Archive of Our Own ^beta

In the time Ripley had spent gawking at the eight letters, time was already moving against them. They grabbed at the letters, hands shaking they stuffed them under their shirt so no one would see the thick paper.

The others had most likely seen Ripley's mailbox, stuffed to the brim with these accursed pieces of paper. As they walked to their room, anyone who had been outside of their room ducked away. Doors slammed with locks turning firmly behind them. Even the workers, nice older ladies who never passed up a chance to give Ripley a pat on their head, refused to meet their eye.

Both fear and relief leaked off of everyone so thick Ripley could taste it. Relief that they had not been chosen this year, and fear because Ripley had.

When they arrived back to their little bedroom, the one girl who had bunked with them for the past few years was nowhere to be seen. All of her items were gone, her bed stripped of her light blue sheets and all of her little trinkets missing from their usual spaces on the small shelf above her bed.

Ripley pulled the letters out from under their shirt, and set them down on the desk next to their radio. They sat in the chair, and for a long few moments just stared at the letters.

The paper was thick, almost leathery in how high quality it was. Stained redder than blood, each with a simple wax seal holding them closed. Holding the words of those who had claimed Ripley as their beloved within.

Unable to open them, Ripley set about organizing them. Stacking them on top of one another, tapping the ends against the table to make them flush. Running their finger along where the letters laid against one another. Then pulling them off of one another, setting them down in a pattern with the corner of each letter barely touching the other to mimic a checkerboard pattern.

They rearranged them again, with the letters now slightly overlapping one another in a neat collum. Then with a gentle flick of their hand, slipped them back into a pile once more.

There was no rhyme or reason for why Ripley sorted them. There would be no change or shift in what was contained within the letters. They set to organizing them one final time, this time with the neat writing of the ones who had signed off on the letter facing up. Each of the red letters had the same words on them.

East Gotham, New Hope Orphanage, room 11. Ripley Horizon.

There was no return address, or any stamps in the corner. They ran their fingertip over the letters, feeling the slight impression in the thick red paper that the pen that had written those words made. A small smear of ink came away on their finger, and they rubbed it on their shirt idly.

Flipping the letter over, they thumbed at the wax seal. Tracing the silver circle with the pad of their thumb, they ran over the circle and the insignia pressed into the wax. The insignia was simple, a heart cradled within the grasp of a sharp-nailed hand. A perfect unification of the gentleness of the obsessor while also showing the darkness of their goals.

Slipping their thumb nail under the seal, they popped it open. Some parts of the thick paper stuck to the seal, leaving a fuzzy mark behind. They flicked up the letter with their pointer fingers, while holding the base with their thumbs and pulled it out.

The paper from the letter was just as thick and expensive as the red envelope. It was a light amber color, just light enough to be called off-white. It unfolded slowly, having been creased by what must have been some sort of bone that made the edges sharp and crisp.

The letter was hand written, in a neat script that had little flicks at the ends of some letters as if to add a little flair to their words. They smoothed their hand over the letter, letting it flatten out on their old desk.

The paper was so thick, Ripley could not feel the imperfections of the wood. It was a short letter, only a few paragraphs long, and so they got to reading.

My dearest Ripley,

Words cannot express how delighted I am to have you in my life. I understand that this will be hard for you, your fears and worries are warranted-but they are unneeded.

I understand that you will hate me at first. I am the villain in your eyes, and in the eyes of others who have been given these letters, but I hold no ill-will towards you, my lovely daughter.

I love you. Since the moment I saw you, I have wanted to hold you close. To shut out the horrors of the world, and shower you with everything you have ever wanted and deserved.

By the time you read this letter, I'll expect that you've collected everything that you want to bring with you to your new life. If you haven't? Well, material things can be replaced.

I shall see you at dusk, my love.

Happy Birthday,

Your Father.

Ripley pushed the letter away from them, feeling nausea coiling in their stomach. The fluff and flair of the language meant that whoever had chosen them had to be of a higher caste, or at least was pretending to be.

Their hands were tearing apart the paper before they knew what they were doing. They grunted, the paper did not tear as quick as the cheaply made kind, but it tore all the same. Hot tears dripped down their cheeks, a fire of humiliation and shame fueled by the fury and indignation of just why they had been chosen.

