Death of a Hero

Part Two: Nightmares

Bruce didn't remember the rest of the fight; nor did he remember much of the following week. The days that followed came in waves of blurred memory and too much alcohol.

That is; until the funeral.

That day he remembered vividly.

Bruce remembered the hushed whispers and glazed over faces of his friends and the strangers who he'd heard Clark talk about fondly while discussing their personal lives. He remembered the dark skies and rain that followed them to the cemetery, which had been unusual weather for summer in Metropolis; as if the city itself was in mourning alongside them.

Mostly, Bruce remembered the burning he felt in his chest and in his carefully bandaged knuckles, which had collided angrily with his bathroom mirror that morning. He remembered how the glass had shattered and the dripping blood had contrasted starkly against the white marble sink; and his own splintered reflection staring back at him as he finally came to terms with the reality that this wasn't some horrid nightmare he could wake up from.

After the funeral, all he could do was remember; and that's when the nightmares really began.

The Batman had never been so active in Gotham City. Bruce poured every waking moment into his work, whether it be at Wayne Enterprises or on the streets of Gotham, whatever it took to keep his mind occupied and his eyes open.

When sleep did finally reach him, it was fleeting; always interrupted by the memories of that day. Each time he'd fall asleep, the dreams became increasingly warped; growing more and more twisted and haunting until Bruce could no longer remember which version was real and which was a vision fed by his own guilt.

The first time it had happened, he had gathered quite the crowd of his worried family at his bedroom door, which only added to his already guilty conscience. Though, as time went on, the nightly screams that echoed through the manor became commonplace. Still, whenever it did happen, it was never long before Dick or Alfred quietly slipped into the room and sat with him until the sun rose.

There had been one night of peaceful sleep, however. One night where the nightmares hadn't reached him. Instead, he dreamt of a different life; one that was bright and simple, and with Clark.

It was a nice life, he decided.

Bruce woke up in the morning to a cold, empty bed and a house that was far too big; and all at once, a violent sob ripped through him and he found himself crying for the first time since that day.

Bruce also decided that this dream had been the worst one yet.