The Young Years PT 3
Summary: This is a prequel to "Shit Interview" in the "Out of My League" series. Read about Bruce and Y/N in their troubled teens. What about their past makes them work so well together? You'll find out. (Hint: they've both been through major struggles.)
Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader
a/n: Death and blood. Also, Bruce is all the drama. [Eventual slow burn with Bruce]
Caught [B(19) Y/N(17)]
First, it was selling illegal car parts. Then, it was modifying cars illegally. Then, it was racing. Y/N didn't have to worry about money anymore, but she still kept appearances up at Dorthie’s Flowers with Carrie; she didn’t want to look suspicious. The house was paid off, the utilities were paid, and she started saving money for her brothers' school funds. She was set, and even better, she was a winner.
Ronnie taught her how to properly drive at 13. The lot for the mechanic shop was pretty big, and honestly, there were barely any cops in this part of town. The only rule was don’t go past the narrows. Once she hit 14, she was starting to get good. After modifying cars, she’d head out and watch the races, watch the different moves people made with their cars, recreate them on cars they were working on, and if they got fucked up, she’d fix them before anyone knew.
By 15, she was in races. By 16, she was coming in second. By 17, she was dominating. The money she had saved was insane, but there was one problem. The races were moving out of the narrows, and the cops were cracking down, particularly Don Colley and his partner Jim Gordon. All she had to do was keep her head down. She should have stopped. She had money saved, but the rush was so addicting, and the money was so rewarding. In her eyes, as long as no one knew who she was, what was the damage?
Getting caught. Getting caught was the damage.
The last race she was in was over by Gotham Harbor. She was in first, per usual, when the police swarmed. She was on her way out, swearing and huffing, when one of the drivers, trying to make a break for it, spun out and crashed. She didn’t even think. She stopped the car and ran out to help, but it was too late. It was a horrid scene. The airbags didn’t go off, and his car had smashed him into the steering wheel. His chest was caved in, and there was so much blood everywhere. It smelled like gasoline and death. There was no mistaking it, the driver that passed was David Colley, the Comminsioner’s son, and oh did he blame Y/N. She was caught on the scene and the only one he had to blame. Boy, did he fight hard when she went to court, lucky for her, Jim Gordan saw right through it, and so did the judge…
“You were a part of the Martha Wayne Foundation?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“You say you were doing this to provide a good home for your brothers after your mother left? Help your father pay the bills?”
“Yes, your honor.” Y/N felt the sweat on her temple, and her heart was beating so quickly. She felt fucked. She felt like she ruined her life, but the judge only hummed and thought quietly. There was a pregnant pause before he spoke, and the entire courtroom was on the edge of their seats.
“Despite having the wrong motivation, I think you have a good head on your shoulders. You’re young,” he continued, “I don’t want you to throw your life away in jail. So, here’s what I’m going to do. Not only will you return the money won to the court, but you will also complete six months of community service. Pay two fines, each $1000. One for the drag racing conviction and the other for the illegal gambling. Is that clear?”
It didn’t go over well with Don Colley. He ended up stepping down from the position of commissioner as Jim Gordon stepped up…it didn’t go well with her father either.
“What are you doing with your life?!” he covered his face with his hands. “You know what, it might have been easier if you were in jail and not wasting my money, my time-”
“Your money?!” Y/N interrupted. “Who’s been running your business? Who’s been providing? You haven’t even stepped out of the house in years!”
“Will you shut up! Do you not understand you are ruining your life-”
“Oh, so now you want to be a parent?” Y/N was up in arms. After years of picking up after him, providing, and putting food on the table, this is what she gets?
"You know what, go fuck yourself. You don't want me as your parent? You can get the FUCK out of my house!"
“The house I paid for? The house I clean and cook in and drag your ass into when it’s snowing. That house!?” she shouted until her throat hurt. Maybe she shouldn't have, she knew she fucked up, but she was so tired. So tired of taking care of other people. Every sentence she punctuated with a step closer to him until she was up in his face.
"You're unstable. You're not good for me. You’re not good for the boys. You need to leave," he looked into her eyes.
"I may be unstable, but you've always been a shit father." That seemed to be the last straw.
“GET OUT!” he grabbed her by the hair and shoved her out the screen door. He had never in her 17 years ever put his hands on her. He had always been silently grateful. Silently watching as she keeps the house running. He had never shoved her the way he did now.
“What the fuck-” she said, stumbling down to the ground.
“You don’t live here anymore. Tell Carrie to pick up your things.” He went to step inside but paused, looking over his shoulder. "You can't live here until you get your act together, and I can't live with you until I get my act together."
Her father stepped inside. She heard her brothers through the door asking what was happening and where she was. Y/N sat out on the concrete steps and said nothing. Was there anything to say? Slowly, she stood and made her way down the block.
-
Bruce wasn’t sure what to consider his position here. Was he a prisoner? Would they let him leave when the time came? At least they were training him. They’ve been training him for the past two years.
It wasn’t hard for him to leave Gotham. When he was fifteen, he received his diploma. He had skipped enough grades to get it and had enough credits through online courses. That was the deal with Alfred. You can go and travel, but you’re going to be officially educated. He traveled with Alfred for some time. Moving to different places, training with different people, learning different languages. Then, things went sideways. He was recognized. He was robbed. He could defend himself at this point, but not from twenty people. That’s ridiculous. In the end, he ended up in a Bhutanese Prison. This is where he met Ras Al Ghul. A strange man who had broken him out of prison and asked him what his plans were. Bruce didn’t really have a choice, so he told him. Now he was here, but honestly, where was he? He had no clue.
He had learned so much. He would continue to learn so much. He would solve his parents' murder, and he would solve Gotham. That was the plan. If he can survive here, he can survive anywhere.
He looked up at the ceiling of his bunk. He was bunked with many other soldiers and assassins; he wasn’t sure who they were. He had thought about Alfred. What he might be doing? What he did do after Bruce had been taken? The door to his bunk had opened, and there was the strange man who had found him.
“It is time,” he said. Bruce stood and followed him out to the training grounds. He sparred with different soldiers, at some points, several at a time. Another trainee was sparring as well. Eventually, they were tasked with sparring with each other. Bruce moved flawlessly, and his master smiled. He fought easily and used his opponent's faults against him until he had him on the ground.
“That’s good,” he grinned. “Now kill him.”
Bruce’s blood went cold. He looked over at the man, startled. “I can’t - I can’t kill him. He did nothing wrong. We were just training.”
“Training is to prepare you for real-life situations. You may have to kill someone, so it’s best to do it now. Kill him.”
Bruce held his breath, and his sword rose to strike. Training. That’s what it was. If I want to clean up Gotham, there has to be sacrifice. I have to do this-
You really think this is what your father would have wanted? You going to prison for the rest of your life? To kill someone?
The sword came down hard and swiftly, puncturing the ground. His master turned toward him, angry. He grabbed Bruce by the shoulder, shoving him to the ground as he dug his own sword into the struggling trainee on the ground. “Is this what you’re so afraid of? Death. These are the necessary sacrifices we must make for the good of the world.”
Red stained the snow around them, and the smell of blood lingered in the air.
“Well, that’s not the way I’m going to do it,” he stood stubbornly.
“How do you expect order? How do you expect to deal with the chaos?”
“Fear.”
