Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's cold.

Not many mornings are warm in Gotham, anyway. The mornings that follow a rough trade are particularly cold and lonely. You took enough drops and enough shots last night that you can barely remember much anyways. Your skin will always, cruelly, hold the memories, though. You can hear your mother in the other room, chatting with another tool at the door. You get up from bed anyway, grabbing a half smoked cigarette from last night and relighting it. Holding it between your teeth and your lip as you pull a robe on over your lingerie, walking through the rundown apartment to check on Eve.

"That a new girl?" You hear the man ask. His voice is rough but he doesn't seem that unfriendly. There's a younger man behind him who looks nervous out of his mind, though. Wandering behind your mother, she wraps an arm around your shoulders, flashing a fake smile. "This is my daughter, Oz." 

Oz bends down slightly to be properly level with you, almost as if you were still a child. You take a drag of your cigarette and almost blow it into his face. 

"Hey there, sweetheart." He grins slightly. You're used to grimy men, but he doesn't actually feel as bad as they normally did. "Your ma's Eve, then you must be Dawn." He jokes, reaching out and patting your shoulder with a slightly heavy hand. Eve is smiling slightly but doesn't seem all too amused with him, rubbing your shoulder as if trying to comfort you. Her presence is more uncomfortable than a stranger's, though. You take another drag of the cigarette. 

"Who's ya' father?" Oz asks as he stands back up, glancing between you and Eve. Not like you had a damn clue. "One of my clients," Eve admits. Hell, you didn't even know that much. The two older folk share a look at each other, as if silently speaking. You happen to share a glance at the nervous looking kid behind Oz, your brows gently furrowed in thought as his eyes meet yours. 

"Look, I.. I just need an alibi, alright?" The larger man eventually speaks up, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Can ya' spare a moment? Something I wanna talk to you about." Your mother gestures inside, to the kitchen. He looks in thought, genuinely looks like he's about to deny that much. Running a hand over his face, he gestures for the kid behind him to join him as he steps past Eve and into the room. You instinctively step behind your mother, giving them their space, and almost treating her as a shield. 

"Make our guest feel welcome." Eve instructs, shooing you from behind her. She shuts the front door and her and Oz walk off into the other room, leaving you alone with a stranger. Not the first time, certainly not the last. You pull the cigarette from your lips, holding it by your side.

"You new around here?" You mutter softly, taking a nervous step closer to him. The whole seduction thing was difficult, especially with a guy like him. He was reluctant, to say the least. 

"Yeah.. uh, n-name's Victor Aguilar." He eventually greets properly, holding out a hand. To.. shake yours. That was new. Men didn't normally touch your hands unless it was to pin you down. It made you pause, lifting your hand slowly to grab his. His grasp on your hand was fairly firm, but the gesture was soft, as if he was afraid he would break you if he shook your hand properly. You manage to quietly mutter your own name. 

"But I.. I guess ya' can call me Dawn, huh?" You joke faintly, attempting a smile. Playing off Oz's joke from earlier. Victor lets out a soft exhale of amusement, it seems more out of politeness than him genuinely finding what you said funny, though. "So.. Oz isn't exactly a good apple, ya? What are you doin' with him? You don't seem like.. you live in the same world, y'know?" You mutter softly, putting out the cigarette. Your hands coming up to tug the material of your robe over the front of your body. 

"I-it's uh.. complicated." He mutters. It seems you struck a chord, with the way he averts his gaze. "Hey," you start, quietly. Stepping a bit closer to him, lifting up a hand to pat his arm. "It's gonna be alright. Whatever's going on.." 

You didn't know that. But it's not like the words hurt to say. He looks a bit relaxed, anyway, looking down at you with furrowed brows. You can tell that he wants to argue you, to tell you that you're wrong. But it's almost as if the words were the only thing keeping either of you sane in the moment. A little white lie to improve the mood.. 

You both jerk up when you hear Oswald shouting from the other room with your mother. You share a look with Victor, and you both decide to take a look inside the room. Maybe not intervene, but at least attempt to get a grasp at what the commotion was. 

