Chapter Text
The smell was the first thing that I noticed, a foul mix of stale vomit, dried blood, putrefying fish guts, and sea salt. It made my stomach want to rebel and, had I not already been lying in a pool of my own stomach contents, I probably would have lost my lunch. The second thing that I noticed was how my mouth felt like I had been gargling with gasoline, the insides raw and screaming with pain. My breath undoubtably smelled like death.
As I slowly forced my eyelids open, the first thing I was a blurry face, mere inches from mine. “Ahh!” I yelped, instincts kicking in as I sat up. All this managed to do, however, was give me a massive head rush that almost sent me right back down. My vision went black and it felt like someone was trying to bore through my skull with a jackhammer. After about thirty, agonizing seconds my vision came back and I found myself staring at one of the ghastliest sights I’d ever seen: a mirror.
I was still in my vigilante get-up but the mask (that was supposedly slip-proof) was slightly askew, revealing a dark purple shadow under my right eye. My skin was paler than normal, an almost concerningly light shade of pasty white. My hair was also a wreck, a massive rat’s nest had formed on the left side where I’d been laying on it. There were portions that were coated in vomit, dusted with what looked like plaster. A cut ran from below my left eye down my face and across my lips. It wasn’t too deep and didn’t really hurt, but the blood had smudged as it dried, and it looked quite grisly. All in all, I looked like a zombie.
I wracked my brain, trying to think about how I ended up there (and where there even was), but my mind was jumbled. The last thing I could remember was eating breakfast with Alfred, but that had to have been hours (or days) ago based on how dark the newspaper covered windows were, the only light streaming in coming from florescent streetlights. The room I was in was almost completely empty, a collect of dusty crates and broken desks were shoved up against one wall with a singular, cracked porcelain toilet. The mirror I was looking at was covered in a gross white film and had a jarring crack running right down the middle. I had absolutely no clue where I was, or why I would be there. There didn’t even seem to be signs of a fight as I peered down at the sheet of dust that covered the entire floor.
I flexed the muscles in my legs experimentally, but they screamed in pain. It felt like I had been thrown into a brick wall by the Killer Croc (Again). I wasn’t sure if I could stand up, much less walk to safety. I fiddled with my wrist communicator, deciding the best course of action was to radio help. “Robin, you on the line?”
Nothing. Not even a crackle.
“Robin, come in Robin.”
Nada.
“Robin?”
Zilch.
“Rob, I am in need of medical assistance, and I don’t know my location,” I snapped. If Robin was listening and just pretending not to read me because he was mad about something I’d done (very plausible) that would definitely garner a response.
Bupkis.
“Robin! I’m at…” I faltered as I tried to pull up my GPS coordinates and got nothing but static, as if all of the Wayne Enterprises satellites were all somehow out of range or offline. Which was impossible, there were hundreds. Maybe I’d managed to break my communicator, despite the fact that Dad had designed it to be practically indestructible. No matter what the reason, I was on my own.
I took a quick inventory of the supplies in my utility belt, only to find more than half of my kit missing. I was down to three batarangs, six smoke pellets, two EMPs, a single nightstick, a vial of Scarecrow fear toxin antidote, and a roll of quarters. I didn’t even have my forensics kit. My quiver was mostly empty too, with only a couple of regular crossbow bolts and a few trick. Most concerning of all, though, was that my crossbow was nowhere to be found. Fantastic.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in that building, but it wasn’t wise to stick around like a sitting duck. I needed to orient myself. So, I carefully dragged myself to my feel and gingerly tested putting weight on my feet. One of my ankles was definitely at least sprained, but I didn’t have any choice other than to walk on it. It also felt like I’d broken or at least badly bruised a few ribs. But I'd have to suck it up. So, with a tremendous amount of willpower I forced myself to walk out and down onto the street.
It only took me a few seconds for me to realize where I was, that’s how well I knew Gotham. I was on the edge of the warehouse district, just a couple of blocks away from the harbor which I should have been able to guess from the fishy smell. This meant that I was a good couple of miles from home and considering my ankle and how light-headed I was, I really didn’t fancy walking. Dick’s apartment was much closer, beginning to make the familiar journey crisscrossing back alleys, heading north. It only took ten minutes (and almost fainting in pain twice) to reach the building and I quickly climbed the fire escape up to the 8th floor window of Dick’s living room, just as I had done so many times before.
I banged my fist against the glass to the tune of the Wayne Enterprise’s jingle and waited. It was best to stay on the fire escape, even in an emergency like this, until invited in to Dick and Babs’s apartment; a lesson that I had learned the hard way and had yet to fully recover from. When no one came to the window after a minute, I knocked again.
Someone inside flipped the light switch on suddenly and panic engulfed me. Something was very, very wrong. A middle-aged man in a slightly stained beige robe stood at the far end of the room, squinting into the yellow light with a squash racket raised in his left hand. The furniture was all wrong, too; a large leather Lazy-Boy style recliner sitting in the middle of the room that I couldn’t see either Dick or Babs ever owning. The walls were also painted a dull grey instead of the cheery robin’s egg blue and there were hundreds of other differences that made my mind scream at me. Quickly, I scampered off the fire escape.
