ngl, I genuinely don't understand how so many Tumblr users believe Alfred to be this all benevolent figure in the batfamily. In almost every cringe fanfic i read about a neglected reader & the bats, Alfred is the only one to care, love, or worry for the reader, which makes no sense at all. Alfred left Bruce once Bruce wasn't a worthy "master" and was forcefully brought back to take care of him, I believe when Bane snapped Bruce's spine. Let's not forget the child soldier-fication of Timothy Drake against a grieving Bruce's wishes and the disgustingly disrespectful shrine for Jason–or the Robin Jason used to be.
Please, I beg of you guys; Alfred is not the kind, understanding grandpa you seem to see him as. In all honesty, making the "excluded bats", such as Duke, Steph, Cass, even Kate, the one place of solace for "us" in these stories makes much more sense than Mr "I was a deadly spy with more blood in his hands than Red Hood himself" over here.
I get that some people simply like Alfred and want to include him in a much more meaningful way in their stories, and I do also know in many official iterations Alfred is shown as a father/father figure to Bruce, but, still, just wanted to remind you all he was a British soldier. Military. Spec Ops.
Decided to doodle a scene from my first chapter to practice drawing a bit! It’s mostly a hobby for me, but I figured this was a great way to get the hang of it. I haven’t drawn anything in a while, much less any action scenes, so I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug mention, mentions of fighting, fear gas, implied torture, mention + discussion of death. Feel free to let me know if I should add anything!
A/N: JASSONNN IS BAAACK. HE KEEPS SHOWING UP NOW I PROMISE WE GET LOTS OF JASON
Chapter Synopsis: Lauren tells Kenneth about the side effects of her drugs. Vienna is Scared.
“It didn’t work.”
He spun around as she closed the door behind her, looking between the door and her. “How did you...?”
“The medication,” she clarified, hopping onto the cot. Her skin buzzed as nanites dissipated off of her. She’d just spent the better part of the morning wandering around aimlessly as her previous guard. Who seemingly decided not to show up today. “It didn’t work for me. It made the nightmares worse.”
He glanced between her and the door again, before shaking his head, seemingly giving up. “Okay. That’s fine. What went differently? Did you fall asleep the way you usually do? Were there any unexpected symptoms?”
“I fell asleep faster,” she said. “And then the dream was worse. More vivid, I actually remember some things. And I couldn’t move. I woke up to paralysis for three hours.”
His frown deepened as he turned back to the computer. “It wasn’t supposed to give you physical paralysis…” He paused. “How much of your brain is synthetic?”
“Thirty-two point six percent.”
He glanced back at her. “You knew that off the top of your head?”
“Kenneth, I have my schematics saved. Knowing how much of me is robot is kind of important.”
He spun around to face her fully. “Since when?”
“I don’t know. Since they made me this. Twelve years, more or less.”
He leaned forward. “And it has been wrong before.”
Oh, great. She’d gotten him sidetracked. “It’s manually updated based on the last calculation made. I’ve had modifications done to me multiple times. It’s possible a calculation can be missed.” She gave him an unimpressed look. “Do you have a solution to the medication?”
He blinked, snapping back around and writing something into the computer. “Right. At the moment, no. I need to look at the formula and see what possible chemical misfires happened along the way. I may have used the wrong override, and I didn’t consider how much of your brain has been substituted…” He sat back up. “Give me a few days. Stop using the medication I gave you, bring it back to me–”
She tossed the bottle at his head. He stilled, turning back to her with a wide-eyed, blank expression. She shrugged.
“... and I’ll get you something new later.”
“Good.”
“Now, can I ask,” He gestured between the door and her. “How you got in here without anyone noticing?”
“No.” She pushed off the cot, starting for the door. “Thanks, Kenny.”
He reached out, grabbing her arm and yanking her back softly. “No, you’re not going to just waltz in and out of here as you please.” He spun her around, standing so they were level with one another. Well, as level as they could be. He was at least a couple of inches taller than her. “How did you do it? I’m more curious than anything else.”
She quirked her eyebrow. “My usual guard is gone today. So I just walked around as him.”
He squinted, an amused smile sliding onto his face. “And… nobody stopped you?”
“I got here just fine, didn’t I?”
He hummed. “How long does it take to work again?”
“A couple of hours. The shortest amount of time it worked was three, but it varies.” She made a so-so gesture. “This will probably take all day. I’ve been walking around all morning.”
He made a face. “And you stayed?”
“Walking around as a security guard who didn’t check in? A possible mistake. Walking out as a security guard that no one saw walk in? That’ll get me.”
She considered just leaving. But she didn’t know how the exit procedure worked, or if the staff used a different exit, and didn’t want to risk it. Besides, she didn’t have her way out yet.
He was still trying to make a medication that worked on her.
~
Someone was knocking on the window.
She flinched, clutching her head tighter. It had been hours of this. Hours of waiting, of hiding. Of feeling. Her father was there he was going to take her back he was going to lock her in the cellar he’s going to kill her-
“Vie?”
That was not her father.
She peeked out between her arms. Through her blurry vision, she saw not her father, but Red Hood, balancing carefully on the windowsill like he was waiting for an invitation in.
No better than her father.
“I-I’m sorry,” she croaked. Her voice was raw from crying. She’d screamed a few times, but it seemed like nobody was around to hear her. Or if they were, they didn’t care about the poor girl in the abandoned building. “I’m… sorry. I’m sorry. I know- I know I wasn’t supposed to- I’m sorry.”
He held up his hands slowly. “You’re alright, it’s okay.”
With a clarity of relief, she realized he wasn’t scared, and his presence didn’t hurt. Hot red pain seared through her. It wasn’t his fear she was feeling. It was her own. Which was getting worse from him being there. Her bruises throbbed, arms aching from where they’d been twisted. Her stomach still hurt. Her head pulsed from the mix of her bruised eye to the headache of the terror around her. Her hand… she wasn’t even sure if it’d stopped bleeding or not. She hadn’t looked at it since slicing it open.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “You’re okay. Can I come in?”
She hesitated. Nodded slowly. Tried not to flinch when he moved.
He stepped into the apartment, struggling to close the window gently behind him. When he realized she’d ripped it off the track, he left it alone. She shuddered, the sensation of needles digging into her skin rolling down her arms. She tried very hard not to sob loudly. Instead, it came off as a meek gasp for breath. If he heard it, he didn’t say anything.
“Scarecrow attack, I assume you… figured that out already,” he said quietly. “I was looking for anyone still affected by the gas.” He shifted on his feet. Awkward, like he wasn’t sure how to best handle her. “You got hit?”
“It exploded- yeah.” She didn’t have the willpower to explain it. Her voice was so shaky that it was hard to make out what she was even saying. “It… hurts.”
He tilted his head. “Fear gas isn’t supposed to hurt.”
She shrugged dumbly. “Can you- fix it?”
He hesitated before crouching in front of her, holding up a small vial. “It needs to be injected to work.”
Her eyes widened. “No-no! I’m fine. Thanks.”
“You’ll be stuck like this for hours if you don’t-”
“Needles,” she blurted. She tried to lift her sleeve, but she was shaking so badly her fingers felt stiff. In frustration, she gestured to her arm, and he lifted the sleeve for her. There were no new fresh pricks of injections. But she could feel them. She could feel the rush through her veins. “The scars.” She pointed at the ones he’d asked about. “I can’t do needles.”
He nodded once in comprehension. “Got it.” He shoved the vial into a little pouch on his belt. “You’re going to have to ride it out. This particular strain isn’t as effective in other forms.” He leaned back on his heels. “Conversation can help to ground you, if you want me to… stay.”
She nodded. “I’ll be.. Fine. I was just… waiting out the people.” She hugged her knees again. This wasn’t as bad. She could manage it now. And he wasn’t being mean. He hadn’t mentioned the others yet.
Red Hood glanced at the window. The streets were quiet now. “He ambushed a banquet. Drove a bunch of people out of the sewers to start the commotion, then when everyone was trying to figure out what was going on, he got them too.” He turned his head back to her. “Were you one of the people in the sewers he drove out?”
“I was- further.” She shook her head. “I was escaping when I got blasted. He put a bomb in there. It shot me out.”
“Are you hurt?” He was immediately standing to grab his first aid kit.
“No,” she said quickly. “Well–yes.” She lifted her hand, showing the long red slice across it. Glancing now, she saw it’d bled a lot. Blood coated her arm.
She flinched away from her hand, squeezing her eyes shut as her father's hand flashed behind her eyes. She sucked in a sharp breath as the pain seemingly manifested from nowhere. It felt like it was being reopened, a knife sliding through her skin instead of the windowframe.
He’s cutting me open he’s cutting me open he’s going to rip me open–
“Hey, breathe. You’re safe.”
Her eyes snapped open. He couldn’t have stepped out of the apartment for more than a few seconds to grab the first aid kit from his, but it felt like it’d been years. She blinked slowly at him, holding her hand out when he wordlessly gestured for it. “Sorry.”
He shook his head as he took hold of her hand, grabbing one of the antiseptic wipes. “None of that. You’re riding out fear gas, you’re gonna be a little spooked.”
She looked away, rubbing her arm with her free hand as he worked. Invisible needles poked her, and she flinched once at an invisible jab.
He paused, watching her for just a moment. “What’d you do to your eye?” he asked finally.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the right one sting. She’d almost forgotten about that. “I got into a fight beforehand. Some kids came down to mess with me. And then Red Robin was there and I tried to hit him and then he kicked me–”
“Red Robin was there?” he repeated suddenly, sitting up sharply. He squeezed her hand a bit. “And he kicked you?”
She shook her head quickly. Too quickly, her brain spun in circles behind her eyes. “I hit him first. I think… I was already on fear gas. And I just– I was so scared. First Orphan, and then him– and I wasn’t sure if I was hallucinating her at first but he mentioned her when he found me and I thought Batman sent them to get me–”
“Vie.” He reached out like he meant to grab her arms, then stopped short. “Slow down. You’re panicking.” He gave her a pointed look. “You sure you don’t want the antidote?”
“I can’t.”
He dropped his arms. Picked up her hand again, rubbing the last bit of blood off it. “Right. Okay. What happened then? Why would Batman send Orphan or Red Robin after you?”
Oh god. This was it. Now he was onto her.
Fuck it. She was doomed.
“He caught me trying to sneak into the sewers,” she muttered, almost ashamed. She blinked quickly when the image of him looming over her flashed behind her eyes. Not real, not real. He’s not even here. “I abandoned a bag of clothes with him and booked it. I thought he was going to try and find me to get an explanation of what I was doing…”
Hood stared at her for a long moment. “You thought he was going to… hunt you down for being homeless?”
“How would he know?”
“You look homeless.”
“What!” She sat up sharply, only to flinch as her entire body screamed in protest. Something flashed sharply behind her eyes. It looked like a knife. She pulled her hand away from him, ignoring the noise of protest he made. “I do not.”
“Well, when you’re not in your work clothes, you do.” He was gesturing for her hand again.
She reluctantly gave it back to him. “Do not,” she grumbled as he wrapped the wound.
