I want to make it clear to people now before they read this chapter, the names for Carter will be very confusing, as the use of the name is sort of an indication of how Carter is feeling about her identity in the moment and who she aligns said identity with at the moment (like when she's Stranger, she will be referred to as Stranger. When she's in "civvies" she'll be Carter, when she's out doing her self-appointed vigilantism she'll be referred to as that name she has given herself for that night; previous examples: Cassandra, Kitty. She is currently still Kitty and hence still looks like 'Kitty'). Hopefully this might make some of the beginning of the sense have a little more sense and a little less confusion…. Hopefully?
Also, fair warning, this chapter is pretty much completely dedicated to Carter and her life outside of all her hero/villain/mercenary related antics, so I'm sorry if that leaves you disappointed to not having YJ characters really in here. This will probably be the only one without YJ characters (or one of like two or three), so even if you dislike the pure Carter chapter there shouldn't be many. Just trying things out :)
Chapter Three: It Was Her City
September 28, 2010
Bludhaven
0923
Summers in New Jersey were always hot, the state clinging onto the humid heat for as long as possible and well into the beginnings of fall. This year was no different, the warmth only intensifying with the proximity of buildings and bodies present in Bludhaven. The smog of the place never helped, blanketing it as if to trap the heat in and bake all the residents. Only the ocean nearby provided relief, with a breeze usually rolling in with the waves.
Needless to say, it was this type of sweltering weather that always made Carter regret her decision of cargo pants and long-sleeved shirts when she went out "crime-fighting." Granted, the stench of the slums she was currently walking through always hid any kind of body odor her sweat managed to coat her in, so she could only complain about feeling nasty instead of truly smelling nasty.
She ran a hand through her sweat soaked hair, cringing when it came back sticky. She was definitely feeling nasty all right. It only took a passing glance into a piece of broken glass still clinging to life in a window that, yes, she looked nasty, too.
Her ink black hair, which had started out long and silky sleek, was now mussed up and sticking awkwardly in several directions. Some tresses were cut from a previous fight with a knife-wielding idiot, so that the right side of her face was not only marred by scratches, but was also framed by unevenly cut hair considerably shorter than the rest of her locks. If she were Stranger right now, she'd definitely be getting another lesson in dodging and being careless in a fight, no matter the opponent, from Deathstroke.
When the adrenaline high from yesterday morning's lesson had worn off, Kitty had convinced herself that training a little longer in the darkened streets was a great idea, admirable even. If she were honest, she was simply seeking another flare of exhilaration while coming to blows with someone, however the feeling never stuck. A couple of robberies and assaults later and the fatigue hit her like a glorious sack of bricks. It weighed down on her arms and shoulders, pressing on her chest and causing her body to sag. Even if she were Carter at the moment, she was sure no one would recognized her through her haggardness.
Another shard of glass passed and she could see the purpling of bags under her eyes even with her dark skin. Kitty decided thoughtfully that she looked like a zombie. A sad, beaten down zombie who needed a good three months sleep.
Sighing, the thirteen year old glanced up at the sun finally surmounting the tall buildings around her, suddenly all too glad that Deathstroke was on that mission in Gotham and hadn't contacted her to report in again. No, she was going to hibernate like most kids her age during their summer vacations. Granted, there was a huge chasm between most kids and her, but who was she to be picky when sleep was calling her name so sweetly?
Yawning, the girl quietly padded across the street towards North Maple Avenue, where her own apartment resided, before a man stepped in front of her. Dark brown hair slicked back in a gaudy imitation of a twentieth century gangster, the man wore a burgundy V-neck short sleeved shirt, showing off a scar running across his chest. With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark slacks, the man smiled.
Kitty eyed the smile warily, immediately halting in her walk. She took note that he was almost a foot taller than her, eyes level with the scar peeking from his collar. Idly, she wondered whether the man's scruff was itching his chin and ears before quickly releasing the thought. Instead, she put all her concentration into sizing up the male looming over her.
Decent muscle build with a few small nicks here or there on the skin: probably had gotten into a couple fights before this, and was on the losing end, too. His fist was clenched in his pocket, most likely holding something. What was it? A gun? A knife? Kitty's black eyes trailed down to his shoes, which were scuffed and torn. So he ran a lot. From people or after people, she could probably hazard a guess.
Her eyes flashed when the sleazy smile grew even bigger.
"Like what you see, girl?" he rumbled, circling the girl like a vulture. Her shoulders tensed in anticipation, ears straining to hear the consistent footsteps of his feet scraping against the dirt. It was slightly uneven. Maybe the man had a slight limp from a recent injury or old. She could use that, worse came to worst.
