thoughts regarding the cyber thief were forgotten in those moments with resignation. He connected glances with GL on the screen, who seemed glad to have caught the bat's attention. "At first, I didn't care, you know? Perhaps the universe finally answered my prayers and showed us that the good Captain Marvel was not as perfect as he likes to appear, and for the first time, he was late. There is always a first time for everything. However, minutes turned into hours, and there hadn't been a single signal if he would even show up. Which annoys me, because he knew very well that I had a hot date tonight, which I had to cancel because he didn't come up. I try to call his communicator, but he always sends me to voice mail. What still does not make sense to me because the communicators of the others members of the League do not have that option. I keep saying that Marvel should have done some trick with his magic, but Barry says that it must have been a mistake in the manufacture of that piece of—"
"Hal."
"Yes, sorry, I talk more when I'm stressed." he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. "What I'm trying to say is... Batman, I'm worried." a look of apprehension accompanied the seriousness of his words. Bruce was checking the Fawcett City cameras when GL finished giving his report.
"Any sightings in Fawcett City?" Batman asks, closing a page only to open another. A file with continually changing numbers and letters was reflected on the mask covering his face.
"Three days ago. A match against Dr. Sivana and his latest invention to conquer the world. Nobody has seen the big guy since then." concluded the space guardian seriously; Batman nodded slightly, checking the notes he had in his files with what the other hero said.
"What did Zatara say about it?" If his disappearance was due to a magical emergency which made the most sense if you bothered to think about it for a second, it was best to communicate with the heroes of that field before it became a crisis.
"Good old Zatara and Doctor Fate haven't communicated with Cap since the big guy helped them with the helmet problem, which was four months ago." Hal rubbed his face with both hands in despair. "Bruce, I've already talked to almost everyone in the League. Nobody knows anything about Marvel."
"That's always the problem. There's NOTHING to hear about Captain Marvel without him wanting us to know it first." he correct in a low growl, "I’m heading to Fawcett City, stand by GL; If anything shows up in the area, I need to know right away."
Green Lanter sighed in relief and flashed the night vigilante a smile.
"Consider it down Bats, Green Lanter out." he said before the transmission was cut.
Bruno held the bridge of his nose to sigh deeply. A night of work was lost because of an irresponsible fellow vigilante. After securing all his work on the computers, he headed to his Batmobile to be able to leave for the mystical hero's city without knowing that his life as he knows it was about to change completely.
Captain Marvel has been an unknown variant from the moment he was introduced as the new protector of Fawcett City. Past investigation showed that there was no trace of the hero or any clues about his civilian life giving the appearance that his life began the moment he donned the cape. That frustrated Bruce; he had no way of knowing if Marvel was even human. He did not know how taxes worked and were behind in pop culture; however, he could communicate in any language from terrestrial to galactic, understand their culture, and possess immense knowledge about magic. He was considered one of the most powerful beings that ever existed, on the same level as Superman himself; however, he began to cry when he watched videos of kittens.
The invitation to the JL was a way to discover his true intentions as a hero, but the honesty and humility of his actions were not expected. That made Bruce angry. Despite being from the wizarding community, Marvel rarely turned to his magic when fighting threats. The Captain always handled it with his fists and, when the opportunity came, with words that made more than one of his enemies surrender. It was so difficult to understand the whole picture that was the Big Red Cheese. He hated it.
Batman tried to respect the hero image that Marvel was trying to project, but he couldn't quite put the puzzle together. Nobody does something without reason. He needed to know what made the Champion of Magic get up every day and decide to save lives. He needed to have all the parameters in front of him; only then could Bruce calculate all the negative probabilities to have a solution at hand if, on a bad day, Marvel decided to turn against humanity. Even Batman's Contingency Plan was changed frequently every time he learned something new from the Captain: deadly weapons didn't hurt him, kryptonite didn't affect him, electricity was one of his powers, with magic it was the same problem; mind games were still an option, but according to J'onn, the Captain's mental shields were almost impenetrable, and if he somehow succumbed to mind control, it was all too likely that the Captain himself would escape from that prison in no time due to his willpower.
Bruce didn't know what else to think about. He also had to consider that Marvel was the Guardian of the Rock of Eternity. According to Doctor Fate, that place exist out of this plane and was outside of time and space, a reality that is connected with all the others. It was the nexus of magic itself, a bridge between dimensions, time travel, and a prison. The entrance was in the city, but no one other than his Creator and Guardian could enter it. It was too much to take into account, and Batman's headache was made worse by just thinking about all the presented variants.