He let it go after surveying his work, standing up. “Either way, Batman’s not going to come at you for just taking care of yourself. Being scared of him isn’t gonna make him send anyone after you either. You’re safe.”
She wasn’t so sure she was convinced. When she didn’t respond, he glanced around the empty room they were situated in, pausing when he noticed the far corner. “Oh, is that a spotted towhee? Primarily found in Canada and the Western United States?” He walked over to the corner. “How did he end up out here in Gotham?”
Oh yeah, her trinkets.
“It’s a robin,” she muttered, resting her head back on her arms.
“Pretty sure it’s a Spotted Towhee.”
She snorted. Talking helped the things behind her eyes fade. A little bit. “I found it one day. Felt bad for it. I had to leave it when I left.” She raised her head. “Didn’t you see it before?”
“I wasn’t focused on the room itself,” he said, pulling the little bird out of the fake nest she’d made. “And I wasn’t gonna look after you left the safehouse.” He glanced around the room. “But it looks like you moved out anyway. You go back and forth a lot, don’t you?”
She shrugged, looking down at the wooden floors. “Nothing else feels safe,” she muttered. “Abandoned buildings are only abandoned for as long as a landlord doesn’t get bored. The sewers are only as safe as the people who go down there… anywhere up here is the risk of kidnappings or vigilante ass-beatings.”
“You said you attacked him first.”
Flashes of Red Robin retaliating behind her. “I did. But the point still stands. Now that I hit him, he’s not going to forgive me.”
Hood waved a hand, settling onto the floor next to her as he fiddled with the little robin. “He’ll get over it. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
She rubbed her arms, humming a response. Her skin still felt alive with the sensation of chemicals running through her veins, but the prickles were fainter. Less prominent. Less consistent. The flashes were faint and farther between. It seemed like now they would come up if there was a direct mention of them. That was better.
The pain from the people outside lingered. It would, for a while, the headache would leave her nauseated and useless until she could rest it off. Dismally, she considered she might have to take a day off for it.
“You know, I really will stop showing up if you want to use the safehouse.”
She shook her head, yawned into her sleeve. “Ties to the vigilante thing, still too risky.”
He squeezed a fist gently around the Robin. “I literally just said I would stop showing up. It’s an empty apartment with a cheap rent and decent location. You could really take advantage of that.”
“Then you’d know where I live,” she glanced at him. “You don’t have to house me, you know. You don’t even have to bother trying.”
He was quiet for a moment. She kept her eyes closed, finding comfort in the silence. There hadn’t been real silence in so long. Silence without thoughts. Silence without isolation.
“I was homeless for a while,” he said finally. “I guess you could say I feel a certain sort of guilt knowing I haven’t fixed that part of Gotham yet. I got to go onto better things, but people like you didn’t.” She peeked out from her eyelashes to look up at him. “I guess I see part of me in you.”
She hummed. “I wager we’re a lot more different than you think,” she said. “I’ve experienced things, probably god himself regrets thinking up.”
Hood scoffed. “Yeah? What would that be?”
She shrugged. “I died once.”
He was silent for a second. Damn, too personal?
“Hate to break it to you, but that only makes us more alike.”
Her eyes snapped open. “What?!” She sat up sharply. “Shut up. No it doesn’t.”
He nodded once. “I’ve died.”
“When?!”
He tilted his head as if trying to remember. “Four years ago?”
She gaped at him. “That… wasn’t long ago at all.”
He leaned back against the wall. “What about you?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Oh, what? I just told you my timeline. You’re too good to share your death date?”
“You might find out who I am if I tell you.”
He actually laughed this time. “I barely know anything about you. You don’t even have any legal records.”
“Were you stalking me?”
“I’m a detective.”
She crossed her arms. “Another reason I shouldn’t tell you.”
He must have rolled his eyes at her with the way his head moved. “I don’t even know your name.”
She bit her lip. She wanted to tell someone. Wanted someone to confide in, someone to connect to. But with Red Hood? A Vigilante? Could she do that? “Vienna.”
“Pardon?”
“My actual name is Vienna.” She shrugged. “There are several small chain restaurants in Gotham called Vienna’s, so I doubt that will help your stalking.” His unblinking helmet stared at her. The skin on her arm crawled. “But I figured I could give you that.”
She rested back against the wall as he sat with that information. Closed her eyes when he said nothing. His silence was interesting. She didn’t know if she liked that she couldn’t hear his thoughts or not.
“How long were you dead for?”
“Only four days.”
“Lucky–” He coughed, clearing his throat sharply. “Sorry, no. Not Lucky. Very not lucky.”
She chuckled. “What about you?”
“Six months.”
She cringed. “Shit.” She glanced at him. “That’s… wait, how is your body fine then, if you were dead for that long?”
It was his turn to shrug. “I was kind of comatose for a while, don’t remember much of that time.” He met her sideways glance. “I’m not all gross and decayed now, though. If you’re worried about that.”
She snorted, giving him a once-over. “I was wondering if you were just a skeleton under all that leather.” She squeezed her eyes shut, yawning again.
“Do you want to use the bed in the safehouse?” he asked suddenly. “Rest off the remains of the fear toxin?”
She blinked. “What? Why?”
“You keep nodding off.”
She sat up straight. “Am not. I’m resting my eyes.”
“You’re struggling to keep your eyes open.” He made a weird sound. Whatever it was, it was warped by his mask. She assumed it was a laugh.
“Do you ever take that mask off?”
He tilted his head. It was like he was a curious puppy. She found it hard to think that this was the same man looming in the darkness and scaring the shit out of bad guys. “On occasion.”
“I’ve never seen you without it.”
“Well, yeah. You’re not supposed to.”
She shrugged. “I thought we were sharing secrets?”
He scoffed. “This is an entirely different situation. For you to tell me your name is way different than you knowing my face. I’m a highly wanted vigilante. I can’t go around giving civilians my face.”
“But you can give them your safehouse.”
“Different situation.”
“Is it?” She stretched her arms out. They shook with ache. “I know where you frequent, it seems like if I wait long enough, you’ll eventually show up. How hard would it be for me to tell every villain I can find about this place?”
“They’d just as quickly kill you to keep the claim on it without you snitching to anyone else.”
“Touche.”
He gestured to her vaguely. “Are you… feeling better?”
She was. A little bit. But the headache was strong. “I’ll be fine. Shouldn’t you have been helping more people?”
He shook his head. “The situation has been handled. I only came back here because there were a few other stragglers nearby. Saw the window, figured I’d check in.” He looked down at her bag, only to do a double-take as he spotted the broken plastic sitting on top of it. “Is your gas mask broken?”
She held it up, showing off the long crack in the front. “Got decked hard during a fight. It still works, but the seal is useless if I don’t glue it back together.”
“I could-”
“No.”
He faltered. “No?”
“You’ve done too much. And if I take you up on your offer to use the safehouse, I’m not going to let you do me any more favors.”
She could hear the triumph in his voice, and didn't even need to hear the thoughts for that one. “Finally wore you down?”
“I haven’t moved in yet.”
“Not with your little Towhee?” He asked, gesturing to the corner. She gave him a teasing glare. “He really makes this place a home, don’t you think? He would be all you need.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, it ain’t Batman's Robin, but I suppose it does.”
He shifted suddenly. “You like the new robin?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m ambivalent. I was invested in the heroes of Gotham before I went and died. The second Robin was my Robin.” She chuckled. “I was mad when he stopped showing up. I thought he was cute. But then I died, so that stopped being something I kept up with.”
He sat back on his heels. “When did you die?”
She squinted. “Fuck, how old am I?” She held up a hand to silence him when he started laughing. “Uhm… five? Maybe six years ago? I was twelve.”
He hummed. “Good. That was a good Robin.”
Well. He certainly had a bias. “Wait, how many Robins have there been since then?”
“Three.” He held up three fingers for emphasis. “They don’t last as long as they used to.”
She snorted. “Well, is my favorite your favorite, or do you have a different one?”
“Nah, my favorite was the chick.”
“There was a girl Robin?”
He nodded. “For a little while. Now it’s that short one.”
She squinted as she tried to remember. “Right, the uhm… sword one?”
He nodded once. “He’ll probably stick for a while.”
She hummed in agreement before slowly pushing away from the wall. “I’m going back to the sewers for the day,” she said. “To at least get my stuff.”
He nodded and stood, offering a hand out to her. She took it, let him hoist her up, then her body kept going.
“Woah- you good?”
“Vertigo,” she strained out through gnashed teeth when he caught her. “Maybe it’s not the best idea to go out.”
“Will you be fine if I leave?”
“It’s just a migraine,” she shrugged. “I’ll sleep off the effects of the fear toxin and get back tomorrow morning.”
Chapter Warnings: Canon-Typical violence: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF MUTILATION, gore, lots of fear gas, child abuse. Please let me know if I should add anything!
A/N: the first part of this chapter is incredibly uncomfortable, PLEASE use discretion. Another Batkid is here!!! Lots more of those to come.
Chapter Synopsis: Lauren has an actual nightmare. Vienna doesn’t handle anything normally
She wasn’t sure which one of them was begging.
Surely, she must have been, but it was hard to tell if the screaming was really her own or the girl’s beneath her.
Maybe it was hers, since it looked like Vienna’s voice box may have been ripped out of her throat already. And hopefully, maybe, she was already dead. Her grip had slackened on the arms ripping into her, eyes rolled back. She wasn’t fighting back anymore.
Lauren could only pray she was dead.
She couldn’t stop his hands. Couldn’t stop him as he tore his daughter apart. Ripped her throat open with his fingers, pulled the skin from her cheek till it tore at her chin, breaking the threads tying her tongue to her jaw. He dug his nails into her eye socket and yanked until it popped out. She couldn’t do anything but watch as Vienna’s blood coated his hands, his arms, her teeth, the floor beneath her, everything.
She couldn’t have been more than fourteen.
“Stupid, fucking child,” he hissed. Lauren had lost all control. Lost all mobility in this dream. She couldn’t do anything but watch.
Kenneth’s serum hadn’t taken away the dreams like she’d hoped, but they’d taken away her freedom.
The tendons in her cheek were ripped like some sort of rubber, the muscles looked like mush and gunk. Her good eye was rolled back, blood pooling into the tear duct and spider-webbing into the socket. Her eyelids fluttered like they were trying to keep themselves open. Maybe they just couldn’t close anymore.
He sat back, and Lauren thought he was done, until he raised his fists above his head and slammed them down onto Vienna’s chest. Then again. And again. And again until she convulsed hard enough, and a splurge of blood shot from her mouth and hit him in the face.
He reared back in rage, swiping her blood from his eyes. From Lauren’s eyes. She wanted to throw up. Wanted to wake up. She didn’t want to see this anymore. Didn’t want to see him kill his daughter again. She wanted Kenneth’s medication to work.
He grabbed Vienna, hauling her limp body off the ground. Someone was begging again. She was certain it wasn’t Vienna now.
He slammed the carcass onto the metal table he experimented on, strapping her back into place. “You think you can just leave?” He hissed. “You think you can go whenever you want? Go up the ladder the second I’m not around?”
