The Wayne Legacy: Origins
By BetterInTexas
Chapter 01:
From the Journals of Thomas Wayne
Journal #56, Entry 1
My father gave me a blank journal when I was ten years old. He told me to write down my thoughts and experiences throughout my life. “Thomas,” he told me, “memories are fallible, but the written word is not. Look to the future but never forget your past. Record it for yourself if no one else.”
Since that time, I have completed fifty-five journals. I have recorded childhood memories, my awkward teenage years, college experiences, the first time I met my wife and how she took my breath away.
I have recorded my trials through medical school, the time I spent as a battlefield surgeon in the Army, working at the hospital my father’s company owned, and my sad but necessary departure from the medical field I love to become a businessman after my father’s death. It fell to me to carry on Wayne Enterprises.
Through everything, My Martha stuck with me and her love has been written about in at least thirty of my fifty-five journals.
These books, containing the story of my life, written by my own hand, have always been kept in a safe in our bedroom.
This book will not be kept there.
Years ago, I used the cavernous space under the manor to build my personal medical room. I equipped it with the best equipment in the event it was ever needed. Living twenty miles away from Gotham, I wanted to be prepared for the worst, should it happen.
There is also a large, hidden vault there, built into rock, impossible to remove. This journal will be kept there.
My beloved Diana, please know, I plan to tell you the truth, but should anything ever happen to me, the words I’ve written here are true, no matter how difficult they may be to believe. I am still not sure I believe them, yet I lived them only two days ago.
I have been sitting in this chair for an hour now since the last sentence, trying to decide where to start. I’m not sure there is a correct way to word this, but I will do my best to keep the events in order.
Two nights ago, the night before Bruce was born, we were awoken by what sounded like an explosion on the first floor of the mansion. Alfred and I raced downstairs, pistols in hand and found nothing in the parlor. We realized the explosion must have come from just outside the front door.
Your mother, though heavily pregnant, made her way down the stairs, despite my request that she stay in the bedroom. I begged her to hide behind a wall, and once she was somewhat secure, Alfred reached for the door as I kept my weapon aimed to cover him.
Before he could turn the handle, the bell rung loudly, followed by a knock.
Alfred slowly opened the door and then stood back, gun trained on the stranger.
She walked in slowly and her appearance shocked me so badly, that I lowered my weapon. The woman wore a golden armored top, an armored skirt and had a sword off all things on her back, along with a shield. Her face was covered in what appeared to be blood and I decided the dark spots on her armor were blood as well. The gash along her cheek appeared deep as did the one across her chest just above where her upper body armor ended.
She also carried a large wooden box in her right hand.
Her appearance totally caught us by surprise. I didn’t even notice you, Diana, the small, covered bundle tucked in her other arm.
Since the woman was obviously injured, I lowered my weapon and looked to Alfred to do the same. Alfred refused me with a silent look but did step away from the woman.
The woman walked confidently into the foyer and looked around. She must have been pleased with what she saw, because she approached me first, then looked to Martha. I will try to write down her words as best I remember them.
“Martha and Thomas Wayne,” she asked, or perhaps just said our names to call attention as if our attention were needed. I confirmed that we were who she believed us to be.
She dropped the large crate to the floor and looked down at her other arm. It was then we noticed she had a baby in her arms. I waved at Alfred to lower his weapon and hearing you cooing under the blankets was enough to convince him to do so.
The woman then told us the most incredible story. “My people are under attack and my sister, Hippolyta, has barely recovered from childbirth and now leads our forces in battle. This is her newborn, her daughter, Diana. She is only a day old. We thought we would have more time, but war came sooner than we expected. My sisters and I will fall. We are outnumbered and were taken by surprise.
“The three Fates gave me the task of bringing my niece to Man’s world. She must be hidden from those who wish her dead and the world must believe she is your blood. Tomorrow morning, your wife will give birth to a son. Raise Diana as his twin, raise her as a human, as your own. No one will think to look for her here.”
I shook my head, trying to understand what was happening. Martha moved towards the bloody woman who indeed looked like she had been in a war. I held her back, still feeling as if the situation were surreal and I was in a dream that could turn into a nightmare at any moment.
“Who are you?” I finally asked. The woman tore her eyes from you and told me she was Antiope. She said knowing anymore would not be beneficial. I had so many questions, but instinctively felt she would not be giving me any answers.
I told her I wished to provide her with medical attention, but she shook her head, saying that she must return quickly to continue to lead her sisters in battle despite knowing they would fall. Martha grabbed my hand, and we approached the woman.
We saw your face, Diana, for the first time. Your mother gasped most likely feeling the same way I did.
Seeing you was the same as when I saw your mother for the first time. My breath left me, my heart raced, and I stared in shock. I loved you from the moment I saw you. Despite the situation, you were not crying. Your eyes were wide open, taking in the world around you.
The woman passed you to your mother. I couldn’t take my eyes from you and your mother’s tears fell on you as you lay in her arms.
“She is special, and her life will not be easy,” the woman said as if we need confirmation.
