*CW for child abuse/sexual harassment of a minor
That boy take me away into the night
Out of the hum of the street lights and into a forest
I'll do whatever you say to me in the dark
Scared I'll be torn apart by a wolf in mask
Of a familiar name on a birthday card
-Daughter, "Candles"
Back then.
"Stop, thief!"
Tim dashed down the street as fast as he could from the trucker chasing after him on foot, limbs laden with two loaves he had "procured" from the back of the parked vehicle.
Shouldn't have left it wide open like that if you didn't want your goods to be taken, dumbass. You're close to Crime Alley, remember?
"Punk, don't make me call the cops on you!"
All this for a loaf of bread? You've got like, a hundred. Give me a break.
Tim tsked as he darted down a narrow passage, quickly clambering over a chain link fence with his hot pursuer still close behind. He kept trying to shake the guy off his tail – to no avail – by ducking under a wooden plank that blocked the way, dodging around cardboard boxes and trash cans, until he came to a much taller barricade he couldn't vault in one go.
"Ha! I've got you now!"
The hunter sneered at his cornered quarry as he encroached. Spying a couple crates stacked nearby, Tim hopped on top and leapt for an overhanging ladder, swinging himself onto the fire escape instead. He hastily elevated the access before the other could follow, and the man growled up at him, quivering his fist.
"Why you little- when I get my hands on you…"
"Pff. In your dreams."
Tim grinned as he dug into his pocket and pulled out his trump card: a Batarang he had uncovered after witnessing one of Batman's and Robin's totally awesome fights with Joker, right within view of his own neighborhood. Taking aim at a clothesline, he flung the projectile with precision, disengaging the pulley off its hook. This resulted in the linens enveloping around the aggressor as he attempted to hoist himself up, tying in a neat suspended bundle – much like Batman's prey often were post-thrashing in order to present to the police.
Wow, that actually worked. Sweet.
He'd have to remember that trick for later, Tim thought as he caught the rebounding weapon and spun it smoothly around his pointer like a smoking gun, before stowing it away again. Jumping down on the other side of the hurdle, he swerved and stuck out his tongue at the struggling captive to add insult to injury.
"Get back here, you brat! You won't get away with this!"
Tim rolled his eyes.
"Sorry, I'd love to stay and hang around, but I've got better things to do. So long, sucker."
He took off with a snicker, sprinting far out of sight. Once he had put a safe distance between them, he slowed down and took stock of both surroundings and inventory. All troops and rations accounted for. Before tucking in though, he figured he'd probably need something to wash it down with. …And he knew just the place to look.
Sneakily entering one of the apartment buildings, he crept with caution through the corridors until he came before a doorway with a milk bottle conveniently located at its base, glass gleaming in invitation. Score.
As he stealthily bent down to pick it up, he cast a swift glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching – and failed to notice the entry itself spring open, smacking him square in the jaw and knocking him onto his bum, losing hold on the buns as well.
"Ow!"
He rubbed his chin as he sat up and glared at the golden-haired girl standing before him in the center of the frame, who returned the irate expression as she took in the image of delivered dairy still gripped in his other hand.
"So you're the one who's been stealing all our milk."
She hissed, eyes narrowing. Tim swallowed, cursing his luck to be caught in the act yet again.
Crap.
He was about to make a run for it, but she abruptly tackled him as soon as he showed signs of fleeing, pinning to the floor with all of her weight.
"Oh no you don't!"
"Hey! Get off of me!"
They fought and scuffled in the middle of the hall for a minute, and in the commotion he managed to roll over and gain the upper hand. She instinctively grabbed one of the lumps lying nearby though and whacked him with it, striking the sore spot on his cheek. Soft as the plastic package's contents were, the momentum behind it succeeded in packing enough punch to stun him temporarily. Kicking him off, she continued to beat on him mercilessly with the bread, which was more of an annoyance than anything, but still prevented him from making an escape. Grimacing, Tim debated briefly for a moment using the bottle for defense, but balked at the dangerous idea. She was a girl after all, and he didn't want to cause her any actual damage. So instead he seized the other spongy wrapper and endeavored to use it as a shield.
"Oi, will you quit it?! And give that back, it's mine."
He made a snatch for the dough, but she extended it far out of his reach.
"Right. I bet it is," she rolled her irises. "Didn't your mom ever teach you stealing is wrong?"
"My mom's dead," he snapped.
She paused at that, a slight flicker of sympathy tracing her face.
"…Oh. Sorry."
Tim scowled, now really not wanting to deal with this situation anymore.
