Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to Batman.

The Flickers of Sanity Trilogy
Book I

Sheltered by a Scarecrow

Prologue

Bruce Wayne, at ten years of age, was a curious little boy. He wished to know everything, and was unafraid to question the puzzling world around him: 'Where does the moon go during the day,' was a favourite of his to ask his patient, loyal butler, and another, 'Why can't I feed the plants, Alfred? They must be starving, you only ever give them water!' At the end of most days Bruce would leave the old man exasperated and in dire need of a long, relaxing bath.

It was this same curiosity that caused Bruce to pause mid-step as his ears caught the familiar, muffled voice of Alfred conversing with a deep, unrecognisable voice behind the partially closed door of one of the smaller of the eight guest sitting rooms that the Wayne household held. Bruce had no qualms about his next actions: he crept up close to the doorway, strained his little ears, and peered into the small gap.

Bruce spotted Alfred immediately. The greying man stood rigidly behind an old-fashioned, floral patterned armchair. The second, unknown man stood beside an elegantly designed, built-in coal fireplace. Flames crackled merrily behind its tiled hearth. Bruce breathed in deeply, he had always loved the thick smell of coal burning. The man was tall with a large mass of black, untamed curls that fell just short of his shoulders. He stood with his back to the doorway.

Bruce then felt the tension in the room.

Bruce had learnt over his short years that it took a lot to anger his beloved butler. Yes, Alfred could be quick to irritate if one knew which buttons to press, and his wit was sharp enough to cut deeply at times, but the ten year old found he struggled to recall a time where Alfred had truly lost control of his temper. But judging from the ticking jaw, the tight-lipped frown and the white-knuckled hold on the back of the chair, the man, whoever he was, had brought out a rare display of rage from Alfred.

Bruce decided then that he very much disliked the unknown man.

'How can you do such a thing?' Alfred was asking, and from where Bruce stood just beyond the butler's vision, it sounded like a poisonous hiss. 'You said you were ready—'

'Alfred, please try to understand,' the tall man pleaded, his broad shoulders slumped, 'I-I thought I was ready, I did, but I'm not—I'm really not. I can't do it. I have my whole life—my whole career in front of me!'

Alfred was unsympathetic. 'You should have thought of that before being so irresponsible. It's only been five days.'

The man just curled further into himself.

'And Catherine,' Alfred continued, 'what does she have to say about this? Surely she doesn't agree with this, this—' here, he struggled to find the right words, '—selfish idiocy. Neither of you can just abandon this kind of responsibility. I assumed she actually had a head on her shoulders.'

The dark haired man shrugged uselessly, and Bruce watched the way the expensive material of the man's white collard shirt stretched as the shoulders lifted. He hesitated before replying. 'She feels the same way.' At the butler's repugnant grunt, the other man hastened to add, 'It's true, Alfred. Please try to see it from our prospective. We may loose so much if we go through with this. I'm so close to gaining my PhD, and Catherine has just been accepted a good job, the job of her dreams. We can't just give all that up. A baby would completely ruin the life we've worked so hard to build. I'm just sorry we realised it too late.'

Alfred's head fell tiredly into his awaiting palms and they cradled his aching head gently. He then heaved out a long, suffering sigh. He stayed that way for a moment, and Bruce took the opportunity to shuffle closer to the door. Bruce rested his hand carefully against the mahogany door, the wood smooth and cool under his delicate touch, and placed just enough pressure on the door to push it open half an inch more. The door didn't make a sound.

Now with a clearer view of the scene, Bruce watched as his butler ran the heels of his palms roughly over his haggard features and sighed a second time. When Alfred lifted his head next, his usual kind, sarcastic eyes were cold and sharp like a dagger ready to strike. They showed no mercy.

'Why have you brought her here, Douglas?' His tone held no tolerance for nonsense. He just wanted the truth.