Antiope took a silver-colored tiara off her head and handed it to me. “Do you accept this sacred charge?”
Without any questions despite the surreal situation, Martha assured her immediately that she would. I nodded my assurances, asking if we would ever see her again, that we needed answers. What did she mean by special? Where is this place the battle is being fought? What is it called? Who was she really?
Antiope shook her head, told me she had no further time and these were questions we did not need to know the answers to.
“You will love her. That is all that matters.” With tears in her eyes, Antiope bent down and kissed you on the forehead, then walked outside.
She turned to me a final time. “The box belongs to her. If they ever find her, she will need what is inside.”
With that, she walked out into the yard, the three of us staying in the doorway, watching her.
Once she was approximately fifty yards away, she pulled her sword from her back and looked to the sky. Despite the night being clear, a blinding bolt of lightning struck her, and she was gone.
If you are reading this, Diana, I wish I had more answers for you than questions, but perhaps the strange woman, who obviously loved you deeply, was right. Perhaps some things are better left unknown.
Martha did go into labor that morning. I knew I could not take her to the hospital. If Martha were to deliver one child, too many questions would be asked about the sudden appearance of a twin daughter. It had to be private, at home and my medical room in the basement would have to be used. I wanted help in the event anything went wrong. Too much was at stake, your arrival in our life mostly.
I needed someone I could trust implicitly, well versed in medicine and only one person came to mind.
Eliza Danvers.
Eliza was a close friend of both mine and Martha’s in college and remained so as we went through medical school together. She was brilliant and both Martha and I knew we could trust her. We knew we had to trust someone, and in our hearts knew Eliza would never betray us.
That morning, after a cryptic phone call on my part, Eliza rushed to the manor. She noted with confusion, the baby in my arms, thinking Martha had already given birth.
Not having time to get into the strange story, still coming to grips myself with all that had happened eight hours before, I promised her I would explain after Bruce was born.
My son entered the world with no problems, bright-eyed, with a full head of dark hair resembling Diana’s. They could easily pass as twins.
As we were with Diana, Martha and I were mesmerized by him. Bruce was the culmination of our love and he was finally here along with a daughter who God blessed us with, albeit in the strangest of circumstances.
Alfred joined us while Martha rested and the three of us had explained how Diana came into our lives the night before. There was no point is trying to normalize the story because nothing about it was normal.
To my great relief, Eliza believed us. She said Martha would never lie to her and believed that Alfred and I would never have the imagination to make up something like this. I didn’t argue because she was right. I never could have imagined those circumstances and would have laughed had anyone else told me a story like ours.
I didn’t need an oath of secrecy from her, but she provided one regardless. We all knew our daughter would be different. What different meant, we had no idea, but Eliza and I would discover it together.
Since we had only prepared for one child and none of us had a chance to shop, we placed our children in the same bassinet. Seeing them curl up together, I have a feeling they will be inseparable for life.
Journal #63, Entry 14
It has finally happened.
I have waited over the last five years for Diana to show some sign that she was different but for the most part, she had not. Her intelligence was amazing. At four, she found a Spanish to English dictionary in my office and within a day had read and memorized every translation. I brought her an English to French dictionary a week later and she did the same. I began picking up learning programs focusing on conversations and fluency which she picked up with ease.
Other than her advanced intelligence, she appeared as any other girl would, a happy, beautiful, five-year-old girl, who was inseparable from her twin brother. Bruce was intelligent as well but did not have the gift for languages that Diana had. I did some research and found no case of anyone having the gift for languages Diana does.
The day in question started normally.
Whenever Martha and Diana had a “girl’s weekend”, Bruce and I would spend it camping in the woods on the far North side of the manor grounds depending on the weather.
The girls had not left yet, and an excitable Bruce told me he would be waiting for me at our spot and took off in a run, leaving me behind to carry the tent and supplies.
I had been walking for five minutes when I heard a faint cry in the distance. It had been short, but I knew it was my son crying out. Despite the long hours I worked at the office, I managed to stay in shape and consider myself a good runner. I dropped the equipment and took off immediately.
I was approximately one hundred yards from where I estimated the sound had come from, when Diana passed me as if I were standing still. My worry over Bruce was the only thing that prevented me from stopping and gaping at my five-year-old daughter running faster than an Olympic sprinter.
When I reached the site where Diana stood, I saw her jump back as a cloud of bats lifted into the sky from the ground.
“Dad,” she told me, “Bruce fell in this hole. He can’t get out and his arm is hurt. I feel it. I think the bats scared him. He won’t answer me.”
I saw the hole in the ground, probably an undiscovered sinkhole that led into the caverns that seemed to run throughout the property.
I called down to him and received no answer. I fought the fear that ran through my head, my training from the military kicking in and I began to think of a way to reach my son.
I needed a rope and something to attach it to so I could climb down and bring him up. The nearest rope was at least half a mile away at the house. I called Alfred and told him of the situation. He said nothing, only ended the call. I knew my best friend would be here soon with whatever gear was needed.