It didn't take long for him to arrive in Fawcett City. The brief history of the city was summed up in several historical events without sequels and its strange sense for wanting to keep appearances close to the 1940s. According to Zatara, this was due to the presence of the Rock, and the importance of Marvel's presence to maintain the balance of power; or something similar. No matter how many times he walked down their street, Batman couldn't help but notice the contrast Fawcett was to Gotham. They are so different. On one hand, his city seemed to be a no man's land, where the number of crimes grew each day despite his efforts to maintain order. On the other hand, Fawcett's criminal activity slowed down a lot, if not stopped altogether, leaving the streets deserted at night. No civilians hanging around the corners; all preferring to shelter from the cold in their homes next to their fireplaces or heaters. He didn't know if it was due to Marvel's presence or if the villains coordinated to only attack during the day. So much silence disturbed him. It didn't make him feel comfortable at all.
Bruce wandered around the city several times, searching for clues about the hero. Was still waiting for the Captain to fall from the skies asking for apologies and giving bad excuses for his absence; but nothing. Was he captured? Had the Rock of Eternity been compromised? Was Marvel hurt? For these things, Batman liked to know everything; only then could he plan ahead and not waste valuable time hanging around in one place. Deciding that his last option would be to search on foot, he parked the Batmobile in a dark alley just off the Zeta-Tube's hidden entrance. The slight blizzard hit his face so quickly he got out of his vehicle. Lucky that he had chosen to wear one of the winter versions of his costume. The cold was immense to be the first snowfall in the city. Better hurry; if there are still clues, they would soon be buried under layers of snow. He walked around the block from the rooftops, remembering not to slip on the ice and snow that had accumulated on them. Bruce looked at every alley, every abandoned building, and hideout that would give him any clue as to where Captain Marvel might be, to no avail. Nothing that showed the whereabouts of the demigod. Superman was returning from his space mission in two days. Batman would ask for assistance in the search if he didn't find Marvel during that time.
The blizzard began to blow harder, and Batman decided to leave the search for daylight hours; maybe Bruce Wayne would find something that the Dark Knight couldn't. He retraced his steps to where he had parked the Batmobile only to freeze at the entrance to the alley. In the dark, standing between him and the vehicle, was a gigantic Bengal tiger. His huge emerald eyes met his, and Batman didn't dare move a muscle when the big cat bared his huge fangs at him. The vigilante waited, analyzing the situation in detail to proceed. The glow from the utility pole at the end of the alley flickered, and the tiger disappeared in flickering flashes of light. Bruce could only blink in shock; there was no trace of the animal. A noise behind him made him turn quickly with a Batarang in hand, ready to defend against an attack, and the tiger was watching him from his new position at the end of the street. Minutes passed without either of them moving until Batman tentatively took a step forward, and the tiger turned to disappear around the corner.
Hours after the events, it is when Bruce realizes that this has been a stupid move. There was no logical reason to follow an animal that could easily kill him with a bite and, even worse, could have been a trap.
His intuition told Bruce to follow the feline; since it had never failed him before, he tried not to lose his pace. Batman ran through the streets, only stopping when he lost sight of the animal to find it later waiting for him at the end of another road to turn left at another intersection. They went on in this game of follow-the-leader for several minutes, long enough for Bruce to analyze what was happening. Obviously, the tiger was guiding him to a specific place that revealed training. For whom? Some crook? Marvel? Either case had to be vigilant and be prepared to fight in the event of a trap which was most likely). He stopped when the tiger entered a dead end and took the opportunity to catch his breath. Bruce weighed his options when he didn't see the big cat come out of the alley, and letting out a small sigh of resignation, Bats approached with careful vigilance for any movement or sound of any enemy hiding in the shadows.
The scent of blood was the first thing his senses picked up on, and for the second time that night, he froze. There, lying in the middle of the dark alley, surrounded by blood and covered by thin layers of snow, was a body. Bruce could feel his heart stop, memories hitting his mind at the scene in front of him.
Coldness, blood, body.
So painfully familiar, so present in his life.
He takes a deep breath and then exhales slowly. The tremors in his body told him that he should stay calm if he didn't want to have a panic attack in that place. Bruce was mentally repressed by his behavior; he must be used to it by now. Throughout his life, corpses are left in his wake, beginning with his parents and ending with strangers he could not save. Bruce can never save them all. No matter how hard Batman tried, how much he trained, he always came to the same result. Bruce was the vassal of death. It covered him with their mantle, waiting for a new prey he provided them. Bruce Wayne was the bait, Batman, the executioner. It has always been that way and will continue until death has mercy on him and takes him as their trophy once and for all. Maybe that's why the tiger brought him here. He wanted to show him another soul he cared for and show Bruce that he had no escape. That the day would come when he would end up like that body.
