Ch: 9 [Waking up]
AN: Alright guys, this is the end of mass release. I will slow down a little. Need to stockpile, then I will do another mass release.
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[Wayne Manor]
Bruce opened his eyes, but this ti, it wasn't the darkness of a spectral realm that greeted him. Instead, he found himself surrounded by the soft, warm light of a familiar room. It took a mont for his senses to fully return, but as they did, he beca acutely aware of his body.
He could feel the sensation of lying on a comfortable bed, the softness of the sheets beneath him, and the warmth of sunlight streaming through the curtains. It was a sensation he hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity.
As he slowly sat up, he realized he was no longer trapped in the spectral form that had plagued him for so long. His body felt real and tangible, and he could move freely.
Confusion and disorientation washed over him as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. It was like waking up from a deep and endless dream.
"Where... am I?" Bruce mumbled, his voice hoarse from disuse.
The room around him began to co into focus. He recognized the familiar decor of Wayne Manor. It was his room, his ho. But sothing felt different, as if he had been away for a long ti.
He tried to move his body, but it felt sluggish and heavy, as if he hadn't used it in ages. With great effort, he managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand on shaky feet, but he imdiately collapsed back onto the mattress, exhausted from the simple act.
"Shit! How long was I out?" He wondered as his eyes fell on the large mirror before his eyes. The last ti he saw himself in the mirror was when he was only 8 years old... Now, he is 18... 10 years have passed since then.
He stared at his reflection, taking in the changes that had occurred during his unconsciousness. His body was taller but sowhat thinner than before, his muscles less defined. His facial features were also different, more mature, and refined. Yet, despite these differences, he could still recognize the boy he once was in his newfound appearance.
He tried to get up, but he had no energy left in his body after using it for the first ti after 10 years.
"Mom... Dad... Alfred... Anyone..." He tried to call for help but his throat was parched and dry, making it difficult for him to speak.
'Fuck! I thought it was just a few days tops... But here, years have passed,' Bruce thought.
He lay there on the floor helplessly as exhaustion slowly claid him, dragging him back into the cold embrace of darkness.
Bruce's consciousness slipped away once more as fatigue overtook him. It had been a long and bewildering journey, waking up from a coma after a decade of being trapped in a spectral state. He had so many questions, and the world around him had undoubtedly changed during his absence.
In his unconscious state, he dreamt of fleeting mories from his past, of his family, and of the events leading up to his fateful coma. But the dreams were fragnted, like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together.
Ti passed slowly, and as he drifted in and out of consciousness, he could faintly hear voices around him. He couldn't make out the words, but the presence of others gave him a glimr of hope that he was not alone.
Gradually, his strength began to return, well, at least enough to open his eyes.
Bruce's eyes slowly fluttered open, and as his vision cleared, he saw the familiar faces of his parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne, sitting by his bedside. Their expressions were a mix of relief and concern as they watched their son wake up after a decade-long coma.
"Mom... Dad..." He croaked, his voice still weak and raspy.
Martha's eyes welled up with tears as she leaned forward, gently cupping his cheek in her hand. "Oh, Bruce, you're awake," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.
Thomas reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We've been waiting for this mont for so long, son," he said, his voice filled with warmth.
Bruce managed a weak smile, overwheld by the emotions that washed over him. It felt like a dream to see his parents again after all these years.
Beside his parents, he noticed two lady doctors, both with relieved expressions. One of them checked his vital signs while the other took notes on a clipboard.
"You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Wayne," one of the doctors said with a smile. "But it's good to see you awake."
Bruce tried to sit up.
"Now, now, take it easy, Master Bruce," ca a familiar and comforting voice. It was Alfred.
He listened to Alfred's advice and reclined back onto the bed, realizing just how weak he was. It was as though his body had forgotten how to function after a decade of disuse.
Alfred stepped closer to the bed, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and concern. "It's a miracle that you've awakened after all these years," he said softly. "We feared the worst, but you've proven to be as resilient as ever."
Bruce nodded weakly, his gaze shifting between Alfred and his parents. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many gaps in his mory that needed to be filled.
"What happened? How long was I out?" He asked in a low voice.
Martha squeezed Bruce's hand gently, her expression filled with concern. "You were in a coma for ten years, sweetheart," she replied. "A burglar shot you in Cri Alley, almost killing you. We brought you ho and called for the best doctors and specialists, but even they couldn't explain why you wouldn't wake up."
Bruce rembered everything clearly now. He could recall the terrifying encounter in Cri Alley vividly, and the pain of being shot. It was a wound that nearly cost him his life, and thanks to his bulletproof vest he survived, but the bullet that stuck his neck caused him to lose too much blood and knocked him unconscious...
He listened to his parents' explanation, his mind trying to process the fact that he had been in a coma for an entire decade. The mories of that fateful night in Cri Alley ca flooding back, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and relief that he was still alive.
"What about Joe Chill and the Thorne?" he asked, glancing at his father's face.
[Flashback]
Thomas Wayne's face contorted with a mixture of rage and sadness as he stood in a dimly lit, underground chamber. The room was filled with the muffled sounds of distant screams and the acrid stench of desperation. In front of him, bound and bloodied, were Joe Chill and Rupert Thorne, the n responsible for the attack on his family a decade ago.
The flickering light from a single overhead bulb cast eerie shadows on their faces, accentuating the fear etched in their eyes.
"You thought you could take everything from ," Thomas growled, his voice low and filled with a cold intensity. "You thought you could end our lives and get away with it. But I'm still here."
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