Discovering Batman

Discovering Sarah Dawson

Before you truly discover someone else, you should have discovered yourself.

My discovery of myself began when I was 16 - the day after my birthday, actually. My life turned upside down as I ran to the window after I heard a gunshot, the telling sign. I became an orphan at 16 years old. I watched blood trickle down my dear father's face as he gripped onto mother's hand, lips pressed against her forehead for just one last goodbye, one last I love you, dear. His last words rang through the house, begging my older brother, Chad, to protect me. Something my brother had failed to do, sadly. In his defense, he was only a child himself, really. He had turned 19 just three months before. Still a teenager, still a kid, unable to take care of someone yet, especially as he was torn apart with his own grief. Still, my father begged him in his dying moments, my mother already gone.

They shot her right in the heart and she died within seconds. My father suffered a painful death, watching his wife die and his children enter a life of danger while he was lifeless on the ground.

Three days later, I was sent to my first foster home, my brother off to the Ivy League College that had already accepted him just a week before. Our parents were so proud. He was determined to make a new life and forget about the trauma that we had experienced. He forgot that there was once a we, that we were once a team, and he forged on ahead, landing a job at a prestigious company while his sister  went from home to home, just wanting to be loved.

Perhaps that was why I related so much to Bruce, why we hit it off so quickly. Unknown to the billionaire/superhero, we had a very similar life, despite him being surrounded by fortune and fame. We had both watched our parents die right in front of us, we had both been thrown into that horrible life. I suppose we both became superheroes of sorts in our own way. He chose the most drastic route, I chose the most subtle.

All we wanted to do was help those that had experienced the same hurt and comfort them, but it seems as though our trying, our help, only hurt us and the ones closest to us even more.

I woke up with my head on the chest of a hurt man, trying his best to hide the truth. We were two very similar people with very dark pasts and terrifying futures, but something told me that together, we would make life work in the end, even if we died trying.

I nudged his shoulder with my own as I sat up, dark brown orbs suddenly looking into mine with fear in the depths until he realized where he was and who he was with. Looks like Batman has a small case of PTSD. Nothing I was unfamiliar with. "It's just me, Bruce." My voice came out as a murmur, trying not to frighten him any further. He sat up slowly and I cringed at the sound of his muscles cracking. His hand flew to his back, face in a grimace.

"Couches aren't the best for bad backs." He remarked as he stood up, seeming more comfortable as he glanced around the large room. "No, I wouldn't imagine that they would be."

He grabbed for our trash and empty bowls on the table but I stopped him for a moment, attempting to get a read on his emotions. "Bruce...about last night-" "I need to talk to you about that. You know you can't, you can't tell a soul. If someone found out, Sarah, we'd both be in danger." He said, taking off towards the kitchen with the things from the table as I followed.

"I won't tell anyone. I appreciate everything you've done for me and I owe this to you. If you need me to keep a secret...I'll do it." I wanted so badly to ask him for help...my parent's murderers had never been found and were still somewhere on this earth. Perhaps, with Batman's genius and my information, we could find them...I bit my tongue until later, though. Something told me that it needed to wait until later. I'd broach the topic soon, but now wasn't the time.

"Thank you." He uttered, hand wiping over his tired face. His neck was sporting more pink scars than it was on our breakfast "date" and I wondered how many new ones he got on a normal night. How many people plotted to kill him on a daily basis? Imagining my new friend at the hands of such insane people tore at me and made me sick to my stomach. He deserved so much but it seemed like the world kept throwing so much bad at him, so much heartache. How much more could the man possibly take before he cracked?

My mind went back to Harvey Dent, a man who had so much but according to so many, he had melted under the pressure so quickly. No one knew the truth of that night, but something inside me told me that there was something not right with the man. Bruce wouldn't have killed anyone. Would he eventually melt? How could he stand so many people hating him at one time?

"Don't think too hard, Sarah. We don't want your head to blow up." He remarked, a smirk easily overtaking his worn face. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I've been living this lifestyle for years now and I haven't died yet. My biggest concern now is keeping you and Alfred safe."

"What about Gothom?" After all, didn't he start this adventure because of the city?

"Gothom City is important, but not as important as the people closest to me." I could tell he was uncomfortable with the topic, so I let it drop as he murmured his last words. "I started this because of my parents death, I don't know if I can possibly bare seeing another person die like that, like Rachel and my parents...Gothom is a city. I won't let my family and friends suffer like that again."