Rated K+ for minor action violence
"Last stop!" called the bus driver.
Jean Witter glanced out of the dark window, peering past her muted reflection. She rocked as the bus slowed and finally stopped near a row of sidewalk shops and tall buildings, and threw her scarf decorated with little Christmas trees around her neck. Grabbing the handle bar on the seat in front of her, she stood and walked to the sliding doors.
"Merry Christmas, ma'am," said the bus driver with a tip of his hat.
"And the same to you, sir," Jean said merrily, infected with the cheer of the season, and hopped down the steps onto the sidewalk.
The bus hissed and shut its doors, leaving Jean in a cloud of exhaust. She coughed and waved a hand in front of her face as the acrid smell stung her nostrils. She then set off, shoving her ungloved hands into the pockets of her thin, tweed coat and huddled within herself. Fresh snow crunched under her boots along the familiar path to her apartment. The sepia-toned clouds above were heavy with snow which fell in fat flakes that dusted her coat and blond hair.
Jean took a great sniff of crisp, winter air to clear out the headache-inducing fumes, and pushed up her slipping silver-wire glasses.
She knew it was just a trick of the mind - this particular date stirring up happy memories - but she could practically smell Christmas Eve in the air. It had it's own scent, she insisted on it. Not even having to work at the diner on Christmas Eve was enough to squash the feeling. Her thoughts briefly turned to the mounting bills on her coffee table, or at least as much of a coffee table as a standing, plastic tray could serve, but she shook them out of her mind. Not today, not tomorrow, the season was going to enjoyed before she returned to stress and grouchiness from overworking.
At least tips were more generous this time of year.
She had only lived in Gotham for three months and still didn't quite know what to think of it. On the one hand, it had the world-class Gotham University (which she was currently enrolled in), exciting nightlife (which she did not partake in), and a dazzling collection of celebrities, philanthropists, and businesses (which she could barely keep up with). But on the other hand, the city's crime and corruption rates were through the roof, which was enough for Jean's mother to refuse her daughter moving from their small, neighboring city.
And then there was the mysterious vigilante the Gothamites called "Batman", a subject her family was divided on. Her grandpa thought he was a hero, showing the useless, bumbling GCPD how to do their jobs right. Uncle Steve had a theory that Batman really set the crimes in motion himself and then stopped them, reaping the rewards in an attempt to gain the trust of Gotham. "Batman's all show, no substance," he would say. Her sixteen year old cousin Crystal claimed that Batman was simply an urban legend reported on every once in a while to keep up the morale of the hopeless and gullible citizens.
As for Jean, she wasn't sure what to think when it came to the masked man - if he was even human. Truth be told, she was afraid of him, myth or not. The whole thing felt unnatural, like Batman was a secret government experiment developed to solve Gotham's infamous crime problems. Not that she believed that, but if it turned out to be the truth it wouldn't have surprised her. If the news reports and sightings were to be believed, Batman couldn't possibly have been human. But she would have rather left the conspiracy theories to Uncle Steve.
The white-figure traffic signal lit up, prompting Jean to cross the street. Reaching the other side, she marched beside a tall, wooden fence that surrounded the construction of a new apartment complex. The building's steel skeleton stood well above the fence and was abandoned for the holidays. Passing a gap in the planks, snow-dusted construction equipment and debris were visible.
Every Gothamite seemed to have a Batman or Rogue story to tell, whether they claimed to have seen the figures themselves, knew a friend who witnessed a sighting, or even a friend of a friend. Shaky, amateur footage appeared every once in a while on the news, but it was never enough to prove the existence of the Batman. Even Xelia, the rainbow-haired stylist that lived down the hall from Jean, had a Gotham Rogue story herself, having had a run-in with The Riddler. At least according to the rumour that circulated like wildfire throughout the apartment building.
Voices sounded up ahead. Jean perked her head up and slowed down. They were coming from the next gap in the fence, the entrance to the construction zone. Her mother's warnings about walking around at night in Gotham rang in her head, but she had no other choice than to walk. Considering how she struggled with even meeting rent and groceries, having a car was never an option.
Mind your own business, mind your own business, don't look, she coached herself, sinking her neck into her collar as if it would make her invisible. She walked past the gap nonchalantly, hoping that they were just as innocent as her.
The voices quieted.
She didn't stop.
"Hey!"
Jean flinched, her coat too thick to make it obvious, but she kept walking at her steady pace as if she didn't hear.
"Hey, c'mere."
Jean's heart skipped a beat when she heard snow crunching behind her. Her body tensed. She quickened her stride without looking back and stepped off the curb to cross the street when a hand grabbed her shoulder and wrenched her around. She came face-to-face with a man about a head taller than her.
