A/N: In this universe, the comics of the Batman universe do not exist. It's just cartoons and movies. Also, Damian and the New 52 (that's what it's called, right?) do not exist.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'Batman.'

Warnings: slight language

PART 1A ONE: Life Isn't Easy

Elle

Life isn't easy. Adults always tell you about the 'real world' and how when you're a kid, everything seems surreal, as if nothing bad can ever happen to you. They tell you to enjoy your childhood while it lasts, because once you get to the 'real world,' everything changes. Childhood is fun and easy and, while you may go through some tough patches, it's all worth it.

Everything the adults tell you, every word that comes out of their mouths, is a lie. I realized this early on. My parents and teachers taught me and my classmates to be nice and to respect each other. They told me that being nice to someone else means that they will be nice back. I'm the only one who ever paid attention to that rule. It's what got me into a lot of trouble in my elementary and middle school years.

When I was five, I discovered the wonderful world of Batman. Just the cartoons, but still. They influenced me growing up just as the adults surrounding me did. I mean, in the Batman cartoons, if you were nice to someone, then they became good. Or they became nicer. So it looked like being nice or smiling at someone really did make his or her day. That's part of what shaped me into who I am now.

Despite my shyness and insecurity, I did my best to smile at someone who looked lonely, or to help someone pick up papers that had fallen all over the floor. Again, this only got my ridiculed and distanced me from my classmates.

In my darkest times, when my parents fought – as much as they loved me, they didn't seem to love each other – and when my older brother moved on to the 'cool' crowd of high school while I was a dorky middle school student, the only thing that I could rely on was Batman. I watched and re-watched episodes and even went to see the live action movie when it came out. You could say I was obsessed. I was hooked. I admired Batman. I felt connected to Robin – all versions of him. I was intrigued by Jason Todd, the Red Hood.

And so, to help handle the stress of my parents' arguing and my brother's unintentional neglect of me, I started to research everything I could about the Batman universe. Cartoons, movies, backstories, anything and everything I could find out. It helped me to focus on something else, something other than being alone. I mean, my family loved me, it's just that I was so quiet and introverted that they thought that I just didn't want to spend time with them. In the end, I'm glad they left me alone.

Because Batman is real.

It hit me three years ago, when I was fourteen. The best way to keep hidden is to hide in plain sight. And what is more in plain sight than cartoons and movies? I became a bit of a conspiracy theorist, I guess. Maybe the government knows about Batman and is trying to protect him? Anything is possible, right?

But before I could try to look any deeper into this idea, my parents and brother were killed. I'd stayed after school for some extra help in algebra, so I wasn't there. Apparently, the house caught on fire and my family couldn't get out. The fire department was on the other side of town, and they got to my home too late. Imagine my horror when I got home from school to see police and neighbors and ambulances and fire trucks … Imagine my horror when I was put into the foster care system.

I was in shock and maybe a bit in denial during the next few months, so I couldn't tell you what happened exactly. All I knew was that I was suddenly living with foster parents and two other foster kids. One of them, Derek, didn't talk but he scared me. It was like he looked right into my soul every time he stared at me. I stayed away from him the best I could, and then started avoiding him altogether. I'm sure he was nice … but the fact was, he terrified me, even though he was a few years younger than me. And that was that.

The other foster kid, Chiara, to put it simply, was a whiny and spoiled brat. I tried to like her, I really did. I tried being nice to her. I tried to understand what could have made her the way she was. But in the end, all she did was make fun of me.

One thing I learned about the foster care system is that there are two types of families: foster parents who genuinely cared, and foster parents who didn't. My foster parents were the latter. They neglected Derek, Chiara, and I to the point where we wouldn't always have food. They didn't buy me any new clothes – all of which were destroyed in the fire, save the ones on my back – so I had to share Chiara's, which pinched in some places and hung off of me in others.

So that's how I've been living for the past few years. Barely.

And then it got worse, a few months ago. I always got sick during the winter, except this time, it was bad. It turned from the common cold into bronchitis. When it seemed to turn back into a cold, I thought I would get over it. Instead, it came back with a vengeance a few weeks later as pneumonia. I didn't even realize it was pneumonia. But as I steadily got worse, despite the fact that it was quickly becoming the middle of the spring, I realized that my illness had gotten serious.