As though her little ears were burning, a small, high-pitched gurgle emitted from somewhere within the room. The sound caused the man—Douglas—to flinch at such an angle that a small patch of pink cloth and head full of short, dark hair became visible to Bruce for a moment, before her father hastily straightened, hiding her behind his frame once more. Douglas cleared his throat, embarrassed.

Bruce physically started, flabbergast he hadn't noticed the baby sooner, and the jump jolted the hand against the door. The door flew open, yielding to the sudden pressure, and banged loudly against the wall.

Startled, both men swivelled to face the intruder. The baby in Douglas' arms gave a tiny squeak, but otherwise stayed quiet, and her father seemed utterly grateful for it.

Bruce could think of nothing to say to the occupants of the small room. At that moment he was much too flustered and disappointed at his lack of spying skills. So he instead chose to smile bashfully at Alfred, his childish face smoothed over in feigned innocence. Alfred could only roll his eyes in response. Bruce's eyes then immediately sought out the infant cradled in her fathers arms, and all he could do was stare, transfixed.

She was so tiny.

'Ah,' Douglas started, nervous. 'You must be Bruce, the little owner of this huge house.'

If Bruce had been paying attention, he might have noticed how Douglas' smile was just a little too large to be genuine; but he wasn't, so he didn't. His hazel eyes were still fixed unflinchingly on the little girl.

The boy couldn't claim to be an expert when it came to children, he was an only child, after all, but he was positive Douglas was holding his daughter in the most ridiculously awkward position imaginable.

He held his child much too loosely in his arms and away from his body, as though he couldn't bare her any closer; neither did either of his arms cradle her head, instead her head lolled to one side where she seemed content to gaze at the aged ornaments that lined the mantelpiece above the fireplace; and the pink baby blanket had been wrapped around her little form so tightly it looked suffocating. The man clearly hadn't a clue how to hold a baby.

'You must introduce us, Alfred,' Bruce heard Douglas command. 'Since I'm sure his father told him next to nothing about me.' He sniffed, as though insulted.

Bruce froze at the mention of his late father. And then the pain was back again.

It always came back.

Alfred made his way around the armchair and sneered out, 'Master Bruce, this is Master Douglas Wayne, your uncle.'

Bruce turned his gaze to the man and in an instant he was eight years old again, looking up into his father's dark, smiling eyes. The same eyes he had watched dim in unjust death, the same eyes that willed themselves to hold onto some form of comfort, that endeavoured to wait until the very last, shuddered breath before closing for the last time, leaving a little boy lost and alone, frightened and heartbroken. But, no, they were not his father's eyes. The eyes before him lacked the tenderness, the comfort his father's had always held just for him. They had always made him feel special.

The ache in his chest inflamed his entire body, reaching to the very tips of his fingers and toes. He felt as if he had just walked into the coiling flames of the fireplace. This was not his father. The face was too young, too narrow. His fathers hair was always cut neat and short, he never had curls. He wasn't as tall, either. There was no pride behind the smile directed at him.

It wasn't his father. It would never be his father again. Never.

Douglas, thankfully, was not an observant man. He stepped into Bruce's personal space and bent his head to be level with the young boy.

Bruce fought to keep his breath as the eyes so much like his fathers, yet unlike them too, came closer. Too close.

'And this,' Douglas announced and gestured with a nod of his head to the bundle in his arms. Bruce struggled to hear him over the resounding thump thump thump of his heartbeat. 'Is your cousin.' He stretched his arms out towards Bruce, presenting her to him.

Bruce didn't respond. He couldn't have even if he wanted to.

The false grin on the older man's face wavered as the silence stretched on, and he shifted from foot to foot, visibly uncomfortable, until he forced his child into Bruce's chest. Bruce's arms instinctively curled around the small body—correctly—but his wide, apprehensive eyes couldn't tear themselves away from Douglas.

'Well, if you'll just, uh, take her, there's a good lad... maybe you two can, I don't know, bond, or something.' He suggested awkwardly as he backed away from the children.