While I waited for Alfred, Bruce remained silent, despite Diana and I calling for him. It was so deep and dark I could not see him clearly and had no idea if he were even conscious.
Diana was extremely anxious and told me we had no time to wait. To my horror, she jumped into the hole before I could stop her.
I called over and over for her until she yelled that Bruce had hurt his arm and to step back because she was bringing him up.
I didn’t heed her warning and was nearly knocked down when she jumped from the hole with Bruce in her tiny arms and landed softly on the ground. She lay her brother next to me and encouraged him to talk.
Bruce was obviously terrified and the two of us continued to coax him to speak. If nothing else, I wanted to be sure that his head hadn’t been severely injured.
He finally spoke one word. “Bats.”
The bats I saw swarm from the ground must have terrified him.
I lifted him in my arms and walked slowly towards the house, mindful of his obviously broken arm.
Halfway to the house, we met Alfred and Martha. Alfred had climbing gear and Martha was out of breath.
My wife asked me what happened as we continued to the house. After I explained, she told me that she and Diana had been in Diana’s room when our daughter told her she heard Bruce scream. Before Martha could ask what she meant, having heard nothing, Diana had already opened her window, jumped from the second story and ran so fast, Martha lost track of her within seconds.
We had no idea how long Diana had been showing these obvious enhancements. Perhaps hearing her brother in pain had unlocked something inside her. When asked, she said she knew Bruce needed her, she knew she could get him out of the hole simply by jumping and then did it.
My sweet girl looked confused, not knowing how she knew she could do these things.
It was Bruce that asked the questions we were afraid to. How had she done it? How was it possible?
Despite their young age, Martha and I decided it was time to tell Diana the truth. We had never discussed a specific time to tell her before, only that we should while she was young so perhaps she would be more accepting of the truth as she grew.
So we told her.
Diana listened in silence, not saying a word or asking any questions. We showed her the box, the one containing red and blue armor, a sword, a shield and a golden rope. Martha handed her the tiara that her aunt had given her, told her that the woman obviously loved her very much.
Diana stood quietly, holding the tiara, rubbing her thumbs over the surface. It was minutes before she spoke. When she did, she said the thing that broke my heart the most. “I am not really your daughter, am I?”
Before we could reassure her, Bruce grabbed her hand. “You are my sister, and you always will be.”
Martha pulled her into her arms and assured her that her name was Diana Celeste Wayne. She was our daughter, and nothing would ever change that.
Diana was quiet for the remainder of the night. We kept a close eye on her, but she never cried. She stayed mostly silent, curled into Martha’s side as my wife held her close.
The next morning, she was her usual self as if the revelation of the day before had never happened. We decided we would wait for her to ask further questions, but she never did. This came as both a relief and worry to us. Only time will tell how she truly feels about this.
Journal #63, Entry 82
Diana and Bruce were playing where they weren’t supposed to be playing today. They had gotten into the vault in the basement.
Despite being told not to touch the items in her crate, Diana discovered some interesting things about the golden rope. It defies explanation. I wouldn’t know where to start studying it and I am not giving it to a lab to study.
Diana finally knows where Bruce hid her favorite doll in retaliation for her breaking his favorite action figure. The rope seemed to compel Bruce to tell her the truth to any question she asked. Also, the rope is a lot longer than it appears to be, especially when it is glowing in her hands.
Journal #63, Entry 101
Diana’s strength continues to increase. Bruce has been working with her in control and through many hours of practice, Diana can hold a glass without shattering it and open a door without ripping it off its hinges. She is deeply troubled by her increasing strength, but her brother has been a great help. The two remain remarkably close. In addition to being siblings, they have a big secret that binds them together.
A new aspect of Diana’s different biology has made itself known. She was assisting Martha and Alfred with dinner and cut her finger with a knife. The knife wound was deep, nearly to the bone and Martha immediately wrapped it in a towel while following Alfred to the basement for bandages and stitches.
By the time they had made it into the medical room and the towel was removed, only drying blood remained as a reminder that Diana had actually cut herself. Her wound was completely healed.
Eliza has made little progress in determining how and why Diana has these gifts. She does not appear to be invincible, only possessing an incredibly fast healing ability. Thankfully, our daughter is still able to cut her hair.
Her blood is human but of no type known to medical science and her strength far outweighs her musculature as she remains slim. We haven’t tested the limits of her strength because we aren’t sure we want to know, nor do we want to risk hurting her.
Diana has handled all of this so well. She has remained strong, never breaking down over some accident, working to hide her speed and strength admirably. Her brother’s support is essential no doubt, but Diana has always had a strong sense of self and confidence that is impossible to shake. I can think of no better word to describe her as than ‘regal’.
Bruce on the other hand is the other side to her coin. Where Diana can sometimes be very stoic, Bruce is outgoing. He seems to know instinctively when she is sad and constantly pushes her to play and laugh, play tricks on the day staff or some other mischief he can find, just to, as Bruce puts it, “lighten her up”.
I cannot put into words, how much pride I have in my children. I know one day they will change this world for the better. Martha and I can’t wait to see it.
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