"- and you decide you ain't gonna tell me!?" You make out from Oswald's shouting. His face is slightly red in anger. Though, unlike most angry men, he doesn't attempt to grab her. He's gesturing with his hands, but it's like he wouldn't dare to hurt her over whatever argument they were having. 

Eve notices you immediately, of course. She pauses, breathing heavily, looking painfully conflicted. She looks back up at Oz, and the next words out of her mouth cause you to freeze.

"So what if she's your damn daughter?!" 

This man is my father? Clearly a criminal, considering his need for an alibi. Roped a younger guy into whatever shit he was getting into. Heaven knows how awful he might truly be. Oz turns back to you, his anger almost turns into desperation. 

"I have a baby girl and you ain't tell me..?" He mutters. His voice is almost soft, almost in despair, as he walks over and cups your cheeks. As if you were the most delicate thing in the world. "No, no.. I can't just leave ya' here.." 

You genuinely have no idea how to react. 

"Christ, Oz. She brings in half the money around here, and you're gonna take her?" His grasp on you becomes slightly firmer, it's clear he's restraining his reaction to those words. Letting go of you to face Eve, clenching his fists by his sides. 

"So she's just a piggy bank to ya'?!" He raises his volume, and for a moment, you're worried the neighbors might hear. Or the alley cats outside. "You haven't been in her life a day, and you're acting like you can take better care of her than I can!" Eve raises. 

You can feel the nervous energy radiating off of Victor. Or maybe that's your own that's reflecting off him, you can't tell anymore. 

"No, no.." Oz shakes his head, dipping it down slightly as he rubs his forehead. He's calming down, but he's not letting up. "I just want the chance, huh? She's a grown lady. Let her make the choice.. she could just spend a weekend with me and if she wants to come back," he gestures around the room, "then I wouldn't stop 'er. Hell, I would give her the ride myself.." 

Eve shoots you a glance, her brows furrowed. "Well?" She grits. She in no way wants you to have an opinion, a choice in this. She wants you to play along and be a good alley cat for her, to tell Oz, the man you just learned is your father, that you're not going anywhere with him.

And hell, it's an awful idea. You could spend your life in a familiar setting, even if it's a bit of mental torture, not to mention physical, or you could possibly get yourself killed by following along a stranger. Then again, you know how bad it is in here. You have no idea how bad it is in Oz's life. You might actually get some freedom for once. It was only a weekend.. what's the worst that could happen?

"I wanna go with him." You nod, trying to hold a strong look. It doesn't suit you. Eve grimaces, shaking her head as she holds her hands to her face. "Jesus Christ," she mutters into her palms. Oswald looks over the moon, walking up to you and gently holding onto your forearms. 

"That's my girl.." He affectionately dons, shifting his hands to pat your upper arms. "Go get dressed in something proper, huh? Don't want you scratching up your skin." He gestures. Surprisingly, he doesn't sound like he holds any ill opinion towards you for the whole.. prostitute thing. Or being in your lingerie. You nod and oblige quickly, stepping past Victor to walk to your 'bedroom,' which was just a curtained off section of the living room. 

When you step out, modestly in a turtleneck and jeans, Victor actually looks at you properly. His averted gazes from earlier were duly noted, you're almost surprised he has the ability to look at you. Oz was speaking quietly to Eve, but the moment he notices you're ready to join them on.. whatever business they had this late at night, he steps over and grabs your hand. In such a dainty manner, your fingers in his palm. 

"There's my princess." You wonder how he can say that about you, given he didn't even know of your existence before today. You weirdly don't hate it though. He gently pulls you along, walking with Vic out the door. "Watch your step, sweetheart." He gruffly mutters, your free hand on the railing as he walks you down the stairs. 

You're scared. Honestly. But all of life is terrifying, especially in Gotham. Your mother had already forced you to be an alley cat, what worse could your father do? It's worth a shot. 

Vic holds open the car door for you, offering a nod of his head as you step inside. Sitting down in the back seat, buckling yourself in. You feel a bit blank, watching as Oswald huffs and lounges into the passengers seat, his hand placed against the back of the driver's seat as he turns back to look at you. Victor in the driver's seat, starting the car, and sparing a glance out of the corner of his eye at you and your father. God, it'd take some time getting used to calling him that.