"What's the hurry, peach?" said her pursuer, grinning like he was enjoying a joke. The copper sky gave enough dim light to discern his smoothed, dark hair and stubbled chin. A group of four men stood behind him at the opening in the fence where he had come from, all wearing nice, black, winter coats. They were not construction workers, much to Jean's growing sense of unease. The equipment and machines weren't in use, already having a layer of snow on top, and there were no spotlights set up to work in the dark.
Jean's legs tingled in a numbing feeling. She didn't answer the man, fearing that anything she said would only be interpreted as an invitation. The smell of stale cigarette smoke wafted from his coat and dulled her nose.
"Come, come get warm with us," Smoky offered, slinging his arm around her shoulders to steer her, smiling in a way that suggested he thought himself charming, but Jean knew it to be threatening. She dug her short heels into the packed snow to gain traction and counter Smoky's pull.
"No thank you," she managed to say, which surprised even her, considering her liquifying insides. She ducked under his arm. "I have somewhere to be right now."
Smoky put his hand on her again before she could turn, guiding her closer to the group and resisting her attempt to leave. "That sounds great, we'll come with you."
Oh no, oh no, no, no, Jean's inner voice panted as she was herded onto the sidewalk. She searched the street as subtly as possible, not wanting the men to notice her escalating stages of panic, but the surrounding area was empty; not a single person or car was in sight.
"Hey, guys, looky here," announced Smoky, tilting his head to indicate the prize he caught.
Jean stumbled clumsily when Smoky shoved her into the circle. The other men sneered at her like they were enjoying a private joke as well.
Surrounded. Jean tried not to betray her fear through her expression, but her normally big, round, sleepy-looking eyes were considerably wider now. Her rational thinking ground to a halt and her inner voice scrambled to kickstart it again.
Think, Jean, think, it forced desperately, This doesn't feel right.
"I really should get going, I'm late for a Christmas Eve party," she stammered. It was a lie of course. This was her first Christmas alone, but it went without saying that she wasn't going to tell them that.
"At eleven at night? Aw, peach, you best forget about that and head home," said Smoky in a lively tone, "O'else Santa ain't gonna leave you a present. It's dangerous on these streets, ya know. Tell you what, since it's Christmas and all, we'll do the honourable thing and walk ya home. How' bout it, boys?"
The others nodded, mumbling their agreement. Their matching smiles made Jean feel smaller.
"No, thank you," she said politely but firmly enough in what she hoped would give them the hint, "I don't need help, I can go by myself."
"Ya hear that boys?" said Smoky grinning toothily, glancing over Jean's shoulder at the goons behind her and then looking over his own at the rest. "She don't need us."
A few scoffed, and one chuckled hoarsely, their breath escaping into the air as steaming puffs.
Smoky nodded indulgently at Jean, his body bobbing along with his chin. "Yeah, yeah, I can dig it, I respect that," he said in good humour, "But here's the thing, ya know. What if you're outnumbered, like, say, right now?"
He indicated his companions surrounding the two and slung his arm around Jean's shoulders yet again. He wore a concerned expression. "Between you and me, I dunno if independence is gonna get you very far. So we'll cut you a deal, eh? Just for you, peach. We'll take time outta our busy schedule to make sure you arrive home nice and safe, you invite us in for some hot chocolate, we negotiate our reward, maybe you can show us a little hospitality, we'll see. How's that?"
He retracted his arm and now planted his hands squarely on Jean's shoulders to force eye contact. His demeanor was easy-going, but his grip said something else entirely. The touch sent a slimy shudder down Jean's spine. Instinctively, she raised her hands and spread them to push Smoky's arms off. Though the action seemed bold, her lungs were constricting.
Smoky's eyebrows hardened. His grin lost enthusiasm momentarily as the corners of his mouth sagged by the tiniest measure. However, he smiled again and played the move off like he was disappointed.
"Aww, peach," he whined with furrowed brows, placing a hand on his chest, "We offer this out of the goodness of our hearts, in the spirit of the season, and you're gonna turn us down?"
Jean grimaced from his cigarette breath, resisting a cough. Her feet tensed in preparation to run. She had never been a great runner, her frame was too willowy, but it could've been possible to buy some time if she bolted suddenly and screamed down the street for help.
The thugs tightened their circle around her, closing the window of opportunity to make a break for it. They watched her like hungry wolves.
"C'mon now, we're kinda gettin' cold here," said Smoky enticingly, waiting for Jean to agree, but she knew that any answer she gave would be interpreted as yes.
