DC Oneshots

A Ghost From the Past

A Ghost From the Past

Frost spikes hung off the windowsill like the fingers of some phantom ghost clawing to get into the church. The world outside was a moonscape of white, not unlike back home. Bruce much preferred the loud, unpredictable streets of Gotham, to the quiet, surreal cornfields of Smallville. Everything seemed too perfect, like a Thomas Kinkade painting come to life. In the distance, Christmas lights twinkled like fallen stars on the landscape. Bruce Wayne balanced his head on one hand and looked at all the happy folk in the church with an air of boredom. On one end of the church, Gothamites sat stiffly in their shiny city garb all fiddling with their expensive phones. On the other side, the locals chattered like irksome birds in the morning, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the bride-to-be. A little redheaded girl waved jollily at him from a few booths ahead of him. Bruce glared back at her and she shrieked and looked away.

"Bruce, you'll never get a girlfriend if you scare every eligible girl away," Father chuckled heartily. Bruce was not amused by his gest.

Bruce wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I don't want a girlfriend," he hissed. "Girls have cooties," he explained in the same reasonable tone one might use when explaining the evolution of humankind. The toddler sitting in the pew next to the Waynes, eyed Bruce with big, wide, curious blue eyes, not unlike his own. Bruce glared at him and dared the other boy to say a peep.

"Cooties are an urban legend," Mama smiled amusedly at her son's innocence.

Bruce frowned in confusion at his parents. He did not understand what an urban legend was, but it sounded insulting, so he retorted, "You're an urban legend!"

Mama and Father shared conspicuous smiles, and Bruce couldn't help feeling he was being left out of an inside joke. He sensed the same girl from earlier eyeing him with newfound curiosity. She waved again, and this time blew him a kiss. Two pink dots appeared on his pale cheeks. He buried himself deeper between his parents, thankful to them for hiding him from the worst monster to ever walk the Earth: Girls.

"Mama, I want to go home," Bruce announced. "I miss Alfred." It was two weeks till Christmas and Bruce was stuck at a lame wedding when he should have been at home helping Alfred with the decorations. If he closed his eyes he could smell pine trees, the scent of Christmas. And then he realized the whole town smelled like Christmas, and his mood soured. It only reminded him of the fun he was missing out on.

"Alfred will be there waiting for you when we get back," Mama said, leaning over and fixing Bruce's bowtie that had gone askew. Bruce's throat tightened and his lip trembled. He thought twice about crying when he saw the younger boy staring at him as if he were waiting for something exciting to happen. Bruce swallowed down his disappointment. He refused to cry in a room full of so many strangers, and certainly not in front of a big baby. He just wanted the comforts of home, was that too much to ask? Everyone was way too chipper and friendly in Smallville. His cheeks had already been pinched three times by the bride-to-be, and countless strangers. He was six years old-way past the coddling phase. His cheeks hurt from their needless picking.

"I want to go now!"

"Bruce," Father squeezed Bruce's knee in a warning. "You are making a scene son," he said through clenched teeth. "You are Wayne, behave like one." Bruce scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, sulking. He stopped complaining, but by gosh, he was going to let his parents know exactly how displeased he was with them. He didn't care if he was setting a bad example for the younger boy sitting next to them. Bruce didn't see why everyone was making such a big deal. So what? A few of dad's colleagues were tying the knot. Big whoop. He tied knots on his sneakers every day and didn't need an entourage to congratulate him. He did not understand what Miss Nora saw in Dr. Fries anyhow; he was an old fart with not a single funny bone in his body.