"You eat yet? You wanna go out for burgers?" You don't quite have the heart to tell him that you just woke up, it being so late in the night. ".. Yeah, I'd like that." You mutter softly. You cringe internally at how hoarse your voice sounded, tilting your head down to look at the shadowed interior of the car. Vic takes the hint, pulling out to drive to a burger place.

-

It's pitch black outside, the only light is from the fire Oswald started and the interior lights of a passenger train driving by. You sit off to the side, your fingers dug into the wrapper of the burger you held. It had been a while eating something worthwhile, and there's a strange feeling of guilt settling into your stomach with every bite you take. The first one was so heavenly, but now that you're halfway through, you feel like throwing up. It doesn't help, with every overheard word from Oz and Vic, you're learning just a bit too much about everything.

You give up on eating when the sky starts lighting up. The rest of the burger is cold now, anyway. When you finally stand up from your seat, you see Vic and Oz by a car, hauling a dead body into the back, that you were already aware of, but seeing it was a bit nauseating. Doesn't matter that it was in a heavy bag, you knew what it was-who it was. You can see Victor freaking out a bit, and it almost causes you to panic as well. Standing a yard away, watching in shocked silence, disbelief perhaps. 

You weren't about to watch your father bludgeon a young man to death, right? It's not looking good. Your feet carry you to the two men before you can quite stop yourself, and their words become more clear with every step. Victor begging for his life, claiming that he could be of use to Oswald. His stutter is getting worse with his panic. 

"Please, I need a chance," Oswald is at least looking discouraged from his argument. Despite your better judgement, you reach out, your fingers just barely curling against Oswald's leather jacket, tugging on the material. "Please, don't do this.." You mutter softly. It's the straw that breaks his back, shaking his head as he looks between the two of you.

"Fine, fine. Might be useful, keepin' ya' around." He mutters gruffly to Vic. "For now." Oz warns, looking back up at the man. "But if you step out of line, just once, I swear to God I will gut you like a fuckin' fish. Ya' understand?" His voice raises at the end, and you feel just as nervous as Victor does, as he scrambles to agree. 

Oswald looks down at you, and you can just barely see the way he softens. He doesn't want to scare you after all. 

"Come on, let's watch the sunrise." He grumbles, patting your back as he gestures for you to sit with him against a scrap car. 

For a moment, it's nice. Almost peaceful. If you dared to say that.

The sun isn't fully up before Oswald is guiding Victor to drive to his place. You sit silent in the back, looking out the window. Gotham is in wrecks after what the Riddler did, there air is so polluted that you can visibly see the dust kicked into vision. All the 'heroes' of the city are doing what they can, but it's clearly not enough. It might never be enough. 

Are there really heroes in the world if there is still all the abominable? We look up to those that protect us, but Gotham isn't protected. The Riddler proved that, once and for all. If heroes existed, Batman would have stopped the incident. Heroes are a joke and a fantasy, made up by desperate people who hold far too much hope, hope that will be crushed. 

You lost that hope when you were fifteen. Anyone who still had it was immature to you. 

The car comes to a stop, and you can hear the shuffling as Victor and Oswald step out of the vehicle, your father immediately tugging open your car door for you, holding out a hand. You pull the seatbelt off, letting your hand fall onto Oz's, who helps you to stand out of the vehicle. Leading you just behind him, along the path to his home. It's a bit stuffy inside, but Eve's place was worse. You walk with Oz as he talks to Vic, zoning out their conversation. You're still lost in your head about the ordeal. 

You only take notice of the happenings around you when Oswald hands you a glass of water. He makes some comment about staying healthy, being a young woman and all. It's almost sickening to take a sip. Sure, the water is cleaner than you're used to downtown, but it's still water. What use is drinking water? You want something harder, it'll either help you think or stop you from thinking in the first place, and either way it sounds better than this. You can hear Oz warning Victor about not digging around in his stuff, only to turn to you next.

"Course, you can go through whatever ya' like, sweetheart. Just be careful and don't break nothin', alright?" He flashes a smile, only one side of his face seeming to lift up. The amount of scars over his skin cause it to tighten a bit. Oz steps over to his bedroom, and you're left with Victor. He doesn't speak much, you've got that by now. Not like you have much experience striking up 'friendly conversation' anyway. You stand by in the dim apartment and watch Vic by the sink, cleaning himself up. 