"Whatever. Now give me back my lunch."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You're just having bread for lunch?"
"Yeah. So? What's it to you?"
She stared at him for a long second, during which Tim felt hunger pangs crawling up his esophagus. Although he strove to force them back down, he couldn't help it as his stomach rumbled faintly, making him flush in embarrassment. She frowned, before sighing and reaching out to clasp his wrist.
"Come on."
He blinked nervously as she firmly dragged him inside the unit, towards the kitchen, where she put the somewhat squashed bread on the counter and opened the refrigerator, beginning to retrieve ingredients.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"
"What's it look like?" she replied as she removed a jar of peanut butter from the cabinet shelf. "I'm making a sandwich."
Tim shot a dirty look in indignation.
"I don't need your charity."
"It's not charity," she importunately insisted. "Consider it you owing me a favor. …Or would you rather I just turn you over to the cops?"
Tim grit his teeth, but said nothing as she set to work preparing two plates of towering spreads. As she layered on thick slices of meat and vegetables, she stated:
"I've seen you around before. …You took down two teenagers who were bullying a kid for his lunch money the other day. That was really brave of you."
Tim rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, unused to being complimented. He certainly wasn't expecting that as a conversation starter. He hadn't even been aware of a spectator at that time, and the knowledge made him strangely self-conscious of his actions.
"Yeah?"
"I mean, one of those dudes had a knife. You could've been seriously hurt."
Tim shrugged.
"I couldn't just let them keep picking on the poor kid. He didn't deserve it. Someone had to stand up for him."
"…And yet you steal food from others."
Tim's knuckles clenched at being confronted with his own hypocrisy.
"That's different."
"How so?"
"Look, it's not like I do it because I want to," he retorted sharply. "Some of us have to take in order to survive."
"Hm."
Thankfully, she didn't press the subject further, although from the way she hesitantly handled the topping pieces, her opinion on their illicit source – and willfully being made accomplice to said shoplifter – was abundantly clear. Nevertheless, she situated the baked bookends and set the final products on the table, swelling with pride at having apparently outdone herself. Though Tim's eyes swapped suspiciously between his share and the chef across from him, he took a seat and lifted the sizeable portion to his lips – doubtfully inspecting for any evidence of poison – before delicately taking a bite.
A delicious blend of flavors flooded his buds, and without further delay he began eagerly devouring the meal – the first real good meal he'd had in days. Girl could make a killer sandwich, he'll definitely give her that.
She observed his animalistic appetite (not to mention manners) as she quietly chewed over her own fare, taking a sip of milk before questioning curiously:
"So what's your name anyway?"
Tim wavered, buying time to think by chugging his own drink to slosh down several mouthfuls, before responding finally:
"Alvin Draper."
She wrinkled her nose in disbelief.
"Oh come on. That's not your real name."
Tim winced. Okay, maybe that had been a bit of a stretch. Hurriedly seeking an alternative title from the environment (as he would one day do with another lost lass when she couldn't remember hers), his tune promptly changed as his gaze fell upon the groceries: absorbing the "Wunder" brand logo on the bag of burgled bread, and the green mascot on the condiment carton beside it.
"...Fine. It's 'Peter'."
She folded her arms in frustration.
"Now you're just messing with me," she sniffed, seeing easily through the sudden flash of (admittedly pretty obvious) inspiration. "You got that off the peanut butter jar."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Did not."
"Prove it."
Tim respired, growing irritated by incessant inquiry.
"Look, who cares about a name? All you need to know about me is that I'm awesome."
He puffed up his chest, jabbing an arrogant thumb at his breast.
"…You know you've got a milk mustache, Mr. Awesome."
Tim sheepishly wiped at his mouth with his sleeve.
"You've got one too," he grumbled.
She mimicked the gesture, giggling mildly. It was a nice, comforting sound. He hadn't heard anyone really laugh like that since… Mom…
"So…" He cleared his throat. "Where are your folks at?"
Although he'd mostly wondered out of wary self-preservation, her face unexpectedly fell a little at the query. She picked idly at the remaining rye, peeling off crust and rolling them into mini-balls of crumbs.
"Dad took my mom on a trip to 'Arizona'. I'm staying with my uncle at the moment. …Although he's probably out working a 'job' right now."
A 'job'. The way she said it, he understood instantly what she meant, and could empathize all too well.
"That's rough."
Her visage grew grimmer, as she drew a deep breath.
"Not really. It's better when he's not here."
Tim looked down at the leftover specks in his own dish, not really getting the message.
