Ladies and Gents, welcome to the newly revised and rewritten 'There are No Heroes in Gotham.' I do hope you enjoy your romp, and do keep in mind that some changes will be very minor, but others... This is a Nolanesque Batman in a cartoon Justice League universe. I do hope you will enjoy, and I also own nothing. For those of you that want to avoid rereading the entire thing, basically chapters two and three are the major ones you want to make sure to go through.

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The sound of laughter filled the air, causing a woman to look up from what she was doing, a soft smile tugging on her lips in response. She turned her head, following the sound as it trailed from room to room in the overly large manor. An older man raised his head from where he was busy straightening the silken bed linens, the slightest of smiles meeting her own.

The door burst open suddenly and a small boy ran up to them, red sheet flowing behind him as he laughed and jumped. The boy giggled as his mother rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, mock glaring at him as the older man tried to catch the red and blue clad whirlwind as he leaped from one furnishing to another.

"You can't catch me! I'm Superman; I'm faster than a speeding bullet!" The boy shouted out, laughing as he swooped between the black clad arms as they tried to close around him.

"Be that as it may, sir, even Superman would have more regard for the furniture; please stop your jumping." The British accented voice was staunch and proper, the smallest tick of his lips belying his amusement. "Also, I believe I asked you to bring the sheet, not wear it."

"But I needed a cape – I can't be Superman without a cape!" the boy giggled before launching himself up onto the bed, sending pillows and blankets scattering. "Here you go Alfred!" A wide grin spread across his face, black hair sticking up everywhere. Alfred Pennyworth took one look at the mess and raised a single eyebrow.

"Very good, Master Bruce, but I believe that you are now going to help me remake it." His crossed arms and the eyebrows hovering over piercing blue eyes caused the beaming smile to wilt. Blue-clad arms were crossed in front of the small boy's chest as he pouted up at him, hazel eyes widening innocently.

"Aw, do I have to?" The quiet whine was as much teasing as it was earnest. It was at that moment that Martha Wayne walked forward quietly, heels tapping on the floor in a way that demanded attention. Both of them looked over to her automatically, the tall, beautiful woman who gave them both a look before examining her son.

"I believe that Superman always fixes his messes." His smile was instant and Bruce straightened up automatically, saluting her proudly, too large blue pajamas flopping over his hands and feet before removing the red sheet tied around his neck.

"Here you go, Alfred, would you like for me to get all the pillows?" He asked, holding the sheet out to the stoic butler.

"That would be wonderful, Master Bruce."

Martha traded a brief look with the elderly man, before holding out a pearl necklace to him, turning around as he placed it around her neck.

"How does it look Alfred?" She asked, the red dress perfectly framing her elegant form, the skirt fanning out slightly as she spun.

"As lovely as ever."

"Thank you. You think Thomas will like it?"

"Honestly, and if you don't mind me saying so, if he does not like it, then I believe he should have his vision checked." The words stated in his usual elegant fashion made her giggle.

"Thank you, Alfred; your input is, as always, appreciated. I have to go now, Bruce."

"Do you have to, Mommy?"

"Oh, Bruce, you know I do. I'm sorry that I have to go so early, but I promise I'll be home later tonight." Martha watched as the small boy seemed to deflate slowly, before brightening.

"Alright, Mommy, have fun." He smiled up at her then, and she smiled in turn, a tug on her heart reminding her to make sure to spend more time with him later. It really wasn't fair to their son. Gotham needed to be kicked into gear, but not at the expense of her son's happiness… She would have to speak to Thomas about it.

"I will."

With a kiss on her son's cheek, she left them alone, off into the world of parties and charities that a philanthropist was expected to attend, but her heart wasn't in it. It hadn't been in it for a while.

Gotham was decaying and as hard as she tried to kick the high society minds into gear, it never seemed to happen.

The five year old boy looked up at the man standing there in his neat suit and bowtie and offered up the pillows he had gathered. "Here you go, Alfred."

"Thank you, sir. If you give me a moment I shall finish making this bed and then I shall make you breakfast."

