Title: Bruce - posted 2004
Series:  Beginnings (Shadows and Stone)
Author: Lacey McBain
Rating:  G.  Bruce.
Summary:  Bruce arrives at Excelsior Prep.
Disclaimer:  I don't own them.  I can't even rent them.
***

Beginnings:  Bruce

“Master Bruce, we’re here,” the driver said.  The car slid past tall wrought iron gates, very much like the gates at Wayne Manor, and Bruce felt a sense of familiarity wash over him.  He was comfortable in places like this.  Shadows and stone, dark iron and gothic architecture.  Alfred had hinted that he would feel at home here, and he had been skeptical.  He should have known that Alfred wouldn’t abandon him in a foreign environment.  Alfred would never send him to a place that wouldn’t be home.

Bruce peered through the car window at the imposing stone building nestled at the end of a long driveway.  He could see the curved turret silhouetted darkly against the bright sky.  It reminded Bruce of the kinds of castles he had read about in books–stories of knights and jousting competitions and sword fights in darkened corridors.  It looked like the sort of place that should have secret passages and bats fluttering in its bell towers.  Bruce felt a smile touch his lips.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

They pulled into a curved cul-de-sac at the front gate of the school, and Bruce could see there were a number of boys and their families in various stages of getting settled.  He recognized some of them–older boys whose pictures he’d seen in magazines, boys touted as up-and-coming businessmen, teenagers who’d gotten in trouble with wild behaviour.  The sons of the rich and infamous all came to Excelsior Prep, and now he was here too.  Bruce accepted the possibility that he would also be known on sight–known from newspaper headlines, grainy black-and-white photos, and articles featuring words like “tragic”, “murder”, and “orphaned.”

As he stepped out of the car, the sun was bright and glaring, and Bruce sheltered his eyes with his arm.  The air seemed heavy with humidity.  There was heat here, and electricity.  The promise of a storm.  It seemed appropriate for his first night away from home.  He felt the wind picking up speed as it rushed past him, heard the flapping of flags, the crinkling of leaves as they were caught and dragged from place to place across the sweeping grounds.

“Master Bruce, I’ll go see where to take your bags.  Are you alright waiting here?” Henri asked kindly.  He had driven Bruce’s parents for years.

“Bien sur, Henri,” Bruce said.  “J’attendrai ici.”

Henri smiled proudly and went towards the front entrance.  Bruce walked around to the back of the car, and watched the scene with detachment.  The entranceway was piled high with suitcases, trunks, and boxes.  Tall men in dark suits and women in colourful dresses and hats milled around with boys in the Excelsior Prep school uniform.  Bruce looked down at his own jacket–navy blue with the crossed shield on his breast pocket, white shirt, grey slacks.  Alfred had insisted he get new shoes, and they were still hard and shiny.

Bruce had been reluctant to leave Gotham City–even with Alfred’s assurances that he would make friends here.  Bruce doubted it.  He’d been schooled largely by his parents and private tutors at home.  He just didn’t have much experience with other children, and truthfully he didn’t want any.  He liked the way things were–his books, his training in the martial arts, time to study, read and think.  Did Alfred really think that he was going to have anything in common with other children?  Bruce knew he’d never fit in , but it had never been a problem before.  There had been no one that he was required to fit in with–now there was an entire school of cliques and groups waiting to make him feel as if he didn’t belong.  Bruce wasn’t sure why Alfred thought that living with other children was going to be such a good experience for him.

As far as Bruce could see, it was going to be torture.  The only thing that kept him from demanding to be taken home was that he had promised Alfred he would at least give it a chance–and if it didn’t work out, he could return home.  Bruce fully anticipated that he’d be packing his bags for Gotham before the term was over.  There was nothing that the school had to offer that he couldn’t get at home where there were people who loved him, or at least understood him and knew not to expect what he couldn’t give.  Although the household staff were reluctant to admit it, Bruce knew he had ceased to be a child the moment his parents had bled to death in front of him.  No, he was no longer a child, and he doubted that Excelsior Prep–designed to turn rich boys into even richer men–could do anything to shape his destiny.  That had already been determined on a dark street in Gotham, knife gleaming silver in the pale moonlight.

Then there was the issue of a roommate.  The school offered both single and double rooms, but Alfred had insisted on him being placed with another boy.  Alfred felt that it would be good for him to spend time interacting with someone his own age.  Bruce had protested–he was certain that the time spent in classes and activities would be more than adequate, but Alfred wouldn’t relent.  Bruce could only imagine what kind of spoiled rich brat he was likely to be paired with; the best he could hope for was somebody studious and quiet.  That might be endurable for as long as it took for him to convince Alfred to bring him home where he belonged.

“I want to go home.”

Bruce looked up as a loud, clear voice carried across the courtyard.  He could see a boy with bright red hair, hands clenched in small fists at his sides, looking up at a man who was undoubtedly the boy’s father.  The boy seemed shaken, but was standing his ground with quiet defiance.  The older man looked uncomfortable and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, looking around with a forced smile to see who was noticing their conflict.  Several people were glancing their way surreptitiously, and more than a few were staring outright.  Bruce eased himself away from the car and wandered across the courtyard, continuing to observe.