You don't even try it. Striking up a conversation, that is. It's a long, awkward fifteen minutes with the young man, before Oswald steps out of his bedroom. Gesturing to Vic.

"Come on. Gonna be late to work at this rate." He gruffly urges. You look between the two, nervously so. Oz notices. "You're gonna stay here, alright? My work ain't safe, business in drops. Don't want you around there, not yet." 

You're not clean. The very mention of drops makes you feel itchy, biting your cheek as you look at Oz. 

"You gonna bring me back some?" You mutter out softly. You're ashamed, you just met the man last night, your own father. Now you're begging him for drugs like a junkie. And in all fairness, you are a junkie. So, guess this is a fitting image of his 'darling daughter.' You can see the reluctance in his features, he doesn't wanna fuel his daughter's addiction. "Please." 

"Alright, alright." Oz runs a hand over his face, clenching his jaw. "Not a lot, though. Not letting you stay a drophead all your life. You deserve better. You are better."

You have to bite your tongue. You want to spit out 'you don't know what I am.' But you manage to stop yourself. Oswald gestures for Vic to join him as he leaves the place, leaving you behind with nothing to do. 

You remember his words. Just be careful, and don't break anything. You could do that much, right? You don't particularly search around much, going through the fridge to see what food he had around, the cupboards, his closet, the books on the shelves. At first, you were a bit curious, and now, you were just bored. The place wasn't messy, but wasn't particularly clean either. Eventually, you're just sitting on the couch, watching old VHS tapes. 

You don't feel like yourself when you're sober, everything feels like it's in slow motion, it's exhausting and irritating. And every film Oz has in his place is boring to you, which only grates on you. Sat fetal position on the couch, watching some action film, biting your nails until your fingers are slightly bloody. Restless, you think to yourself. Eve would kill me if she saw me like this.

She hated when you couldn't sit still. Probably why she kept buying you drops in the first place. It felt good, it made you feel whole, and when you felt whole, you could sit still for a while. You didn't particularly want to, but you were able to. But without it? Christ, this felt like it could run a hole through you. Where the hell was Oz with the drops? 

-

You don't remember actually falling asleep, your eyelids heavy as they open just enough to look at the place around you. Your arm propped up underneath you, the limb now asleep and partially wet with your own drool, your body ached from the uncomfortable position on the couch. "Good mornin', princess." You hear the familiar gravel of Oswald's voice, and you can feel his hand grab your arm to pull you upright. 

"Could've slept in my bed, rather than the old couch." He off-handedly comments, as you wipe the drool off your cheek. "You wanna help your father with somethin'?" He roughly sighs, rubbing your arms. You can tell he doesn't actually want to do this to you, for one reason or another.

"What is it..?" You mutter, your voice is hoarse from sleep. "We're gonna visit a friend. You know the Maronis?" 

The fucking crime family? You obviously knew Oswald wasn't up to much good, but you weren't ready for that step. "Yeah, I know the Maronis.." 

"We're gonna visit the don. You won't even have to talk to him, alright?" 

What a fuckin' lie. You stand here with a visitor sticker against your chest, standing just far away enough from the men to not freak out. Salvatore, you've learned to be his name, gestures you over. Part of Oswald's plan here was using you to show that he's a different man. 'I've got a daughter now, I need cash to provide for her,' Sal didn't completely trust that shtick. 

"What's your name?" He gruffly mutters. With the way he stares at you, even you're feeling unsure about yourself. "Dawn." You quietly mutter in response. "Dawn Cobb." You look just similar enough to Oz for Sal to begrudgingly admit to himself that you might actually be his daughter.

But just because you're his daughter doesn't mean Oz is worth keeping around. Sal knows that. Oz has one more trick up his sleeve, though. A ring.

"Where did you get this?" You can feel the satisfaction roll off Oswald. "Carmine. He wore it as his own," he laughs gruffly. "The Falcones, they've been flaunting what they've done to you for years." "But how is it that you have it?"