Bruce waited quietly, mind a million miles away, his head lowered and his mouth in a small frown.

"Sir, is there something wrong?" Alfred didn't watch the boy as he plumped the pillows and spread the blanket on the bed neatly, tucking in the corners. He had learned that Bruce did not often wish to speak about what he was feeling. When it came to himself he was a quiet boy, often internalizing himself and refusing to say a word about whatever it was that was bothering him. He had also learned that sometimes the best way to pry something out of him was to offer a question, and then leave him alone.

Alfred watched out of the corner of his eye as Bruce hesitated, remaining quiet for a moment, his mouth squiggling at the corners as he fought with whatever it was he wanted to say. For a moment he thought he had him, until the fight in his eyes vanished and hazel eyes turned up to look at him with a pleading expression. "I can't be Superman without a cape, Alfred; can you help me find another one?"

The butler refrained from prying more into the real reasons behind the young master's distress and answered calmly. "Only after your breakfast, young sir, and then, only after you have changed your clothes."

"Oh, alriiight…" he whined, stamping his foot once in a rare display of sarcastic temper and ran off to change.

There were times when he was such a quiet boy.

Alfred often wished that he wasn't.

…..

Bruce entered the kitchen happily, walking up to the marble counter in the center of the room, and the stool stationed under it with the familiarity of one who did so often. Shoving the stool back he climbed up, just as Alfred placed a bowl of cereal, a glass of orange juice, and a grapefruit in front of him.

"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce beamed up at him then frowned down at the grapefruit. A moment later a sprinkling of sugar coated the top of it and the wide smile was back. He had been about to reach for the sugar, but the Butler was always ahead of him.

"My pleasure, sir."

He munched his breakfast contentedly, Alfred moving around the kitchen with an ease that spoke of endless familiarity. For a while, neither of them said a word, Alfred content to wash the dishes and straighten the kitchen in peace, Bruce too busy with his breakfast. A moment later and Alfred gave a brief noise of recognition. The television in the corner was flicked on and turned to the news, the knowledge that the fight from last night would still be the talk of the morning. Sure enough, Superman was televised for the world to see, fighting against the recent villain as Lois Lane reported.

Bruce ate his breakfast at first with studious calm and focus. As the fight went on, reporters discussing it calmly he continued to lean forward. By the time a minute had passed, he was leaning forward, spoon hanging from his mouth forgotten, hazel eyes wide, and a smile pulling up a corner of his mouth. Alfred paused in his washing of the dishes, turned and examined the small boy quietly for a moment, before plucking the spoon from his mouth and cleaning up the boy's breakfast dishes.

A loud "Whoop!" nearly made him drop them. Bruce punched the air in joy, miming the blow that sent the villain of the week (in this case, someone that would likely destroy the entire Earth if left alone) to the ground, a crater opening up under him. Alfred recovered as easily as though he had never fumbled, calmly finishing the washing of the dishes before smiling over at the young man who had finally jumped from his stool and was doing a victory lap around the kitchen.

"Well, someone's excited; I didn't know you liked my company that much…"

Alfred looked up to meet the smile of a girl who was often in the manor lately, fourteen years old with brown hair and a pair of beautiful brown eyes, Rachel Dawes. She was the baby sitter/playmate that the Waynes often hired. Her mother worked in the manor and she herself would help the family when summer came. She enjoyed hanging out with the boy a lot; he was smarter and more controlled than most in his age group. This was one of the reasons he had so little friends, but the money was definitely another reason. Even among the private school students, the Wayne family name was legendary. When Alfred had work to do and Bruce needed to be taken through the grounds she would pop up. She was trustworthy, friendly, and someone Bruce adored.

The small boy froze, whirled around and grinned at her before moving over to give her a tight hug, one she returned easily. "Superman won!"

"Of course he did, shorty, he always wins!" Rachel laughed, smiling at him and ruffling his hair. "So, do you want to come with me? I found something neat in the garden…"

Bruce paused and then nodded vigorously, following after her hurriedly, brown trouser-covered legs pumping to reach her longer strides. She led him to one of the garden patches, smiling at him and crouching down to point it out. An arrowhead, old, obviously just uncovered, and the fourteen year old girl grinned at him widely. A moment later, before Bruce could truly examine it closely, a hand shot out and she ran away laughing, the arrowhead clutched tightly in her hand.

