Barbara had remembered. It was a month now, and with every day it hurt, every day it pounded in her chest. And she couldn't help remembering how, when her parents hugged her, the way their hearts thumped too.

But that was a month ago, and everyone still told her that she would be ok.

She wasn't. It still hurt. But they didn't need to know that.

She was too tired to cry, after running away again. Uncle Jim was nice. He was more father-ish than her father.

But the pain was still there, and she didn't want to run anymore.

She wanted to fight. The helpless girl wasn't as helpless with her wits about her.

Where there's a will, there's a way.

And her will was stronger than steel.

And the way from there was clear.


Jason kicked a trashcan, scowling. Stupid, no good idiot father… He left his son. Fathers weren't supposed to do that… Right? Mothers weren't supposed to die…Right? Families were supposed to stick together.

His hadn't. But that was fine. Perfectly fine.

But the little boy inside stared confusedly out at the world, still wondering when they would come back. He didn't fully understand, still.

But it was all fine. Everything was fine.

He didn't need them. He didn't need anyone.

Inside, he knew it wasn't fine.

But he didn't need to be getting all weak and sappy on himself.

After all, this was Gotham.

And in Gotham, not being fine was for the weak.