He had always wanted to make his father proud.
Everything in his life was planned, laid out, meant to lead to this.
A pat on his shoulder, a warm smile, a well done son.
And now this. This was bad. This was illegal.
He sneaked through the dark living room, hoping nobody would hear him on the stairs.
Usually he took the window. Not tonight though.
His left leg was hurting, breathing was painful and he hoped he could get the blood stains out of his clothes.
Should probably get a new costume he thought dully.
A door opened. He froze.
''Stan? What are you doing?'' His father was looking sleepy at him.
''Nothing Dad. Just going to the bathroom. It's urgent.'' He hoped he couldn't see him that good in the dark floor. He hoped he wouldn't noticed his clothes. Wouldn't noticed that he had suppressed a painful hiss.
Hoped that he wouldn't notice the blood-stained bat.
''Hmm still controlled by your own urges. Weak.'' his father turned around, to his relief without looking closer at him.
He hold his breath until he heard the door of his parent's bedroom close.
Then he sighed and quickly made his way back to his room.
He definitely had to go through the window the next time. He couldn't risk something like that again.
In his room he undressed and pressed the dirty clothes into a bag. Hopefully he could somehow wash them tomorrow.
Tomorrow... his stomach flipped. A glance at his clock and he groaned. Three o'clock. Later then he intended.
It was starting to become a routine. He briefly stopped in front of the mirror.
Breathing had already become at least less agonizing. Still more painful than anything he ever felt before, and through the last month his tolerance of pain had constantly increased, but tolerable.
He sat on the bed and tried not to think about the fact that he had probably broken a rip this night.
Probably his leg too.
And now the pain had already become a dull throbbing.
''What am I becoming?'' he mumbled and felt flat on his bed.
For once the voice in his head didn't answered.
Sighing he forced himself up again. Had to hide the bat. Couldn't let them see the bat.
The usual spark of hot, power, fear and once again he decided against cleaning it from the blood.
He couldn't stand the feeling for very long. Not when he wasn't fighting.
Destiny.
The voice growled. He ignored it. Tossing the bat into the closet he turned back to his bed. On his way he passed his desk.
A open math book lied on it. He stared at it confused, his mind trying to bring the image of blood, screams and pain together with those of numbers, calculators and school.
School. Shit. The math test tomorrow.
''We need to talk Steve.'' His mother was holding a paper. He stared at it and hoped that it wasn't what he thought it was.
''Your teacher sent a note. She said you felt asleep during classes. Again.'' his mother was frowning.
Steve shrugged and tried to smile.
''It's not that bad Mom. I mean it was just geography. Nothing important.''
''School's always important Steve.'' He wouldn't be able to calm her down. Not today. ''Until you stop falling asleep during classed you will meet your friends only on weekends, understood?''
He stared at her and she seemed to misinterpret his blank look as shock.
''Oh honey don't worry. It's just because your grade haven't been that good in the last time and I'm just a bit worried.'' Her expression softened, an almost sickening look of fondness ''It won't be for long.''
He managed a nod and left the room before his mother could say anything more.
Inside he throw his bag into a corner and himself on his bed.
He didn't mind. It wasn't like he had seen much of is friends in the last month. Well the last thirty days to be exactly.
He told them he had school work. That it was a bit stressful at home at the moment.
And that was all. Seeing them at school, acting normal, trying to find excuses for missing another round of their gaming sessions.
There patience would wore out eventually. He know that. They would stop asking, would stop calling and then one day he wouldn't be their friend Steve he would be that one guy.
He sighed. The worst part that he couldn't really bring himself to care. Not now.
Time.
Till my parents are asleep, he mumbled.
Calling.
I know. He stood up and walked to the window. He could see the outlines of the city from here. Almost close enough to touch it. Close enough to her its call.
Destiny.
The glass was cold against his forehead. He closed his eyes allowing the weariness to slip back into his body.
I know, he mumbled. I know.
Bones broke and he managed to dodge the blow from the man behind him.
''Who the hell are you?'' He didn't answered. He never did. A quick kick and the man was one his knee. The bat finished the job.
He pulled the mask up to breathe freely for the first time of the evening. Around him were three unconscious men and lock pick they used to break the door of the jeweler.
Not bad for one evening. He was getting better.
The first time he went out he couldn't move for two days. Told his parents he felt down the stair.
Explained the bruises. Not the cut of the knife. Thankfully they didn't saw it.
He shuddered whenever he thought about what would have happened without the unnatural fast healing his body now possessed.
Don't think, he told himself. Thinking wasn't smart. Thinking wasn't needed.
He tied the men together, making a mental note that he needed to buy new ropes. Handcuffs were too expensive. At least more expensive than ropes.
He desperately tried to block out the images of the jewelry in one of the black bags.