He gave a light snort before muttering something she was sure wasn't necessarily a compliment under his breath.
A fire in her stomach roared up in slight offense. Surely she didn't look that bad, Kitty assured herself, blank expression giving nothing away. Well, maybe she did look kind of bad, but that's why all she wanted was to change, take a shower, and sleep to rectify that! Is that too much for a girl to ask?
"I guess you'll do," he chirped when completing his circle to land in front of her again.
Kitty's eyebrow rose carefully on her dark face. She'll do for just what, exactly, she almost asked, but she had a feeling she would find out soon enough. Her fingers twitched with the need to feel the worn leather handle of her knife.
"How about going back to my apartment, sweetie?" he asked in a disgustingly sugary voice and taking a step into her personal space. Kitty's eyes flared with unadulterated fury at his suggestive tone, her mouth pulling down into a sneer. So that's what he held in his pocket. Money.
The girl took a large step back, attempting to calm her voice when she growled, "I'm not interested." When Kitty tried stomping past the man, her held his arm out and caught her on the shoulder. This time, she really did growl in warning. If the man knew what was best for him, he'd stop touching her right then and there. Then again, no person in their right mind would be attempting to pick up an underage girl at nine in the morning, even if it was Bludhaven.
His grimy, perverted, bad intentioned hand squeezed her shoulder lightly almost as if reassuring her. She didn't want to think about what that hand had done up until this day, she knew what it had most likely done to other girls like her. Well, not like her, not anymore.
Kitty considered the man extremely lucky he still had the damn thing. He didn't know it, but he should.
"It's fine, I can make it worth your while," he continued suggestively, his thumb creating a trail of grime on her shirt where he rubbed it in slow circles. His second hand met her cheek briefly in a caress. The gesture was too familiar to her, too close. Buried nightmares swam to the surface of her mind, ripping apart the careful film of solace she had collected there.
Her own hand was already in her pocket, encircling the dagger she kept there as her breath picked up its pace to almost hysterical levels. Carter no longer saw the dingy row of unopened stores in front of her, but rather the echoes of a dark alley. Her body began to tremble, but the man must have taken it as nerves or some other demented fantasy of his because he forged on to say, "Don't worry, it won't hurt, honey."
Carter's fingers began to tingle as her breath escaped her mouth in short, harsh puffs. That dark alley, that blood soaking into the cracks in the concrete. Carter bit her lip down on a whimper. She bit her lip down harder on her weakness. That man's hand was still on her.
"And maybe after you can get someone to cut that hair of yours-"
Before Carter could throw up, because that was definitely where the knots in her stomach were leading her, a high voice sliced through the morning air: "Hey, what are you doing!"
Suddenly, the hand was gone, though the fuzziness in her mind lingered. The man and the other voice were talking now, Carter noted blankly.
"Do you want to join in or something? I have plenty of money." That was the man, slick voice burning her ears.
"Prostitution is illegal, you pedophile!" the high voice answered again. It was a girl, Carter realized, and a young one. "You better leave or I'll call the police over!" She sounded familiar…
There was a scratchy laugh, nervously chattering in the air, and suddenly it clicked.
She caressed the sharp blade in an attempt to ground her to her anger, slicing open the pad of her thumb in the process. The sweet sting brought her back from where her mind was thrown, and Kitty's eyes flashed with danger. Twirling around, Kitty turned just in time to see a young Hispanic girl standing bravely in front of the approaching stranger.
Kitty could see the girl attempt to hide her shaking behind an angry frown.
The man's arm lashed out violently, swinging like a whip toward the other girl's face, her eyes scrunched in preparation. But the blow never landed.
"Fuck off," Kitty scorned, grabbing the man's arm and twisting it painfully behind his back. She squeezed the man's wrist when he tried to fight her grip, kicking at his weak leg to knock him to his knees. It didn't take long for a crack to jolt through the air, quickly followed by the man howling in pain.
"Are you ready to leave yet?" Kitty asked viciously, and she waited until the man nodded before releasing him.
He ran off and never looked back at the two girls.
"Thank you so much!" the Hispanic girl cried. Kitty slid her eyes over to her, noticing the usual crooked smile and the light dusting of freckles only on her right cheek. "Here I thought I was saving you, but…"
Kitty blinked lethargically, not opening her mouth to answer the girl whose kinked grin pinched upwards so her eyes curved into tiny crescents. Within the smile was a missing tooth that Kitty knew she had gotten from falling flat on her face while running away from…
Kitty shivered and pushed the thoughts down.
