"Bruce?"

Bruce's eyes opened, and his head slowly looked up to the light above him.

There was a shadow descending upon him. For a moment, he was just as afraid as he was mere moments ago.

Then, the shadow began to fade into something more visible. It wasn't one of those winged attackers. It was a human. But not just any human.

It took him a moment to process the human's face as that of his father.

"It's okay," Thomas Wayne reassured, reaching a hand down to Bruce. "It's alright."

Instant reassurance washed over Bruce, and he raised a hand upwards, grasping his father's.

Tears streamed from his eyes, and he tried everything he could to embrace him, though his body failed to function, still paralyzed with fear. Thomas carefully reached down with both hands, lifting Bruce into his arms, and holding him tight as he was pulled out from the well.

As soon as he came to the surface, the light was almost blinding. He could hear voices, and though he recognized them, it wasn't until the light faded that he recognized the people they belonged to.

He recognized the elderly face of the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth. A man he viewed as the uncle he never had, though at the time he didn't truly view it that way.

The second face he recognized was that of Martha Wayne, his mother. A sweet, innocent woman he loved so deeply, just as he did his father.

As soon as he was lifted out of the well, it was Martha who took him into her arms, cradling him like the baby she still viewed him as, while Alfred pulled Thomas out.

After checking for injuries, the only ones being the scars of the bats. The only serious injury was the bite mark on his neck, which Alfred planned on checking.

Once they checked for his injuries, they made their way back to Wayne Manor. It was a massive house; the biggest in Vale. It was an old house, built more than a hundred years ago. The decorations were updated for its current inhabitants, but it was still an old house. Bruce remembered Weiss commenting on how odd it looked when she first arrived.

That was when they had first met. Back then, Bruce thought she was a weird girl, as every young boy did when it came to girls. It was her who'd made him lose that mindset, and it was her voice that broke him out of his paralyzed state.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked.

Bruce looked over at her as his mother stopped, and their blue eyes locked as his parents stopped to talk to her.

"He'll be alright," Martha reassured, petting his hair to the best of her ability while holding him with both arms. "He's just shaken up."

Weiss' eyes shifted to the bite mark on Bruce's neck, and he shifted into a position in his mother's arms where she couldn't see it.

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience," Weiss' sister, Winter Schnee, said. "Are you sure he isn't in need of medical attention?"

"No," Thomas smiled at her, shaking his head. "He just had a big fall." He looked down to Bruce. "And why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up."

As his parents spoke to Winter, Bruce reached a hand out to Weiss. She looked to his hand in confusion. It took a moment for her mind to piece together that he was holding something. She reached to his hand, taking the object he was holding.

But before she could say anything to him, his parents turned to walk back into the mansion, while her sister dragged her back to the car.

She sighed as she sat inside, staring to the mansion as the doors were closed, blocking Bruce from her view.

Now unable to see him anymore, Weiss looked down to her hand, looking at what Bruce had given her.

It was the arrowhead.

Three days past, the trauma never leaving Bruce. On the third morning, he awoke following another nightmare about those bats. He teared up, and allowed his emotions to flow, crying silently as he rubbed his hands over the scar, the openings of which had been covered by hardened blood.

"The bats again?"

Bruce looked to the door, where he saw Thomas staring towards him.

He nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes as his father approached, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You know why they attacked you, right?" he said. "They were afraid of you."

Bruce grew confused. "'Afraid of me'?" How could something so terrifying be afraid of him?

"All creatures feel fear," Thomas said.

Bruce thought about it for a moment, letting those words sink in. And, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

He chuckled. "Even the scary ones."

Thomas nodded, a smile of his own. "Especially the scary ones."

They had a moment to laugh together, as Bruce thought of the silliness of what had happened.

"I got something to show you," Thomas said.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a long jewel case. He opened it up, showing to Bruce a necklace of pearls. The moment his eyes settled on the pearls, he found himself amazed, drawn to its beauty as the sun shined off of it through the window, giving it a stunning glow. Bruce reached his hand out to touch the pearls.