To her horror, she saw Vienna take a breath. Several slow, rattling breaths that echoed through the gaping hole in her throat. Wet squelches followed every rise of her chest.
He slammed his fist on the table. The poor girl still had the ability to flinch. “You only live because of me. You owe me everything. If I tell you do to one more fucking thing, and you don’t? I will find a way to kill you again. And I won’t stop until I can bring your mother a body that can’t talk back anymore.”
~
She really needed to invest in a first aid kit, but there wasn’t much she could do for a black eye and bruised stomach except ice them. Something she did not have access to in the sewer. And it wasn’t like she could fix a dislocated shoulder with some bandages. Besides, she’d already popped it back into place.
What she needed right now was glue. Her mask was still working physically, but it was useless with the giant crack in the front. All the air she was trying to keep in would go right out through it.
She kept it on her face for the time being. It was better than smelling the raw scents of the sewers. And it helped her see better than she normally would. She needed the mask; it was a part of her.
She’d left the boys to deal with themselves. The man hadn’t woken up from the fight, shockingly, so she did her best to haul him down a sewer and leave him with his bag. Anything that happened after that was his own fault.
She stumbled on her feet. She felt weird after the fight. The smell of the sewer seemed stronger without her gas mask, like it’d become worse since she’d been wearing it. Her legs felt like jelly and everything seemed to dance behind her eyes.
She hoped she wasn’t concussed again.
She swore she could hear people behind her, but every time she looked, there was nothing. That, on top of the feeling of eyes watching her, made everything feel like a horror movie. She shuddered, turning back around. Her head throbbed dully, and the weird flashes from before kept popping up every few seconds. She shook her head as the image of someone standing over her speared through her vision. Someone shrouded in shadows, nothing was clear except for the flash of light she saw in their eyes. Just as quickly as it had shown up, it was gone.
Seriously, what the fuck were those things?
When she did hear footsteps behind her, she paused. She stood very still, listening. Another footstep. Then another. Her skin prickled with panic. Someone was following her.
This was fine. People followed her all the time. The boys might’ve been trying to follow her back to her tent and jump her. That’s fine. She could take care of that.
So why couldn’t she move?
Left arm incapacitated, but she’s supporting her right side. Dislocated? Either way, she’s weakened, can’t put up any more fight than she already has.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck. Someone was going to try to beat her up again. Did she start running? Did she try to hold her ground? What if they wanted her stuff?
They cleared their voice behind her. She turned without really meaning to, eyes wide as she quickly tried to assess who she was facing.
Red Robin stood across from her.
FUCKS SAKE.
“Rough night?” he tried, tilting his head at her. His stance was casual, but she knew better than to trust it.
Remind Orphan to be more descriptive in reports. She looks manic.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Orphan had really been there. She wasn’t a hallucination. Orphan sent him. He was going to arrest her for this. He was going to tell Orphan she lied and then all the vigilantes would come after her and–
“Hey, it’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He glanced at her side, taking a step closer. “How bad is your arm? It looks like it got wrenched pretty badly back there.”
And he saw everything. There was no denying it now. Her breathing came in short gasps. He was lying he was going to hurt her he was going to take her in she was going to be found out–
“Are you okay?”
He took another step. Within reach. Within distance.
She swung at him.
He grabbed her fist before she even made contact, twisting it away from her on reflex. She was mid-swing with her bad arm when his knee connected with the uninjured side of her stomach, slamming into her with so much force she thought she blacked out for a second. She tasted blood as she bit down on her tongue.
She hit the floor, eyes wide and staring at nothing as she waited for the breath to return to her lungs. The fight was over before it even started. She was already weak from the first one; she couldn’t fight off a trained fighter on top of nursing wounds.
“Shit. I’m sorry. That was a lot harder than I meant it to be.” He didn’t crouch down to her level. “I wouldn’t like to hurt you any more than you already are. I just want some clarification on what’s going on.”
She coughed, yanking off her mask and spitting out the blood. He grimaced. “Sorry.”
What a kind asshole.
Her eyes darted across the floor, looking for something to hit him with. If she could distract him long enough, maybe she could run. She could put her tent somewhere else. Or she could try to make it out of Gotham entirely. Spend enough money to get her on a train out of there. Try somewhere else.
Maybe she could just go back to her old house. How long could she stay there before people started coming around it again?
Her brass knuckles were gone; she’d ditched them after the fight. The metal had only kept bending; it wasn’t worth keeping around. Her good arm wasn’t good enough to throw a punch, she had no other options on her. He crouched down to her level, and panic shot through her veins again.
What was with her tonight?
She grabbed his face with a clawed hand, scratching his cheek with a half-assed slap. He was taken aback enough that he scooted away from her, and she took it as an opportunity to bolt.
“Hey, wait! Don’t!-”
She jumped off the edge of the pipe. From his perspective, she was plummeting into the water. The momentary spike of fear she felt from him was rewarding.
His face popped over the side of the pipe just as she landed on the platform below. Her bones shook from the impact. She looked up at him and yelled, “Leave me alone!”
Her voice shook.
She bolted deeper into the sewer.
~
Someone screamed in the distance.
She jerked up, slamming into the pipe above her. She rubbed her head as she frantically scanned the darkness behind her, waiting for Red Robin to come barreling after her. Waiting for another vigilante to strike.
All of this was a bad idea. All of this was going to get her killed. She had to run; that was the only thing that would fix this. She couldn’t continue to be hunted down by the vigilantes of Gotham if she weren’t there at all. It was better. She really should have done that from the start.
She turned back to her stuff after staring into the darkness for too long. She’d shoved everything she could into her bag. The rest she was debating leaving behind. A few blankets that wouldn’t fit, clothes she’d wanted to keep but weren’t technically necessities, a few items of cutlery she’d found and made good use of. She could find them all again. There’d be more blankets. There’d be more clothes. She just couldn’t take these.
Her bag felt like a giant weight when she lifted it over her shoulder. If Red Robin caught up to her, she’d have to ditch it. Then it was an entirely fresh start. Just like when she’d first gotten to Gotham.
Those first nights were hard. People tried to rob her, but when they found out she had nothing in the first place, they were content to just give her a good beating and be on their way. She’d spent weeks prior just hiding in her old house, but hunger finally started to catch up to her, and she knew the city might have something to offer her.
She tried staying in homeless shelters, she really had. It was too loud and too mentally draining. The food wasn’t worth the stay, and she felt even worse than she had when she’d been out on the streets.
Only after the old lady she’d run into gave her the tip about the sewers was she able to finally start making a dent in her possessionless life. Having somewhere to hide made it easier to figure out what to do next, and using the gym for a free shower and the kindness of the women there to offer her a hairbrush to tame her hair, she was finally presentable enough to fake an interview with Chris and start working at the diner.
Now, she was going to be starting new somewhere else.
She started a sloppy run as she made her way through the sewers. The closer she got to the edge of Gotham without getting caught outside, the better. She just had to make sure to avoid spots where there’d been Killer Croc sightings in the past.
It would be just her luck if Killer Croc struck now. What if he’d been waiting for an opportunity like this? What if some terrified homeless person running haphazardly through the sewers was exactly what he was waiting for? What if this was the end of the line, and her luck ran out, and–
She stopped sharply.
There were people ahead of her. Not close enough that she could see them, or even hear them.
But she could feel them. She could feel their fear.
She could feel it in her chest. Her hands felt cold. It wasn’t just normal fear, the usual dull ache she’d feel radiate off someone and press uncomfortably on the back of her skull. No, this was practically mass hysteria.
Fear gas.
She took a shaky step back. She couldn’t do this again. She didn’t want to spend hours roaming the streets of Gotham until the situation was resolved. She couldn’t wait for someone else to fix it. She couldn’t fight off fear gas. She couldn’t fight the scarecrow.
She turned, stumbling in the opposite direction. She was already running from her own fear, what difference did it make to add everyone else’s on top of it? It was just more obstacles. More things to avoid. More things to run from.
If the Scarecrow was underground, harassing people in the sewers, maybe she’d get lucky. Maybe he’d keep the rest of the Bat’s distracted long enough for her to escape straight through the streets without anyone even noticing.
Someone screamed behind her. It was like they were following her. Like the world had it out for her specifically. Her hands shook around the straps of her bag, and she squeezed them tighter.
Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. She couldn't think over the sounds of the fear around her. Couldn’t think over her own thoughts barreling through her head. There was a hissing noise all around her and she wanted to scream and things wouldn’t stop flashing behind her eyes and–
Wait.
Hissing?
She spun around, and then she saw it. Puffs of smoke, almost disappearing immediately, but were scattered every 20 feet. Small canisters that blinked, filling the sewers with unidentified gas.
How had she missed it before? How had she not realized?
Fear Gas. The Scarecrow.
The canisters started beeping in tandem with one another, small, red lights blinking faster as the beeping got louder.
She had to move. She had to get away.
Yet she couldn’t move. Her hands were shaking. Synthetic and natural fear collided with one another in her head, smashing against her skull like waves on rocks. It reeled back, racking imaginary nails behind her eyes.
She didn’t want to find out what it felt like when she was experiencing the pain of everyone else's fear on top of her own dramatized fear. She couldn’t stick around to feel all of it crash down on her. She needed to fucking move.
Someone close to her screamed, and a loud bang ricocheted behind her. She bolted. Topside. She needed to get to the streets. Less confined spaces. Easier to hide from people.
It felt like forever until she found a grate. She hauled herself up two at a time, unable to see anything through her broken mask or the flashes behind her eyes. She just had to hope she was fast enough.
She was on the second to last rung when the ground beneath her exploded.
She flew into the air, her back slamming into the grate as it gave way to the pressure of the explosion. An alarmed scream choked out of her as she flew into the sidewalk across the street, thrown against a building. She curled in on herself, protecting her face from the various debris that flew up around her. Coughing, she grabbed at her broken mask, trying to hold it against her face as the dust settled around her. She knew it wasn’t just dust. Knew it was far too late already.
Please please please-
Her vision warped behind her eyes.
Fuck.
Her father. His hands. Her blood. Her body. His hands her blood her body his hands her blood her skin her arm her arm he was holding her head he was holding a saw he wouldn’t let go he wouldn’t let go he wouldn’t let go–
Someone grabbed her.
She sprang up, running blindly. Her bag slammed against her hip with each step. It was her father. It had to be her father. He had to be following her he had to have found her what had he done to her why had he done this to her what had he done what had he done what had he done what had he done.
She shook her head violently, yelling out a scream of desperation. She ripped off her mask, her lungs tight in her chest. For a moment, her vision was clear. Clear enough for her to see that she was close to the apartment. Close enough to hide.
The apartment Red Hood knew about. The apartment he could tell the other vigilantes she was hiding in.
Her father. Ripping her apart. Her father. Killing her. Her father, beating her to death.
Her father beat her to death.
Fuck it.
Her head pounded as she ran. Distantly, she registered that people around her were screaming, clawing at nothing, horrified of nothing. Their fear pulsing through her just as her own did. She felt exactly the same as any of them. Her skin felt alive with injections. Her father's injections. Her father, injecting her to bring her back to life. Her father, injecting her with chemicals. Unknown substances coursed through her veins. Her chest heaved for breath, begging her to stay alive. She could feel her father's hands on her arms, willing her to live again. She could feel herself coming back from death, the sting of agony to be alive again.