The disguised girl began to walk away without answering, this time hoping to actually make it back to her apartment and sleep off not only fatigue but the memories threatening to erupt from her mind. Where had this weakness come from? She was supposed to be strong now. She was supposed to be able to handle herself.
"Are you," the girl Kitty saved began again, completely missing the urgency with which the black haired vigilante was leaving. The only reason Kitty paused was because of the breathless tenor added to the words. "Are you one of them?"
Kitty's shoulder's tensed almost painfully. There was no way anyone could trace her back to Deathstroke and Stranger, and the only reason they could possibly be affiliated with the rest of the villains was because the man took a couple jobs from them in the past and took her along.
Instead of answering, however, Kitty brushed off the words. "You shouldn't walk around here alone," she muttered before walking off stiffly. But of course, like most times, she was ignored.
"My name is Catalina. Catalina Marie Flores! What's your name?"
Kitty hurried away, pretending not to hear the words calling after her.
_B_R_E_A_K_
The second she had crawled through the window of her apartment, she shed all she could of Kitty's existence. Her hair was shaved off, skin peeled, and irises rinsed down the sink in a painful cacophony of returning to the one identity she could never get rid of, not matter how hard she tried: Carter Collins.
Hastily throwing the black plastic bag in with the others by the bathroom door, Carter grabbed the scissors on a stray drawer before walking naked to the bathroom mirror.
"It's been a while," Carter muttered to her reflection. It truly had been a long time, almost three months actually. She wasn't pale, blonde, and delicate as Stranger appeared, mysteriously mature and calm as she was covered with makeup. She wasn't edgy and exotic like the purple-haired Cassandra, the one who flipped her long wavy hair in the wind with a carefree laugh. She wasn't smooth and silent like Kitty, the dark and serious girl who was now thrown into a pile of other forgotten characters.
No. Carter had red hair that fell in a straight sheet down her back before she cut it to just below her jawline with the scissors. Carter had dark green eyes that were haunted and solemn. Carter had sun-kissed skin with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her neck, trailing down past her collar bones, to her chest, and dispersing around her navel. She always looked youngest in her true appearance. She looked scared and pitiable, in her eyes. Carter sighed, her green eyes displaying her inner turmoil and flickering uncertainly as the roamed across the body she had truly been born into.
It was a body that brought back memories she had that were supposed to be long buried. She fingered a tress of hair that had begun to curl slightly, still staring intently. If she focused enough, she could almost hear a voice.
Your hair is quite beautiful, you know. I don't think I have such russet hair in my collection…
Carter yanked her hair hard, yelping lightly at the pain. But it served its purpose and the glowing white eyes that always lurked within her thoughts had receded for the moment. Carter never realized that her chest was heaving and her eyes were sprinkled with unshed tears. She tried to convince herself that they were from the self-afflicted pain.
Maybe she should call up Slade, ask if he had a job waiting to get done that Stranger could do. She really didn't want to be Carter right now, that was for sure.
A loud and incessant banging echoed through the room, causing Carter to stub her toe before she rolled into an attempt at a battle ready stance. It would have worked better if the toilet hadn't been placed right next the sink. Instead, Carter's knees buckled when smashing against the porcelain throne and the redhead was thrown back and toppled onto the floor. She moaned in pain.
"Carter! Carter open up!"
And then she moaned in annoyance.
"I'm in the bathroom, give me a sec!" Carter hollered, wincing as she stood up. Even through the walls separating her apartment from the hallway, she could hear the petulant huff from behind the door.
No one had visited her all summer, and she was fine with that honestly. She wasn't particularly close to anyone from school and Bludhaven wasn't really the town to go out and meet new people either. There really was only one person who would seek her out like this.
Shoving on a camisole and sweatpants, the thirteen year old made her way to the still banging door. The knocking hadn't stopped even after she answered verbally. With a deep breath, Carter opened the door to a fist ready to knock attached to a girl with golden toned skin and black wavy hair down to her back. Her face was slightly chubby with excess fat that would surely disappear in her teen years, but as of that moment one check puffed out as the girl smiled crookedly, accentuating the freckles that nested on that cheek alone.
A tongue flickered from her mouth and slithered into a space where a tooth should have been.
