A/N: HELLO! I'm not doing homework, because it's boring, and I only have to read it, so I can do that before I go to sleep. No, I've already finished it. Instead, I'm putting this together! I hope you enjoy my cutting time out for this…JK, I'd soooo do this anyway.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything related to the BATMAN universe. DC Comics does though.
Waking up in a hospital with an annoying, and unfortunately consistent beeping sound was not the way Bruce wanted to wake up. Nor was the feeling of being unable to breathe. He groaned, and twisted over to slam a muscled arm on what he expected to be an alarm clock, but instead was the edge of a table. He blinked open his eyes blearily as he tried to find the clock to shut it off. Then the enormity of what just happened hit him.
He'd woken up!
He honestly hadn't expected to-not after the stab wound the Joker had given him(-let's give Gotham a little wake-up call!-) He looked around his surroundings immediately, reminder ringing in his ears(-will you never learn to mind your surrounding?!-). Turned out, the beeping noise was the heart monitor, and the reason he was unable to breathe fell to the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, and the tube running down his throat.
Never one for doing things rationally (-know your limits, Master Wayne-) he immediately ripped out the tube, wincing a little at how uncomfortable it felt, but overall satisfied at the fact that he could breathe somewhat normally again.
Of course, that was ruined by the alarms that went off as soon as the tube was away from his throat. He jumped a foot in the air, and leapt from the bed, immediately putting his back to the wall and pulling into a defensive stance. He nearly broke through the window he was backed against when three nurses and a doctor raced through the door. He braced himself against the wall, unfamiliar with all of them, his mind still favoring his Batman persona. The nurses looked confused, and kept edging for him, but the doctor was only reading the vital signs from the machines.
He looked bemused, looking from Bruce to the machines to the nurses and back again (-but then again, isn't this all, uh, fi-mil-iar?-). Bruce kept backing into the corner of the room, his vigilante self telling him that the four people meant danger. The doctor finally figured it out-
"Juliet! Alice, Lilly, back away slowly-he's having a case of PTSD. It should end soon, but…"he thought for a minute before saying: " Alice, call Mr. Pennyworth. And Commissioner Gordon while you're at it. Tell them to come down." All three of the nurses did as told, the blonde on called Alice breaking away from the two brunets to call the requested people. Bruce was still backed skittishly in the corner, fists raised. The doctor approached, but merely sat on the bed, watching Bruce not unkindly.
After a few moments of uncomfortable staring, Bruce slowly stood up, fists still clenched tightly, eyes sill watching the wearily, he slowly lowered his arms.
"Who are you?" he asked, glaring at the man. The doctor looked back at Bruce, and smiled softly.
"Hello Bruce, I'm Dr. Bateman, and no, I'm not related to Batman, as much as I'd like to be." The comment intrigued Bruce, and he took a hesitant step forward.
"What do you mean?" The doctor smiled as he saw Bruce step forward.
"Well, what do you think, Bruce? Batman just woke up one day, and said, 'hum, I think I'll kill some people today?' I was the physician for one of the cops in that car chase, Mr. Wayne. If Batman didn't kill the Joker, what makes you think he'd kill good cops?" Bruce didn't reply, opting instead for slumping on the arm of one of the hospital chairs, fiddling with the drawstring of the flannel pajama pants he was wearing.
Wait. Pajama pants?! And a white undershirt?! These were his! When did he get those?!
And all of a sudden, the feeling of helplessness overwhelmed again (-couldn't help them, couldn't save them-all my fault, my fault, myfaultmyfault-) Bruce let out a cry and fell back into chair, clutching at his hair and growling (-it was my fault Alfred, all my fault!-) . And when the doctor tried to place a hand on his shoulder, Bruce flinched away. He didn't really like getting touched or hugged-just wasn't the type, he supposed. But in this state of mind, he was completely unnerved by it.
Dr. Bateman sighed, and decided to let Bruce alone. His silence was rewarded several minutes later with Bruce slowly dropping his hands and lifting watery eyes to look at the doctor.
They sat like that for several more minutes, until a commotion came from outside. Bruce immediately leapt up, eyes once again bright with anger, and a hint of fear. The door opened, and Bruce skittered away from it, before seeing Alfred walk in, and his heart stopped beating like a bird trapped in a cage at the sight of the older man. His arms lowered once again, revealing eyes that held pain and fear and sadness. Alfred was about to speak, but then the Commissioner walked in.
It wasn't Gordon fault, but Bruce's brain immediately linked Gordon to both nights(- it's alright, son. But they're still DEAD!-) in the stupid alleyway (-Got a bit of a tem-per, don't we, Mr. Wayne?-), and the theatre (-black actors climbing up black ropes, black bats attacking him, black everywhere) the Joker (-You're gonna have to play my little game if you wanna save one of them-) and therefore Rachel (- you can't ask me to wait for that Bruce, BOOM! NO!-), and later Harvey (-why was it me who lost everything?!...It wasn't-) and back to the opera, a continuous loop of one horror filled image after the other (-red littering the alley way, red on Mother's pearls, red in the Joker's smile, red on Harvey's face, Red like Rachel's dress, all of it-my fault- my fault, myfault-) and it all became too much.
The world spun as Bruce fainted, falling into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.
A/N: No, I don't know that much about PTSD, I was guessing at most of that. I hope it was realistic for you, and not too rambly. Your opinion matters! So review to tell me how I did? Sorry if it's too short, the next will be longer, promise!