Coldness, blood, body.
Forgotten in a dark alley, alone.
He took a deep breath, clenching his fists. There would be time to mourn later, in the safety of his cave. In the security of his instruments and his contingency plans, in protection. Everyone believes that he is always prepared, and that his ingenuity would save everyone at the end of the day. They are wrong; it's never enough. Now he had to go in there, check the body for identification so he could take it to his loved ones. Help them truly rest. With cautious steps, he entered the alley. The crunch of the snow under his soles, mixed with the sobbing of the blizzard around him, makes it nearly impossible not to let his mind wander back to old memories.
Coldness, blood, body.
Carnival music. The smell of burning. Echo of a shot. The heat of the explosion.
Two bodies. Blood. One body. Tears.
He was so immersed in his head that when he stopped in front of the corpse only then, he realized that it was not just anybody. It was the corpse of a child. His breath hitched, and he parted his lips, letting out an inaudible gasp. The little boy was wearing a red sweater that seemed to be three sizes bigger than him, his pants were ripped at the knees, and Bruce could see his fingers poking through the holes in his torn shoes. That outfit wasn't fit for this climate; it wasn't fit in any way. His slender little hands were around his throat and the blood coloring them was so bright that Bruce had to look away from him. Coldness, blood, body. He took a deep breath and leaned over the body to continue examining it. Cut to the jugular, most likely, quick but agonizing death. His skin was pale, as pale as the snow that surrounded them; his split lips where threads of blood descended were blue, clear signs of hypothermia. He was exposed to low temperatures for a long time before his death. His frail face it's frozen in a grimace of terror and resignation; his eyes bathed in tears overshadowed the sapphire that colored them hidden behind a tangle of black hair. Batman had to close his eyes tightly when the image of Jason's body appeared in front of him.
Jay was safe; Bruce says to himself; he was back. This child in front of him was not his son; it was a stranger, a victim of the crimes that hide in the night, nothing more, nothing less. For Bruce, it was more than that. It was another face to add to his nightmares. How many times did he pass in front of that alley during that night? The blood at his feet was still liquid despite the cold temperatures, which meant the murder had happened just a few minutes ago. Bruce was close when it happened; he could have prevented this incident, of that he was sure. He could have saved that child if he had arrived in time. Just like Jason, he was late. Batman is always late. Bruce is always late.
A moan and a desperate breath intake pulled him out of his wailing. His eyes returned to the boy's face. He seemed to be close to Damian's age, maybe younger. God, he hated how frail he looked. In amazement, he watched as his eyes flickered rapidly. His mouth twisted as he desperately wanted another bite of air. He was alive! Bruce dropped to his knees beside him and began to attend to the wound with quick movements.
"Calm down; I have you." the knight assured him when the boy's eyes focused on his person. The relief shown on the boy's face will fallow Bruce for eternity. "Everything it's okay; you'll be fine." he promised, pressing a handkerchief on the cut in the throat when he finally managed to remove the little boy's hands (he couldn't see how deep the cut was, there was too much blood) "I'm here, you're safe." incoherent babbling left the mouth of the boy followed by more blood being spilled. Batman quickly stopped his attempts at communication; the boy was too weak; it was a miracle that he was alive in the first instance. "Don't talk; it's unnecessary. Try to breathe gently, I know it's hard, but you must do it until I take you to the nearest hospital. You've held on so far; I need you to hold on a little longer. Okay, champion?" Bruce did not wait for an answer. After securing the cloth on the wound, he carefully takes the child in his arms. It alarmed him when he noticed how light the boy was. He didn't weigh at all. A bad signal.
With precision, he marked some buttons on the screen on his forearm, calling the Batmobile to his position; it would be faster that way. He quickly accommodated the young man in his arms, resting his head on his chest. He was so small, so weak. What type of parent would let their son wander at that time of night with the dangers lurking in the shadows, and even worse, without any protection against the blizzard that shook the city? This was unacceptable. As soon as Bruce left the little boy in professional hands, he would be in charge of looking for the person responsible for such negligence. He would hang them from the highest building next to the unfortunate who dared to hurt him. If Bruce were lucky, they would be the same person, making Batman's revenge even sweeter. He noticed how the child's eyes closed, and in alarm, he patted the boy's cheek to wake him up.