Bruce could just barely muster up the effort it took to look away from the disconcerting features of his newly acquainted uncle. His unblinking eyes instead turned to the alien weight in his arms, and locked onto two wide, astonishingly blue eyes that stared up at him with a curiosity to rival his own. And, slowly, he began to take comfort in the familiar personality trait they seemed to share. There was a light to her azure eyes; he felt as though it was there just for him, to console him. The pain suddenly wasn't so intense any more.

She was a pretty little thing, for a baby. Everything about her was so small. She had a tiny button nose that was scrunched up cutely, and big, chubby cheeks and a fine patch of dark hair that stood up at all angles on top of her head. She had an adorable, toothless smile that latched onto his bruised, hurting heart with an unyielding hold.

Bruce had to smile at her. You're special, aren't you?

His uncle would be a fool to let her go.

Bruce found he drew strength from the little girl's smile; or enough, at least, to turn to the man so like his dear father. The resemblance still managed to knock the breath out of him.

'She's...' Bruce managed, if a little weakly, 'cute.'

As if agreeing, the child in his arms gave a satisfied 'mmm'.

'Oh yes, yes. She is, isn't she?' Douglas agreed with an eager nod of his head, his curls bouncing around his youthful, clean shaven face.

Bruce was gradually becoming annoyed. His uncle had the tendency to talk to him like he was no older than the infant wrapped up in his arms. While, admittedly, Bruce had no interest in the affairs of his company—he had never really taken to the idea of running a company, not even when his parents were alive, but perhaps he would when he was older—he could feel the lack of respect the man before him held, and for the first time in his life wanted to demand someone their regard; he was the owner of Wayne's Enterprises, he was the owner of the mansion Douglas' presence was currently infecting. He was a Wayne; he was born respected.

But Bruce said nothing, so Douglas continued to talk. 'And, if you're really lucky, Alfred will agree to look after her for a while, so you two can play whenever you want.'

'Excuse me?' Alfred finally exploded. 'Is that why your here? To leave your daughter with us?'

Bruce's own lips thinned. His annoyance was beginning to crumble into something darker. Not only did his uncle want to leave his defenceless child with distant family members, one of whom he had never met, but he continued to disrespect the family that would be bringing up his child by not involving the master of the house in the decision. Despite his age, Bruce knew he had the final say in this situation.

The girl deserved a better father, honestly.

Douglas winced at Alfred's raised voice and Bruce suspected he saw slightest hint of shame colour his cheekbones.

The reluctant father stood by his decision, however. 'Alfred, I've told you, Catherine and I can't have her, at least not for now. Maybe after a couple of years, if we're both ready, we can take her back off your hands. That's why we thought of you, Alfred. We will always know where she is—here—in case we decide to have her. Otherwise we'd have no choice but to put her into a foster home. Could you imagine how much harder it would be to find her if she went into foster care?'

Alfred could only splutter in response.

Bruce pulled the baby closer to him, tucking her safely into his thin chest where she fit nicely. An emotion overtook him as Douglas rambled on, a feeling he had never felt with such ferocity before. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to protect her from the one person she should always feel secure with—as he had with his own father.

'But, I—you, you can't just—' Alfred stumbled over his words, he was utterly incredulous.

'Of course I can. You would make things so much easier for Catherine and myself. And remember, it's highly unlikely you'll have her forever. Just help us out for a bit. Please, Alfred, you're our only option.'

In three strides Alfred was toe to toe with the taller man. The butler's lip was curled back in revulsion. 'You, Douglas Edmund Wayne, are a selfish bastard.' Bruce had never heard Alfred curse before, except for the occasional 'bloody hell' when he dropped something. 'That is your daughter, not some toy you get to play with whenever it suits you. She needs you—for Christ sake, man, the child is only a few of days old! She shouldn't be from her mother's side.'

Alfred paused then and his brows furrowed. He considered his next words, then said, 'You haven't even told me her name.' Silence followed the statement, and Bruce's eyes widened at the implication. 'You haven't named her, have you?' Alfred whispered in disbelief.