It was the right apartment. I knew it was the right apartment, or at least I thought I did. So, what the hell was going on? I needed answers, and I needed them fast. So, I made a new plan. There was a phone booth outside a convenience store that didn’t have security cameras just a half block from the apartment. And I just so happened to have a roll of quarters left in my belt (thanks Dad).
I quickly made my way to the booth, ignoring the growing pain in my ribs and ankle. Luckily, the booth was deserted, not surprisingly considering it was the middle of the night. Nevertheless, I hurriedly dialed the number that Batman had set up for the cave to give to people like the Commissioner in case of an emergency that the batsignal would take too long to coordinate or be too obvious.
The line rung once before someone picked up. “Hello?” The voice of an elderly lady warbled. I wasn’t fooled, I’d heard Bab’s successfully imitate many voices before, from a Swedish accent to a three-year-old. I didn’t know why she would be on this line at this time of night or why she would chose to imitate and old lady, but I was too tired to care.
“Hey, it’s Huntress. I need a pickup,” I requested.
“Oh, Teressa? I wasn’t expecting your call,” the voice continued.
“No, Huntress,” I snapped. “Batgirl, quit playing.”
“Are you calling about Evelyn? That was terrible news, I was as shocked as anybody,” the woman continued, and I finally picked up on the fact that it really wasn’t Babs.
I quickly slammed down the receiver and redialed the number. I must have misdialed last time. That was it.
“Teri?” She called. “We must have gotten disconnected. These blasted phones- “
Once again, I ended the call. This time, I tried dialing Dad’s personal number, only to get the voicemail of what sounded like a frat boy named Dirk. Then, I tried Dick’s, to get a young woman who frantically asked me for information on her lost cat named Oslo. Finally, I tried Babs, whose number connected me to the voicemail of a grocery store’s customer service line. With no other options, I had no choice but to try and call the manor.
“Wayne Residence,” Alfred answered smoothly, his familiar British accent like music to my ears.
“Alfred! Thank God. I thought I was going crazy,” I sighed in relief.
“Excuse me, but with whom am I speaking?” Alfred asked politely.
“Come on, I need a lift. I know that this isn’t exactly the best line to call for a ride, but I was out of options,” I tried to explain. Was he mad that I was clearly bringing vigilante business into the house, and therefor breaking his rules?
“Miss, I’m sorry but I believe you have the wrong number,” he said apologetically. “Have a good night, I do wish you the best of luck in calling a ride.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” I cried. “Alfred come on,” I glanced around the phone booth nervously, contemplating what to say. There was no one in sight. If the Wayne line had been tapped (you never know), it would be a red flag for me to announce that Huntress was calling. But it was also a potential breach in security for me to say my secret identity while dressed in that spandex and Kevlar ensemble. After waffling for a couple seconds, I made my choice. “It’s Helena.”
He paused again, “Helena who?”
“Quit kidding around, please! I already have enough of a headache and there was something wrong with everyone else’s numbers. I’m in a bit of state and can’t walk all the way to Bristol or summon my ride, so could you please send someone to come pick me up?” I begged in annoyance. The booth stank of cigarettes and that was only making my head spin faster as I tried to understand why prim and proper Alfred would decide right now was good time to grow a sense of humor.
“Miss, I assure you that I do not kid. To my recollection, I do not know any Helena’s. What is your surname?” He sounded genuine, and the Alfred I knew wouldn’t have hesitated for a second as soon as he heard I was hurt. Something was definitely wrong, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end.
“Sorry, wrong number!” I blurted out as I slammed down the phone receiver once again. I didn’t know why, but what I did know was that if I told Alfred that my last name was Wayne, he wouldn’t believe me. Something was very, very wrong and I didn’t know what to do or where to go.
It would take ages to get to the cave by myself, and based on Alfred’s response, I wasn’t exactly confident of what I would find waiting there. Instead, the light bulb went off. Police headquarters was where I’d go. I could use the batsignal to summon Dad or Dick and sort this all out.
First things first, I used the rest of my money to buy a microwave breakfast burrito, a Gatorade, and a packet of turkey jerky from a very bored looking cashier in the convenience store. He didn’t even bat an eye at my outfit or the fact that I looked like I'd been buried alive. After wolfing down my bounty, I felt much better and the urge to keel over had mostly subsided. It was showtime.
The trip over there only took about twenty minutes, but I felt like I was going to pass out again when I landed beside the bat signal on the roof of police headquarters. I took a moment, waiting until the world stopped spinning like it was a sickening carnival ride before I reached over and flipped the switch.
Armed with a batarang, I took my place beside the AC unit and waited. It was barely two minutes before the flutter of a cape cued me in to someone’s arrival, but whoever they were was a mystery to me. A teenaged boy in a black cape stood beside the batsignal. He was wearing bright red underneath the cape with a weird bird symbol I’d never seen before in the middle of his chest.