“Breathe.”
“No!”
It’s not real. It’s not real. None of this is real.
It didn’t work.
She crawled up the fire escape, clinging to the rungs for dear life. The window frame slipped against her hand, slicing her palm open. She screeched, staring at the blood.
Her blood. His hands. His hands covered in her blood. Her blood all over the place, all over the walls, all over herself, all over her clothes and her hair and her face and her hands–
Her hands. They wouldn’t stop shaking. She yanked the window as hard as she could, pulling the frame off the track and hauling herself in.
She gave out a desperate sob, hands clenched on the floor beneath her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get up on her feet and move. She dragged herself across the floor, leaning against the wall and gripping her head. It was so loud, she couldn’t think. It hurt so bad.
She didn’t want to think about this. Didn’t want to think about what it meant. Didn’t want to know why she was seeing these things, why they were connected to memories she couldn’t recall before. Why her father was hurting her. Why he was hurting her why was he hurting her why would he hurt her.
When would it subside? Would it ever?
She screamed, her muscles taut like she’d just been injected. She couldn’t leave. Hopefully, Red Hood wouldn’t know she was there. Hopefully, he was too busy fighting Scarecrow to even consider the homeless girl who might use an abandoned apartment for shelter, despite leaving.
Chapter Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, mentions of medication, medical malpractice, fear gas, physical altercation. Please let me know if anything else should be added!
A/N: No Jason, but please take this other Batkid as a little treat! We have a very exciting arc ahead of us
Chapter Synopsis: Lauren is treading a fine line between complacent patient and permanent resident of Arkham Asylum. Vienna does a SHIT job at not playing hero.
“Don’t FUCKING touch me.”
Her back to him, Kenneth grabbed her arm and yanked it when she tried to bat him away. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stop her from hitting him. He leaned down close to her ear as she struggled to free herself from his grip. His voice was low when he spoke. “We had a deal.”
“The deal is done,” she snapped, finally ripping her arm away from him. “I let you see the skull panel, you got me access to The Cat.”
“And then you went and put him in a coma, and now the board is on my ass again.” He rolled his eyes as she stepped into the corner of the room. “I’m not trying to fight with you, Lauren.”
“Too bad, I am.” She snatched his stool from his desk, perching on top of it. “I don’t want to work with you anymore. You’re a dick, and you can’t fix me.”
Whatever she was doing here, whatever this act was, it wasn’t a smart move. She needed him to trust her, needed him to be devoted to her. Calling him a dick and stealing his chair? Not the move.
But she was so, fucking, bored.
“I–” He turned from her, running his hands over his face. She smiled wickedly until he turned back to her. “I’m trying my best.”
“Your best is shit.”
He pursed his lips, slapping his clipboard down on the cot. “Okay. You want to act like a child, fine. What would be better for you?” He tilted his head dramatically. “Do you want a snack break? Maybe take a nap? Want to play with your friends until you’ve calmed down and can actually work with me?”
She stuck out her tongue. “I want to leave.”
“Not happening.”
She rolled the stool until she was facing the wall. “Then I don’t want to do anything.”
He ripped the stool out from under her.
She squealed, hitting the floor with a thud and a grunt. She spun around to lunge at him, only for him to squat to her level and slam a hand on the wall above her head. “I’m not doing this with you,” he muttered. “I have half a mind to sedate you. I thought we’d come to an understanding. You had been amicable to talking to me, at the very least. Why are you regressing to worse than when you got here?”
She kept her glare steady on him. He didn’t budge. His body caged hers against the wall, her legs on either side of his as he leaned over her.
Well, she could play with this, then.
She changed her expression, just slightly. Eyebrows curving upwards, eyelids shifting to be more doe-like, her lips pressing together. Her nose started to sting as her eye watered up, the right side of her face pulsing with the non-existent nerves trying to mimic human emotion. No tears would come from her robotic eye, but she didn’t need that unnecessary feature. Her left tear ducts still worked, and that was more than enough.
His face immediately went blank. Anger, backlash, he probably expected. Tears? Absolutely not.
It took everything in her to keep up the facade and not burst into laughter.
He sat back quickly as she started to hiccup, covering her mouth with her free hand as she curled in on herself. He stood up, hesitantly reaching down to grab her arm and pull her up. “Okay. Alright. Take a moment.”
She let him guide her onto the cot, pulling his chair over to sit in front of her and gently resting his hands on her knees. Meant to be some form of comfort, she assumed.
She covered her face with both her hands, letting herself freely sob. God, when was the last time she’d done this? Not in a while, not since she’d had to play it up. Let's see… she did it in front of the traffickers… and then in front of the cops during a close call… maybe when she got caught? Surely, it hadn’t been that long, had it?
Well, she couldn’t let this go on for too long.
She wiped the left side of her face, sniffling as he looked up at her with wide, concerned eyes. His entire demeanor had shifted from angry to worried. She marvelled, once again, that he looked nothing like Dallas. Nothing like the boy who had been devoted to her. Who wanted her, scars and all, despite how badly he resented her. Kenneth looked nothing like that, and he hadn’t even implied he felt anything for her.
She had to wonder what that meant.
“What’s going on?” he said softly. “You’ve been so different since you changed cells. Why can’t you tell me what happened between you and Kristopher?” He squeezed her right knee in emphasis. “Did… he do something to you?”
She sucked in a deep, long breath. Closed her eyes, letting him think she was taking a moment to gather herself.
“I’m having nightmares.”
He blinked. His face blanked. He did that a lot. He blinked again. “Nightmares?”
“Yeah.” She repositioned herself on the cot, scooting up so they were ever so slightly closer to one another. “Constantly. Consistently. I haven’t been able to sleep.” She swallowed. “And sleep deprivation, mixed with you fucking up my head, has not made me want to keep doing so. Before, I could take a break with sleep. Now, I don’t get a break at all.”
He straightened up, eyebrows drawn together. “What kind of nightmares?”
She shrugged. “I don’t remember them when I wake up. But they wake me up in cold sweats, and afterwards I can’t sleep.”
While watching Vienna get mutilated was definitely an uncomfortable perspective, she liked them more than she cared to admit.
And slamming The Cat in the face with a brick had been so fun.
“And all this time… you’ve been keeping this to yourself?”
She rubbed her arms, picking at the skin on her left. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem all that important. Everyone has nightmares.”
He stood suddenly, letting her go as he turned on his computer. “They only started after you hit Kristopher?”
“Mhm.”
He typed away for a while, silently. She watched the screen, but she had no idea what he was doing. He was entering in some sort of code, and several words popped up that looked like medications.
“Do you want sedatives?”
Ah. So they were medications.
This, she had to be careful with. Getting put on medication in a psych ward was an easy way to get turned into a walking zombie with no personality or drive, or become an addict.
But, as she had oh-so unwantedly learned, she was immune to a large surplus of medications now.
“What would it do?”
He spun around in his chair after hitting a button. He’d already put it in her file. “It is like a… nullifier. It helps you get your sleep without all of that dream cycling. Still goes through a rem cycle, but no flashy story comes with it.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are the side effects?”
He held up his fingers. “Not a lot. You’ll be a little drowsier at first, and might have an increased appetite, but other than that, it has no shown side effects.”
This might be what she had to do. Let him have some sort of task to focus on, let him build up this fictional trust with her in his head. She needed him to think there was a betterment going on, what better way than to let him fix a nonexistent issue?
“How do you know it would work?”
He gave her a look she wasn’t sure how to interpret. “I made it.”
Ohh, THIS was bad.
“No, I don’t want–”
“It’s not addictive.” He held up a hand to stop her from going on. “It doesn’t do anything further to you other than silence the dreams. Your daily mindset will be the same, your body will be the same, it’s just a slightly different melatonin.”
That HE made.
“Fine. But I only want a small dosage. Something that won’t make me too tired.”
He nodded, the smile she hadn’t seen on his face for a while slowly returning. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She was walking on thin, thin ice.
~
Why, out of all the names she could have come up with, did she pick Ghost?
She’d panicked in the moment. Had no idea WHY she didn’t just say Vie. Maybe it was the paranoia of people going to her job, calling her out for what she’d done.
It wasn’t like she’d done anything technically wrong. The guy ended up having a few warrants out on him already, and the cops were finally able to grab him because of the tip she left them. But that meant everyone who heard about the situation knew about the stupid name she decided to use. And it was the fact that she was trying to remain anonymous.
Using Ghost had made her anything BUT anonymous. People’s theories reached her ears, whispers about who she was. No longer was she just the girl who worked at a fancy diner and lived in the sewers. They were starting to say she was actually a ghost, back from the dead to wreak havoc on those who wronged children, just as she had been wronged.
And seriously, Ghost? Nothing is more suspicious and thought-provoking than Ghost.
She just fucked herself over. She could feel it.
She sat in her tent, adjusting her mask as she sifted through her things. She’d finally found another curtain to put up after her old one was ripped. It felt better to put stuff in the sewer when she had the smallest semblance of protection, no matter how useless it technically was. People seemed to be watching her tent as well, just to make sure nobody came by to try and ransack items from the infamous ‘Ghost’ when she was away.
It was equally endearing as it was suffocating.
She was just about to head out for the evening, planning to hit the gym, when the hair on her neck rose. She shivered, the sudden feeling of not being alone prickling against her skin.
Someone was in her pipe.
Apprehensively, she sat up into a crouch, pulling the curtain back. The sewers were dark given that there weren’t exactly expectations that people would be staying down there. But she could see them with the vision from her gas mask. Someone was standing in the shadows, waiting for her.
Panic shot through her veins. Whoever they were, they weren’t tall, but something about their stature made her feel small in comparison to them anyway. She couldn’t make out their face or any defining features. Actually, she didn’t see their face at ALL. Somehow, in the dim lighting of the pipe, a shadow was cast, so all she could see was their body, not their head. Oh god, was she about to die?
“Can I help you?” she called out. Her voice sounded metallic because of the mask; it made her feel like she was a robot. It also masked the shakiness in her words.
The figure stepped forward, becoming clearer… clearer…
A vigilante stood before her.
Orphan stood before her.
She was absolutely going to die.
She didn’t know a lot about Orphan. Everything she knew was from random news articles, or from Eleanor and Clarise’s gossip. Orphan had been brought up maybe once in the entire time she’d been living properly in Gotham, and the girls never had any gossip about her.
Right, so she was wholly fucked.
She gripped the sheet of her tent harder, thinking through every possible scenario that could have sent a bat down to her. Sent Orphan down to her. Was it because of the guy she beat up? Did somebody rat out her telepathy? Did somebody know about her telepathy?
Or was she here on behalf of Batman?
Orphan tilted her head, and Vie, remembering she had telepathy, tuned in.
That was a horrible move.
She couldn’t stop the violent flinch back as her head was barraged with images and thoughts and feelings she couldn’t understand. Whatever thought process was going on inside Orphan’s head was not a standard one that Vie was used to. It felt like she’d just turned on a TV and all of the channels were in a language she didn’t know.