"Do you think your mother will like it?" Thomas asked.

"Yeah," Bruce nodded.

Thomas smiled, shutting the case. "I think it's time to get up."

All of Bruce's earlier fear had vanished, and he smiled, slowly pulling the blankets up to his head. "Maaaybe . . ."

Thomas chuckled, tugging the blankets off. "Come on, bud."

Bruce would never forget the smile on his mother's face when his father gave her those pearls. The kiss she had given Thomas. There as an amazing joy in their faces as they embraced.

Bruce had always loved watching his parents together. The joy between the two of them whenever they shared a room together was contagious.

For some reason, it had always brought Weiss to mind.

It was Martha who told him they were going to see the opera "Mefistofele". He hadn't seen it before, but he'd always found live shows on stage fun. His parents had taken him to those things, and they never failed to impress him.

Later that day, they were riding in the monorail for the opera. Bruce had rarely left the house on the monorail, and now that he was old enough to ask questions, he decided it was time to do so.

"Did you build this train, Dad?" Bruce asked.

Thomas looked up to him. "I funded it."

"Why?"

"Vale's been good to our family," he explained, "but the kingdom has been suffering. People less fortunate than us have been enduring very hard times. So we funded a new, cheap, public transportation system to unite the city. And at the center," he pointed out the window, "Wayne Tower."

Bruce followed his finger to the largest skyscraper in the city, which had a large "W" printed on it, which he knew stood for, "Wayne".

"Is that where you work?" Bruce asked.

"No, I work at the hospital," Thomas said. "I leave the running of our company to much better men."

"'Better'?" Bruce repeated.

"More interested men," Martha corrected.

The young Wayne nodded in understanding.

An hour or so later, Bruce didn't care to keep count, he found himself seated in the theater, watching the opera. For a while, he simply watched the show in amusement. He was seated between his parents, and Martha would occasionally look to him and Thomas to make sure they were enjoying the show. Bruce would look to his parents whenever he was bored of looking at the stage. Thomas watched without ever taking his eyes off the stage.

Bruce didn't know how far into the show they were, but he remembered looking back at the stage, and seeing costumed figured hanging from ropes. The costumes were far too familiar to Bruce. They resembled those winged creatures from the well.

In an instant, the trauma of what he'd experienced returned. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, as the bat-looking men twirled on their ropes, flashes of the biting and scratching. His hand snapped to his neck, and he felt the bite mark again.

Panicked, he looked up to his father, tugging at his sleeve.

"Can we go?" he asked.

Thomas looked down to his son, and he saw the pleading, desperate eyes, begging to leave.

"Please?"

He nodded. "Alright." He reached for Martha, tapping her shoulder. "Let's go."

Martha looked down to her son, realizing something had happened to him, and nodded in agreement.

The family stood up, moving out from the aisles, and respectfully left the theater.

As they stepped out of the theater, into the street, Martha placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"What's wrong, Bruce?" she asked.

"No, no," Thomas shook his head, lifting Martha's jacket, which he'd agreed to hold for her, and helping her put it on. "It was me. I just needed some fresh air."

Bruce looked to his father in confusion.

"A little opera can go a long way." When his wife wasn't looking, Thomas smiled to Bruce, and winked. "Right, Bruce?"

The young Wayne nodded, and walked with his parents to cross the street. Thomas led them into an alleyway. A shortcut he said.

Bruce wasn't comfortable with this the moment he set foot in the alley, but he wasn't about to tell his father that. In his younger state of mind, his parents were always right.

A man was approaching them. He stepped aside for a moment, as if allowing them to pass, and the Waynes did the same. Bruce had a bad feeling about him from the moment he saw the man. But he figured it was just the fear from the flying creatures of the well, and the dark, haunting feeling he got in the alley.

Then, the man stepped in front of the Waynes, drawing a gun on them.

"Wallets, jewelry," he said. "Come on, fast!"

Bruce's terror rose instantly, and he was so focused on the terrifying situation, and the gun pointed at his father, he didn't notice how terrified the gunman appeared, and how shaky his tone was.