"At least you've got someone to look after you. My dad never really bothered with babysitters. He says a man should be able to take care of himself."
That wasn't entirely true. When he was younger, his father used to have one of his friends – a thug who went by the name "Dagger" Dixon – watch over him for a few short periods. Despite his daunting reputation (hence the nickname), Tim liked Dagger. Guy was dumb as a post, but he was the only one of Dad's associates who was ever nice to him. Even taught him some neat con- coin tricks. More than that, he treated Tim like a grownup, always listened to what he had to say. …Except when it came to Batman. Whenever Tim expressed his desire to be like his idol someday, he'd scoff openly like the others.
"Don't try to be a hero, kid. Your old man and I – we're crooks. It's what we do, and what you'll do someday too. Our kind don't got no choice."
Later, he himself got beat up and sent to jail by the Dark Knight, so that left Tim without any substitute supervision since then. …Not that it made much of a difference.
Meanwhile, his companion shook her head.
"It's not like that. My uncle's… weird. Sometimes he'll say and do odd things, and it…" she clutched her arms, looking exceedingly conflicted and confused, "…makes me feel really… uncomfortable."
Tim studied her hunched form, unsure what to say. He didn't fully comprehend what she was talking about, and something in him was scared to probe further. Tentatively, he tried to switch the topic instead.
"…Hey, you want to see something cool? Check this out."
He fished out the Batarang and unfolded it with a flair, displaying smugly. Her eyes widened in marvel.
"Wow. Where'd you get that?"
"Found it on a rooftop after Batman and Robin defeated Joker on the next building. There was a big explosion and it got sent all the way over with the debris. I saw the whole thing go down too, with these babies."
He flashed a pair of miniature spy binoculars as well, commercially bat-branded of course. He had all sorts of merchandise back home –at least as much as his meager allowance could afford (he always purchased caped crusader commodities with his own cash, whatever pennies he could scrape together and save from begging or performing odd jobs) – although none of them could compare with the authenticity of his most precious possession.
"Sure you're not just pulling my leg?" she tested skeptically. "Admit it, that's just some toy you bought. …Or stole," she added with a teasing jab.
"Trust me, it's the real deal. Here, I'll show you; want me to give it a spin? Just pick a target."
"All right." She got up and walked over to the couch, nabbing one of the empty beer bottles littered around it. Crossing over to the window, she opened the pane and set the bottle on the sill. "Try to hit this outside."
Tim smirked as he trained on the mark.
"Better step aside, miss."
She did as directed, and he let the star sail, landing an exact bullseye. The container tipped over the edge as the shot simultaneously rebounded back, fallen flask presumably shattering with a loud crash on the pavement below. This was followed by an angry holler:
"Hey! Who the hell's throwing glass up there?!"
Oh shit. Hoping they hadn't hurt anyone, both rushed over to the opening in panic and fearfully poked their heads out, surveying the ground where a cranky old geezer was waving his cane in rage up at them, fortunately appearing unharmed at least.
"You goddamn hooligans! Watch where you're tossing shit! Don't make me come up there and beat the both of you with my stick!"
"Sorry, mister!"
The duo sincerely apologized before retreating back into the room, hiding shamefully behind the wall as they squatted with their backs to it. …After an appropriately contrite interval has passed though, Tim couldn't contain his humor anymore.
"Oh my God, did you see the look on his face?"
"I know, right?"
They both burst into peals of laughter, almost to the point of weeping. When the chuckles finally died down, his partner in crime regarded him admiringly, seeming genuinely impressed with his skill.
"Holy cow. That was amazing. That's what you used to disarm that bully too, right?"
"Yep. Neat, huh? Been practicing with it every day."
Her eyes shone as she scrutinized the prize.
"Hey, you mind if I give it a try?"
Tim looked rather troubled by the suggestion.
"I don't know… You saw what just happened…"
"Pleeeaaase?" she pleaded petulantly, putting on puppy pupils. "I'll be real careful, I promise."
At length, he relented.
"All right, fine. Just do be careful with it, all right? This is like, my life."
He was about to hand it – reluctantly – over to her, as she bounced excitedly in anticipation. …Before he could do so though, they were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps outside the entrance, and a key being inserted into the lock. His host stiffened in alarm.
"It's my uncle. He's back. You have to hide, quick."
She grasped his hand and steered him towards the closet, practically shoving him inside.
"Stay in here. Don't let him see you."
