There goes my pain, there goes my chains
Did you see them falling?
Quasimodo; Lifehouse

#.06

A strong, large hand clasped around my arm, and I was dragged to my feet with the ease it takes to pick up a misbehaving puppy. I didn't fight: the grip on my arm was too sure, for one, and it wouldn't have done any good any way.

"What do you think you're doing?" Came the low growl, and I would have shuddered if I weren't still in the bliss of pure comprehension. It was a voice that one did not forget—something between rich polished wood and gravel.

"Well, you were only a bit more than half lying-" I said, and it didn't occur to me that they wouldn't know that I was referring to earlier, when Batman had called himself Bruce Wayne. I probably sounded nuts. It wouldn't have mattered. I was spun around, now facing the legend. Daniel was standing off to the side, as if undecided on whether he was more ashamed of me, or furious with me. They both might have been more understanding if I hadn't destroyed the library. Looking up at Batman, the Man-Who-Was-Less-Than-Half-Bruce-Wayne, I felt my previous accomplished feeling pour out of me, and unto the stone floor—sliding away.

My God he was huge.

I quivered.

His lips curled into a sneer.

(Like I said. Might have been better if I hadn't torn apart everything in my path.)

Bruce Wayne looked as though he was going to say something to me, but then he was taking long strides towards the stairs, and I stumbled, trying to walk so that I wasn't being pulled. We passed Daniel, who briefly caught my eyes. How could you? They said. How could you do this? I gave him a confused shrug (as much as possible, while being dragged along), and I saw his jaw set. He broke eye contact, staring at the ground.

I made it up the stairs without falling, mostly because if I started to I'd be roughly jerked upright again. Faintly I could still hear party music, and laughter. Then the library door was shut, with the old servant in front of it.

"Oh dear." Alfred looked concerned. He was the only one out of the three that seemed to have any regards to how I felt. Which is sort of funny I suppose, since he'd undoubtedly be the one cleaning up the mess I made. "Master Bruce, what shall I tell the guests?" It was a charity event. It wasn't as though Bruce could just ask everyone to leave without a proper explanation.

I was still being held at an awkward angle.

As if hearing my thoughts, my arm was dropped. I don't think Batman (because it was Batman that had brought me up here, not Bruce) felt much guilt about handling me like that, but I think he came a bit to his senses. Chances were that I wasn't his enemy, and though the circumstances were extraordinary, I hadn't really caused any lasting damage. Still, I had left one hell of a mess.

"Tell them… oh, I don't know. Tell them my lawyer called because some woman claims I'm married to her. They'll get a riot out of that," He added sarcastically. Alfred turned to go. "When you've finished that, I need the serum." Daniel, out of the corner of my eye, found it in himself to spare me a glance. I saw the servant's, Alfred's, minor surprise.

"Do you truly think that it will be necessary, Master Bruce?" His eyebrows rose inquisitively.

"Yes." Alfred left quietly.

For a second no one moved, and the room was silent except for the steady beat of music, and the occasional piercing woman's laugh. I licked my lips. How much more trouble could I possibly get into? I thought.

"What's… what's the serum?" Batman seemed to hesitate between telling me to shut up and be quiet, or just letting me know. I guess the latter struck him as the better deal.

"It makes you forget everything that happened in the past fifteen minutes."

"How's it do that?"

Dead silence.

"It's not like I'm going to tell anyone." I offered, probably digging myself into a deeper hole. I didn't bother fidgeting, or facing him. I continued to stand facing the bookshelf around which Alfred would eventually appear with this 'serum'.

More silence.

"What if I say no?"

"You're not in the position to." There was a hint of a smirk in that voice. Like he had heard so many refusals, and persisted in answering them all the same way.

"I could r-" No, no I couldn't. Not fast enough. I wasn't that stupid. "I could scream."

"You could."

Daniel shifted ever-so-slightly in his spot, but didn't say anything. He was looking at the floor again, not even letting his eyes get close to me.

"I won't agree to it. I'm not going to comply." I wasn't challenging him: how the fuck could I? I was easily slower, much weaker, and had no plan whatsoever. It wasn't a challenge, just a statement.

"It doesn't matter."

