Chapter Text
Bruce had the faintest memories of his eighth birthday. He remembered how excited he'd been, how his parents and Alfred had made it so special for him. There had been vanilla cake and he'd gotten the Gray Ghost figurine that he'd wanted. A prefect day for any eight year old troublemaker — the fact that his soulmate didn't write back hadn't bothered him after Alfred explained that his soulmate was probably younger than him.
Eleven days later, he had gotten his first writing from them. He remembered being a tad upset that his soulmate didn't know about the Gray Ghost or Star Trek but then got excited because he could teach them all about it.
They never exchanged names or genders for some reason, happy to scribble about their day or make drawings for each other. It had easily been the most exciting months of his life — his soulmate was a comforting and constant presence in his life, his mom and dad were spending some more time with him...
... Then his parents got shot. He could remember some things with startling clarity and not others. He remembered the sound of the gunshots, the sound of his moms pearls hitting the concrete, the sound of his parents bodies hitting the floor too. The smell of blood mixing with the damp and grimy smell of the alley, the feeling of his moms cooling skin and the limpness of his dads hand. The feeling of Alfred gathering him close in a warm and protective embrace is something he'd never forget.
Their blood had splattered on him that night... He knew it showed up on his soulmates skin because his arms were covered in worried scribbles that Bruce had no energy to reply to.
Every day they would ask how he was or what happened and every day Bruce would ignore them.
He felt broken after what he'd seen, too broken for the ray of sunshine that was his soulmate. He'd lost his childlike innocence and wonder with his parents that night...
He punished himself in various ways before he found his purpose...he often wondered if his soulmate had gotten the bruises and if the lipstick on his skin had transferred too. They never said anything about it, perhaps their bond had been too weakened by his inactivity by then.
He didn't like the thought of his soulmate being hurt, but he convinced himself that this was better for them both over the years. His soulmate was obviously normal, with their lack of injuries... He'd only bring his enemies into their life and make them miserable.
It was safer for his soulmate if it stayed like this.
He kept telling himself that every night he put on his playboy persona or went out as Batman at night... Or when he was alone, knowing in his heart that his soulmate would chase away his loneliness. They had been so kind to him, too kind...
Bruce didn't know if he had any kindness or softness to give back to them.