Despite herself, Carter couldn't help the small grin sliding onto her face. Blocking the doorway with her arm and body, Carter spoke up, "Catalina, nice to see you. Now why are-"
The redhead never got to finish when Catalina simply ducked under her arm with happy chatter spewing from her mouth in the hurried way it always did. Carter rolled her eyes and held back a chuckle. "Yeah, yeah Carter. Nice to see you, too, blah blah blah…" Catalina quickly made herself at home like she always did, shoving some spare clothes off the couch and even flinging a pair of underwear away without so much of a flinch.
Her apartment was a mess of empty food cartons, water bottle, and clothes all sporadically thrown across the place. Carter's own room was clean, and that was only because her biology and genetics books were sitting in there with her textbooks and those things were expensive as all hell.
Carter never claimed she was the neatest of beings, not that Catalina ever minded. The redhead choked back a laugh when her friend scowled, moving to the kitchen before rummaging through her fridge and pantry. Tutting, the darker skinned girl admonished, "Don't you ever eat Carter? You know Trish said she'd give you some money and food stamps." Settling with a box of cereal Carter didn't even know she had, the guest swept a bowl from the sink and sat down on the seat she had previously cleared. Carter was on the verge of laughing when the girl sunk into her couch with a sigh and threw her feet up on the small coffee table in front of it. She instead decided on crossing her arms with a scowl for good show, still standing in the doorway.
"Catalina," Carter chimed forcefully, making the addressed girl twist her head towards the apartment's resident. Catalina hastily swallowed a cheek full of cereal before laughing nervously, the sound scratchy and uneven.
"Right. You got mail today or somethin', so Trish sent me here as a delivery girl," Catalina spoke before reaching into her back pocket, hand squeezing in between it and the couch cushion. With a few grunts and some wiggling that almost sent the bowl on her lap toppling to the floor, Catalina withdrew a crumpled envelope and threw it to the table.
Carter sighed again, a common occurrence when the dark haired girl was involved. "Why," she began with obvious exasperation in her voice, "would Trish ever send you out alone?" Walking over, Carter shoved her friend to the side with her foot before plopping down next to her. Swiftly, she stole the spoon from Catalina's hand and dug into the cereal.
Before Catalina could protest, Carter sent her a look that said, It was my food in the first place, so the girl left her alone.
With a huff, Catalina shifted down further and sulked. Carter laughed through the cereal this time, only causing her guest to mope even more.
Catalina was two years younger than her, a solid eleven years old now, but despite the age difference they had somehow balanced each other out. Meeting her the day they and all the other Doll kids—for that's what they called them, or what was left of them—were brought to the Lee home for foster kids, somehow Catalina's bubbling annoyance of a personality just meshed well with the dark quietness of Carter's own ambiguous character. Catalina was nine at the time and followed an eleven year old Carter like a lost puppy, despite her brother Mateo's protests.
Other than that, Carter didn't know much about the girl. She was of some type of Hispanic descent, if not because of her and her brother's looks than because of the times she slipped into the foreign tongue at random times. As of her time before the incident that lead up to her foster care, Carter was in the dark. Not many foster kids like to regale people with their backstories, the Doll kids even less so, and Carter let them have their privacy as they let her have hers.
Honestly, Carter didn't mind it all that much, though. Catalina was cute and she had an understanding of the darkness in Carter's own life better than most people could even think to approach, and even then she was cheery and hopeful unlike the others. It was a nice contrast to everything else Carter knew, and spending time with the girl was heartwarming. Special, even. It made Carter feel as though she were a normal thirteen year old girl who laughed and played and scolded instead of the survivor.
"Mateo was supposed to come with, but I ditched him. He's always such un mamón," Catalina whined, switching to her native tongue briefly. Carter just scowled at the girl's carelessness, but said nothing else. Catalina wouldn't listen anyway. None of them really did authority.
"But, more importantly, I saw one of them today! I actually saw her Carter!"
Carter choked on her food, sputtering out, "Her?" The redhead kept her eyes carefully trained downwards and away from Catalina's own brown ones. Her heart beat faster, but she was able to keep her breathing even and standard. Who else could she be talking about besides Kitty?
Carter's eyes flickered covertly to the bin full of black plastic bags just next to the bathroom door.
"Yeah! One of the girls who've been going around beating the crap out of the bad guys, Carter! La tomba have been buzzing with the news por los últimos meses!" Catalina gushed excitedly, and Carter's worries vanished. Despite knowing next to no Spanish, the redhead easily deduced that it wasn't Deathstroke or any of his clients that Catalina had grouped her with, but rather with a group of vigilantes. She hid her smile of relief by standing up to clean the bowl in the kitchen, Catalina's tiny form scrambling after her in exhilaration. Like always, the young girl just chattered away as if there was nothing else to do in the world, "Apparently they all look different, but always wear black shirts and cargo pants. And guess what? I saw one and she was our age!"