Orphan might have been assessing her from the flinch, but without being able to read her expression or mind, Vie was only guessing.
“Are you Ghost?”
Vie swallowed hard, trying now to do the exact opposite of her usual move and block out Orphan's thoughts from her own. It was one thing when someone's thought process was loud. It was another thing when it was loud and incomprehensible. “No.” She shook her head quickly when Orphan tilted her head to the other side, immediately catching the lie. “I mean. Technically, yes, but.” She swallowed again. Her mouth felt like it was full of sand. “I don’t want to be.”
Orphan simply stared at her for a long moment. “You don’t want to be?”
Vie awkwardly pushed herself out of the tent, standing so that she at least had some sort of physical advantage. No doubt Orphan could kick her ass without breaking a sweat, but it was more for her than it was for the vigilante. “I didn’t mean to do anything. I was at the right place at the right time. I wasn’t the one who claimed to be a hero, I just picked a name that wouldn’t tie to me personally.” She gripped her sleeves, taking deep breaths to keep her voice calm. Her mind felt as scrambled as Orphan’s sounded. Against her better judgement, she looked down, bowing her head like some sort of dog. “I’m not a hero. I’m just defending myself. They come to me. I try not to do anything if I can help it.”
She looked up to Orphan when her thoughts suddenly quieted, only to find herself completely alone again.
Jesus Christ, she was as insane as her mother was.
Why would she hallucinate Orphan, though?
~
She was doing a horrible job of not pretending to be a hero.
Currently, she was following a little girl towards her mother. She claimed that her mom was being chased, and she was hiding. She apparently needed Vie to find the people chasing her mother. She planned to just make sure they were both safe enough to be left alone and leave. Her bag swung in her arm, heavy and clunking with various items she’d intended to bring with her to a local laundromat.
“How far is it?” Vie asked again. The girl seemed sure of where she was going, but was taking her time. She didn’t seem all that concerned about her mother's situation.
“Not very far, I can hear her now.”
Vie strained. Distantly, she could make out the sounds of someone. There weren't many thoughts to accompany it, though.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Again. Why did she let herself get into this mess? Why did she keep listening when people came to bother her with issues?
Probably because this particular person couldn’t have been older than eight, and her little face looked so hopeful when she asked for help.
It was only when the girl turned a corner that Vie felt it. The rush of pain. The rush of fear.
She followed the girl quicker, then stopped short.
A woman was curled in on herself at the entrance of a pipe, staring up at something that wasn’t there. “Please… please, please…” she whispered repeatedly.
“She thinks they’re here,” the little girl said, pointing at her mom. “She tries to fight them, but she can’t touch them.” She looked up at Vie hopefully. “You can fight off the ghosts, right?”
Great, this woman was crazy. Crazy and scared out of her mind and all Vie could feel was the fear throbbing in her head.
This was still one of the worst parts of her telepathy. Someone who was imagining ghosts and scared shitless out of it was the perfect mix of a bad time for everyone involved.
And the little girl expected Vie to fix her.
“I-”
“The gas,” the woman whispered. “They’re in the gas… they’re under my skin, they’re in my blood.” She raked her fingernails down her arms. “The gas… get them away from me!”
She kicked out at nothing. Vie grabbed the little girl, pulling her behind her as she crouched down. “What gas? What’s going on?” She grabbed the lady’s hands, pulling them away from her arms. “You’re hurting yourself. What do you mean? What gas?”
What was she supposed to do in this situation? Call the cops? Take the lady somewhere? If she was crazy, she probably needed a psych evaluation. And what about her daughter?
“The- th- the-” The woman sobbed. “Scarecrow… the gas… It’s in me…”
Vie’s blood ran cold.
She’d heard of the scarecrow. Knew he was a psychologist who’d become obsessed with the concept of fear and used his patients as test subjects for fear gas. Knew he then used said fear gas to terrorize people and take advantage of their inability to fight back. Last she’d heard, he was in Arkham Asylum.
Did he get out?
She stood, backing away from the lady. If she was experiencing the effects of fear gas…
“When did your mom start acting like this?”
“Right before we came down here. We were up getting some groceries for the week. Mom said we were allowed to get a treat if I behaved. Then there was a loud noise. Momma made me run down here, and she followed me down after a few minutes.” The girl stared at her mom. “Is she gonna be okay?”
Vie backed away. She didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to leave the little girl alone. “Do… you know the old man around the main water drop?”
The girl nodded.
“Go find him… have him come stay with you and your mom… don’t let her run off.”
The girl nodded. “Okay. I’ll be back.”
Vie would be gone before she returned.
As soon as the girl was around the corner, she was crouching in front of her fear-ridden mother, pulling a loose rope from her bag around her arm and tying her to the rungs on the wall. Just so she couldn’t run off when the girl came back with the old man.
Once Vie was sure she wasn’t going to go anywhere, she turned around and fled.
She was intending to go back to her tent, but then she heard the commotion. In the distance, far ahead of her, people were screaming.
And if she went that way, she’d be surrounded by terrified people.
She turned her back on it. On one side, there were people consumed by fear gas. On the other hand, the poor lady who was now tied to a wall, begging for someone to help her. Vie was supposed to help her.
She went topside.
The streets were quiet, and nobody glanced at Vie as she made her way down the road, hands stuffed into her pockets. This was too familiar. This was far too familiar.
When she was in the cellar, her mother's fear was a constant pain in her side. It ebbed and throbbed and never subsided, even in her sleep. Vie had no choice but to feel every time her mother's fear spiked and got the best of her, all of it crashing down in one big meltdown, just to stay even after she’d cried herself out of tears. Fear was one of the few thoughts that never stopped hurting.
She could feel it. Beneath her feet. Pulsing and ebbing. Her legs ached with the feeling, wobbling under her.
She turned around to go in the opposite direction.
That’s what she did the entire night. Walking around, feeling the fear of the people below her, and trying to go in a different direction. Her legs felt heavy and strained by morning, pulsing with other people's pain like adrenaline. Her head was throbbing dully.
But slowly, the fear dissipated. She walked closer to her tent above ground, stopping and backtracking whenever she felt a spike of fear. Until gradually she made her way back into the sewer.
The people were still scared. Weak and feeble-minded from the gas. But that, she could tolerate. Outright fear was a different thing.
Everyone’s heads were bowed, and anyone who looked up at her was quick to look away. Like they were mad, like she let them down. Like she was supposed to save them.
How could she? She couldn’t save someone from their mind. She couldn’t save herself from anyone else's mind, let alone her own. She was as weak and cowardly as the rest of them.
She was no hero. She was scared.
Maybe now, they’d stop treating her like she was one.
~
“Ghost?”
“That’s not my name.”
The voice was hesitant. “Can you help?”
She sighed, hauling herself up and slipping her mask on. She’d wanted to take a nap. “With what?” she asked, shoving aside her curtains a bit harsher than she’d intended.
“There are topside boys.”
She was staring at a younger boy, probably thirteen or fourteen. He was trying his best to seem strong, puffing his chest out as if he could intimidate her. She rolled her eyes. “Same ones as before?”
“Looks like it…” He glanced back hesitantly. “They’re looking for you.”
She quirked an eyebrow. That was different. “Lead the way.”
The closer they got, the more she could hear them. Loud masculine voices rang out against the walls of the sewer, their laughter ugly and whiny against her ears. Their minds were muddled with alcohol. No wonder they’d come back looking for her, they were stupid enough to forget she’d kicked their asses last time. She wondered if their parents would be interested in paying bail this time.
There was a crowd surrounding them when she got there. People glanced back at her and the boy, hesitantly stepping aside to let her through. Though they seemed mad at her still for the fear gas incident, they were likely hoping to use this as a chance to forgive her.
One of the boys nudged his friend upon noticing her, and they fully turned to her at the same time. Their third friend was missing this time. “Ah, there she is!” One of the boys sneered, turning to her. They were holding a bag of cash. She had to wonder who it belonged to. “I was kind of hoping you’d actually be dead.”
She stared at them. Was this the part where the good guy gave them a witty quip back? She had nothing of interest to say to them. “Whose cash is that?” she asked the boy next to her instead.
“That man's.” He pointed to a middle-aged man, knocked out cold and drooling on himself. It didn’t look like the boys had done anything to him; he was just the unfortunate victim of some sort of substance. “They’re trying to rob him while he is asleep.” The boy leaned closer to Vie. “My dad says he’s too drunk to wake up, but the boys just wanted an audience.”
She sighed, raising her voice to address the teens. “Return the cash and get out of here. It’s like, three am.”
They shared a laugh. “What, don’t want to fight now?”
“I just said it’s three am. You two probably have school tomorrow, and your parents don’t love you enough to give you a curfew.” She nudged the boy next to her. “Go ahead and leave. I’ll return the man his cash.”
The boy listened, already grabbing his dad and telling him the same thing. People started to file out. Slowly. She shoved her hands in her pockets, feeling for her brass knuckles. She’d found it a week ago in a dumpster. It was uncomfortable to use, one of the finger holes bent and pressing down on her skin, but it worked well enough.
“At least we have parents,” the other boy sneered at her. “If you're the ghost of that dead girl, like everyone says, what became of your parents?”
She hadn’t considered what she was since her parents' disappearance. Her mom was gone, off in some city. Her dad? Arkham Asylum. Rotting in a cell for the rest of his life, or until he was deemed sane enough to be let go.
She didn’t want to think about it.
She shrugged. “Not any of my business.”
The boys looked at each other. They looked a little disappointed, like they’d wanted more from her. Like they expected this to be a fun game. “That’s it?” the second boy asked, almost taken aback.
She pulled the knuckle out of her pocket, holding it up lazily. “Look, I’m really not interested in all of this. If you want to fight with someone, go join a boxing ring or some shit. I’m literally just trying to go to bed.”
The taller of the two boys tossed the bag aside. “One of you freaks down here got Danny thrown in jail for stealing. I don’t care who the snitch is, someone’s gonna pay for his way out.”
Great, she was going to be sleep deprived.
She was thankful she didn’t have to make the first move. The shorter boy surged forward, fist raised to hit her. It was easy to dodge; she just leaned back and let him stumble over himself. She kicked out her foot, tripping him so he went tumbling down.
The second boy tried to come up behind her, intending to catch her off guard with the distraction. She grabbed his shirt, yanking him forward and spinning around to slam her knee into his stomach. He made a gross sound, flopping onto the floor like a dead fish. She spun back around to handle the second boy and-
His fist collided with her mask.
There was a sickening crunch, and pain exploded in her right eye where she’d been hit. Her mask made a weird sound, and it felt loose on her face.
Fuck.
Somebody kicked her in the stomach while she was down, and she rolled into the wall, groaning in pain. Ripping off her mask, she glared at the two boys. “Asshats. It smells so bad down here.”
“The ghost still has a face!” one of the boys cackled, surveying her with a disgusting look on his face. “What a shame she’s so pretty.”
She clutched her brass knuckles. She was sloppy with her fighting; she knew that. It wasn’t like she had anyone to train with; the only situations she’d dealt with before were robberies. And the last time THAT happened, well. Her nose still felt hard to breathe through sometimes.