"Come on, champ, I need you here with me. You can't sleep, not yet." he hit him on the cheek again when he saw that the boy couldn't stay conscious. "Boy, don't do this. You resisted until now, just five more minutes, okay?" Batman didn't know if his soul would resist someone else dying in his arms; he knew that Bruce couldn't. He couldn't beat his parents; he couldn't beat Jason. The computer warned him that his vehicle was approaching and close to him. He shook the minor's shoulder when he lost consciousness causing his eyes to blink lazily. Batman made sure to connect glances with him; he needed the child to keep his attention on Batman, on Bruce; he needed to keep him conscious "I need you to keep your eyes on me and only in me, do not close them. Don't you dare close them." just as he was about to slap him in the cheek again, thin, tiny, bloody fingers grabbed him. Batman's breath hitched. Blood covered Jason's body, covered his parent's bodies. The squeeze the minor gave him was unexpected but acceptable, and without being able to avoid it, Bruce returned it just as strong "Don't you dare." he warned him with a low voice, not him, not again.
His heart broke into a thousand pieces when a tiny smile took over the minor's lips at the same time that he closed his eyes and became dead weight in Batman's arms. The journey to the nearest hospital was tense, and he handed over the child to his medical staff and left without saying a word. Everything got far away for Bruce after that.
It was not difficult to transfer him to Gotham's Children's Hospital as soon as the boy was stabilized enough to be transported. Fawcett City Central Hospital is not prepared for the extent of his injuries, and Gotham's Children Hospital had the best staff and all the resources needed to care for young William Joseph Batson's injuries. A nurse identified the minor as soon as she saw him. Apparently, the minor frequents the homeless camp, to which she volunteers. (Batson, and he's an orphan. An orphan with black hair and blue eyes. The universe really wanted to screw him up.) The trade was easy to make, after a few signatures and handshakes, young Batson was transported to Gotham. Alfred saw that William was placed in a private room as soon as he was out of surgery. There were too many surgeries. The doctors were concerned when they saw the rest of his battered body. It seemed that there was a scar or bruise that needed medical attention everywhere. That's not counting the Lichtenberg figures that covered him from head to toe. Young Batson had recently been struck by lightning, the doctors were surprised and relieved at how lucky he was to have stayed alive. Bruce agreed with them. The doctors were busy introducing him to all the nutrients and vitamins he urgently needed.
"Very skinny; you can see his ribs. Poor kid." exclaimed one of the nurses in horror as she changed the sheets off the bed. Alfred couldn't have agreed more, and if Bruce didn't know him well, he could have guessed that the butler was planning a list of meals to help William gain weight as soon as possible.
All of that happened in the course of 2 weeks, and even Bruce didn't fully understand everything that happened. Two weeks where at night Batman was in charge of investigating the young kid. Two weeks where in the mornings, Bruce Wayne sat next to an unconscious Batson. His wounds are severe. What cut his throat had managed to burn all his throat muscles and melt his windpipe as if they had thrown acid in there. Reconstruction such muscles were expensive but necessary; however, his vocal cords could not be saved, and his breathing tubes would need outside help even to function as close to normal. Now, little William will have to be accompanied by a mobile breather, be fed through liquids, and be mute for the rest of his life. His whole life is ruined. The Justice League will have to be called to interfere when Batman finds the bastard who did this to the kid.
"Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce tore his gaze from the child to the nurse who had just entered the room accompanied by a dark-skinned woman with glasses and a Fawcett City Social Services badge emblazoned on her vest. Not forgetting his manners, Bruce thanked the nurse and got up from his seat so he could shake hands with the newcomers. They exchanged forced smiles through introductions; however, Bruce noticed how the woman's eyes traveled all over his body as if trying to detect some evil in his person to end the meeting without even starting.
"Let's get to the point, yes?" the social worker interrupted the compliment that Bruce was about to give her "William needs special care that, unfortunately, Fawcett City could not provide him with. I am more than informed about that. But while William's health is one of our priorities, we also need to understand that you are not the best candidate to be his foster parent. You might have fooled the Gothman City agents, but we at Fawcett City take everything seriously."
"I don't doubt that Mrs. Glover, but if you let me explain—"
"Your lifestyle is no place for a fragile child like William. You might see this situation as an excellent opportunity to pass it off as a charitable gesture from the great and godly Bruce Wayne, but you wouldn't fool me."