Douglas hesitated. 'Alfred—'

'What is wrong with you?' Alfred bellowed. The butler retreated, as though he couldn't stand to be near Douglas any longer. 'You constantly bring nothing but shame to the Wayne family.' Alfred accused. He couldn't even look at him. 'But I never thought you could—that you... That is your child, your child who you haven't even bothered to name—'

'Now look here, Alfred,' Douglas interrupted, his voice raised for the first time. 'Her mother and I love her very much. We're just thinking about what's best for her.'

'What's best—?'

'Yes,' Douglas replied with force. 'I'm sure here, with you, Alfred, is where she needs to be. We haven't got it in us, Alfred. We can't bring her up, we haven't got what it takes. But I know you have.' His head lowered as he continued, 'If you don't take her I really will have to put her into a foster home and I'll never see her again. At least here we'll know where she is.' His head shot up here, his eyes wide as he implored, 'You wouldn't deny a child the chance to meet her parents one day, would you?'

Alfred reared back as though he had been hit and he inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. He spat, 'Of all the lowly, filthy cards to pull.'

While the two men fought, Bruce watched the nameless baby. Bruce was fascinated with her, it was as if the child was reacting to the atmosphere in the room. She seemed to be acutely aware of her surroundings.

As their voices rose, she became more and more distressed. Her face scrunched up and her mouth opened sightly, though no sound was uttered. She began to squirm and wriggle in the confines of her blanket, so Bruce tugged at the constricting material, and two little arms shot out the moment room was made for freedom. She balled her hands into the tiniest fists he had ever seen, one reaching up over her head and the other raising to her mouth, where she nibbled at the clenched hand, upset.

She's such a quite thing, Bruce observed.

Instinctively, Bruce began to rock her. Her big, tear filled eyes stared up at him, and Bruce felt as though he was under intense scrutiny.

Her face relaxed as the rocking continued. The fist above her head opened lazily and began to wave insistently under his nose. 'Ah,' she moaned, and somehow Bruce knew what she was asking for.

He lifted his right arm and her swinging hand stopped instantly in anticipation. Bruce held his larger hand less than a hair's breath away from her own, and the child latched onto his index finger with both hands. Her eyes narrowed on his finger, crossing at its closeness. Bruce stared at their clasped hands; her fingers couldn't quite reach all the way around his finger. He felt something warm in the pit of his heart then, making it twist and turn as the warmth grew, and he let out a trembling breath.

Perhaps it was just him—she was only a baby after all, she surely didn't have a clue what was going on around her—but he felt a bond form between them in that moment. And he was, surprisingly, elated at the thought. He suddenly didn't feel quite so alone any more.

Maybe, he hoped innocently, you could fill the hole my parents left when they died.

The girl's eyes, startlingly blue, raised to meet his own again, and she squeezed his finger, and he almost laughed. He couldn't get over how weak she was. She would definitely need protecting.

He really wanted to be the one to protect her.

The other two occupants in the room were still bickering amongst themselves when Bruce lifted his head, his finger still trapped between his cousin's hands, his features creased with determination—the same impulsive determination that would follow him stubbornly into his adulthood.

'Alfred.' Bruce injected into the conversation, and Alfred paused at the tone.

Bruce turned to address his idiotic uncle. He painted a vivid picture of his father in his mind to help gather his courage, because he knew his decision would change his, Alfred's and the baby's lives forever, then adopted an authoritative voice he had never before used to declare, 'I'm willing to take your child into my home and care for her for as long as you need.'

Alfred and Douglas stared at the little boy, stunned into silence.

The silence was deafening in the room, to the point where Bruce's ears tingled and it felt as if cotton wool had been shoved into his ears. But he didn't waver in the slightest, he instead jutted out his chin, stubborn in his decision.

'M-Master Bruce,' Alfred stuttered, the first to recover. 'You cannot be serious?'