Thomas stepped in front of Bruce and Martha, but he stayed calm. He didn't show any form of aggression. He held a hand in front of him, and spoke to the man in a calm, non-threatening tone.

"That's fine," he said. "Take it easy." He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet, passing it towards the gunman. "Here you go."

The man seemed to ease at his calm approach, reaching for the wallet. But as he tried to take it, it dropped to the ground. Thomas stepped back, hands in the air, keeping Bruce and Martha behind him, hoping he could get the gunman to leave.

"It's fine," he reassured.

The man knelt down to pick up the wallet, without taking his eyes or his gun away from the Waynes. He grabbed it, shoved it into his pocket, and slowly stood back up.

"Now, just take it and go."

It was Bruce who noticed it first. The man shifted his eyes to his mother, and the necklace of pearls on her neck. He swung his gun to her.

"I said jewelry!"

"Hey!" Thomas shouted, lunging in front of Martha to rescue his wife.

Then came the bang. Bruce jumped, the terror preventing him from screaming, or even covering his ears at the sound. It was the loudest noise he had ever heard.

His father dropped to the ground, blood pouring from a bullet wound in his chest, and Bruce could only stare in horror.

It was Martha who screamed, horrified to see her husband shot. She knelt down to his body, screaming bloody murder, shaking her husband, praying this was all a nightmare.

Her screams only agitated the gunman more, and he reached down to her neck, grabbing the necklace of pearls, and tugging it away. But when Martha struggled, screaming and swinging at the gunman, unable to stay calm anymore, he fired his gun one more time, a bullet bursting through her skull. She collapsed to the ground over her husband, the necklace breaking, and the pearls hitting the ground.

Before he could grab the pearls, the gunman saw Bruce.

The two made eye contact. Bruce would never forget those brown eyes. Those eyes that were filled with terror and, now that he had seen their son, instant regret and guilt. But Bruce didn't care about any of the emotions. All he could think about was what the man had just done.

Terrified and guilty, the man spun around, fleeing into the alley in an attempt to escape the situation he had put both himself and the child into.

Alone with the bodies of his parents, Bruce dropped to his knees, and looked down to their bodies.

His mother was already dead, blood pouring from the wound in her head. But his father was barely alive. He reached for his son, and took his hand, staring into his eyes.

Bruce looked down to him, his fear fading into sadness.

"Bruce," Thomas said, his voice a broken whisper. "It's okay . . . Don't be afraid . . ."

With those last words escaping his lips, Thomas' hand went limp, dropping from Bruce's, and he shut his eyes, drifting into death.

Bruce let the tears flow, and he looked off into the direction the gunman had run. He didn't look back down to his parents. He stayed in that position, knelt beside the bodies of his parents, staring into the distance, waiting for someone to find him.

The sounds of the gunshots and the screams of his mother hadn't gone unheard, and soon police closed off the scene. Bruce was seated at an ambulance, shivering from both the cold and the emotions overwhelming him.

Two officers spoke in the distance, and Bruce could hear them.

"You think he'll be okay?"

"He'll be fine. Kid with that much money? He'll get over it."

He didn't care for what they were saying, though those words stuck in his mind, and would continue to for years to come.

Then, he heard a feminine voice speak to him.

"Are you okay?"

Bruce looked up, and he saw a little girl, younger than him. She had short, black hair, with faded red tips. She had a cape strapped to her black shirt, and a pair of concerned, silver eyes staring at him.

When Bruce didn't reply, she climbed onto the ambulance beside him.

"It's okay," she reassured.

Taking note of his shivering, the girl reached for her cape, and untied it from her neck. She approached him, wrapping it around him.

Bruce's shivering slowed with the lack of cold, and as he looked into those compassionate silver eyes, he even felt the emotions beginning to fade away.

The girl pulled him into a hug, and though Bruce didn't return the gesture, he greatly appreciated it.

"It's okay," the girl said, her voice high pitched, yet calming.

Before Bruce could say anything back to her, he heard another.

"Ruby!"