I fought the urge to shiver, but felt the hairs on the back of my neck raise involuntarily. Not from his words… but from the cold draft that had crept in around me. But it wasn't just one of those funny-strange feelings: it really was a draft this time, with actual wind. It was almost refreshing.

Feeling suddenly, strangely uplifted, I turned around. This situation really was quite hysterical in its own way. I mean, come on. I found the infamous 'Bat Cave', and was now about to be given some kind of drug (which I was positive was government-made somewhere in the good ole US of A) that would make me forget what I had just seen. Just delightful when you thought about it.

I could have laughed.

I peered up at him, again marking just how small I must have seemed. Daniel had straightened, his arms that had been crossed tightly loosened. I grinned mischievously. There's not much else you can do in that kind of situation.

"You're in comic books. Did you know that?" Batman blinked. Then Bruce Wayne blinked.

"Yes, I know."

"Doesn't it bother you that probably sixty-percent of the American population, not even counting other countries, knows your identity, where you live, what your secret fears are?" One of them blinked, and I would love to tell myself that I saw a flicker of confusion, or in the least, disorder.

"It doesn't matter."

"You're right, it doesn't. It doesn't because people cross over that imaginary line into Gotham and they forget it all. Batman changes from the comics and cartoons they filled their youth with, to a vigilante occasionally mentioned on television. Children want to be you and then POOF! Over that magical boundary, and they're telling other little boys and girls that you don't exist, Daddy says so."

I probably sounded wacko.

Batman/Bruce Wayne didn't say anything, but stood in stony silence.

Daniel didn't move to breathe.

I definitely sounded wacko.

"Children all over the world think of you and want to hug you, and tell you that things will be okay. Did you know that? And these people, they write comics like you're something they just made up out of their heads or something—but hey. Maybe you are. Maybe somewhere, maybe everywhere, someone's dream is walking around in flesh and blood. But, I digress. Doesn't it bother you that children that are barely old enough to understand right and wrong want to save you – and people here, they can't even lift a finger to save themselves?"

I didn't get an answer.

The door swung open smoothly, and I only knew Alfred had come in by the way the wood gently brushed the plush carpet. Holding my gaze one heartbeat, Bruce Wayne looked up at Alfred.

"Sir, the serum." The butler took a few steps forward, and I heard was sounded like a brief case flipping open. Now, I'm not afraid of needles (not exactly a fan of them either, but not many people are) but knowing what was in that small case, I felt my mood fall down into a lower key.

"You change your mind about complying?"

"No." Bruce Wayne shrugged, and plainly reached to place a hand on my upper-arm again. Without thinking, just as a reaction, I blocked it: used my forearm to knock his wrist away. Looking almost surprised, Bruce Wayne stood back for a moment, trying to place me. Undoubtedly asking himself how I could be such a fucking moron.

The next time he wasn't so gentle, but I tried to block again. I was half successful, but in the end ended up being held tightly by each forearm—I tried to kick, but then Daniel was there, telling me to settle down and that it wasn't a big deal or anything, just a shot. I managed to land a brush of a kick to his head, and then he got angry again and stopped talking.

I'd like to take the time to mention that I put up one hell of a fight for someone my size, against two grown men who were superheroes just about every night of the week. I think it's more of the fact that I squirmed like an eel that anything else though. Soon enough I was flat on the desk, Daniel holding each of my ankles, and Batman with an iron grip on each of my arms.

I could barely even move, because each time I did Batman would tighten his grip. It wasn't that pleasant. The servant stood by, with a severe frown on his face.

"Master Bruce. Is this all that necessary?"

"Alfred, just give her the shot."

I slammed my head back against the desk. Apart from the fact that the idea of wiping out a portion of my memory, no matter how small, made my flesh crawl—I felt like I was letting someone down. I had been lead down into that cave for a reason, and whatever that was, it was going to wither away right here.

I need some help, I thought.

Batman's grip had loosened a fraction of an inch. He thought I had given up. Still wasn't taking any chances, though.

I could really, really use some help.

There was that draft again, cold on my face. Batman wiped the side of his face on his shirt (which Alfred then clucked at, as he prepared the needle). While he was doing that, his grip loosened a bit more, still not enough to make a difference. And then the breeze licked at my temple again, and I opened my eyes. No change in Batman's position or facial expression.

How could he have not noticed that draft?