Bruce tilted his chin higher in the air. 'I am.'

Douglas blinked rapidly, then smiled widely, showing rows of straight, unnaturally white teeth. 'Excellent.' He clapped his hands together, much too happy for a parent loosing their first born. He advanced on Bruce and patted the boy on the shoulder. 'Thank you for this, my young nephew. My brother would be very proud of you right now, helping out your dear uncle and cousin when they most desperately need it.'

As much as Bruce couldn't stand the man before him, he wished Douglas was right. He would do anything to make his father and his mother proud of him, anything to ease the guilt he felt at his cowardice that led to the event that ended with them lying side by side in an early grave.

'Now wait!' Alfred shouted and rounded on his young master. 'Are you absolutely sure about this, Master Bruce? This child is going to change everything around here—I don't think you realise just how much.'

The child let go of Bruce's finger then, and he glanced down at her as she curled into his chest, yawning. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing evened. If Bruce could see himself in that moment, he might have commented on how the softness in his eyes reminded him of the way his father had once looked at him.

When Bruce spoke next, it was from the heart. 'Where else will she go? I don't care how much she'll change things, Alfred. I want her here. With us.'

Alfred stared hard at him then, searching, for what Bruce didn't know, and it felt like an eternity before he seemed to find what he was looking for. The butler sighed his acceptance and nodded his head. 'If you're sure, Master Bruce, then I'll be happy to welcome her into your home.'

Douglas' shoulders slumped, as though he had been carrying a weight on his shoulders for the entire conversation that had only just been lifted. His voice was gentler when he spoke next, and was directed at both Alfred and Bruce. 'Thank you.'

If Bruce were any less polite, he would have snapped: 'This isn't for you, I'm going this for the child you're abandoning.' But he was brought up with manners and restraint, so instead he acknowledged the expression of gratitude with a humble nod of his head. Alfred chose to pretend he hadn't heard.

Douglas' gaze turned to the daughter he had just given away, and he faltered. He took a cautious step forward, towards the baby, and he was suddenly in reaching distance. His hand lifted and crept near the sleeping child, then hovered next to her. Softly, he rested his hand against her warm, rosy cheek and stayed that way for a while, staring down at her with an expressionless face.

Then he was retreating, patting down his clothes as though looking for something. 'I really must be off,' he said, clearing his throat. 'It was lovely meeting you, Bruce.'

'You too, uncle Douglas.' Bruce replied falsely.

Douglas turned to Alfred then and continued, 'And Alfred: it's always a pleasure.' He paused for a moment, before adding quietly, 'Look after her for me, old friend.'

'I will,' Alfred reassured, if a little reluctantly. It was Alfred's turn to hesitate then, before the older man enquired, 'Would you like to keep in touch? Even just talking to her over the phone—when she learns to talk, that is—will save your daughter a lot of heartache and questions later on in life.'

Douglas paused for far too long. When he did answer, he stumbled over his words, flustered. 'Well, I, I—I guess, but then, oh—Well, I don't see, see the harm.'

'Good, if I could just write down your number—'

'Oh, no,' Douglas was loud in his protest. 'There's no need for that, I've got yours. I'll phone you later on tonight to see how things have gone. But now I really must be going.'

Douglas was by the door now, and Alfred just sighed at his response. 'Well, then, I'll see you to the front door.'

'No,' Douglas insisted. 'I'll see myself out. I know where the door is.'

He took one last, lingering look around the room, his eyes straying from Alfred, to Bruce, then to his daughter. He stared long and hard, then breathed in deeply. 'Goodbye.' He whispered, and Bruce and Alfred knew the farewell wasn't for either of them. Douglas then turned, and walked through the open doorway and out of sight.

He didn't look back.

There was a stifling stillness in the sitting room after Douglas' abrupt exit, broken minutes later by a disheartened shake of Alfred's head and a snarl in the direction Douglas had flown from.

'Fool.'

And then there was another pause in the room.