She shut him in, leaving a crack of light just broad enough for him to see out, and spun around as soon as her elder relative stepped inside. The man grinned as he approached, revealing alligator teeth in stark contrast to an ape-like face, and she shifted in order to block his perspective of the closet.
"Hey, sweetie. Sorry to leave you all alone like that. Had some work I needed to – ahem – attend to. Didja miss me?"
He put a large hand on her head, and she flinched as he stroked her locks, skating down across her skin. From the shadows, Tim watched with mounting queasiness and concern at the strange behavior. There was something about the way he addressed her, and – touched her – looked at her… It made his own skin crawl. He'd seen that look, in the mature movie pictures he wasn't supposed to go to but did anyway, and in the ogles of drunken men who hooted and called out to the pretty girls on the sidewalk late at night, conversing sweetly before inviting them up to a hotel room. He didn't recognize what it meant exactly, but it sent chills slithering down his spine. He didn't like that look.
"Here, I got you a little somethin' to make up for it." The man conjured a stuffed crocodile plush from behind his back, wearing a tacky heart T-shirt. Gingerly, she received the gift.
"It's… nice."
"Thought you might like it." He beamed, before strolling towards the kitchen. His victim visibly relieved at both removal of contact and proximity to the closet. "Anyway, I'm parched. Could do with a nice cold one."
Before he could reach the fridge though, he halted at the table, which was still set for two. His niece froze again upon realizing her overlooked mistake.
"Why are there two plates here? And where'd this bread come from?"
The girl gulped. "I was… playing pretend," she declared innocently.
Her uncle ran a finger along the rim of the dish, noting the dust gathered on his tip.
"I see." He revolved back slowly, sporting an unsettling smile. "You must've been awful lonely, all by yourself. Guess that must've been my fault. I'm so sorry about that."
He advanced again, looming over her. His sinister leer was starting to seriously creep Tim out. She shrank as her hulking, gorilla-esque predator knelt down on one knee and put his hairy paws on her shoulders, which were shuddering in apprehension.
"Now, I know you wouldn't lie to me, would you? You're such a good girl, after all. You can be honest with me, so tell me the truth."
He was squeezing her tightly, and it almost looked like she was in pain. Tim bristled behind the barrier, tempted to bust out and give the guy a piece of his mind. (Said mind secretly imagined that if the Batman were here, he'd surely do just that and make the mook piss his pants.) But due to the man's crouch, he could perceive a metal piece sticking out from the rear pouch, and managed to suppress his fury. Balling trembling fists, but not wanting to put her at any more risk. A teen with a blade was one thing, but a grown man wielding a gun was another.
That's when he – off-handedly – discerned something to the side, etched covertly within the shade, where no one else could possibly see it but from his position. It looked like a crude drawing of some sort, of a stick figure wearing a… cape?
Just then, the phone rang. The man looked displeased by the disruption, but nevertheless stood up to answer it. After a gruff exchange, he hung up and rotated towards her again.
"It's your dad. I gotta go pick him up."
Her eyes lit up.
"Is Mom with him?"
He shrugged.
"He didn't say nuthin' about Sis. Anyway, you wait here, I'll be right back. And you better not be gettin' into any mischief while I'm gone."
With that menacing warning, he left. Both she and Tim exhaled upon his exit, as the latter creaked open the closet and crept out.
"Hey… Are you okay?"
He asked anxiously, detecting she was still shivering. He reached towards her, but she briskly brushed him off.
"You need to leave. Now."
"But-"
"If my dad comes back and catches you, we'll both be in even bigger trouble." Heading immediately for the kitchen, she swiped the loaves and thrust them at him. "Here's your bread. Now just hurry up and go."
When they tried the front door though, it seemed to be stuck somehow. The bastard must have barred her inside.
"Quickly, out the fire escape."
She pushed him towards the bedroom balcony before he could protest. Lingering on the ledge, Tim turned back towards her.
"I can't just leave you here."
"You have to."
"But – the way he was looking at you – it wasn't right."
She lowered her countenance, and Tim determinedly offered out his palm.
"Come with me."
"What?"
"You heard me. Let's get out of here. We can run away, just the two of us. I mean it, let's blow this dump. Come on, before he returns."
She shook her head.
"I can't."
"Don't worry, I'll protect you."
"It's not that. My mom… I'm worried my dad will kill her. He seriously would."
"We can look for her together."
"No, it's too dangerous. He'll hurt you too. You've done enough. Please… Just go."
He could see stubborn tears in her eyes. Grudgingly, he agreed to fall back for now.
"I'll come back for you. I promise."
