Ryan woke up slowly, disoriented for a moment, the soft hum of an engine vibrating beneath him. He blinked in the dim light, trying to clear the fog from his mind. It felt like waking from a deep sleep, but there was no rest. His body felt unfamiliar, younger—yet oddly grounded, as if he was exactly where he needed to be. The smell of leather seats, the gentle rumble of the car, and the steady flow of the night around him stirred a strange comfort.
Ryan sat up, adjusting the blanket wrapped around him. The car was moving through the city, its headlights reflecting off the wet streets, the soft hum of the engine the only sound filling the air. His gaze shifted to the front seat. A woman, no older than her thirties, drove with practiced ease, her eyes focused on the road ahead.
Her features were soft but strong, framed by dark hair, with a natural grace to her movements. She had a calm demeanor, the kind of person who exuded warmth without saying a word. Her face was familiar to Ryan—almost painfully so.
His heart skipped a beat as he watched her. She resembled the woman he had known as his mother in his previous life. But this was different. This wasn't the same world. His new life, his new name, his new body—everything felt unfamiliar yet somehow intimate.
Without thinking, his voice escaped before he could stop it. "I'm okay, Mom… just had a scary dream."
The words came naturally, like second nature, but they also startled him. How did he know to say that? How did he know she was his mother in this life?
The woman, Martha Wayne, glanced at him through the rearview mirror, her brows knitting in concern. "You sure you're okay, sweetheart?" she asked softly. "It's just a bad dream, right?"
Ryan wiped his eyes, blinking at the tears that had somehow started to flow. The flood of memories came rushing in—his name, his life, the world he was now in. In a sudden wave of realization, he remembered everything. His name was still Ryan, the same as his previous life. He was ten years old, and this woman in front of him was indeed his mother.
Martha Wayne.
The name held weight, filled with both love and tragedy. She owned a small shop in L.A., selling licensed guns to those who needed them. She was a retired soldier, someone who had sacrificed so much for the country and, most importantly, for her family. After her husband's untimely death, she had put her military career on hold to raise her son, to be there for him when he needed her most. She had quit the army to come back home, to this small life they shared in L.A.
Ryan felt both a deep sense of loss and profound gratitude. He didn't know why this world was his to inherit, but he knew it was his duty now—to make the most of it.
"I'm really okay, Mom," Ryan said, his voice steady this time. "It was just a nightmare. I'm fine."
Martha's eyes softened as she glanced at him again, her gaze warm. "You know you can talk to me, right? If it's anything more than just a bad dream…" she trailed off, waiting for him to respond.
Ryan felt a pang of guilt. He wanted to tell her everything—the strange feeling that had come with his rebirth, the visions, the memories, the powers he now wielded—but something in his heart held him back. He didn't want to burden her with his confusion and fears.
"It's nothing, really. Just... I guess it was just too real," Ryan answered, trying to reassure her.
Martha didn't push any further, sensing her son's need for space. She smiled gently. "Alright, sweetheart. But remember, I'm always here for you."
The warmth of her smile settled over him, and Ryan leaned back in the seat, still trying to process it all. They continued down the street, the car turning onto a quiet residential road. After a few minutes, Martha pulled into the driveway of a medium-sized house, a small garage that could hold three cars.
"This is it," she said softly, putting the car in park.
Ryan looked up, recognizing the house from his memories. It felt like home—the kind of place that would embrace him, protect him, and let him grow.
Martha turned off the engine and then reached over, leaning in to kiss Ryan on the cheek. "Welcome home, babe," she whispered, her lips brushing against his skin.
Ryan smiled, his heart swelling with an unexpected affection. For a moment, it felt like everything was okay. This was his new family, his new life.
"Thanks, Mom," he said, feeling the weight of her love, her concern, and the bond between them.
They got out of the car, and as Ryan followed Martha up to the front door, he felt a sense of belonging—something he hadn't known in a long time.
Inside the house, Ryan slipped out of his shoes, padding softly to the stairs. His room was upstairs, just like in the memories he now had. Martha didn't follow him up, but Ryan could feel her watching him, a quiet sense of care in her eyes.
Martha settled into the couch in the living room, a can of beer in hand, as the soft flicker of the television illuminated the room. She let out a quiet sigh, thinking about her son. She knew how hard things had been for him since his father passed. It had been a tough year for both of them.
"I know you're still grieving, Ryan," she murmured softly, staring at the screen as if the words were meant for the empty air. "I know you miss your father."
Her voice was gentle, but there was a quiet sadness in it that made her heart ache. She thought about Thomas Wayne, her late husband. His absence was a gaping wound in her heart that she still didn't know how to heal. He had been a good man—a strong man, the kind of man who would've done anything for his family.
But now… it was just her and Ryan.
Martha closed her eyes for a moment, letting the quiet settle in. She had to be strong for Ryan, to give him the love and support he needed. But some days, it was hard to find the strength. She missed Thomas so much.
"Thomas… I hope you're out there," Martha whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "I hope you can see us, that you can guide us through all this. Ryan needs you. I need you."
The flickering lights of the TV cast long shadows on her face, and for a brief moment, she closed her eyes. The memories of Thomas—the way he used to laugh, the way he'd held her in the quiet moments, the way he'd played with Ryan in the garden—filled her heart. But with it came the sorrow of knowing that those moments were gone.
"I'll do my best, Thomas," she whispered, her eyes still closed, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I'll give him the love he needs. I'll be both mother and father to him, I promise. But I just… wish you could be here too. I can't do it alone."
She inhaled sharply, wiping the tear away, and stood up, her resolve strengthening. Ryan was upstairs, still processing everything, still adjusting to this new life. She would give him the space he needed, but she would also be there—every step of the way.
As she walked toward the stairs, she glanced back at the living room, at the empty space where her husband had once been. "I hope you're watching over us," she whispered, as if sending a prayer into the universe. "Please, guide us, protect us."
She made her way up to Ryan's room, stopping at the door for a moment. She wanted to give him time, but she couldn't help but check on him, to make sure he was okay.
When she opened the door, Ryan was sitting on his bed, his hands clasped together, deep in thought. He looked up when he heard her, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Hey, Mom," Ryan said, his voice soft. "I'm alright. Just thinking."
Martha smiled and walked in, sitting beside him on the bed. She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "You know, it's okay to not have all the answers. But you have me, always. You're never alone."
Ryan nodded, resting his head on her shoulder. For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt like he truly belonged.
"I know, Mom. I know."