I wrote this in anticipation of the wedding in issue 50. Words will never be able to express my disappointment and it just adds that much pressure on not disappointing all the batcat fans out there. However, I wrote this on my phone, on the road, and under very limited time. I would appreciate if everyone helps improve and edit this, I will make edits when I get home in a month or so. I will also attach 7 pieces of fanart corresponding to each part when I get back. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it.
Part 1 - Following the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne
She's running away from the police, world spinning as jewelry spills out of her rucksack and onto the pavement. She was fighting a losing battle against her anxiety.
Two blocks away from the abandoned apartment she has called home for the past two months, she is stopped by the cries of a child.
It's the guttural screams of rage and anger that she finds herself waking up to every morning. So she runs towards it, half expecting to see herself in the dark alleyway lit only by gaslights and acrid smoke
Instead, she finds a boy, no older than herself, kneeling beside the bodies of his parents. His whole appearance screams rich, spoiled, undeserving and her subconscious mind tells her to grab anything and run.
But with tears streaming down his face as he claws at the face of his mother, the cold front she wears falters for just a moment.
Gotham doesn't forgive and doesn't forget, it's what they always say in the streets of Gotham. But looking into his eyes, she finds herself forgetting why she ran in the first place.
Against her better judgement, she kneels down and holds his hand. It's slick with blood but she doesn't care, she pulls him closer and hugs him tight. He stiffens and doesn't hug her back.
She wants to whisper, it's okay even though she knows it's not. She wants to be there for him even though she knows she could never be, he would never want her.
In the end she stays silent, hand rummaging her rucksack for anything worthless. She feels the contours of a cheap bat trinket and she pulled it out.
She starts to open her mouth, before realizing there's nothing she could say. So she just presses it into his palms and sways with the boy in the cold. Because in that moment, it was just the two of them.
Alone together, a memory to be forgotten, the dead breathing. Until they were not. She felt his fingers around her back, his breathing down her neck. The only warmth in the frigid cold of Gotham.
Maybe it's a minute, an hour or an eternity of serenity. The police sirens remind her of reality. She grabs her rucksack and pulls away, disappearing into the darkness, away from the pool of blood, away from the boy that died in the alleyway, away from all things good in life.