Chapter Text
It’s weird how easily something can be taken away, in the blink of an eye, the passing of a second- a millisecond. Was it a second? Was it longer? A minute? Time slowed down so much that it was like a dream, a horrible nightmare. “It couldn’t be- it’s not real-” is all you thought as you saw the smoke of the gun, the small sparkle it made as it shot the bullet. Your terrified eyes followed it even as you knew the target, but how could you pull your eyes away?
You couldn’t. Not when it hits your mom, piercing her neck and hitting the ground behind her. You didn’t even notice as the teen who was trying to mug you ran away, just as terrified at what he had done as you. All you could see was your mom in your tiny arms, blood falling from her wound, splashing onto your tear-stained face and seeping into the cracks of your hands as you tried to put pressure on the hole, like in the movies, the movies mama always said you shouldn’t watch.
You never listened to that- maybe it’s why tonight she didn’t listen to you. You told her, begged her not to go through Crime Alley, the shadows warning you to stay on the main road, in the light, “Not through Crime Alley, never through Crime Alley” they whispered. But mama just smiled at you, caressed your worried face, and said it’ll be fine. She should have listened to you.
A warm hand touched your shoulder, squeezing softly. “-Kid?” a gruff voice, despite how soft he was trying to be, almost yelled, concern cutting clean through his blank façade. Your eyes meet his, the officer who brought you to the station, Gordon, that’s what that one policeman called him.
The older man couldn’t blame you, he wouldn’t be able to even if he tried. A kid as young as you, seeing what you saw, having to hold your mom while she died… They cleaned her blood off, out of your hair, from your face, and wrapped you in the softest, warmest blanket they could find, that’s the best they could do, the best he could do.
His lips moved, but you weren’t really listening. Sure, your eyes were on him, your body sitting on the armchair in his office, but your mind wasn’t anywhere near what was going on in the present. “-is that alright with you, hon’?” at his question you could only nod.
“That’s good. You’ll see, Bruce is a great man, he’s already adopted a son, so I’m sure he’d love you the same way. You’re his daughter- he’d be happy to know you-“Gordon started rambling and you stopped listening. He was nervous, clearly not used to dealing with traumatized kids. With time he’ll get better at that, despite his hopes of never having to deal with something like this again.
Bruce. Bruce Wayne, yes. The man you saw on TV, every time with a different woman, if not in an embarrassing situation. Yes, you remember now. They took your blood, ran it through the system. To try and find family, relatives so that you wouldn’t be sent to the overcrowded orphanage. You found it silly at the time- how could they possibly do that?
No matter. The billionaire was found to be a match, and you didn’t know how to feel. You just wanted your mami, that’s all you wanted but they wouldn’t let you see her. How could they not? She was your mami, even if she was mean sometimes, even if she forgot about you sometimes. That man was never in your life- a dad isn’t supposed to not be in your life. A father is supposed to be there to love and nurture, always, Bruce wasn’t.
The sound of Gordon’s office door opening startled you, head moving to look behind you. It wasn’t an officer, and it wasn’t Bruce. The man was too old, too skinny. He had greying hair, slicked back, and a strange mustache too. But mama always said never to say that out loud.
Gordon seemed surprised too. Alfred, Gordon called the old man, said that Bruce was preoccupied with other matters, didn’t have the time to pick you up himself. You felt critiqued under Alfred’s gaze like he was picking you apart, judging eyes catching every imperfection.
Sure, you looked more like your mom, but the policemen said that there was no way the results were wrong. They wouldn’t lie, right? These are childish thoughts, but you’ll learn later in life that everyone lies.
You were losing track of time. Trauma, Gordon called it. It must be something bad if he whispered it the way mama whispered things that you weren’t meant to hear. You don’t remember getting into a car, you don’t remember walking through the front gates of the Wayne Manor, but you remember the tight lip of Alfred as he put you in the car, the way he sat you in your room, the way he took your blood like the cops did, the warm meal.
You haven’t had a meal this good- well. You’ve never had a meal this good. But it wasn’t worth it to you, not when the bedroom was so cold, so dark, so lacking in the coziness of the little apartment you and your mama stayed in. It felt sterile, like a hospital. You didn’t even meet Bruce that night, he was your father, why wasn’t he here, comforting you as you took the pillow and covers and hid yourself against the wall, under the bed, seeking a snug, warm embrace while you cried? Where was your dad when you needed him the most?