I told my foster parents that I should go to the doctor, just in case. They kept refusing. Finally, though, I'd had enough. I wasn't getting any better and I was beginning to get scared, so I decided to steal some money from my foster parents so that I could get a taxi to drive me to the doctor's. It ended up that I didn't have enough money to go to the doctor's office, so I went to the hospital, which was a lot nearer to the house.

Skipping over the boring parts, I was told that I had severe pneumonia. The doctor or nurse or whoever – I was really out of it at that point – insisted that I stayed overnight. One night turned into two. And now, I've been here about a week. I've missed a lot of school, but I'm mostly thinking about my foster family. My foster father came in once, for appearance's sake, but other than that, I've been on my own. I've gotten better, but now I fear going back to the house.

I don't have the money to pay for the hospital treatment. I don't have the money to pay back my foster parents for the money I stole. I don't have health insurance, and I highly doubt my foster parents will help pay for my hospital stay. I'm on my own.

And I wish, for the gazillion-th time, that all the members of the Batfamily were real. At least then I'd have someone to talk to.

Wednesday, June 6

I jolted awake, breathing heavily. I heard the heart monitor beeping quickly. I wished, once more, that the nurses would disconnect me from that. And from the IV. Hospitals creeped me out, more so since I was currently alone. The other hospital bed in the room was empty and had been for most of my stay here. And the nightmares I kept having about my family's deaths seemed scarier when it was dark in a hospital.

It was morning, which meant I was due for a visit from the nurse who checked up on me the most – Alice. She was nice and genuinely cared about my health, something I was grateful for. Unfortunately, she had other patients to attend to – well, duh – so I only got to speak to her the two or three times a day she came in to check my breathing. And stuff. I had no idea what she checked, honestly. And I didn't particularly care to know.

I'd grown to like Alice, though. I even talked about how much I liked Batman. It was better to have a mostly-onesided conversation about Batman than have the room be silent. Or worse, have Alice talk about my vitals. I'd rather not know, unless I'm healthy enough to leave. I think Alice liked me, though. She let me keep my Batman necklace on even though I shouldn't. That gained her brownie points.

Alice came into the room with whatever the hospital dared call breakfast. She did whatever it was nurses did to patients – checked the charts, etc. – and then gave me the food.

"So when can I leave?" I asked. I was eager to go, but I still dreaded the foster family back at the house. I wasn't sure which one was the lesser of the two evils, but at least at the house, I wasn't alone for most of the time.

"Your vitals are getting better," Alice told me. "And your fever is nearly gone. You're still suffering a little from dehydration, so we have to keep the IV in still." I resisted the urge to look at the IV needle in my hand. Needles creeped me out. Having one in my hand was worse. "But you should be able to leave in a couple of days."

"Okay," I said simply.

"Because you're under eighteen, you need a parent or legal guardian to sign," Alice informed me. My heart skipped a beat. Stupid heart monitor. I wondered if either of my foster parents would even let me leave. What if they left me here in the hospital? What would happen then?

Suddenly not hungry, I put down my fork. Alice grabbed my tray when I motioned I was finished. She was just about out the door when she turned back towards me.

"Oh, I made arrangements for you," she said, smiling brightly. I didn't like the look in her eye. "You'll be having visitors this afternoon."

"Visitors?" I asked, astonished. I was suddenly very self-conscious and very aware of the fact that I'd showered maybe once this week. Not to mention, who would visit me? I didn't have any friends. And my foster family was definitely not coming in to see me.

"You'll see," Alice winked and then she left. I groaned. I was suddenly not looking forward to the afternoon.

To pass the time, as I'd done for the past week, I read magazines that Alice and some other nurse who'd taken pity on me had brought. Of course, I wasn't a magazine-reading person, plus I'd read the same magazines what felt like a bazillion times already, so it wasn't anything exciting. I lied down and tried to sleep a couple of times, but my mind raced with Batman and with questions of who would be visiting me.

At 3:00, Alice knocked on the door. It was a bit early for her to be checking me over again, so I assumed that my supposed visitors had arrived. I looked up from where I was making fun of models in a magazine. Alice came into the room, a wide smile on her face.