She waved a hand in front of Carter's face in an attempt to see if the other girl was paying attention, and she was rewarded with a soft laugh.
So they thought that she was a group of people, did they? Well, then again it was a lot more plausible than one thirteen year old going out every night with completely different DNA and beating up bad guys. At least it was interesting to know what the populace knew about her.
Flicking soap from her hands and turning off the sink, Carter strode back towards the tiny living area.
"Carter, do you know what this means?" Catalina shouted, not yet running after her foster sister. Carter idly noted that in her excitement, the girl's accent was getting thicker and thicker.
"What?" Carter replied, humoring the little ball of energy once again rummaging through her cupboards. Carter paused upon seeing a black shirt and torn cargo pants lying to the side of the couch, left there from when she had changed. Blushing in embarrassment at her lack of foresight, the thirteen year old hastily dropped the articles of clothing in a laundry bin, piling the other clothes strewn across the room on top to cover them. Maybe she should be a little cleaner, and definitely more careful.
"It means, parce, that if they trained her maybe they'll train me, too! Then I could find that malparido del orto and kill him!" The last sentence Catalina said was almost a roar, inflection of fury biting its fangs into the words. Carter froze, hands tightening around a pair of innocent, if not stinky, socks. Her meager knowledge of Spanish did cover malparido, but she didn't need to know what it meant to know who Catalina was talking about with that venom in her voice. Carter's tanned face paled.
There was no way she would ever let Catalina do what she did or even go close to anyone like him. They weren't blood or even all that close to what people might call family or best friends, but Carter considered Catalina as one of the few people she liked and trusted. She was a friend who she cared about.
Besides, that man was already dead and rotting in Hell. Not that she could tell Catalina that. So instead of terrified and angry like she felt, Carter laughed, scoffing at the girl's words. "Catalina, you're absolutely crazy! There's no such thing as vigilantes!" she guffawed, pretending to hunch over with laughing pains when Catalina zipped out of the kitchen, protein bar shoved haphazardly into her mouth.
"I'm not loca!" she squeaked through the food, spitting bits and pieces across the carpet. Carter didn't mind, the floors were disgusting and needed to be cleaned anyway. "I bought this book, Altered Egos by some Law guy, and it's like a set of biographies on vigilantes and heroes during World War II!" Catalina cried, stomping over to the still laughing Carter with angry eyes. The girl didn't have the sense to realize that the tears of mirth Carter wiped away weren't real or that Carter never would have laughed at the mention of the man she wanted to kill. "Who says Bludhaven can't have another group of them? And I saw her on my way here! She took down this creepy pedophile about to attack me!" the Hispanic orphan howled. Her gold face was stained red with indignation and annoyance.
"And that means she's part of this secret society of vigilantes?" Carter quipped, plastering on a smirk that barely held. She waved Catalina off and finally moved to drop the socks in the laundry bin, hefting it into her arms to put by the door.
"And because she wore a black shirt with cargo pants," Catalina added smugly.
"I really need to talk to Trish about you and those cartoons you watch," Carter jibed with a smile, flicking the back of Catalina's head. Ironically enough, the eleven year old was almost as tall as she was, which definitely said something about Carter's own height.
"But Carter, The Flaming C is so chévere, even if he never has the guts to actually kill Ultra. I wish I could do what he does," Catalina bemoaned in an attempt to defend her watching habits, but there was something else in her voice. A bitterness that sparked in her eyes for a moment and hooding them. Carter's snarky smile flittered away with a small frown.
"What about school?" she tried hopefully, brushing a hand through her red hair, frowning when she realized it had already knotted at the nape of her neck. Finger-combing the pesky snarls, Carter sat down on the couch.
"School is for bobos who think they'll actually get out of here," Catalina snarked, with a desperate whine. The eleven year old hated school with a passion, and probably would play hooky like seventy percent of their school if Trish hadn't been so adamant on at least a GED. Honestly, that book of biographies was probably the only bit of history Catalina was interested in, let alone being the only book the girl read without Carter or a teacher breathing down her neck.
Plucking another one of the protein bars from a pocket, Catalina unwrapped the thing slowly before munching down on it. Carter futilely wondered how many Catalina had swiped when she wasn't looking.
"You're the only one who takes it seriously, Carter," Catalina muttered, saddened.
