Hope you enjoy this story. send me a version of what you think happened to Jade's wrist if your keen on it. I want to know what direction i'm making you think in with it. Thankyou.
Disclaimer - I don't own Batman or any other DC comic characters.
I woke up and removed the oxygen mask from my face. I sat up and ended up almost coughing up a lung. Luckily Alfred had left a bowl beside the bed for all the nasties that came out. Just lovely.
I wanted to open the curtains and look out into the garden but Wayne manor is huge and it's a long way to walk to those curtains. My room's obscenely big. I can't stand it. I'm going to end up with a phobia of open spaces living here.
Alfred brought in a cup of tea and a few pieces of toast. As delicious as fresh homemade bread with organic raspberry jam on it is, I wasn't very hungry. It was the meds. They gave me a stomachache. When Alfred came back half an hour later and saw that I hadn't eaten more than two bites and had only drank half the tea he gave me a look. He reheated it for me and made the excuse of cleaning non-existent dust of my dresser so he could stay in the room and make sure I ate. I ended up finishing the tea and one slice of toast, which satisfied him.
Then he went to get Mr. Wayne up. It was ten thirty and Dick was already at school. Mr. Wayne must be a late riser, but then that goes with the whole playboy thing. I know 'cause I used to read about him in the newspapers before I tucked them into my shoes as socks and wrapped myself in them to keep warm.
That was one thing that made me so angry about staying in the manor. It was huge and extravagant and empty. It was such an expensive place and yet it was so solemn and depressing. Money doesn't buy happiness. But it can keep you alive. That was what really bugged me. I could sell my dresser or my bed or even the damn silver plated bathroom fittings and make enough money to feed every starving bugger that I slept in an alleyway with. And Mr. Wayne spent the majority of his money on women and toys and travel and a stupid overgrown dolls house. What an ass.
And why the hell had he adopted me? Why the hell would batman send me to live with this creep?
Maybe it was a punishment for robbing a tobacconists and getting all those men killed. I hadn't really thought about that. I knew deep down it was my fault they were dead. My stupid scream and me. And then the other men that died. I just sat there listening to them die, the whole time. I didn't do anything but curl up in a ball like always and shut out the rest of the world. There is no excuse for that. I probably got it coming to me.
Mr. Wayne was probably tired of having to go out and find some anorexic model or actress or musician and so he decided he might as well have a waif like me at home.
Why else would he want me?
He must have a thing for thin girls.
Dick didn't even mention Mr. Wayne the night before. Not once. Not a comforting sign. I decided I'd steer clear of him until I was better and could escape the draughty manor. Run back to the streets and go from there. Have to keep away from the gang that Ryan's friends had belonged to. They probably wouldn't be very happy that Ryan and me were the only ones that survived the heist. I might have been able to hide away in Steve's nursing home for a while, but that wasn't a permanent solution.
I was stuck there at least until my health improved. Then I could stowaway on the back of a delivery truck to another city and start out fresh. Yeah right.
I never get the chance to start anew. Never. And trust me I've tried more than anyone else you'll ever meet.
In the mean time I had to wait.
I curled up under the blankets and went to sleep.
It'd been a month. I was getting better. I still didn't leave my room often and I tired after about two hours out of bed. On the other hand I was eating again. Alfred's stubborn vigilance had paid off and I'd gained about six kilograms. I spent my days sleeping, being beaten on the back by a physiotherapist, and watching movies and TV. I was really starting to hate Doctor Who. And I was missing Steve.
At night I couldn't sleep as well. Alfred and Bruce were night owls and they disappeared as soon as it got dark. Dick and I were left in the house seemingly on our own, but I wasn't sure that Bruce and Alfred were actually that far away. I had actually only seen Bruce three times since I'd arrived and both times he'd come into my room looking for Dick. Dick had become my friend and he spent a lot of his time keeping me company. He was always sitting next to me and watching movies or drawing pictures for me or showing me his latest comic. He was a sweet kid. He kind of reminded me of someone I used to know; this bloke called Isaac. Isaac was so bright and bouncy and full of life it got him into trouble. When he was little he used to get stuck up trees he climbed. He was always showing me amazing things like bird nests he'd found in the garden or the first fruit on the trees. He was amazing. He had this spectacularly loud voice. If he stubbed his toe all the neighbours knew from his yelling. He was my brother.
Dick's a good kid too. He did everything he was asked. He didn't seem to chuck tantrums, which was unusual for someone his age. He follows Bruce around like a puppy too. But Bruce doesn't seem to like kids. He ignores Dick and me, which I suppose is probably better than the alternative. Alfred's a nice guy too. I couldn't quite figure out why someone like him would waste his life being Bruce Wayne's butler. Each to their own, I suppose.