"You're going to love this," she told me. I shot her a confused look. And then I noticed who had come into the room with her.

Now, cartoons are very different to how people would look in real life, but, as a hardcore-ish Batman fan, I recognized the three people anywhere. Handsome, older, charming smile – Bruce Wayne. Equally as handsome, early to mid-twenties, mischievous twinkle in his eyes – Dick Grayson. Pretty-boy, around my age, a bit of a shy smile – Tim Drake.

But, of course, I couldn't be sure. Okay, I was sure, but what if I was wrong? So I shut my gaping mouth and turned to Alice, who was still smiling as she checked over my chart or whatever.

"I know how much you like the … 'Batfamily,' I think you called it," Alice said. I blushed and Dick snorted back laughter. "And I know someone who knows someone who … well, here they are, in any case."

I just stared, defaulting to being shy rather than fangirl. Bruce Wayne - holy shit, Bruce freaking Wayne – walked over to the side of my bed and held out a hand.

"Bruce Wayne," he said. "Nice to meet you, miss …?"

"Elle," I said quietly. Maybe too quietly, but I couldn't help it. I took his hand and shook it the best I could without ripping out the IV.

Dick and Tim introduced themselves. Alice explained to them how I was a big fan – with me blushing more and more with every word – and how I was apparently very obviously bored and lonely. I liked her, but I was glad when she finally left.

That's when I realized that three of my heroes were in the same room as me. And they were staring at me. I shifted uncomfortably, disliking the attention I was being given.

"How long have you been here?" Bruce asked me.

"About a week," I replied. At their questioning stares, I added, "Severe pneumonia. But I should be leaving in a couple of days."

"And is that all you've had for entertainment?" Dick nodded towards the magazines. I shrugged.

"Not really my thing, but it's better than nothing."

There was an awkward silence as no one could think of anything to say. I bit my lip.

"Sorry," I told them. "I'm not exactly exciting. And I don't know why you would want to talk to some random girl in a hospital. You don't have to stay." Even though I wanted them to, I knew that it would be selfish to try to keep them there. They had better things to do.

"Hey, anything to help keep you distracted from all this," Dick said. Tim nodded in agreement.

"Hospitals aren't fun," he said.

"I suppose you can't wait to get out of here," Bruce said. I nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, I hate the hospital, but it's not like home's any better." I stifled a gasp. Why had I just said that? Me and my stupid mouth.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

"It's nothing," I said. Maybe a bit too quickly.

"No, it's not," Bruce said. I bit my lip and lowered my gaze. His Batman side was showing. I really didn't want to be on the receiving end of that. I had no choice but to give in if I didn't want to be yelled at.

"My foster family isn't the greatest," I said carefully, as if it was no big deal. "It's not the worst, though. I'm not hit or anything." At Bruce's stare, I went on, "It's mostly that I'm going to be in a lot of trouble when I get back." Great. The one thing I shouldn't have said to the Batfamily, and I said it.

"What kind of trouble?" Tim questioned. I was starting to feel claustrophobic. My hands started sweating. I really didn't like the way this first – and probably last – meeting with my heroes was turning out.

I fiddled with the edges of the hospital sheets, my fingers trembling. "Nothing too bad," I said. "It's just that I can't afford the hospital bill. And my foster parents aren't exactly the spending-money type."

"I'll pay the bill," Bruce said abruptly. Surprised and guilty, I looked up at him.

"But –"

"I'll pay it," Bruce said, final. I went to protest again – I didn't want him to spend his money on me – but Dick interrupted.

"Don't bother to argue," he smirked. "He has this thing about helping kids."

I grinned sheepishly. "Thank you," I told Bruce.

Bruce smiled. "You're welcome."

He glanced at his watch. He headed towards the door.

"It was very nice to meet you," he told me before stepping out into the hallway. Tim nodded goodbye at me and Dick waved.

"Bye," I said.

It didn't hit me until later that night. But when it did, I started crying. Happy crying. I'd gotten to meet my heroes. And Bruce was going to pay for my hospital bill.

Now there was only one thing to worry about: the foster family.