"Finders keepers!" She giggled, oftentimes the only way to get the younger one out of his shell was to basically shove him out and Rachel was quite willing to do it.

"Hey!" Bruce shouted out, running after her quickly, chasing her through the vast gardens and into the nearby greenhouse, looking around for her everywhere. The cluttered area was filled with all sorts of plants, pots, and various gardening equipment on tables. But there was no sign of Rachel. He listened closely, finally hearing the clatter of something from under one of the rickety tables. He hurriedly ran to it, crouching down to look at her.

"Rachel, let me see!"

"Alright…" She held it out for him, only to have it be snatched from her hand, her earlier words tossed in her face as he ran as fast as he could away from her. Rachel followed, yelling: "You sneak," after his retreating back. He was honestly a lot faster than he looked, Rachel admitted to herself quietly, trying to catch up to him. He turned a corner, vanishing from sight for a moment.

Bruce had found a place to hide, scrambling up behind rocks as he peaked over them. He failed to notice the rotting boards under him. The wood crumbled underneath him and Bruce had a moment of shock, before he was falling, down, down, down into the dark. He landed with a thud, a white-hot poker of pain stabbing up his arm, his mind going blank.

His thoughts were muddled, his rocky and damp surroundings barely registered, the only light coming from the well opening above him. He could barely hear the sound of Rachel shouting his name. He called up to her, telling her to go get Alfred, and then she was gone, leaving him alone in the dark.

He didn't know how long he was down there before he heard it. Bruce slowly looked to the side, staring into the dark, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light slowly. He could feel a breeze coming he noticed, even as his body tensed and his palms began to sweat, his breath slowly starting to catch in his throat. There was an opening in the rock right next to him, and something was coming. Something was coming and he didn't know what it was, but he could hear it, rustling and chattering.

Next thing he knew he was surrounded. Winged something's burst out from the crevice, their wild attempts to get out and away from what had disturbed them translating to panic. Bruce didn't know what was happening; all he knew was that they were everywhere. They were in his hair, brushing up against his arms as he tried to keep them away from his face. Teeth, claws, leathery wings, all things that would haunt his nightmares, and as they continued to pour forth into the light, Bruce fell back into the dark.

He didn't know how long he was lying there, unable to move and unable to truly process what was happening, before he heard something else. Bruce looked up into the worried face of someone unexpected. Thomas Wayne had rappelled into the abandoned well and was currently locked in place.

"Bruce…" he said softly, "It's going to be okay." He reached out, his son gripping his hand with his good arm, relief and happiness flooding through him.

"It's going to be okay," was repeated as he was pulled up to his father's warm chest and they were hoisted out of the well. Thomas carried his son to the manor, Alfred constantly by his side as they walked silently. Rachel and her mother were waiting for them, Rachel in tears as she looked at the boy she was supposed to take care of.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Wayne… I'm so sorry…"

"Don't worry, it's fine." Thomas looked at her quietly, his eyes conveying he would talk to her later, but he understood. There were many things in the manor and the grounds, many, many places to get hurt. Bruce would be fine.

As they passed, Rachel felt something pressed into her hand, when she looked she saw it was the arrowhead that had started the whole mess to begin with.

They were passed as Bruce was carried into the manor, Alfred quietly commenting, "Took a nasty fall, didn't we, Master Bruce?"

"Yes, and why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up." His father's words were accompanied by a smile, and Bruce relaxed.

When Martha Wayne arrived a few minutes later and hurriedly inquired as to how her son was doing, Bruce Wayne couldn't have been happier. Yet as the night came and he lay in bed sleeping, images of bats came swarming into his mind, and sent him bolt upright in panic. These nightmares were slowly turning into a regular occurrence. Yet as each possible nightmare loomed in his future, Bruce would smile, curl up slightly and almost wish the nightmares to come, for whenever they did, his father would always be there.