I smiled.

His grip tightened.

"This is all so ridiculous," I said, closing my eyes again. I let out a deep breath, and laid my full body against the desk. I let every muscle in my body relax accept for my right bicep—which Batman was clutching. Seeing this, his grip was reduced, almost remarkably so. Still, I kept that muscle as tense and bulging as I could. I let out a soft laugh, which he misinterpreted as further admittance of defeat.

Daniel's grip lessened more than his.

I heard Alfred lightly tap the needle.

"You're positive, Master Bru-"

"Just get it over with. Please." I said, feigning exhaustion. I silently thanked whoever might be listening that my voice didn't betray me—that the corner of my lips didn't curl up into a devious smile. In all actuality, adrenaline was being poured into my bloodstream. It wasn't a wholesome kind of amusement, and there was definitely something destructive in it, as if it would almost be fun just to see how far I could get, and how much worse I could make the situation.

It would have been easier if Alfred had been going faster, and I knew that. Would have allowed me much, much more leeway. But I had to make do. The old man didn't want to hurt me, which was touching. Right as he brought the needle down to pierce my skin, I completely loosened my bicep—and it didn't buy me that much room, but it was enough (or would have to be enough).

I jerked my arm away with all the strength in my upper body, at the same time freeing my left ankle (Daniel practically dropped it in surprise). Of course, Batman reached for my arm again, quick as ever—but it had all happened so fast that the needle was driven into his hand. I could have screamed with sheer laughter: the start had caused the servant to drive the needle down. As he was preoccupied for the split second, I lunged forward.

Kicking off the desk with my left leg, Daniel still had a decent grip on my right ankle. Immediately he dove to catch my left ankle. I left it out, vulnerable, for just as long as it took him to grab it: then I hauled my whole body forward into a flip, twisting with all the strength of my back. Daniel's momentum and my direction caused him to go rolling: he slammed into a bookshelf.

Of course, every muscle in my body was screeching its agony, feeling ripped and torn. But it didn't matter. There was a desk between Batman and me. Which didn't exactly mean anything, but it was a lot better than my previous situation. I was still wondering how the hell I managed any of it. For an instant, no one moved. Daniel groaned and tried to stagger to his feet, holding his head (which I guess had collided pretty hard with solid wood). He was successful in scattering around more books.

Batman tensed, leapt.

But I had seen his face change.

His lip had twitched slightly in his frustration.

I saw the leap coming, and wasn't there were he landed.

Instead, I was scaling the nearest bookshelf as fast as possible. It would be harder for Batman or Daniel—this bookshelf was missing the majority of its contents, and might topple over under their weight, if they weren't careful. I was at the top, looking down, when I saw Batman's hands clench into fists.

Icy night air blew past me, and I spared a tiny glance beside me. If I ran along this bookshelf and made a decent jump—there was a window. An open window: strange, because all the rest of them were closed. And this one was at the very top. Batman's eyes followed mine, and his jaw tightened further. I turned and ran along the top of the bookshelves, which were nice and wide. I heard books falling to the floor as I was pursued.

"Sorry about the mess!" I shouted over my shoulder, and leapt—pulling my body into as straight a line as I possibly could. I've never been one for acrobatics: my foot hit the latch on the window, sending me head over feet.

But I was outside.

And the window had dropped closed.

I hit the ground with a thud, saying a quick 'Thank you' that I hadn't landed directly on my head. And then I realized that I had landed on knees, which promptly roared their disapproval. I screamed with them, shouting into the ground and digging my fingers into the topsoil of the flower garden I had fallen in. Panting, I blinked back tears, and mud was smeared into my dress and under my fingernails, my toenails, across the bridge of my nose where I pressed my face into it to howl out some of the pain. Nothing seemed broken or shattered though, and I didn't have time to be wasting around here. Pushing myself up, I stood on wobbling legs.

Maybe Bruce Wayne got caught up by some eager businessmen at his party, and couldn't get away without compromising his ego.

Maybe Batman realized that the serum wouldn't exactly matter anymore. It had been twenty minutes since the Batcave.

Either way, I made it home. I don't remember it. But I woke up in my own bed the next morning, fully clothed.

I flipped onto my stomach, and screamed and laughed and cried into my pillow.