Why them? Why couldn't they have been chosen in a normal way, by normal parents who wanted a child of their own?

They buried their face in their arms, great heaving sobs making their shoulders tremble. Their tears were hot on their cheeks, and their body burned with indignation. How cruel was this person that he would taunt them with their own birthday?! Knowing that this day would never be celebrated by anyone but those sickest in their minds.

All of this, on their birthday of all days. They sniffled wetly, raising their head to messily wipe at their face. Outside their window, the sun began to duck below Gotham's skyline. Not touching the other letters, nor the one torn up, Ripley wiped at their face again. The tiny light in their room flickered. Once, twice, and then went out with a pop.

More sobs spilled from their lips, and they fell to the floor. They cried. Real hard sobs that burned in their chest and made their head throb, snot messily dripped from their nose and was left to hang. They didn't care that they were too old to be crying like this, they didn't care that the others in the orphanage could hear them.

Their breathing became labored, and they pitched forward and dramatically gasped through their hiccupping sobs. Any attempts to quell either their burning tears or their sobs was futile, and as static formed at the edge of their vision all they could do was keen mournfully.

The shuffle of boots against the ground and the gentle creak of their bedroom door was all the warning Ripley got as they felt burning eyes on their curled over form. The footsteps paused as Ripley's guest took in their form, and then slowly they continued.

Ripley lifted the hem of their shirt and messily blew their nose into the fabric uncaring how gross the sticky feeling of their snot on their chest was as the figure knelt beside them.

A gloved hand gently touched between their shoulder blades, pulling away quickly when Ripley jumped and choked on their sob causing them to cough roughly.

"It's okay! It's alright, I'm sorry I scared you," a deep-ish male voice murmured, his tone light, "can you follow my breathing? You're having a panic attack."

"No," Ripley gasped through a whimper, "SHIT!" They roughly shouldered the man's hand from their shoulder where it had come to lightly rest. They spun on their knees and fell backwards onto their ass to see just who had been trying to comfort them.

The vigilante's and heroes of Gotham City were widely recognizable to any Gothamite who didn't have their head stuck in the asphalt, so when Ripley's gaze clocked the spread out blue wings of a v-shaped eagle, they knew just who they were looking at.

Nightwing, tanned skin and tight spandex and all, held up his hands in a reassuring surrender from where he was crouched just behind where Ripley had been keeled over.

"It's okay," Nightwing repeated, his voice softer. His tone was patient, achingly similar to the voices of the older girls who had comforted Ripley when they had arrived at the orphanage, and when the first Purge began.

He was a hero, so of course he would have a near impeccable sence of conflict resolution. He rested one of his hands on the floor, the other held out in front of him to the halfway point between him and Ripley.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Nightwing continued, "but we need to move fast, okay?"

Ripley stared at him, their mouth slightly agape with shock, "are you," they sniffled grossly, "are you here to save me?"

Nightwing's brow twitched in the slightest bit, then his expression smoothed out and a casual smile took its place on his lips, "I am. You know who I am?"

"Nightwing," Ripley replied, their heart feeling like it was in their throat, "but...But I thought that heroes weren't allowed to do anything during the Purge, what if he-" Ripley cut themselves off as more footsteps began to slowly stroll their way down the hallway to their room.

They sounded like the bells of the gallows.

Nightwing didn't seem scared in the slightest, though, and in Ripley's distraction, reached out to touch their arm. Ripley didn't move, their eyes fixed on the darkness of their doorway, just barely illuminated by the dark orange light of the street lamps that had just flickered on when Nightwing had appeared.

"I," Ripley felt their throat growing tight, "I have to go-" their voice ended in a choke as Nightwing's hand wrapped gently around their wrist. They tugged, but Nightwing held strong.

Ripley's gaze snapped between the doorway and the vigilante, their stomach groaning and nausea rising up their throat as the hiss of a heavy cape brushing against the wood of the doorway had them slapping their hand to their mouth to quell their wail of terror.