The group's shortest man was the exact same height as her, and quite burly. He shifted slightly to the left, leaving a narrow but wide enough space. Jean saw her window.
She ducked with precision and side-stepped Smoky, slipping through the gap near Burly. Fingers swiped at her back as she broke through the claustrophobic circle.
"HELPrrmph!" she screamed, but several strong hands grabbed her from behind, one clamping tightly over her mouth as she felt herself lifted off the ground, Her legs bucked wildly in the air as she tried to break out of the iron grasp. She didn't know which one of them had her, but he reigned her in and pressed her tightly against himself, the back of her head forced into the crook of his neck.
"Alright, fine, if that's the way you want it," came Smoky's low, deadly voice in her ear. He grit his teeth and grunted as he tried to restrain her flailing body. Once he had assistance from the others, they started hauling her away.
Jean couldn't breathe, Smoky's hand was clamped directly underneath her nose, blocking it. Her screams ripped her throat, but they couldn't escape. The sound was much too muffled to alert anyone. Smoky and the others dragged her along, melting into the darkness of the alleyway situated across from the construction zone.
There was no exit, they were surrounded by three immensely tall, red brick walls of surrounding buildings. A long, shallow dent in the center of the alley collected water, now solid ice. A dumpster with it's double lids left open was surrounded by a few trash cans at the far end. Crumpled, mushy cardboard sat haphazardly under the dumpster.
Not a soul to be seen.
Smoky spun Jean around and shoved her roughly against the alley wall, leaving his hand pressed over her mouth, using his free arm to pin her torso, and his knees to keep her legs from kicking. Jean's heart jackhammered too violently to feel the sharp pain at the back of her head when it collided with the craggy bricks.
"C'mon doll, why you gotta be that way?" drawled Smoky with a dark grin, leaning his face close enough to fog Jean's glasses. "We can be friends."
Jean's mind flashed to horrible, soul-crushing images: her family's reaction to the attack, or of possibly never seeing them again. Her eyes clouded and she sobbed into Smoky's hand, regretting stepping off the bus, having no idea that this could have been her last Christmas ever. The excitement she felt mere minutes ago was so distant.
Oh please, please, please, somebody, she begged frantically, eyes raised to the sky, but she knew that she was clawing at an unreachable miracle. The inevitable was coming.
Black-gloved fingers appeared over Smoky's forehead. In an instant, they gripped and jerked his head sideways, then pushed his face into the wall behind Jean. Her eyes scrunched when she heard the sickening crack of Smoky's teeth colliding with the wall. His tight hold fell away and he crumpled to the ground doubled over, swearing a mean streak and holding his face in agony.
Jean gulped in a breath of cold air, able to breathe again. Smoky's men were yelling incoherently and scattered.
The alleyway was so dark that she couldn't see any assailant. The shadows were moving too rapidly. Jean froze against the wall, unable to slip away, mouth opened in horror. A sound similar to a flag flapping in the wind was close by. When her eyes adjusted on one specific, moving shape and focused on just what exactly she was seeing, she realized it was a cape. The dark shadow was wearing a cape.
"It's the Bat!" one of Smoky's men yelled.
Jean's hands clawed against the wall. No...no, it can't, it's not...
Her attackers scrambled as soon as their leader fell to the ground. Two of them bolted out of the alley, blubbering in terror. They slipped and lurched on fresh snow and ice in their panic to escape.
The shadow had it's back to Jean, but she could make out two points on the top of it's head. It punched one of Smoky's men, lifted the goon up into the air, and tossed him easily into the trashcans at the far end. They clanged, crashed and spilled over on impact. The man lied there, sprawled over torn trash bags, and did not get back up again.
Burly pulled an object out of his coat that gleamed. An antique dagger. He bolted towards the shadow, raising his weapon high.
"W-watch out!" shouted Jean, unsure that the warning even came from her, she barely felt it leave her throat. She didn't know why she was helping, the shadow could have been just as much of a threat to her as it was to the thugs. Maybe Smoky and his gang had wandered into the shadow's territory.
She didn't even need to warn the mysterious attacker, it had already turned to face Burly, giving Jean her first glimpse of the dark figure. It was clearly a man. With a bat symbol on his chest. Jean's legs wobbled. Her mind was so overwhelmed that she was barely able to register who was standing before her. She was seeing him right in front of her own eyes; she knew who he was, but wasn't believing it. Processing was too difficult when everything was changing a mile a second.