Quickly pulled the mask down and started searching for a phone boot.
''Corner Maple Street. The jeweler.'' The first few times he felt like Batman. He still did. He didn't do the voice anymore, though.
And he hung up before they started asking questions.
''One day the police will get him and then he will be put into jail for the rest of his miserable life.''
His father throw the newspaper angrily on the kitchen table.
He didn't looked up. He didn't wanted to see it.
''We have a police in this country! We don't need people dressing up going out doing their job. If everybody would do that they would be out of job.''
He concentrated on his soup.
''People today.'' He said nothing. He hadn't said anything during the whole dinner.
His mother had thrown him worried glances but thankfully she was distracted by Roger's idea of opening a kindergarten.
His father had made them stop discussing.
''If he wants to play hero, let him.'' his mother said. Hayley rolled her eyes. ''Mom arbitrary law is illegal.'' She shrugged. ''They'll get him eventually. The police or the criminals.'' ''Very nice can we now get back to the important things in life. Namely me.'' Roger interrupted.
He himself stared into the soup and suddenly had to suppress the urge to start crying.
The look in his father's eye had been one of pure contempt.
I quit.
Can't.
Yes. Yes I can. I'm going to my friends now.
''Good to have you back.'' It came sometimes after the third round, accompanied with a friendly pat on his shoulder.
He forced himself to laugh.
''Yeah. Missed you too guys.'' ''Now you're getting sappy.'' They laughed and he tried to concentrate on the game.
Go.
Tried to ignore the voice.
Go.
Sweat drops formed on his forehead.
''Everything's okay Steve?'' Snot asked worried.
Go. NOW.
He stood up so quickly the chair felt over. ''I-I'm sorry guys but I... I have to go.'' he pressed out.
''You're okay? You look sick.''
His vision was spinning. He forced a smile.
''No, it's okay it's just my... my mom don't want me to stay out so long.''
''It's only eight o'clock Steve.''
He felt like vomiting. ''Yeah already to late you... you know how it is.'' A flash of red and he wanted his bat, he wanted to smash, he wanted to punish, he wanted to save.
''Oh. Okay. See you tomorrow.''
He stumbled out of the room, without saying goodbye.
The fresh air didn't made it better.
Go.
He felt on his knee and spitted out bitter bile.
Yes, he whispered.
The next day he couldn't stretch his arm. On Monday his friend asked if he felt better.
He smiled and nodded.
They didn't asked about their next gaming session. He didn't brought it up.
Later that day after another dinner with his father complaining about the masked criminal fighting other criminals he lied on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
One hour sleep, he thought dimly.
Just one hour of sleep, then my history homework and then the streets.
He dreamed.
It was a sunny day. He was on his way to school. There hadn't been an accident. There hadn't been any kind of radioactive spiders.
There had suddenly been the voice. On the end of Oak street.
Destiny.
And a feeling like falling, being tossed into an abyss and abyss that was pain, hate, fear, violence and it was everything, everything that existed, everything that would ever exist and there was nothing he could do, nothing to help, nothing to change how it was, how it felt.
Save.
And he had nodded, kneeling on the dirty ground, and had sworn that he would, that he would help those people, that he would help them, that he would save everybody.
He woke with a start and the taste of blood on his tongue.
Two more this night. He actually saved a person this time. A young woman. She had screamed when he suddenly had jumped out of the trash can where the voice had told him hide and started attacking the man, who had his hand in her blouse while the other had hold her hands behind her back.
There.
He froze and looked up.
A man was standing at the end of the alley. He was watching him. Slowly he stood up, thankful that he hadn't pulled his mask off.
''Go.'' he managed a decent growl.
The man didn't move. His hands tightened around the bat.
''Go. Now.'' Instead the man came closer. Nervously he noticed that his hood was pulled so close over his head that he couldn't see his face.
The man stopped a few steps away from him.
''Steve Smith.'' his voice was a low whisper, the words a statement.
He.
''Who are you?''
The man raised his head. He smiled. A cold shudder ran down Steve's spin.
''Somebody who knows things.''
He came closer. Steve wanted to flinch away, wanted to run, but he couldn't move a muscle.
He still couldn't see the eyes of the man.
The man reached out, a movement so slow Steve should have been able to avoid, but he didn't even tried.
Fingers touched his forehead. They stayed there just for moment and then disappeared just as quickly.
''We'll meet again.'' The hand touched the fresh blood on his bat.
''And this won't save you then.''
He turned around and walked away.
Steve started shaking the moment he left the alley. He felt on his knee, coughing desperately trying to force air into his lungs. His hands lost the grip on around the bat. It felt on the floor with a loud clack.
'Who-who was that?'' he gasped.
Your destiny.