"If you actually study unlike the others, you might be the one bobo who actually does get out of here," Carter answered lightly, carefully, squeaking when she accidently pulled too hard on her hair. Scowling, she dug both hands into her tresses to detangle the knot.
Glancing at the suddenly upset girl, Carter offered, "If you need help, I can tutor you."
Only, her words had the opposite effect. "You won't always be here," Catalina mumbled quietly. It was almost too quiet for Carter to hear, but the words had reached her and it took all her strength not to flinch. Glancing at the young girl through her thin lashes, Carter's frown grew deeper in worry. There it was again, the dark bitterness hanging in Catalina's gaze.
A heady and awkward silence blanketed the room for a while, Catalina suddenly scowling at the ground with an anxious and confused Carter afraid to broach the topic. Luckily, she wouldn't have to since the door slammed open to reveal a panting, dark-skinned fifteen year old whose black hair was sodden with sweat. Brown eyes roamed the apartment before zeroing in on Catalina hastily stuffing her face with another protein bar before saying in a muffled voice, "'Ey Mafay-o, wha' fook oo fo lon'?" The young girl hurriedly swallowed her food when her brother's eyes narrowed angrily.
Carter removed her hand from the dagger hidden between the couch seats with a relaxing breath.
"Catalina Marie Flores. What have I told you about roaming around without me?" Mateo's voice held nowhere near as much accent as Catalina's own squeaky one, and the broad slope of his shoulders and strong line of his jaw made him appear to be quite an intimidating older brother.
"But it was only to Carter's," Catalina whined in that high-pitched tone she used when she was in trouble. Carter snickered quietly behind her hand when Mateo sent his sister a death glare, ears blazing crimson in anger. He would be scary if one: Carter wasn't secretly training to beat the crap out of people, and if two: Carter didn't know that he would give in to Catalina's pleas and apologies in the next minute after promising him that, no dear brother, she would never do such a dangerous thing again. Which was a lie, of course. Every single time.
"Ala, estoy en la olla!" Catalina cried before running back to the kitchen. Probably to steal more food, Carter mourned with a sigh.
"Yes, you are!" Mateo snapped. "And you!" he yelled, staring into Carter's green eyes. Quickly Carter raised her hands in surrender before smiling in a nervous gesture. "She listens to you. Why don't you tell her to stop being stupid!"
"Oi, I don't like it either, and I scolded her. She just doesn't listen to anybody," Carter said placating him. "Catalina, stop running around alone!" she called to the kitchen. "See, totally laying down the law."
The redhead smirked at the older boy's exasperated groan.
"She hasn't learned, and you so don't help, Carter," the boy moaned, foot tapping impatiently on her bland rug.
"If I could stop her I would, Matt," Carter muttered seriously, no longer joking. She didn't want anything to happen to the little girl, or to her brother for that matter. They were as close to family as she'd ever get.
"You're the one who gave her ideas when you convinced Trish to let you move out and abandoned us."
It was a harsh remark, one that stung enough to make Carter flinch, but the girl had no time to respond because Catalina was hurrying back out of the kitchen, shoving two more wrapped bars in her pocket.
"Did you at least give her the letter?" Mateo asked louder, signifying to Carter that he was done with the conversation. The thirteen year old frowned.
With a cheeky smile, Catalina chirped happily, "Sí, we can go now! And if we make focaccia tonight, I promise I'll never do it again!"
Sending a quick look back at Carter, Mateo grumbled, "I don't even know what focaccia is, Catalina, let alone how to make it." He and his sister stepped out into the hall and began to walk away.
The raspy laughter of Catalina's echoed through the building and into her room. It was so unique and distinctly Catalina, that Carter found herself almost closing her eyes and leaning into it. That laughter, their voices, it was the closest thing to home she allowed in her life and she left them to fend for themselves.
No, not for themselves, Carter realized. They had each other at the very least, unlike what she had. They didn't need her at the foster home; Trisha already had too many kids to look after as it was. Besides, her and her bad decisions were horrible news and she didn't want to expose the Flores siblings to any bits of the world she now straddled.
Another scratchy laugh and Carter jumped up from the couch, rushing out after them without another thought. The two siblings hadn't even reached the stairs when Carter grabbed a hold of Catalina's scrawny arm, serious look upon her face.
They looked at her in confusion, something Carter easily ignored.
"Killing people isn't something you should joke about. No matter who it is, killing is still murder and a death is still sad," she whispered to the girl, voice weak. She really hoped her voice hadn't wavered with emotion. If Catalina listened to anything, Carter wished, prayed, that those words would be it.