Batman side-dodged the dagger's jab all too easily. Burly grit his teeth, clumsily wound up his weapon like a baseball bat and swung again. This time, the blade actually struck Batman, slicing his raised hand. Batman grunted and momentarily staggered, but straightened as the dagger was raised high and on course for his head.
Batman caught Burly's wrist before the blade came down and wrenched the weapon from his attacker's fist, tossing it against the dumpster. He lifted the goon off his feet by the collar. Burly's legs dangled helplessly below, cycling in mid-air to gain a non-existent foothold. Whatever ounce of nerve or dignity he carried with him earlier had evaporated under Batman's unforgiving glare.
"P-p-please," Burly stammered, clinging to Batman's forearm, "Show mercy!"
Batman's lip curled. "I already did," he growled. His voice was a deep rumble that sent unpleasant vibrations through Jean's bones.
Batman tightened his fist and clocked Burly in the temple. The goon's legs stopped kicking and his arms flopped to his sides. Batman tossed him unceremoniously to the ground. Jean's stomach heaved as Burly fell into a ragdoll-like heap.
Absolute silence.
Jean's breath came out so shallowly that even she could not hear it. Batman straightened to his full height and faced her. When their line of sight met, her blood went icy. This wasn't a wild hallucination, whatever the cause could have been. He was real.
And he saved her life.
A metallic clang echoed. Smoky, sniffling from the blood streaming down his nose, had crawled to grab the discarded dagger on the ground beside him and was on his feet. In a split second, he had already thrown back his arm to launch the blade at Batman.
It was impossible for Jean to blink, but if she did, she would have missed everything. Batman sprang into action just as the dagger left Smoky's hands, spiraling in the direction of the vigilante's head. Batman ran head-on towards it. Just as it looked like the blade was about to be embedded in his forehead, Batman crouched low and glided on the sliver of ice in the center of the alley. The dagger sailed clear over his cowl and disappeared into the street.
Smoky's expression barely had time to slacken before Batman met up with him, sprang up, and delivered a punishing uppercut to Smoky's jaw.
Smoky's hands flew to his face as he howled in pain. Batman wasted no time in hoisting him up in the air and tossing him into the open dumpster. Smoky smacked limply against the double lids and tumbled inside. The lids wobbled and slammed shut. No sound came from it afterwards.
The alley was silent again. Deafeningly silent. Jean's lips trembled, forgetting how to form speech. She fought to keep her words from spilling all at once.
"You...you didn't kill them, did you?" she asked uncertainly. While still counting her blessings that somebody intervened, it was a chilling thought to be witness to murder.
"No," replied Batman in a husky tone. "We should leave before they wake up."
It was as though the wall was magnetic. Jean could not force herself to pull away, as if Smoky was still holding her there. Her heart refused to stop hammering against her ribs.
Batman didn't wait for her answer. Without delay he took her wrist, his grip surprisingly gentle though rushed.
Jean's shoulders ached from being tense for so long, and her arms felt tender from where Smoky dug his fingers. Bruises were sure to form later in the night.
With Batman's guidance, she allowed herself to be peeled off the brick wall. Without warning, he then wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed her close to his costume-clad body, causing her to gasp. Before she could make sense of their sudden closeness, Batman raised his grappling gun into the air and pulled the trigger. Jean flinched as a loud bang and shrill whipping sound erupted from it.
"Hold on tight," he instructed.
Jean panicked, automatically obeying. She had barely linked her arms around Batman's neck before they both shot off the ground. She yelped, scrunching her eyes as her heart plummeted into her feet. They had launched so fast that she felt like she was slipping out of Batman's grasp, which caused her knees bend in reflex. Cold winter air rushed down, flattening her hair, and her toes curled in their boots from lack of solid ground underneath. She badly needed to adjust her grip, but was terrified of doing so in case she'd accidently let go. But Batman's arm remained secure.
They lurched as he landed expertly on the rooftop. When the tips of Jean's shoes scraped pebbles, she dared to open her eyes. It wasn't quite solid ground, but she let out the breath she had been holding in one great big rush. Batman unwrapped his arm, but she wished he wouldn't, it still felt like she was going to fall. Feeling wobbly, she staggered to the smoke stack and leaned against it for balance, taking in deep breaths.
A/N: I'll be the first to admit I'm not the greatest at writing fights (I realized this as soon as I started typing the one above xD), but I hope it was still good.
Xelia, the rainbow-haired hairdresser who had a run-in with the Riddler, is not my creation. She belongs to Iceewhateverthenumbersare, and is the main character in her own series of Batman stories on this site, the first one called "Harlequin Hair Day". Seriously, go read them, they're fantastic. Xelia is used with Icee's permission.