The young girl immediately reacted to the voice, which informed Bruce that her name was "Ruby".

An older, blonde girl ran to the ambulance, and grabbed Ruby's hand.

"Yang!" Ruby said. "He's sad!"

"We're not supposed to be over here!" the girl Ruby had referred to as "Yang" insisted.

Ruby looked to Bruce, and waved to him as she was pulled away.

The traumatized Wayne could only watch as the blonde pulled her away, and he looked down to see the cape she had given him. She hadn't managed to get it back before she'd been dragged away.

A cop stepped up to him before he could call her name. His badge said, "Loeb". Commissioner Loeb.

"Hey, kid," he said. "Good news. We've got him, son."

There was no comfort in that. The pain only returned. The comfort Ruby had given him had vanished at the mere thought of the man who had killed his parents.

The funeral took place at his home, his parents buried in the family graveyard, side-by-side. Many people attended it, some out of obligation. William Earle was the prime example, only attending because of his position as CEO of Wayne Enterprises. However, there were a few here out of genuine care for the family. There was no better example than Weiss Schnee and her sister, though her father, mother, and brother didn't care as much.

As the funeral came to a close, Bruce stood beside Alfred, who held an umbrella over them. Earle approached them, shaking Bruce's hand.

"You're in excellent hands," he said. "We'll be watching the empire. When you grow up, it'll be waiting for you."

Bruce didn't know if that was supposed to help or not, but it certainly didn't. It was as if the world didn't care for his loss. The only two who had shown genuine empathy was Alfred and Ruby, the latter of which didn't even know him personally. But her cape certainly was a form of comfort.

Bruce walked away from Alfred, heading back into the house, and making his way to his room. Once there, he looked out the window, staring down at the departing guests.

There was only one person in the crowd of people down below, and Weiss looked up to see him doing so. Her mood brightened as she saw him above, and she smiled up at him, waving in the hopes she could cheer him up in any way. It was as if he had actively avoided her ever since his parents' death, and she prayed they wouldn't lose their friendship. To her relief, he waved back.

With confirmation their friendship was safe, Weiss wanted to make her way into the mansion to talk to him, to do anything she could to comfort him, but her father gripped her arm, dragging her to the car.

Bruce only watched, unable and unwilling to do anything to stop the Schnees from leaving.

"I thought I might prepare a little supper."

Bruce didn't reply to Alfred's offer, instead continuing to stare out the window, longing to hear his father's comforting voice, to see his mother's beautiful smile.

Alfred nodded in understanding, and turned around to leave. "Very well."

Bruce could hear his butler beginning to leave, and, for the first time since the murder, he spun around to speak.

"Alfred!"

The old man turned back around, stepping back in the room. "Yes, Master Bruce?"

"It was my fault, Alfred!" Bruce cried, tears forming in his eyes.

Alfred shook his head, approaching Bruce. "No, no, no, no!"

"If I hadn't gotten scared . . ."

"It was nothing that you did!" Alfred said, lifting Bruce's head for eye contact. "It was him, and him alone. Do you understand?"

Bruce felt some comfort in those words, but the emotions didn't leave. He leapt at Alfred, embracing him.

"I miss them, Alfred!" he cried. "I miss them so much!"

"So do I, Master Bruce," Alfred said, hugging Bruce, and carefully petting him. "So do I."

Those words that Alfred had said repeated in his mind, and began to shift his emotions. His pain began to fade, turning into anger as he fully processed the meaning of the words, and they began to fully sink in.

"It was him, and him alone."

That anger never left, even after everything he had gone through afterwards. Those memories of his parents murder, the gun, the gunman. All of them stuck with him all these years. Along with the attack in the well, it was one of the most vivid memories of his past, along with what Alfred had told him.

"Do you still feel responsible for your parents' death?" Cinder asked him.

Bruce turned to look at her. "My anger outweighs my guilt."

She nodded, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Come."

His story explained, Cinder brought Bruce back into her massive home, welcoming him to the League of Shadows.

Bruce was already anticipating the future . . .