But then the eleven year old's eyes grew headier with that strange glint, and Catalina murmured, "That doesn't stop others, mona. And who said I was joking?"
The Flores simply eased her arm out of Carter's stunned grip before dragging her confused and wary brother down the stairs and out of the building.
Standing there for a full couple of minutes, Carter hadn't realized she was trembling until one of the apartment's other residents brushed by her and she fell to her knees.
Carter stared at the stairs for a good while, ignoring the previously insufferable heat and completely disregarding the fact that her door was open to any and all guests who wished to enter at the moment. She just stayed there, on her knees, until the old man who lived in the first apartment of the hall screeched at her for blocking the way. Carter quietly stood and moved aside so that he and his cane could pass before return to her dingy apartment, messy and lonely and empty, closing the door silently behind her.
Carter walked by the laundry basket and to the well-worn couch she had been sitting on with Catalina just a while ago. She thought back to Catalina's excitement at seeing Kitty, her thirst to train, and Carter knew all too well the anger within her gaze.
The fresh memory of her words still hung in her head.
What had she meant? No, Carter knew what she meant, it wouldn't take a genius to figure that out. The real question was, did she actually mean it?
Crying out, Carter kicked the coffee table out of pure frustration and it flew towards the wall. It wasn't until the table crashed against the doorframe to her kitchen that Carter realized how stupid that move had been. It did nothing but add dents and scuffs to an already crumbling piece of architecture, however Carter never moved to fix the thing.
Head in hands, Carter breathed in sharply and out, thinking of ways to dissuade Catalina's odd and sudden obsession with vigilantes.
"Of all the damn books in the world," Carter mumbled into her palm, eyes squeezed shut. Maybe she should stop going out at nights, get some actual sleep for once in her life and even spend a couple more hours with the girl to prove she didn't need to go out and prove herself or get revenge. Maybe Carter could convince her to leave it be and deviate her energy into more positive actions. That might work if Catalina realized that her little secret society was no longer around. Maybe she'd even petition for The Flaming C to be taken off the air.
Sighing, Carter just wanted to be done with Bludhaven at the moment. Her city only seemed to be good at taking things away without reprieve.
Running a hand through her hair, Carter fished a hand around her sweatpants pocket for her phone, only to come up with old wrappers and a receipt or two.
Right, she thought annoyed, it was on the table she kicked into a frickin' wall. When she went to retrieve the device, she noticed the letter Catalina had been sent to drop off. Carter had completely forgotten about the crumpled thing, so unused to people sending her mail. Kneeling, she picked up the envelope and chuckled: it was already open. Weird.
"That's totally a felony," Carter babbled. As she was attempting to remove the contents, a stapled stack of folded papers fell out with another envelope, unused. Confused, Carter instead focused solely on the paper still in her hand. It was thicker than regular printing paper, like the fancy card stock some businesses used. This only confused her more.
Slowly unfolding it, Carter's eyes widened. She read the paper once, then twice, and another two more times for good measure, but the words never changed and the inked remained securely where it was, not moving an inch. It had to be a joke, she had never applied for anything like-
Trish, Carter realized. The woman had always begged her to go somewhere else, that she was wasted in Bludhaven, but they never had the money to send any of the fees. She must have been the one who sent in Carter's info. Placing the letter down, she moved to the other papers, filled with logistics and signups and several lines for signatures. There, at the bottom of the last page, was her guardian's own script in blue pen. Trisha Lee, it read crisply. That definitely explained the open envelope.
Carter went back to the first paper, her thumb rubbing incessantly on the side of her finger. This time she read it out loud, as if hearing the words in her voice would make it more real to her:
"Dear Miss Carter Collins,
I am delighted to inform you that you have been awarded a full Wayne Foundation Scholarship to the Gotham Academy. This will include TUITION and all EXPENSES.
Usually, the Wayne Foundation selects a single student, who they choose with great care. However, this year the Wayne Foundation has chosen you as well as four other students to better expand our institute's community as well as your own knowledge and character. You and these four other talented students have been chosen while taking into consideration the candidate's academic achievements and diverse backgrounds as well as the individual's character and extracurricular strengths.
Naturally, the final decision to attend remains yours, but we hope that you will choose to join us at Gotham Academy. The enrollment paperwork and envelope are included with this letter if you so choose to attend.
Sincerely,
Philip Wilcox
Dean of Admissions and Financial Aid."
