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Doctor Bruce Wayne proclaimed to be the best doctor that you could've found in Gotham.
When his parents died right in front of him, it was a horrible sight that no child could ever truly comprehend in their mind. Something broke in him. If he were a doctor just like his father, he would know what to do. He could at least try to slow down the process of death until anyone more competent could save them. If he were a doctor, he would know where all the important organs were, and he could've killed that bastard murderer. If only he had been just as smart as his daddy. His poor daddy and mommy are now lying deep inside the Gotham soil.
Bruce was an aggressive child who hated seeing all the happy kids with their happy parents walking around just existing. It led to so many fights between him and Alfred.
"Master Bruce, please calm down."
"No! I won't. Why couldn't I have what other children have? Why could everyone go home and have a warm meal of their mommy on the dinner table? I want to hug my dad after a long day at school! But I can't! It's not fair."
All the misery in a tiny body that could not contain it. So, Bruce punched all this anger into some bully's face. He got suspended, and Alfred couldn't just watch as his young master was going through it, so he signed him up with a psychiatrist. A nice woman who really tried her best, and she did help him through several years of therapy. His obsession with finding the answer to how to exist and function in this world was so simple. Become a doctor just like his daddy and become as charitable as his mama. If they weren't here with him anymore, then he would become a living shadow of their greatness.
He obtained a license much faster than his peers. Slightly because of his father's name, but more likely through his own skills and mind. How could he ever forget any of the knowledge when he was seeking it, never to forget what he could've done on that bloody night? He had already saved so many lives at the beginning, and each time he stood in the operating room, there was a ghost of his dad. Guiding him and being proud of him. And he could say the same for his mother when, once again, Wayne Enterprises made a substantial donation to the local orphanage.
But no matter how much he gave and gave, there was still a slight itch he couldn't scratch. He didn't even dare to acknowledge it because Bruce knew that if he did, he would realize it was much bigger for him to handle.
He is lonely.
It was only him and Alfred for much longer than it was him, mother, and father. Alfred tried to patch that invisible hole, but no matter how much he tried. The empty halls spoke another tale. Thus, it was until another day that Bruce could never forget, when he went to a circus to support it, and in a moment, the whole circus was filled not with screams of joy, but with panic. In all the cacophonies, Bruce could only see a little boy. On his knees and crying over his parents. As he ran towards them, he did everything to prevent the tragedy.
If the parents are truly dead, how could a small boy live in this world in any capacity? He would have a life of misery, of vengeance, of regret. The news would know him only for that tragedy, even if he succeeded at anything else. But at the same time, everyone will forget and remember, they will remind him in casual talk about the weather, and he could only smile and not try to break down in his own misery. That little boy... deep down in a cruel fate, forever intertwined with him.
Raising Dick, as he could've expected, is hard. His first week in the manor was bitter. He was closed off and didn't talk, and the only conversation that they had was when Dick was screaming and blaming the parents' death on Bruce. Why couldn't he save his parents?
The guilt was eating him alive, and the weight on his shoulders was crushing him, yet he knew that the same weight was killing Dick inside. His anger was inside, burning him alive, and the need to blame someone for that misery was the only thing that could dull it, even for one moment.
Their relationship changed when he saw Dick standing in front of a huge painting. The painting of a happy family. He didn't turn around when the sound of soft footsteps began to get louder and louder. They only stopped near him.
A long silence hung between them; Bruce didn't want to have any conversation the kid didn't want to hear or participate in.
"Are those your parents?" Finally, words were spoken.
"Yes, that's my father, Thomas Wayne, a genius doctor. And my mother, Martha. She was not a doctor, but I would argue she saved more people with her kindness."
He heard a small grunt as an answer. Maybe it was a chance to make amends, to try and let Dick know that he was not alone in it.
"They were murdered in an alley, a cruel night that only happened because of a small robbery. That night, I wished with all my heart that I would've been an amazing doctor just like my father, so I could at least try and save them."
"Yeah, well, you are a doctor now, and you couldn't save my parents", once again a blame, yet something told Bruce that the boy didn't mean it in the cruel way that he did before; There was something the boy wanted to say.
"I saw the man who killed my parents. I saw him." There was a quiet sob. "I knew he didn't belong in there, but I did nothing. If only… if only I ran up to him and stopped him. I'm fast; I could've done something." More tears threatened to escape, but Dick held them back. "Anything."
"I know, chum. You begin to think of any possibility that you could've done. Do something different." He looked up at the painting. "But in the end, you cannot come back; you cannot do anything. We just can't."
A smile on his father's and mother's portraits reminded him of this reality every day. Dick finally looked up at him.
"Will it ever become easy to remember them, Bruce? », a question was asked in a whisper.
"It will get better with time, chum." The boy could feel a warm hand on his shoulder as Bruce came down on a knee with a smile. "For you, it will."
The promise that was sealed with a hug and loud sobs that could be heard through long hauls.
Dick became more stable as he lived with him more. It seemed that he found comfort in doing acrobatics more than he ever did in the circus. This new revelation made Bruce's hair go gray.
His heart couldn't contain the worry when he saw his young ward go from chandelier to chandelier, jumping from high ground to test if Bruce would catch him or try to balance on his head. A new performance was shown each day, but he couldn't be angry at Dick when he heard a giggle after a successful trick or full-blown laughter after seeing a stressed Bruce.
He knew that he could not replace the warmth of his parents, but he could try to be a temporary nest. When the time comes, his their little robin will fly away on its own.
"God", he prayed, "When that day will come, make the winds merciful."
And if not, then he would heal the wounds and scrapes from little Robin's wings once again.