The boy shook off his father’s hand and said something Bruce didn’t quite catch.  He could see that the boy continued to smile politely, and had lowered his voice substantially.  The wind had picked up and dark clouds were rolling in from the west.  The boy’s voice was scattered in the wind, but Bruce thought it sounded like it could’ve been Latin.  If he’d heard what he thought he had, the boy’s Latin was good ... and sarcastic.  The man’s eyes flared with anger, but his smile never wavered, even as he took his son by both shoulders and leaned in to speak directly into his ear.  Bruce could see that the man’s smile was all teeth.  His grey coat and sharp white incisors reminded Bruce of a wolf–a wolf taken with the scent of blood.  He wouldn’t have wanted to be in the red-haired boy’s place.

Bruce could only imagine what the man was saying as his son stood defiantly beneath his large hands.  The boy didn’t squirm, but there was something in the cock of his head that screamed rebellion.  Bruce could just make out the boy’s expression–a perfect mirror of his father’s smile, polite and forced, eyes reflecting something halfway between anger and fear.  In another moment, the man had his son by the arm and was marching him towards the front doors of the school.  From the look of the grip, Bruce wouldn’t have been surprised if the boy had bruises from it.

Something in Bruce’s chest tightened as he watched the boy being dragged into the school, red hair bright as a stain against the school’s grey walls.  He felt his heartbeat quicken, and he had taken a step towards the building before he realized there was nothing he could do.  The first rumble of thunder echoed against the stone.

Henri returned then, passing the man and boy on his way out the front door.  He held the door for them, but was politely ignored.  Servants were to be seen and not acknowledged.  Bruce knew the rules, even if he didn’t like them and didn’t choose to follow them at home.  Henri caught Bruce’s intense gaze as Bruce headed towards the car; he looked back towards the entrance.

“Les Luthors ont debarqué à Excelsior, je vois,” Henri said with a shake of his head.  Bruce looked at him, recognition and understanding settling across his face.  Of course.  Lionel and Alexander Luthor.  That’s why the red-haired boy seemed familiar; Bruce remembered seeing him at charity events when his parents were still alive.  Bruce couldn’t ever actually remember formally meeting Alexander, but with his red hair he was easy to spot at almost any event.

Henri opened the trunk of the car.  “Well, at least the Luthors are bound to be entertaining.  Alexander must be about your age, Master Bruce.”

Bruce wasn’t sure that entertaining was the right word.  Lionel Luthor seemed like a frightening man–someone who could continue to smile while he reprimanded his son, someone who had no problem using force to compel his son to follow.  Bruce had no doubt as to what kind of things Mr. Luthor might have whispered in his son’s ear to persuade him to keep up appearances.  Bruce shivered involuntarily, aware that the sun had disappeared and the sky had turned hard and grey.

Bruce wondered briefly if he and Alexander were going to be in classes together.  He wasn’t sure if this was the sort of friend Alfred had been hoping for him to meet–or not.  Sure the Luthors were rich and powerful, but Bruce knew there were different kinds of rich.  The Luthors had the kind of money that came from questionable sources rather than from venerable family histories.  New money was not entirely to be trusted.  Neither were the Luthors.

“Êtes-vous prêt, Master Bruce?” Henri said gently.  “You’re all registered.  We just need to get you settled in your room.”  Henri dropped a small brass key into Bruce’s palm.  “Room 312.”

“Did you ask who my roommate is?”  Bruce suddenly wanted to know.  The possibility that it might be the red-haired boy both thrilled and concerned him.  He wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Roommate?” Henri asked, clearly surprised.  “I assumed you’d have a single room, Master Bruce.”

Bruce shook his head.

“Ah, Alfred’s idea, I suppose.”  Henri smiled as Bruce nodded.  “I didn’t think to ask about roommates, and they didn’t volunteer the information.  Just gave me the key and the directions.”

Henri extracted Bruce’s trunk and suitcase.  Bruce gripped the suitcase in one hand.  Henri reached out for it.  “I’ll take that for you.  No need for you to–”

“It’s just a suitcase.”

“But it isn’t proper for you to be carrying it, Master Bruce.  People will think–”

“People will think I’m capable of carrying a suitcase,” Bruce said, refusing to put the bag down.  “Please, Henri.  Don’t start treating me like the lord of the manor just because everyone here is rich.”

“But Alfred–”

“Will be pleased if going to school doesn’t change me too much.  I know I have servants and butlers and drivers, Henri, but I can carry my own bag.”

Henri smiled and gave a short nod.  “As you wish, Master Bruce.”  Henri lifted Bruce’s trunk onto his shoulder and headed towards the building.  “Let’s get you settled in your new home.”

Bruce gripped his suitcase tightly and followed Henri towards the end of the main building.  The steely sky suddenly let loose a pale flash of lightning, followed by a sharp peal of thunder.  Bruce felt the first drops of rain splash against his face.  Anticipation building in his body like electricity, Bruce ducked through the small side entrance, climbing the curved stone stairway towards his new room.  New roommate.  New life.

Maybe Excelsior Prep was going to be more interesting than he had thought.  Bruce tossed the small brass key lightly in his hand and smiled.


THE END

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