It was complete with the Wilcox's own John Hancock at the bottom.
She could escape Bludhaven. With just a signature, she would be free of this tormented city of hers and all the hurt it had caused. Then again, she'd be leaving Catalina and Mateo and Trish and all the Doll kids to fend for themselves once more. The grime of Bludhaven would rise unfettered into crime.
But hadn't she just been playing with the idea of dropping her vigilante act? Halting her nightly routine in the hopes of squelching Catalina's curiosity and hunger? But she had also stated she'd use that time to help the girl through this phase, steer her clear of the same decisions Carter made.
Mateo. Catalina had Mateo, though, a brother and support and guiding compass that was absent in Carter's own life. Surely he could do that and guide Catalina to the right place?
And besides, if she went to Gotham… she might meet that little team of sidekicks, and if not, then just the boy wonder. Maybe if she met him again, fought him again, she would understand that thrill that jolted up her spine and made her feel alive while fighting him. It was something visceral that she couldn't explain, and Carter knew she shouldn't wish for anything past what she already had—she was lucky with that, really—but the redhead couldn't help it. It was a taste of something interesting, intoxicating, and better than anything she knew.
Was that selfish?
She could at least sign it and fill it out if she eventually decided to go, Carter mused, nabbing a pen and doing just that. Sealing the envelope with her saliva, Carter paused and stared at it.
Shoving the envelope in her pocket for later, Carter picked up her laundry basket before hauling the thing downstairs to the basement. Her apartment was one of the lucky few with laundry rooms, though one had to stay for the two or so hours it took to clean them if they wanted all their clothes to still be there. Carter always passed this time with book she left at the bottom of the bin for times like these.
This time it was Evolutionary Genomics and Proteomics by Mark Pagel and Andrew Pomiankowski, a text she had been meaning to look into for a while now. Not that she could actually read at the moment, seeing as her mind was convoluted with thoughts and implications of that piece of paper upstairs, harmlessly laying on her table.
When her laundry was ready, she took the time to fold everything there while the clothes still hummed with warmth, numbly going through the motions. To Carter, the three hours she spent passed in a flash and the next thing she knew she was carrying a full bin of clean clothes out of the basement.
Striding through the lobby, her eyes jolted to a trashcan, envelope burning a hole in her pants.
Bludhaven was her city, no matter the troubles that festered there like and untended wound. She grew up there, cried there, and laughed there. She knew what the streets did to people while growing up.
Walking, Carter eyed the black garbage can, biting her lip before turning her path towards it. It was awkward, fumbling with her laundry and getting it out of her pocket, but soon enough the letter was in her hand.
Bludhaven was her city. How could she even think to leave it?
Carter passed by the trash can and slipped the letter into the outgoing mail box, just next to the building's entrance. Slowly, dazedly, she ascended the stairs to her apartment and dropped the laundry off somewhere. She didn't remember where she put her stuff, but that didn't matter.
Instinctually, Carter went for her cell, dialing and unsaved number before raising it to her ear.
"I told you not to call me on this phone unless it was important."
Carter didn't answer or rebuke Deathstroke's statement, instead only saying, "I want to do a job."
There was a grunt of assent on the phone before the call was ended. Just a moment later an encrypted text bleeped on her screen and Carter went through the motions of getting ready for the change. She cleared a space, laid down the bags, and got the razor and trash bin ready.
For some reason, Carter had the distinctly poisonous feeling that she had failed in some way.
She always hated failure.
There are a good three or four references (important to the story or not) in this chapter to other DC related things (or just WB/YJ stuff), so tell me if you notice them! :) Idk if this chapter is good or if its everywhere, but I wanted a chapter dedicated to who CARTER is not Stranger or her misguided vigilante self. This chapter itself is very important as a turning point, or at least a catalyst to a turning point, for Carter as well, so super important.
The Spanish itself is mainly slang particular to a certain area of South America with a few regular phrases spliced in as well. I'm not a native speaker, so I tried my best and sorry if any of it is wrong. Really the phrases aren't that important, and Carter doesn't know any of them so I didn't feel like translating was necessary. However, the ones I will point out are La Tomba - slang for police, and the switch of Catalina using parce - close friend to mona/o - foreigner (usually this one is used simply because it refers to, slang wise, a fair-haired or skinned person, further extended to someone who isn't from the Hispanic's home. Catalina uses it because... well, you tell me ;) )
Next chapter will be in the middle of her requested mission.
Hope you enjoyed, please give me feedback.
Thank you for reading, Koby Out.