“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” I asked.
He looked around, trying to spot me and failing. Not very observant, then. “I’m Red Robin. Who are you and why did you turn on the batsignal?”
"Red Robin? What, did you name yourself after the first restaurant you saw?" I snorted. He was probably just a Robin wannabe, the kind that popped up for a couple of nights before they managed to get themselves nearly killed and went scampering back home. But I would admit he was surprisingly well equipped for one.
"Hardy-har-har," he grumbled, swiveling in my direction. "Now, who are you?"
"Huntress," I said, stepping into the light, the batarang tucked against my forearm so he couldn't see that I was armed. "Now, will you stop playing hero? I'm trying to summon a bat, not some kid."
He blinked at me, taking his time to survey me, wincing a little when saw my face. That hurt a little. "Yeah, I don't think so," he finally said. "Look, you're clearly younger than I am, so you've got no authority to call me kid, okay? And I'm not playing, I'm an associate of Batman; I've been trained for this and it's pretty clear you haven't. Batman is very busy, he's not gonna come all the way out here so you can pitch yourself as his new sidekick. This isn't Shark Tank. Instead, why don't you hand over the utility belt you made yourself and head home."
Everything this boy said confused me. He'd said he was Batman affiliated. Did that mean Dad had replaced me? Or was he just moonlighting with a new sidekick? Didn't matter, I was tired and needed an extraction, STAT. I would be mad at him about that tomorrow. What worried me was the fact that he didn't seem to know Huntress. I was one of Gotham's four vigilantes, everyone knew me! What the hell was going on?
There was a dull crunch of gravel and then a taller boy with a red helmet on appeared beside restaurant boy, wearing a worn leather jacket and brandishing a gun in each hand. "Red, who’s your friend?"
"Just another wannabe, calls herself Huntress," Red Robin reported as though I wasn't standing right in front of them.
"Um, excuse me? I'm not a wannabe, I'm Huntress! Y'know?" I said sweeping an arm over the Gotham skyline. "Gotham's protector?"
They tilted their heads and shrugged simultaneously. "No, we don't know," Red helmet told me before turning back to his associate. "What's the course of action? Call B?"
Red Robin shook his head, "and say what? That two of us can't handle one kid playing hero? Plus, that's what she wants, let’s not encourage the kid."
"I'm not a kid, and I'm not playing," I interrupted. "I've been trained, by Batman. So, either you two call him in or I'll find my own way back to the cave." I left out the fact I was most likely sporting a concussion that was causing some memory problems, I mean I was likely hallucinating these two dolts.
"You were trained by B?" Helmet boy asked skeptically. "Then why do you look like you were dragged through the sewers by your hair?"
It was childish, I know. But I was tired, a bit delirious, and very confused. So, I hurled the batarang at him, my aim perfect; letting just the tip of the razor-sharp edge drag along the edge of his helmet, leaving a nice clean scratch just to the left of where his eye would be. The batarang bounced off the batsignal with a sharp ching.
Both of the reds, helmet and Robin, didn't waste a second to come charging at me. I dodge the shot helmet fired, and what appeared to be a rubber bullet ricocheted off the AC unit. I threw two of the smoke pellets I had left and let the smog envelop them, using the opportunity to charge past them and kick the batsignal so instead of aiming at the sky, it was backlighting me, giving me the sight advantage. I managed to kick one of helmet's guns out of his hands, the maneuver barely managing to shove helmet into the way of bird boy's eskrima stick.
"Dude! What the fuck?" Helmet grunted, taking the hit at the base of his neck. It had to have hurt. While he was busy cursing up a storm, I dived for his fallen gun, grabbing the new weapon before retreating, skirting around the slice of light the batsignal cut across the roof.
The boys seemed to have regrouped, they were now standing back-to-back scanning the roof, formulating a plan instead of attacking blindly this time. That ought to teach them not to underestimate me. I took aim carefully, taking my time to line up the shot as the hadn’t spotted me peering around the edge of little structure built around the staircase access. Red Robin's suit reminded me a lot of Dick's, which I figured meant similar weak spots. The way his knee was bent, and as he was facing away from me, the back of it made a nice and easy target. I fired.
"Shit!" He let out, as he crumpled in pain, but helmet was on it, firing three shots in quick succession in my direction.
I hit the deck, the gravel cutting into my face, but my decent wasn't fast enough. A new throbbing pain was coming from my shoulder where one of the rubber bullets had struck. I rolled myself into a crouch, firing twice in their direction, neither shot hitting, but causing helmet to have to duck.
I took his momentary distraction as an opportunity to make a run for it. I made it to the edge of the roof and was about to jump when something grabbed ahold of my shoulder. I landed back on the gravel with a heavy thud. The last thing I remember before the world went black was staring up at Batman who stared at me with no recognition. I tried to say "Dad", but it came out as a weird gurgle. Then, nothing.