Bruce was the one to uncover the blanket of silence next, and when he spoke, his voice was small, uncertain. It wasn't the voice of Bruce Wayne, owner of a multi-billion dollar company, the voice he had used on his incompetent uncle; he was just a little lost boy once more.

'Do you think he'll phone, Alfred?'

Alfred turned to face his young Master and was left winded at the childish innocence etched on Bruce's face. His smile was small, but optimistic. The older man realised he hadn't seen that look since the day of his parents death, and didn't have the heart to tell him the truth. 'I'm sure he will, Master Bruce. I'm sure he will.'

Satisfied with his friends answer, Bruce cradled the sleeping child closer to him.

Bruce watched Alfred run his hands through his greying hair and straighten his immaculate uniform, and knew from their close relationship that the actions were clear signals that Alfred felt out of his depth. Alfred cleared his throat, another nervous habit of his, then spoke. 'I must get supplies for her.' He held out his hands towards Bruce. 'Allow me, Master.'

Bruce held his cousin closer and shook his head. 'No. I want to hold her.'

'Please, Master Bruce, she needs—'

'—a name!' Bruce finished, his eyes alight with excitement. He flopped down on the couch that matched the patterned armchair beside it, jolting the child awake. She gave a loud, startled cry.

'Hush,' Bruce placated. 'We're going to give you a name now.'

The baby settled at his cooing voice.

'Master Bruce.' Alfred warned.

Bruce ignored him. 'Think of some girl names, Alfred. And they have to be pretty names.' Bruce pursed his lips. 'Natalie? No, you're not a Natalie. Adele? No, not pretty enough.'

He heard his butler sigh, conceding to his Master's wishes. 'What about Margaret?' He supplied.

Bruce's face scrunched up in distaste, and he gave Alfred a reprimanding look, as if to say he wasn't taking the situation seriously enough. 'Margaret? She's not a hundred years old, Alfred. No, you'll have to try harder.'

'Well, then, what about Matilda?'

Bruce's eyes raised to the ceiling, contemplating the name, then shook his head. 'No.'

'No? Why not?'

'It just... doesn't suit her. Amanda?'

'No, Master Bruce, I've never been a fan of that name, personally.'

'Your right, me too.' Bruce's teeth pulled on his bottom lip as he thought. He gazed at the child, squinting his eyes. A pretty name. That's what she needed. A pretty, but simple name. Like her. 'Hannah?' He whispered softly, and the girl's heavy lidded eyes shot to his face. Bruce smiled then. 'Hannah. Hannah Wayne.' Bruce turned to Alfred for his opinion, but he had all ready decided. Her name would be Hannah Wayne, and she would become the sibling Bruce had always wanted.

Alfred was smiling gently at the child, the lines of his face softened. He nodded in agreement. 'Miss Hannah Wayne. Pretty, simple, yet memorable. It's the perfect name for her, Master Bruce.'

They grinned at each other, their moods lightened, when an ear-piercing cry erupted from Hannah. Bruce leapt to his feet in a panic, and the rushed words left his mouth before he could register their meaning, 'I didn't do anything, I swear—'

Alfred let out a bark of laughter. 'I've got this funny feeling I'll be hearing that a lot from you over the next couple of years. Hand her over, if you will, Master.'

This time Bruce let Hannah go willingly. The moment she left his arms his hands flew to his abused ears. He couldn't fathom how such a small thing could cause such a powerful noise. Had he honestly thought she was quiet?

Alfred cradled her fragile body over his shoulder and lightly patted her back. He made cooing noises in the back of his throat and swayed back and forth, but it did nothing to lessen her wailing.

'Alfred, it's not working, what are you—?'

He was cut off by a burp. Then there was silence.

Blissful silence.

Bruce warily dropped his hands from his delicate ears.

Alfred seemed thoroughly pleased with himself as he lifted Hannah off his shoulder and settled her warmly into his practised embrace. He raised a challenging eyebrow at the younger boy. 'Are you sure you're up to this, Master Bruce? It's only going to get harder.' Alfred warned.