Bruce's smile plastered his face at Mrs. Glover’s outburst. It was not the first time that he had encountered this problem. He was so focused on making Bruce Wayne a billionaire idiot that only liked to go from party to party to separate him from those suspected of being Batman. It was easy to practice, and now it stood in his way of fostering young William. Bruce sighed slowly and dropped part of his mask; if he wanted to be in the good books of the worker, he must allow himself to show some weakness. This situation, as delicate as the one they were in, deserved it.
"I will not deny that my lifestyle is not the most practical or the first option for a lot, but I do care about William." he replied with sincerity; Mrs. Glover looked at him with suspicion.
"Why? You guys don't know each other."
That gives Bruce a pause. Why, indeed? He did not need to foster him to help him. Bruce could easily donate all medical help to the boy with him being with another family in Fawcett City. Batman could still look for his attacker, and William will be saved if he stays far away from Bruce's complicated and dangerous life. But he could really? The same thing happened when Dick lost his parents and when Jason tried to steal the tires of the Batmobile. He could take care of them without them being in his life, but a part of him back then saw something in those boys; he saw it again in the eyes of William that night. A reflection of a little Bruce that feels afraid, weak, and alone; in an alley surrounded by his parent's corps. And because of that, he could not let go.
"Call it parental instinct if you want, but as soon as I saw him, I couldn't help but feel protectiveness toward the child. So small and in these conditions in which they left it. I don't care what he did; no child deserves such a thing." he confesses, "I have the means and facilities to ensure that your health is paramount: therapies, medications, equipment, psychologists, everything."
"And love?"
The question took him off guard; Mrs. Glover tilted her head and approached the stretcher to caress the strands of William's hair.
"It is easy to buy everything when you have the means, but love?" she shook her head slightly, and a sad smile took over her face "What William needs most is a family that loves and cares for him. God knows how much I've failed him in the past; I can't make the same mistake again."
"You handle William's case." it was not a question but rather a statement. One of the main tasks of Batman was to obtain any information that there was from the young boy.
Mrs. Glover let out a bitter laugh as she continued stroking the boy's hair.
"No matter how hard I tried to find him a good home, bad things happened. 17 homes in 2 years; a record." she wiped away a tear that tried to escape from her left eye "So much bad luck led William to run away from his last foster home and to live on the streets. He was seven years old the last time I saw him, and when I got the call, he was in the hospital, at risk of dying. I had never taken a flight as fast as I did this morning."
"William is not the first to get lost in the cracks of the system, right? My second son, Jay, the same thing happened to him."
"It's more common than I would like, but not all needy children have a millionaire trying to adopt them. What they seek is to survive. I don't blame them for wanting to escape situations that cause them harm. Still, I don't approve of them being careless to the point of being left for dead in an alley."
"They still haven't found the culprit?"
"No. According to the authorities, it's like they had vanished in the air."
"If the police need help..."
"I’ll let them know about your offer."
The silence between the two lasted for a few minutes. While Bruce contemplates the idea that he should take out his big guns and call his lawyers, Mrs. Glover still has her attention fixed on William. Not even Dick's adoption was as tricky as this one has been.
"Fine."
Her abrupt change in attitude caught him off guard. The social worker took out of her briefcase a set of papers that Bruce knew by heart from the many times he had filled them out. He watches her sign a few boxes and then hands him the Foster House form. Bruce was quick to sign off before she changed her mind.
"I will visit you every month to verify that William is adapting to his life with you. All medical procedures must be reported to the department, as well as the school status. Out-of-town trips must be approved by us first, and I don't have to remind you what will happen if I run into a predicament?"
"I risk losing my Foster Parent license, years in prison for child neglect, and William and my children will return to the system. I know the rules, Mrs. Glover, and I will ensure William does not lack anything."
"Good." the seriousness in her eyes made it clear to Bruce that the threat was legitimate. With one last caress towards William, she takes the papers and puts them back in her briefcase. "The medical staff will contact me as soon as William's condition changes and, God willing, he wakes up, but until then..." she stretched out her hand, and Bruce hastened to shake it. "Congratulations, Mr. Wayne, now you are the foster father of William Joseph Batson."
"Thank you."
"Make my boy happy, Mr. Wayne. If not, I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life." with that said, the social worker left with the last exchange of serious glances.
Bruce felt he could breathe again when she was out of the room. He let himself collapse back into his chair and took William's small hand in his. Bruce took his time observing William's sleepy face and questioning himself if he did the right thing.
"I’ll make sure you're safe, and I won't rest until I find who did this to you, that I promise you, William."