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Slayer in Alt

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This story is No. 3 in the series "Slaying Gotham". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Batman and others saving Gotham, again, 8 years after Buffy's "death". Is the 3rd time the charm? The title might not make sense now, but it will later.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
DC Universe > Batman > Buffy-CenteredbreebrenFR13611,043044,4574 Jun 1323 Feb 14No


Let me just say I am very late on getting this 3rd and last story posted. A month late. I got caught up in other things, namely the Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, which I have now seen 84 times, and the TV show 'Hannibal'. No, no fanfiction will be coming from either of those directions in any shape or form. I also realized that I had strayed from the road I was on with this story and had to go back and rewrite everything from chapter 4 on down. It is still a work in progress. This is a very dark Bruce, so you are warned. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. Reviews give me 'umph!'
And would someone please explain to me how the damned HTML tags work!!! They are pissing me off. Thank you!!
I own nothing, except Marti. I am making no profit from any of this.


And in financial news today, Gotham is celebrating the seventh anniversary of the merger of Wayne Enterprises and Stark Industries. The power house that is Wayne-Stark International, in commemoration, announced this morning that they will be opening a factory in the struggling warehouse district of Sheal that will create another 575 jobs for Gothamites. All ready, in the past 7 years, Wayne-Stark International has created over four-thousand new jobs in Gotham City and surrounding area, bringing a record financial stability that has not been seen in over forty years. The new factory, which is rumored to be an extension of Wayne Foods, is scheduled to open in mid-April.

And now it is time for a last look at the weather, and is it going to be a cold one…

Had it been 8 years already? It seemed like it had only been a few weeks or maybe even a few months, but years? And then there were times when it seemed like it had been ten times as long. Immeasurable by human standards.

Every moment was empty. Every breath he took meaningless. The days dragged on, void of emotion and hope. The nights moved just the same, but at least to him they had some meaning. Not the meaning that they had once had: the night had once been a time when he fought to preserve Gotham, to save it from the criminals that terrorized her streets. But now, all the night did was serve as a reminder of what he had once believed in. What he had once been.

Now he looked out over the city he had fought so hard to save with loathing. The criminals he had once hunted to justice were only a means to an end but with no end in sight. He didn’t even deny the fact that he hoped that one would get lucky, that he was a little too slow, and that would be the conclusion of all his misery.

How much more was he willing to sacrifice for this trying city and her people?

The answer: no more.

He worked himself to exhaustion, staying out until the sun came up. Sleep was something he tried to avoid at all cost, because when he slept, he dreamed, and when he dreamed, he saw her.

Waking was the most painful. Just as his mind and body were waking, he would reach for her instinctively. Even after all this time, his arms were still programmed to find her and hold her. There were even some times when he would awaken in concern, wondering where she was. Had she made it home from patrolling? Only to remember that she was no longer there. That she was gone from him forever.

It took all of his will power to not curl into a ball and weep like a lost child, not to wail his anger at the world.

It took even more to pretend to care.

There were times when he could hear her voice, the tickle of her laughter to his ears as if instilled in the walls themselves.

He returned to the manor in the morning, so tired and beaten he could barely stand. To the east wing, empty and alone, where she only echoed to him.

His daughter was there, her smiles meant to lighten his heart, but instead they drove knives into it. She looked more and more like her every day, and he could not stand to watch it happen.

Of course they consoled him. Tried to comfort him. He gave them vacant smiles for their trouble, his eyes unable to even fake it. His family should have made him want to live on, to look at each new day as a new beginning, but they did not. They tried and some days he was thankful for them. And other days, he loathed them for it.

Those days were getting more and more frequent.

He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

He just wished it would end.
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