Bruce took in Hannah's softened features and heavy eyelids. Alfred was right. It was going to be very difficult with a baby around, but he wanted her there with them. 'I want to hold her again.'

Once she was back in his arms, Hannah immediately curled into him.

Bruce decided she would be worth any hardship.

He sat down again as Alfred murmered, mostly to himself, 'I should really go and get some supplies for her now—she's going to need so much; food, clothes, somewhere to sleep. We should still have your old cot somewhere. I'll get the maids to run into the city right away.' He backed towards the door. 'Will you be okay with her by yourself? I shouldn't be too long.'

Bruce smiled in reassurance. 'We'll be fine.'

As Alfred turned to leave, Bruce called out to him. 'Wait.'

'Yes, Master Bruce?'

Bruce couldn't look the loyal butler in the eyes. He was afraid at what he might find there. 'Are... are you mad? That I want to keep Hannah.'

Alfred was quiet. Bruce, fearing the worst, glanced up at him, but felt more at ease when he saw the smile that stretched across Alfred's face. 'Can't say I'm not surprised. And in shock.' He started, thoughtful. 'But it was a very kind thing of you to do, Master Bruce. I'm proud of you. Besides, I've missed you being that small. It'll be nice to have a baby in the house again. Makes it feel like more of a home, wouldn't you say?'

Bruce smiled, grateful to have the wonderful man before him.

Alfred hovered by the door for a moment longer. 'All right, I shouldn't be long.' He repeated. He found the doorknob and pulled the door shut after his retreating form. The door clicked shut and Bruce listened for the butler's footsteps as they faded down the hallway.

Bruce waited a minute longer, then when he could finally convince himself that Alfred was not coming back any time soon, the dam of tears he had kept at bay since he first glanced into his uncle's eyes burst forth. He sobbed over the child in his arms, tremors viciously racking his small frame, and he rocked his body backwards and forwards. He stuck his thumb in his mouth because he didn't know how else to quieten his keening.

It wasn't fair. He couldn't get a moments peace from the consuming pain, and the meeting with his uncle today had only torn at the wound that had barely begun to heal. Bruce whimpered around his thumb, and his breathing stuttered for a moment as he gasped for breath. Those eyes. For a short time he had actually believed his father had been standing before him, alive, and it felt like he had lost him all over again when he remembered. Even after two years the guilt still weighed heavily on his weak shoulders and it wore him down.

And that bastard gets to live, safe and comfortable behind bars without a care in the world. Unaware, or more likely, uncaring to the unfixable damaged he had caused to one little boy.

A cry broke through his mournful haze and his weeping came to an abrupt halt. He opened his eyes and stared at the crying baby enfolded in his arms. Bruce took a couple of steadying breaths, his throat raw and aching, and gently shushed the child in his arms.

Bruce swayed her with a gentleness he didn't know he possessed. 'I'm sorry,' he choked out, 'I didn't mean to make you cry.' His sobbing had ceased, but tears continued to escape his tired eyes. Hannah began to quieten at the low rumble of his voice. 'It's okay,' he whispered for himself as much as for her. 'It's okay.' They stared into each other's damp eyes, and Hannah muttered another little, 'Ah.' The light was back in her eyes and Bruce smiled tenderly.

'It's okay. We have each other now.'

A/N: This is a Crane/OC/Scarecrow pairing, for those who haven't figured it out yet. This is just me tinkering around with my version of Jonathan Crane, and I'm already having a lot of fun. I'm actually really excited about this fanfiction since I'm a huge fan of Batman. Also, please take note of the rating, things will get steamy later on, and the story will get a lot darker.

I should also mention this trilogy is going to take place over Nolan's entire Batman trilogy. So the Joker and Bane will be making appearances.

If you actually managed to get to the bottom of this page, well bloody done! Please review, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

-imagineyourownworld