They're nice people, but every family has their problems, but each family is unique. That's a quote from a really sad book – Anne Karanina. I didn't read it, someone just told it to me once. This family had a bucket load of problems.
When I first realized, I was sitting up in my bed. I couldn't sleep so I sat and looked out the window at the stars. Then I heard a whimper from way down the hall. I figured it must have been Dick, but he must have been practically bawling for me to hear him from my bedroom. I got out of bed and went to check on him.
The door to his room was shut but not locked. I opened it and looked in at him. He was asleep in bed, but he was crying and shivering.
I had a few flashbacks to bad things from watching him in that state. I felt like I was going to be sick. I closed the door and stepped back. I was about to walk back to my room when I remembered something Steve once told me; Fear only needs to win once to destroy you, but if you do not face fear you are already destroyed.
That was after we saw a dead body. Steve stole the money from its wallet. We felt guilty and devastated, but we didn't feel scared. We should have. We were just too hardened, so we told each other a story that night that would scare the other. But Steve's was too good at its job. We both got terrified. We were so scared of death and being alone. We just sat holding each other until daylight, when things got better.
When I remembered Steve, I opened the door to Dick's bedroom and went and sat on the corner of his bed. I was too scared to touch him still, but I whispered to him;
"Your okay Dick. It'll be all right. You're a little angel, y'know that?"
I just sat whispering until he stopped shaking. Then I rewrapped him in blankets and curled up on the foot of his bed. He was still so short there was plenty of room down the bottom of the bed. I put my head on where his foot was under the blankets. That way if he started shaking again I'd wake up. Then I drifted off to sleep, shushing him when he occasionally whimpered.
Bruce climbed the staircase up to the manor. He couldn't really wait to fall into bed but first he had one last important task to do. Having bade Alfred goodnight he exited the cave through its grandfather clock passage. He stumbled up another set of stairs and down the hall to Dick's bedroom. It was the same ritual he performed every night – he checked on Dick. Even though he rarely did more than spar with Dick by way of interaction, Dick was still as much a symbol of love and care as batman was of justice. Every night he opened the door to make sure he was still there, still okay.
His heart leapt when he saw the bedroom door was open. He rushed into the bedroom and saw…
And saw Jade curled up asleep next to Dick. She was like a cat perched on the end of his bed.
He frowned. She should have been in her own bed. He walked over and gently shook her by the shoulder. Her eyes snapped open and she rolled of the bed and landed on the floor with a loud thump.
"What are you doing?" she hissed
"You should be in you own bed." He admonished
"No. I'm not leaving him, and don't you touch me, either."
"Creep" she muttered under her breath.
Bruce rubbed his head in frustration. It was late. He just wanted to go to bed, but he couldn't let this little brat talk to him like that or let her sleep in Dick's room. She had her own room and she was meant to be on oxygen while she slept.
"Go to bed." It was no use; he couldn't whisper and use The Voice at the same time. Jade ignored him and resumed her position on the bed.
He tried again slightly more loud.
"GO. To. Bed." He used some of the bat glare for good measure.
The kid glanced at Dick and then back at him.
"No. Make me."
Argh! What had he done to deserve this!
"I will ask nicely once more, and only once – Go. To. Bed!"
He raised his voice slightly, not quite enough to wake Dick.
"Go. To Hell." She hissed back.
That was it. He drew the line at verbal abuse. He walked across the room and grabbed her wrist to drag her away.
In the blink of an eye she went limp as a rag doll..
"Go. To. Hell" I hissed at him.
I was staying with Dick. Someone needed to and he sure as hell wasn't going to.
I couldn't see his face in the dark, but I saw him coming towards me. I went to move, but he was faster than I'd thought. He had me in seconds. He had me by my right wrist. I closed my eyes and tried not to see.
That's what happens when someone grabs my wrist – I get extremely anxious. Isaac did it once and I started screaming. I must have posttraumatic stress disorder from the bad things that happened. I just couldn't hack it this time. I'd had the flashbacks when I saw Dick crying in his sleep, now I was having them again. I spaced out. I was seeing it again.
I saw the room. It was quiet – as though I was deaf. I smelt the bleach from the bathroom and the sharp tinge of blood. My mouth moved. I was saying the words. I looked up onto the bed – I was so tiny. The wide pale blue eyes looked back. The mouth moved. The blood dripped down the arm onto the carpet. I cried. The arm grabbed my wrist. The knife came off of the bedside table. It slashed. The pain seared my arm. I screamed. My wrist went limp as the knife slashed again and again. Blood splattered the room. Blood splattered on the pale wide eyes. Blood splattered on the mouth. But mostly, blood splattered on me.