He wrapped reassuringly around her fingers with a smile, before descending the stairs. She watched as he dropped to the earth and departed, leaving nothing but the trail of broken glass and her heart behind. …Hopefully, she dared allow herself to dream – if only for a little bit – it really would just be for the time being.
…
"I'm tellin' ya, Art, the kid's hidin' somethin'."
Stephanie tried to deny as the two older males interrogated her.
"Dad, I swear I didn't let anyone in-"
Smack!
"Don't talk back to me, you ungrateful wench! I leave for a few days and you're already raisin' shit. We don't got the funds to be feedin' no houseguests. Can't believe I bust my friggin' ass to provide for this family, and you and your mom just go and throw it all away. Woman's damn pill habit is a burden that's gone on too long. I swear to fucking God if that clinic doesn't get her to clean up her act I'll strangle the bitch in her sleep."
Steph's eyes enlarged in horror.
"No!" She threw herself at him, clinging desperately to her father's arm. "Please don't hurt Mom. I'll do whatever you say."
He yanked her off by the hair, causing her to yelp in agony.
"I don't believe you," he snarled, a wicked spark in his eye. "Maybe this'll teach you to disrespect me."
He dragged her, kicking and screaming, to the closet – and hurled her viciously inside.
"Daddy, no!"
He ignored her plea and slammed the door, locking it. She pounded against the wood with all her might, crying out pitifully, but her warden simply looked more exasperated as he lit up a cigarette.
"Cut that racket out, you brat! You're stayin' in there until you learn some goddamn manners."
"That's a bit harsh, isn't it, Arthur?" His brother-in-law remarked coolly, remarkably cocking an eyebrow. "I doubt Sis would approve."
"Don't you be lecturin' me on how I discipline my kid, Dave."
He spat as he flopped on the sofa, aggravated to the extreme. David knew there was no reasoning with him in this state, and besides, maybe he was right in that such severe methods might assist in making the headstrong child more… manageable.
He licked his lips.
As predicted, the wild shrieks eventually subsided to sniffles and whimpers, and finally – silence. Arthur nodded in satisfaction.
"That's better. Soon as she's ready to talk, we'll be on our way. In the meantime, get me a beer."
As Stephanie listened to the discussion, her spirit sank as she slid down, hugging her knees as she sobbed softly into them. Accepting darkness and defeat. Who was she kidding? Didn't matter whether she was here or at her home, inside a closet or out. No matter where, she was always trapped. She wasn't some fairytale princess in a storybook. No one was coming to save her. …Not now, not ever.
…
Tim came back the next day. And the next. And the day after that too. So on and so forth. He knew that just going up to the door and knocking wasn't an option, but no matter how many times he peeked in from any vantage, there was no indication of the girl he'd met at all. It was as if she'd completely vanished, like a ghost. …In fact, it didn't seem like there was even anyone living there anymore.
Eventually he learned from eavesdropping that the tenant had apparently died of a mysterious drug overdose, made all the more puzzling by the fact that he wasn't a known user of pharmaceuticals. No one bothered to investigate further though. As far as the police were concerned, another worthless piece of scum had been cleansed from the streets by karmic justice, and good riddance. Saved them an extra prison cell. (Plus he was rumored to be a 'pedofile' – whatever that meant – but Tim gathered it would've spelled hell for him in the slammer anyway, if he even survived it.) …As for next of kin, no one cared to spare any information to some random boy who had no business sticking his nose in other people's private affairs.
So he broke into the vacant residence himself to search for clues to her whereabouts, but the place had already been cleared of everything personal. As he glumly sat there at the empty table, where the two of them had just been enjoying a meal together the other day, he felt completely frustrated at his utter uselessness. Who was he kidding? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't compete with the world of adults. He wasn't some superhero. Just some weak, powerless kid who couldn't do anything, would never accomplish beyond what he was born to be: a thief and a liar, who ends up breaking his promises just like his old man. Who couldn't even return the favor to someone who helped save him from starving, when she herself was suffering alone.
Before he left though, some nagging sense convinced him to consult the closet. Again, there was nothing but barren space for the most part. …Except for, at the very bottom, another new addition next to the original doodle:
It was a Bat symbol.
Well, I have brittle bones it seems
I bite my tongue and I torch my dreams
Have a little voice to speak with
And a mind of thoughts and secrecy
Things cannot be reversed
We learn from the times that we are cursed
Things cannot be reversed
Learn from the ones we fear the worst
For the sake of the story I combined the characters of Steph's Uncle Dave and babysitter into one... Poor girl has enough gross/creepy older men in her life.