The boys waited for her to get up, watching her stumble with hungry eyes. They didn’t even care about the money. They just wanted a fight.
Fine. She could give them one. And if some vigilante came to yell at her, she’d point them in their direction.
She surged at the one she’d tripped, grabbing his arm and yanking it towards her. With the momentum, she slammed her head into his nose, feeling it flatten satisfyingly. He yowled, falling away from her.
The second boy grabbed her around the waist, lifting her into the air. The position was familiar, exactly like how she’d been suspended right before she was kidnapped. This time, her platforms added more weight to her, and it was easy to throw him off, landing directly on his stomach and rolling away before he could regain himself. She got up just as the boy whose nose she probably broke was swinging to try and get a spare hit on her. She slammed her knuckles into his jaw. He went down and didn’t get back up.
The boy beneath her did, however. He sprang up, reaching for her coat to throw her off balance. He caught her in the arm, wrenching it back out of its socket. She cried out, yanking herself away from him. She used the pull to kick him in the hip and make him fly into the wall. He groaned, holding his side as he struggled to get up.
“You fucking bitch,” he hissed. “So proud of yourself for protecting people like those vigilantes? I’m gonna tell everyone who you are.”
“Yeah?” She tried to wrench her arm back into place. Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck. It hurt like a bitch. She’d have to fix it later. “And who am I?”
He faltered, glancing between the mask and her face. “You’re- Ghost.”
“No,” she hummed, putting the broken mask back on her face. “I’m just someone you assholes keep bothering.”
She made sure her shoes hit the soft skin between his legs before she left.
Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, torture, body horror, concussions, attempted kidnapping, implied child-abuse, guy who sucks so bad
A/N: trying this differently, adding the entire chapter instead of just a link! Lmk what u think, I hope u enjoy!
Synopsis: After spending six years being experimented on by her father, Vienna takes the opportunity presented by his arrest to flee to Gotham. With a resurrection, some regeneration, and limited telepathy, she's not totally out of her depth, but staying off the bat's radar becomes much harder after an attempted mugging goes haywire.
Now, the infamous Red Hood knows she exists, and she can't seem to avoid him. Not wanting to reveal the secrets of her metahuman abilities, it becomes her new mission to stay as far away from him and the rest of the bats as possible.
Arkham Asylum was no different than any other prison she'd been in. Whether it was brick walls that held her or the faded reds and yellows of a circus tent, it was all the same to Lauren. Just another place trying to make her out to be a monster. It did not matter her motivations, her justifications, any of the reasons she could give them; Lauren belonged behind bars.
No matter, she'd find her way out just like before. Maybe this time, she wouldn't have to take out the eager psychiatrist, on the same path as all the others who wanted to 'fix' her.
Lauren stared at the wound. It was red and bruised, and she marvelled at the lack of rot she saw along the edge of it.
Somehow, in her mind, she knew Vienna had been without her left leg for a month. Today, her father was kind enough to glue her leg back on. Glue. No stitches, no wraps to hold it in place, just glue. Vienna had been asleep for the initial reconnection of her leg. She woke up now, whimpering in pain as her father, whom Lauren was still piloting the subconscious of, ignored her.
Lauren stood over Vienna, by her head. The girl glanced at her, eyes begging for some sort of relief. Lauren could do nothing but smooth the girl's hair away from her face and whisper promises that it wouldn’t be forever. Every dream, it seemed as though she gained a little more mobility. Before, it was just his eyes; now, she could move his hands.
She wondered why she had these dreams, why Vienna looked nothing like how she’d imagined her. She always envisioned Vienna with lighter and straighter hair, like Genevieve’s. In her dreams, Vienna had dark red hair, with tight curls that framed her face like a heart.
Her old theatre director would have loved her.
She also imagined Vienna had brown eyes, like her. She had no idea why, since Genny had told her Vienna’s eyes were green. Looking at them, they looked closer to Genny’s green than they ever would Lauren’s brown.
Vienna made another sound, turning Laurens' attention back to her in the present. She had her eyes shut, and she was shaking. Her jaw spasmed like she was trying to chatter, but couldn’t with it sewn shut and together.
The Cat did not react.
“She’s cold,” Lauren muttered, looking around for some sort of blanket. There were no comforts in the dank cellar. No accommodations whatsoever for the young girl who lived in it.
If The Cat would do anything in this moment, he didn’t. Lauren tried to move his legs to no avail. She could only continue to press the hands she piloted against Vienna’s temples.
Vienna made more sounds of discomfort. Lauren huffed as she came up short in her search around the room. The Cat still did not move. “Fuckin’ old man. Useless as always.”
She turned her attention back to Vienna, stopping short as she noticed her leg. The foot was moving. The foot on the previously detached leg was moving.
“Huh.”
The Cat moved then, walking around the table to get a better look at her leg. Vienna twitched. The whole leg was shaking with her now. The foot moved like it was trying to shake out pins and needles. The Cat turned towards his desk, ignoring Vienna as she made another sound, this time more frantic.
“You asshole,” she groaned, wishing she could control his arms so she could slap him. “Get your daughter a damn blanket.”
Vienna turned her head to The Cat, looking rapidly between him and something to her right. Following her look, Lauren saw a basket sitting on a low shelf. Inside, a small flannel blanket that looked so thin she doubted it could do much for the cold girl. But the basket was at the perfect height for her hand.
She reached out, smacking the basket until it fell off the shelf. The Cat turned sharply, stepping over to put the basket away without a second thought. It wasn’t until Vienna made another sound that he paused, looking between her and the blanket.
Almost begrudgingly, he draped it over her, making sure she was sufficiently covered before he turned and put the basket back, returning to his desk without a word.
Lauren looked over his papers, sighing as she spoke. “Horrible, horrible old man.”
But as soon as the girl settled enough to close her eyes, Lauren reached over and scooted the blanket off her leg. Just to watch it. Just to see what happened with the scars.
She feared she might share some of The Cat’s curiosity at just how much Vienna could bounce back from.
~
She woke to the sound of gentle pitter-patter on the windows. Distantly, thunder rumbled through the air. She groaned, her entire body felt like shit. A headache was splitting her skull open, and the rest of her ached in a way that felt like she’d just fought a war.
To her horror, when she opened her eyes, it was light outside. As in, she’d fallen asleep and slept through the night.
And that she was on a couch, not her ratty blankets. And this was definitely not her apartment.
She sat up quickly, only to have to pause as a wave of nausea and more pain hit her. Her mouth tasted coppery, and her throat felt sticky and coated with her blood. She felt at her nose quickly, trying to gauge how badly she’d bled.
Her face felt blood-free.
She paused, feeling up her nose. It was definitely swollen…
There was a bandage holding her septum in place.
Oh my god.
There was a soft sound like the release of pressure behind her. The shuffling noises were obvious, making no attempts to hide the fact that someone was in the room with her. And then, distinctly, she recognized the couch she was lying on, and the brick wall in front of her.
Fuck, fuck, shit. Oh my god.
How the hell did she even get in here? Did she just, sneak in? Go through a window? She must have done it between falling asleep in her apartment and now, but why didn’t she remember it? When did she patch herself up?
Or did HE do it?
She slowly turned, waiting for Red Hood to begin telling her off. For what, she wasn’t sure. Being in his apartment? Bleeding on his couch? Leaving her stuff with BATMAN?
He wasn’t even facing her. There was a mostly eaten plate of what she could only assume was waffles on the table, a syrup bottle next to it. He was adjusting his helmet back onto his head, the faintest sound coming through the modular like he was still finishing a bite.
She had maybe five seconds.
Before he could turn, she catapulted herself off the couch, hoping she could unlock the door fast enough before he caught her.
She didn’t even make it across the room.
Her half-removed shoe caught on the edge of the couch, and she slammed into the ground so hard a pathetic wheeze choked out of her. The cold floor felt less like laminated wood and more like concrete against her ribs. Her head pounded in her skull, and nausea rolled in her stomach. She was pretty sure she completely blacked out for a few seconds.
Safe to say, she felt like shit. She felt like shit and the Red Hood just watched her fall flat on her face.
He didn’t move from his spot in the kitchen. She could tell he was resisting the urge to laugh. “How’d that go for you?”
And now he was mocking her. She pulled herself up slowly, turning to face him. Alright, if he wasn’t going to yell at her, why was he here? She held her head to nurse the ache as she spoke, “Went great. Thanks. I was just leaving.”
He gestured at her with his chin. “Yeah? Can you? Looks like you might’ve taken a fall. You wanna slow down?”
She was going to scream. “Did you set my nose?”
He shrugged. “If I didn’t, did you?”
She scoffed, swallowing hard as she used the couch that betrayed her to pull herself up to her feet. She wanted her inhaler: the amount of blood coating her throat made it feel swollen and thick. Her headache only seemed to worsen when she stood. She rubbed it uselessly. “Fuck’s sake.”
“Yeah. A broken nose will do that to you. You’ll probably need to take a few days to get over that.” He slipped a glove back onto his hand. “What happened this time? Another kidnapping?”
She glanced at him skeptically as she looked around. Sensing her search, he pointed near the other side of the couch, where her bag resided. She glanced at him skeptically as she shuffled through it. “Attempted robbery. I was tipsy, couldn’t get my bearings enough to fend for myself properly.” She pulled out her inhaler and took a long breath through it.
He waited until she was done. “Do you think you have a concussion?”
“What’s a concussion feel like?”
“Nausea, headaches, double vision, dizziness, brain fog.” He gestured for her to come over. When she did, he pulled a small flashlight off his belt and beckoned for her again. “Eyes wide.”
She reluctantly obliged, letting him shine the light into her pupils. She tried not to shrink away from the discomfort. “Any pain?”
“Yes. The light hurts.” She cringed. “Feels like there are rocks in my skull. And in my eyes. And behind my eyes.”
“Shit,” he sighed, flicking the light back and forth across her vision. “Follow the light.”
She squinted, trying to keep her eyes open just enough so he could see. Every time she moved her eyes, it felt like she was straining them in her sockets. “I’m trying.”
“And that’s the best you can do?”
She stood back from him, rubbing them lightly. “Enough of that. Maybe I’m concussed. It’s fine.”
“Fine, until you need a doctor.”
She paused, glancing at him. “At what point does it become a concern to need a doctor?”
He flicked the light off. “When things start getting worse. If the pain doesn’t go away, or you know. You end up hemmoraging.” He shrugged. “But you aren’t going to listen to me if I tell you to go to one, are you?”
She almost shook her head. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Then take it easy. Maybe keep close to one in case it does start getting worse.” He gestured at the table, specifically his plate. “You want breakfast?”
She glanced down at his plate as well. “It seems like you’ve already had it.”
“It was literally just those frozen waffles. I can pop more into the toaster. There’s like four boxes in the freezer.” It felt like he was giving her an accusatory look. “When was the last time you ate?”
Not since she’d been at the bar, and even then, that was just light snacks throughout the night. She hadn’t had a proper meal since yesterday morning. But with the way her stomach was rolling, she didn’t think she could keep anything down if she tried.