Bruce pursed his lips. Was she faking?
She seemed unconscious. He felt for a pulse in her wrist but couldn't find one because there was a ring of scar tissue over where it should have been. He tried feeling for one on her carotid artery. There – strong and rapid beneath his fingers. He noticed that she'd begun to sweat. She was mumbling something. He tried to read her lips but it was too dark. He tried to pick her up off the bed but she was gripping the bedstead with her other hand. If he dragged her off he could hurt her. He dropped her back on the bed in frustration. Damn it!
All of the sudden her eyes snapped back open.
I opened my eyes. It was over. I grabbed my wrist and checked my hand was still attached.
Every time it got worse. Every time the knife went deeper, the pain lasted longer, the screams rang in my ears that little bit louder, but never as bad as when it actually happened.
Where was I?
I looked around and jumped at the sight of the tall man silhouetted against the starlight from outside. Oh yeah. The manor.
Has he been here the whole time? I wondered.
I took one last look at him and bolted for my room. The last thing I needed was a clueless and perverted Bruce Wayne questioning me at three am in the morning.
Unfortunately my door didn't have a lock on it.
I sat panting on my bed, on the point of collapse. I wasn't meant to run yet. I felt like I was going to puke. I found the bowl next to the bed and heaved my guts up. Whether it was from the flashback or the sudden exertion after being ill, I didn't know or care, I just hurled. When I was finished I could barely breath. My hands were shaking. I couldn't hold the bowl. I could see it slipping. My hands wouldn't move fast enough to catch it. This was going to be gross. Mr. Wayne reached out and caught it before it spilt its disgusting contents all over me. I would have blanched or told him to piss off if I had had the breath.
"You okay?" he asked
I didn't answer because I couldn't. I tried to nod but my head was spinning. I couldn't catch my breath.
I couldn't do anything. My head started to spin and I couldn't move. I couldn't even move my eyes. I couldn't breathe. Something cool touched my cheek.
"Take a small breath in and then exhale for as long as you can." Mr. Wayne said.
I tried. I breathed out as long as I could, my head and chest protesting with fire. Then I took a breath in. It was a little easier now. I closed my eyes. God I was exhausted all of the sudden. Mr. Wayne fixed the oxygen mask back on my face. I took a few more breaths until my head cleared.
"D-dick?" I asked
"What about him?" said Mr. Wayne
"He shouldn't be alone. He was…" I trailed off
"He was what?" He asked
"Nothing. He just needs checking on."
With that I drifted off to sleep, or at least, rested until Mr. Wayne had left.
When I was sure he'd been gone a good ten minutes I crawled out of bed. I still couldn't leave Dick by himself. My legs were still too shaky to stand on so I crawled to Dick's bedroom. The door was open. I crawled in and sat by his bed. I was too tired to bother hopping up. Just being there would have to be enough, besides which I was too exhausted to go back to my room. Dick was sleeping peacefully again. I read somewhere once that dreams occur only in REM sleep and humans on average between seven minutes and half an hour of that a night. The real things that are horrible aren't actual nightmares, but night terrors. Night terrors don't happen in REM sleep. They happen when the brain randomly "misfires" during deeper sleep. Unlike a nightmare they don't last a few seconds that seems like hours or days, but last for around twenty minutes. I wasn't leaving Dick until I was sure he wasn't about to have another. I know what they're like. Little kids sometimes get them – that's what the monster under the bed is. Except in my case it wasn't under the bed, and it looked human. I could never tell my night terrors from reality. I remember Isaac used to come in to say good morning and I would have thought he'd been murdered. But it was just a night terror. See, I understand night terrors, and I wasn't going to make Dick deal with his alone like I had to.
The only problem was, someone was already sitting with Dick.
"I thought I told you to go to bed." Came a voice from the other side of the bed.
I snuggled down on the carpet and ignored it.
"Go to bed." It said again.
It was Mr. Wayne again. He tried to pick me up but I was careful not to let him anywhere near my wrists. He had to heave me up by the shoulders.
"Bed. Now" he said
I shook my head.
"Someone gotta stay with Dick."
"I'm staying with him. You're sick. You need to go to bed. If I catch you out of bed again I'll sedate you for your own good."
What do you know; Mr. Wayne grew a spine. I was too tired to argue anymore.
"Promise?" I asked
"Promise what?"
"You'll stay with him."
I climbed into bed and put the oxygen mask back on.
"Yeah. I promise." Said Mr. Wayne as he left.
I went to sleep then. Perhaps Mr. Wayne was not all he seemed after all.