Nightwing's gaze sharpened at the sheer terror that must have been on Ripley's face, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder with a scowl.

"Would you give that a rest?!" He snapped, voice full of vitriol, "you're scaring them!"

Ripley's mind raced, and they tugged at Nightwing's hand grabbing their wrist to try to get away before whatever WHAT was in their doorway lunged in from the inky darkness.

"No," Ripley moaned, shaking their head as the hulking figure of the Batman sunk into the room. His form towered above where Ripley was now crumpled on the floor, the tall ears of his suit skimming against the doorway that had seemed so tall to Ripley.

"You were supposed to stick to the plan, Nightwing," Batman's voice was rough like gravel and baritone enough to make it feel like his words were vibrating in the air, "they could have had a weapon."

"They wouldn't hurt me!" Nightwing clicked his tongue, as if annoyed at the sheer thought of Ripley possibly defending themselves against who they assumed was their Loveless come to collect. "And they were panicking! I didn't want them to pass out, can you imagine how traumatic that would be? It would set us back for MONTHS!"

"Months?" Ripley murmured, in a daze, staring up at Batman as he cautiously approached the two of them. Having the dark hero so close to them, and with all of his attention on them...

It was haunting.

Batman narrowed his eyes at Nightwing, then stooped to kneel next to him. His hand reached out slowly and he gently grasped Ripley's other hand and easily dwarfed it. His hand was chilly, though it might have been the thick leather gloves that he donned. His grip was firm, but it didn't hurt.

Batman looked back to Ripley, an unusual smile curling on his lips that was so slight it was almost eaten up by the darkness that surrounded the three of them. "I understand that you're scared, and that you'll have an adjustment period, but I swear to you as your father that I will do everything in my power to care for you."

Ice pooled through Ripley's veins, making their throat feel tight like Batman was squeezing their neck rather than their hand. They shook their head minutely, gaze snapping from Nightwing back to Batman.

"No, no, you can't be," Ripley choked, "you're-you're supposed to save me! N-not whatever this is!" They yanked their hands back, or at least tried to. Nightwing and Batman held fast, gently pulling their arms back as Ripley struggled.

"We are saving you," Nightwing soothed, "without us, you would've been stuck here! In this system where no one cares about you," he pulled Ripley closer gently, his other hand pushing away Ripley's foot as they tried to kick him, "you'll be comfortable with us, I promise."

Ripley felt like throwing up and screaming all at once, the feeling of needing to vomit cresting until they were gagging out of sheer terror. Batman hushed Ripley's cries, and the two men pulled their arms back just enough for Ripley to lose the claustrophobic atmosphere that was the space in front of the two vigilantes.

"I don't wanna go," Ripley gasped, fresh tears wetting their cheeks, "I don' wanna!"

Batman reached up slowly and brushed away their tears with his thumb, "these feelings are natural, your fear." He rubbed their cheek, cupping their face. His hand was so big Ripley's cheek was completely covered, and the glove was cool against their fear-heated skin, "we can talk as much as you want to when we get back home, we'll get you settled in."

Ripley's lip wobbled with an impending sob, so overwhelmed with fear and uncertainty and grief that they could do little more than lean into Batman's hand and sniffle.

"Come 'ere," Nightwing murmured, slotting closer beside Batman and worming his hands underneath their armpits. He wiggled his arms forward until his hands met behind their back. His hands smoothed down their back until they were at their bottom, and then in one smooth motion scooped Ripley up into his arms.

While Ripley wasn't very small according to their age, they felt dwarfed in Nightwing's arms. Holding them up with one hand, Nightwing gently guided their head to rest against his shoulder. Ripley shuddered at the cool spandex against their skin and wiped their snotty nose on his shoulder, but Nightwing didn't seem to care too much.

He kept a protective hand on their head, resting his head against theirs. Ripley shuddered as they felt Nightwing's nose brushing against their hair and inhaling deeply with a pleased sound.

"Time to go," Batman grunted, resting his hand on Ripley's back and rubbing a soothing circle as they trembled. Nightwing moved swiftly into the darkness, and Ripley buried their face into his shoulder and tried to pretend that anyone but their Loveless was holding them.