She turned back to her bag, glancing down at her clothes. The shirt was ruined; no doubt, she would have to toss it. The sequins were streaked with dark brown blood that hadn’t seemed to dry yet. Sorry, Eleanor, you just wasted $40. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Concussions will mess with your appetite.”
She slowly sat in the chair next to him, finally unable to hold herself up while dealing with the pulsating ache in her skull. “I’m nauseous. I don’t think I can hold anything in.”
He seemed to considered that for a moment. “If I go grab something, will you leave?”
“Depends,” she drawled, rubbing her eyes again. She lightly tossed her inhaler on top of her bag. “What time is it?”
“It’s only eight.”
She shook her head. “I don’t work until four.”
He tilted his head. “And you won’t try to run like you did when you got up?”
“You saw how that went for me.” She waved a dismissive hand at him, closing her eyes and leaning back into the chair. She almost tilted her head back, but it felt like it was pooling with blood at even the slightest tilt. “I thought you were going to yell at me, that’s why.”
“Why would I yell at you?”
“I broke into your apartment. And then I bled on your couch.”
He snorted. Or at least, she figured it was a snort. The sound warbled in his mask. “You think the couch is nice?” he asked. “And you think you broke in here?”
She gestured vaguely. “I’m in here, aren’t I?”
“I brought you in here.”
She squinted at him. “Why?”
He leaned back in his chair, holding a hand up. “Let's see. You were bleeding profusely from a broken nose, you were in a really cold apartment with the window wide open, and I was in the area anyway.” He ticked off a finger for each one. “Also, why the hell would I care if you bled on my couch?”
“I don’t know!” She threw her hands up. “People are weird about their furniture. My nana used to cover hers in plastic wrap so we wouldn’t sit on it and ruin the cushions.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I looked like your Nana. I guess I need to catch up on my skincare.” he glanced down at his fully armor-covered body. “Or question what kind of clothes your Nana wore on the regular.”
She slumped onto the table. “Are you going to leave or not?”
He pushed himself up. “Kicking me out of my own safe house now? You’re getting cocky.”
She groaned at him. He walked over and nudged her with his boot.
“Go lie back down. The bed is still here; you can use it. Change if you can. I’ll grab some things that might be easier on your stomach.” He paused. “You might want to consider calling off work today.”
“Not happening,” she muttered, holding a lazy hand up to half-ass pointing at him. “And you’re not gonna pay me again to make me take the day off. And really, you shouldn’t even be offering me your bed right now, or getting me things to help with this when it’s–”
“You’re being ridiculous.” He nudged her with his foot again. “Do I have to carry you?”
She scoffed, closing her eyes as she settled her head against the arm pressed onto the table. “I’ll throw up on you if you do.”
One of his arms scooped under her legs and dipped her back, the other coming up to lift her so quickly she could only squeal before she was airborne, clutching at his jacket as he started walking down the hall. “I’ve had worse on me,” he said simply.
She groaned, hiding her head in the crook of her arm as the world swayed and rocked with his steps. “I was mostly joking before. Now I don’t think I am.”
“You’re alright, you big baby.” He sat her down on the edge of the bed. “Look at me. Do I have to haul your ass to the hospital?”
She had to consciously remind herself that this was the Red Hood she was talking to, and pouting at him would not make the situation better for her in any way. “No. I don’t even need to rest. I’m the prime example of healthy.”
He tapped a finger gently on her forehead. “Fine. But you could rest. And the bed is damn comfortable.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Batting his hand away, she sighed, pulling off her shoes fully. “Fine.”
“If I come back here and you’re gone, I may hunt you down.” He shrugged when she gave him a flabbergasted look. “I have nothing going on today.”
She didn’t want to stay in his apartment. But getting hunted down by him was an actual reason for terror to shoot down her spine. “I will stay right here if it means you do not hunt me for sport.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and started for the window. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes tops.”
The second he was gone, she got up, stumbling into the bathroom and flicking on the light to inspect her nose.
It looked awful.
~
“How late do banks stay open?”
“Uhmm, it depends on the bank. Most close after five. Why?”
Vie shrugged. “I need a new one.”
“Something happened with the previous one?” Eleanor asked. “Did someone take your money?”
Vie shook her head slowly. Just enough to get the point across. Everything was still sore, despite her spending most of her free time sleeping and her working time numbed with pain medication. Two weeks in, most of the other symptoms were gone. The ones that lingered were probably the worst. At least she’d stopped being nauseous, but now she was always either starving, or couldn’t even swallow. “No, it closed. I just need a better place.”
She’d just decided to stop leaving her things at the apartment. Red Hood hadn’t disappeared like she thought he had, and she wasn’t going to take any more chances than she already had.
Even though he was really kind to her.
It was better this way. Better to be unnoticed by vigilantes, by anyone in power. She left the window locked, using the front entrance for the first and only time. It was heartbreaking to sit there and know she wouldn’t have it anymore. But it wasn’t hers in the first place. She couldn’t keep it.
She could only fantasize about having something like it one day.
“Try the one that opened near the bike shop,” Zachary, the short twenty-three-year-old cashier, said, leaning over and against the cash register. He’d recently started working more hours, she wondered if he was going to be full-time soon. “They just opened up. Locally owned, I heard.”
Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “Sounds like a scam.”
He shrugged. “My dad uses it. He hasn’t gotten scammed yet.”
“I’ll check it out,” Vie said. Zachary wasn’t someone who would screw her over. At least, he didn’t SEEM like the type. He seemed much more content to make money to spend on his car or to get high. At least he was good at work and kept the orders under control. That was all Vie cared about.
Eleanor, on the other hand, hated him. Couldn’t tell anyone why, but she did. Every time he spoke, she was scrunching up her nose or rolling her eyes. Vie thought it was hilarious, especially with how over the top Eleanor’s thoughts were when she tried to justify that finding him cute was enough reason to hate him.
The diner was quiet; it was noon and practically empty. The rain beat down relentlessly on the windows, and thunder continued to rumble far off. Nobody wanted to be out and eating lunch in this weather, which meant Vie wasn’t making as much money for the day.
For the best, she supposed. She had ALL her money currently stuffed away in her duffle bag, hiding in the secret pockets. It was too much to carry on hand; she NEEDED a bank now more than ever.
“Twenty bucks, you go outside and start calling for people to come in,” Eleanor said to Zachary, jutting her head towards the front of the diner. “Vie, you want to add to his bet money?”
“Twenty bucks, he goes outside like you said, then has a smoke break.”
“I like those odds better,” Zachary hummed, leaning close to Eleanor. “You wanna add to THAT bet?”
She glared at him. “Like I’d give you money for doing what you’d do anyway.”
Vie had to wonder how long it would be until those two professed their undying love for one another.
She swept a rag over the counter for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. She hadn’t much else to do. She just wanted to get out and go to the bank already. But she had another two hours.
She looked up, only to flinch as a sharp pain cut through her skull. Briefly, something flashed behind her eyes, an unclear image of some faded memory. The image of red, something splattered against grey stone. A voice, speaking urgently in her ear. She couldn’t make out the words, but it was masculine.
This had been happening a lot recently, ever since her concussion. Random visions accompanied by intense pain. Usually it was in her head, but sometimes it was elsewhere. Her legs would ache, her stomach burning, or the pain would be localized to one specific part of her face.
She had no idea what it meant.
“Your nose is starting to heal, Vie?”
She looked up, pushing the weird moment away as she considered Zachary’s question. Her nose felt like it was starting to heal. It wasn’t hurting as much, but it remained bruised and gross-looking. She hoped it wouldn’t stay that way forever. She’d just started being able to wear her gas mask again without the pain. At least the swelling had diminished.
“I think. Shouldn’t have to cover it soon.”
“You don’t have to now,” Eleanor said quietly, grabbing her coffee mug to go fill the cups of her only customers at the moment. “We wouldn’t judge you if you didn’t.”
“Yeah, and then every customer would be asking what the hell happened to my nose, and I’d be busy talking about busting my ass in high heels instead of taking orders,” she said, mostly to herself as Eleanor walked past.
That was a believable story for them. It also would explain why she didn’t have her heels anymore. Being a clutz in heels was better than being beaten up in an alleyway.
In her opinion.
It had convinced her to go to the gym more and actually work out. To refine the weak muscles she’d been half caring about. She’d even bought herself those disgusting protein shakes to help with her muscle growth.
“You could always make up a fun story every time, see which one gets you the most tips,” Zachary offered.
Now that, she might actually enjoy doing.
~
She had only just started her trek back to her things when she heard the yelling.
She stalled mid-step, staring ahead at the dark sewer in front of her. Her gas mask echoed off the walls, but they didn’t mask the noises ahead of her. The screams sounded young and scared beyond reason.
This happened sometimes. Fights would break out in the sewers, kids would have meltdowns.
But this didn’t sound like either of them. Not only did it sound terrified, but she could feel it.
One of the biggest downsides to her telepathy she’d learned, was that sometimes she’d feel physical manifestations of the thoughts she was hearing. It made sense, everyone felt their thoughts differently, but with fear, it always hurt. And the muted thoughts in front of her made her skin ache.
She was stuck frozen in contemplation, trying to assess what she was supposed to do in a situation like this, when someone rounded the corner ahead of her.
“C’mon, you’re fine.”
“Let me go!”
A girl, barely older than ten, fought to free her wrist from the grip of a man who looked far too put together to be in the sewers. He was shorter than Vie, but his preened clothes and well-kept hair gave an aura of someone who should’ve been taller. “I want my daddy!”
“We’re going to see him!”
Vie seriously doubted that. The man stopped a few paces ahead of her, eyebrows knitting together as he took in the sight of her. “Can I help you?” he snapped. “You fucking see something?”
She didn’t like this situation. Didn’t like that she had to be the one to do something. She wished for once that a hero would pop out and fix everything so she could be a coward and run. She wanted to be a coward. Instead, she gripped her bag, swallowing the hard lump in her throat. “Uhm. You’re hurting her.”
He looked down at the little girl, who was now yanking herself from him with all her might. The skin around her wrist was red and irritated. Every time she moved, the ache under Vie’s skin pulsed. “That’s none of your business, little miss.”
“Help me!” the girl squealed, her cries getting frantic when he clapped a hand over her mouth.
Shit shit shit shit fuck goddamnit. “Let her go,” she said dumbly. Stupid. Stupid. Fucking dumbass.
“This doesn’t concern you. Why don’t you go crawl back to wherever it is you’re cut from and let us handle our business.”
He turned, already dismissing her, and she panicked. She stumbled over, grabbing the hand holding the girl and trying to pinch his median nerve so he’d release his grip.
She thanked whatever god was watching over her when she found it quickly, pressing her nails into the skin so hard he yowled. The girl ran immediately, squealing and crying as she disappeared down the drain.
She’d learned that trick from Eleanor.
“God dammit!” He rounded on Vie. “You dumb fucking cunt. You want to play the hero? You want to be the good guy?” He cracked a knot in his neck. “Let's see how long you last with my hands around that pretty little neck of yours.”
Shit. fuck. Goddammit. Fuck everything. She took a step back, trying to map out the sewer in her head. She could go back the way she came and get back to the main street, but what about the girl? Should she follow her? She didn’t seem to live in the sewers; she had nice clothes on and seemed as though she’d had a shower recently enough.
He matched her step with his own, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “Maybe this ain’t so bad. You’ll do just fine. You owe it to me, make up for the loss.”
Oh my god, he’s a fucking monster.
She stumbled back again, scrambling over her feet like they were useless to her. She should just run. Turn on her heels and book it, but her legs wouldn’t move properly. She was stepping back too slowly, and he grabbed her poncho before she could turn from him.
“Don’t be difficult. You want to help people, right? Help me out then. It’ll be fun.”
His face was too close. She could smell him even through the mask, smell his breath. He reeked of cigarettes and something sulfuric, with some cheap cologne trying to mask everything else. His face was so close and she could see every pore and he smelled so bad–
She shot her knee up. Missing his middle entirely and instead nailing him squarely in the jaw. The impact shook her, and she fell backwards just the same as he did. She scooted away from him as he hit the concrete with a thud, and she swore she saw a tooth go flying.
Run. She needed to run.
She catapulted over him just as he was groaning. He wasn’t unconscious, but she didn’t want to stay and wait for him to be. Justice be damned. He was hurt, and she had to get away while the opportunity presented itself.
She was turning corners blindly, about to go flying down another pipe, when she stopped short, the little girl from earlier cowering down inside of it. She was covering her face, sobbing quietly into her sleeves.
She would probably be terrified of Vie, terrified of the girl who came out of nowhere wearing a creepy face mask. Vie took a cautious step towards her, unsure of what to do.
“Hey… are you okay?”
She cringed. Of course, the girl wasn’t okay. She’d been dragged into the sewers after being kidnapped by a man. She’d probably never even been in the sewers before.
Vie had no experience with kids. There weren’t any girls who were her age on her old block, and she obviously didn’t work with them now.
She crouched down to be closer to the girl's level, awkwardly offering a hand. “I’m not gonna hurt you… Are you hurt?”
The girl peeked out from under her arm. “Are you a bad guy?”
Vie shook her head. “No, no. I want to help you. My name is…” welp. She couldn’t come up with anything. “…Nevermind. Do you know where your parents might be? If they’re looking for you?”
The girl glanced past Vie, looking for any signs of the man behind her. Vie probably should’ve taken him to the cops. Reasonably, she should. But she decided that right now, the little girl took priority.
“He- he was my daddy’s friend,” the girl hiccuped. “Daddy didn’t come home, and I went outside to find him. That man said he knew him… but then– then–”
“Okay, okay.” Vie took the girl in her arms as her words turned into a high-pitched wail, holding her loosely in case the girl didn’t want the comfort. “It’s okay. He can’t hurt you now.”
The girl sobbed, gripping Vie’s poncho and burying her face in her hair. Vie’s chest burned, the girls sadness making her heart feel like it was going to pop. This poor little girl had been through so much in just one night.
And if she was implying her dad was gone…
Vie scooped the girl into her arms, glancing back down the pipe. Where could she take the girl? Should she really go far and risk him disappearing? Did she even want to try and take him to the cops? Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone, take her to the police, and let them know what he looked like, where he’d last been. If they can find information on the girl's family, they could probably find information about him.
“I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”
She jolted, throwing an arm around the girl protectively. One of the old men she’d occasionally pass on her way back to her tent stood across from her, hands raised in an offering of peace. “I don’t mean to give you any trouble. That little girl needs her parents.” He glanced down the pipe Vie had run from. “And he doesn’t need a chance to get away.”
“What if he tries to run?” Vie whispered. She didn’t want the girl to hear, but with the way she was crying, she likely wasn’t listening.
“I have a cane,” the man held it up. “And there are other eyes. Word travels fast down here. If he tries to run, someone will grab him.”
Vie spared the dark sewer one more glance. Sure. The opportunity to have someone else take over. The responsibility is being taken off her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Thank you. Miss…”
Fuck’s sake. She couldn’t avoid this one. “Uhm. Ghost.”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“Miss Ghost.” He nodded appreciatively. “You go take care of her now.”
~
The old man was right. Word did travel fast. So fast, words got lost in translation. She left the sewer being Ghost, some nobody who happened to be at the right place at the right time, and came back as Ghost, a new face to pretend was a facet of hope.
She was fucked.
Most of them knew what she looked like. They’d seen her without her gas mask, but it seemed like the people underground just wanted someone to look up to. Someone to rely on.
It wasn’t comforting to think she was being shoved into the spotlight a hero would take.
And it only got worse. People would whisper when she passed about how she was there for their safety. Several times, she found things left at her makeshift tent, like they were offering her things. Like she was some god.
It was awful. She begged Chris for more hours than she already had.
“I can’t give you any more overtime than I already do,” he said as she sat across from him, leg bouncing in frustration. “The city will be on my ass about taking care of my workers, and I already have to do a lot to make sure they don’t worry about your current schedule.”
“Then I’ll work off the clock,” she offered. “Only taking tips, not hourly.”
“Vie,” he paused, setting a manila folder down and clasping his hands together. He wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Is everything alright? At home, I mean?”
She blinked. “What.”
He flattened his hands out, considering his words. “I don’t mean to pry, I know it’s not my place, but… the other staff said you’ve been coming to work with bruises. Your nose was broken last month, just a week ago you were hiding a limp… all that plus the need for more hours, do you need help?”
She didn’t mean to gape at him. She really didn’t. She hadn’t considered fighting off drunks and rapists and getting thrown around as a result wouldn’t translate to her regular day job well. “No,” she blurted. “No. I don’t. I’m sorry. I had no idea how all of this looked from the outside.”
“If you do need help, I can get you the resources-”
“I go to the gym,” she blurted. “All the time. I train way more than a normal person would. Sometimes I just overwork myself.” She gestured to her nose. It wasn’t purple anymore, but it still looked vaguely bruised. “And I ate shit walking home in heels one day.”
He stared at her skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she smiled, hoping it was reassuring. “If I were in trouble, you know Deb wouldn’t let me go a day without solving it herself.”
He conceded, nodding in agreement. “That woman is something else.”
Warnings/tags: Explicit, torture, medical malpractice/trauma, Kidnapping, Gore, Drugs, Miscommunication, Canon-Typical Violence, Jason Todd x Original Character, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt NO Comfort, eventual smut
Synopsis: After spending six years being experimented on by her father, Vienna takes the opportunity presented by his arrest to flee to Gotham. With a resurrection, some regeneration, and limited telepathy, she's not totally out of her depth, but staying off the bat's radar becomes much harder after an attempted mugging goes haywire.
Now, the infamous Red Hood knows she exists, and she can't seem to avoid him. Not wanting to reveal the secrets of her metahuman abilities, it becomes her new mission to stay as far away from him and the rest of the bats as possible.
Arkham Asylum was no different than any other prison she'd been in. Whether it was brick walls that held her or the faded reds and yellows of a circus tent, it was all the same to Lauren. Just another place trying to make her out to be a monster. It did not matter her motivations, her justifications, any of the reasons she could give them; Lauren belonged behind bars.
No matter, she'd find her way out just like before. Maybe this time, she wouldn't have to take out the eager psychiatrist, on the same path as all the others who wanted to 'fix' her.
Blurb:
The man seated across from her looked half dead. He stared at the table, eyes unfocused. The only sign of life was the constant tapping of his leg on the tile. His tray of food sat untouched on the table.
Originally, she sat across from him because he was new. He had picked the corner farthest from everyone, refused to meet anyone’s eye, and turned his back so nobody could meet his gaze. When he didn’t react to her presence, she got curious. Now, she was just staring point-blank at him while she ate. He never once acted as if he knew she was there.
She turned lazily to the guard who always seemed to follow her around. They finally stopped having her flanked by two. She wondered if it was good behavior or if someone else got the other guy. “Did y’all torture him?”
The guard didn’t acknowledge her. She turned back to him. “Hey. Twitchy. What’s your deal?”
He glanced at her for half a second before staring back at the table.
“Nothing?” she pressed. “No crazy ramblings? No declarations? No vengeance?” she leaned over the table. “Who even are you?”
“A fuckin’ cat,” the guard finally muttered. Looking at him, she saw fresh red lines on his neck. She resisted snorting. Looking at The Cat’s nails, she saw dark brown crust under the beds. So maybe he was the reason she only had one guard now. That’d be funny.
“Kristopher,” The Cat snapped at the guard, turning his head just enough to acknowledge him. “Irene.”
She stilled. “The scientist?” she whispered.
Kristopher Irene. The scientist. AKA Genevieve Irene’s father.
Warnings/tags: Explicit, Torture, Medical Trauma, Kidnapping, Drugs, Gore, Miscommunication, Canon-typical violence, Jason Todd x Original Character, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt NO Comfort, eventual Smut
Synopsis:
After spending six years being experimented on by her father, Vienna takes the opportunity presented by his arrest to flee to Gotham. With a resurrection, some regeneration, and limited telepathy, she's not totally out of her depth, but staying off the bat's radar becomes much harder after an attempted mugging goes haywire.
Now, the infamous Red Hood knows she exists, and she can't seem to avoid him. Not wanting to reveal the secrets of her metahuman abilities, it becomes her new mission to stay as far away from him and the rest of the bats as possible.
Arkham Asylum was no different than any other prison she'd been in. Whether it was brick walls that held her or the faded reds and yellows of a circus tent, it was all the same to Lauren. Just another place trying to make her out to be a monster. It did not matter her motivations, her justifications, any of the reasons she could give them; Lauren belonged behind bars.
No matter, she'd find her way out just like before. Maybe this time, she wouldn't have to take out the eager psychiatrist, on the same path as all the others who wanted to 'fix' her.
Blurb:
They had to figure out how to keep her in Arkham Asylum. They’d never had a cyborg before. The only cyborg publicly acknowledged before her was that big hunk of metal who worked with the Teen Titans. And he wasn’t a problem like Lauren was.
They ended up clamping cuffs on her that they’d spent weeks testing, figuring out which parts of her body would shut down when deactivated. After experiencing the lows of her organs shutting down repeatedly, they decided they’d found a good enough solution to the problem that was her. The cuffs would shock her system at such a low frequency that it wouldn’t physically hurt her, but it made her cybernetics practically useless. Her right arm was limp, but they’d been kind enough to ensure the shocks wouldn’t send past her spine. She could use her right leg at least.
Everything else, not so much. A constant dull buzzing in her head kept her from sending any coding to the rest of her system. She could think, sort of. Everything felt fuzzy with the cuffs, like they’d put a shield over her mind.
It was miserable.
The physical assessment to get into the asylum was hell on top of it. They tried their best to weigh her based on their scales and accommodate her cybernetics as best they could, but it was essentially useless. She was 60% robot, for fucks sake. Most of the metal was on the inside; she couldn’t show it or give them a weight reference if she tried. They had to peel back the synthetic skin, exposing the entirety of her metal arm, most of the metal plating in her back that wasn’t covered by actual flesh, and the lower half of her leg. She’d tried her best to convince them to give her more synthetics, but they’d denied it. Something about hiding items under it.
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