Christ, do you suddenly feel unsafe here. It already felt unsafe considering it was a prison, and the tension between the two criminals was dense enough to cut. Now you've backed up from the men until your back is against the wall, your arms crossed over your chest. Trying not to look unbearably nervous. 

"Maybe I'm more than what you think. Maybe we're more than what you think." He flashes his teeth in a smirk, wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders. Almost dragging you out of the visiting area. 

"You alright, doll?" Oz mutters under his breath, leading you out of the building. ".. Yeah. Think so." You manage. No, you're not alright. You just met your estranged father, were just used in some mafia meeting and you haven't had drugs or alcohol for at least twenty four hours. 

The ride home is fatiguing. You want something, anything to cool off, or for a buzz. Whatever, you aren't picky. Anything that isn't rawdogging life like this. Oswald sees your struggle and is trying to comfort you, not with the drops he promised, but with stupid damn words. Words don't solve anything. 

Suddenly, the car slows down as he looks near his place. You follow his gaze. Three men and a woman, all dressed in black. "Shit," Oz mutters under his breath. And suddenly he's speeding through the streets, trying to call Vic, who isn't picking up. One crazed drift after the other, with his free hand on your arm. 

"It's gonna be alright, okay? Get in the back, hide under the seats." He quickly gestures. You try to oblige, unbuckling and climbing over the center console, getting thrown against the back seats as he swerves. Dropping to the floor, you roll under the backseats, hyperventilating as you listen to Oz. 

"Just relax, okay, doll? Everything is gonna be okay. I promise. Just stay there and stay quiet until I tell ya' to." 

This is the first time in your life you've dared to think.. maybe your mother's place wasn't all that bad. 

You hear Oz get out of the car and open the trunk. You can only clasp a hand over your mouth and try to calm your breathing, especially when you hear men around the vehicle.

For a moment, it's almost calm. You hear the trunk slam and someone get into the driver's seat, you can only imagine it's your father. Maybe that's wishful thinking at this point. 

"Get the fuck out!" A man's voice is heard by the driver's door. You can't see a thing from your position but you can hear the commotion up front, music suddenly blaring as something hits the radio. Grunts of pain, thumps, obvious signs of a fight. Just out of view. For a moment, you wonder if you could be a hero, if you could climb out of the back and face your fears to protect your father. 

Until there's no sound but the music. 

Maybe he won. He didn't need your help, he was clearly seasoned in all this shit. You slowly crawl out from the backseat, lifting yourself up just enough to look out the window. To see your father being dragged away. 

The men dragging him were huge and you knew very well they weren't stupid enough to be unarmed during all of this. You weren't a hero. Heroes didn't exist. 

So you duck down, and stay quiet until they're gone. Climbing into the front seat to shut the driver's door, searching the vehicle until you find it. Oswald's phone. Scrambling to open it, you see his last calls. Two bounced from Vic, one answered. 

You don't know what else to do. You can't call the police, you know damn well of that. You don't know anyone else in Oswald's phone that you could dial for help. So you dial Vic. 

Four rings. "O-Oz?" You can hear him stammer into his phone. "Vic, it's Dawn," your voice is hoarse, you sound like you're about to cry. You feel that way, too. "They took Oz. I-I don't know what to do." 

"P-pick me up, I'll.. j-just come pick me up, alright?" 

He gives you a street. You don't know the area, you don't know how to drive. Vic stutters on nearly every word, but he manages out just enough information. You swerve through the streets, barely able to see the road in front of you, unable to get any real street laws from the signs. It feels like the wheel fights against you, and it doesn't matter how much pressure you put on the petal, it's always either too much or too little. The car jerks forward when you try to apply a harder, steady pressure. And you panic and let up, only to go far too slow on the road.

But you find his street. He has to remind you to put it into park before you get out, and you climb over the console and into the passenger's seat. 

With him in control, you're left to your declining adrenaline. You break. It's impossible not to. Sobbing into your hands as you press your back into the leather seat. It all happened so quickly, and you dare to blame yourself. You didn't do anything to protect Oz, after all. 

Vic is on things, though. He tells you to stay in the car as he deals with the dead body. You want to question him, why Alberto's stupid body mattered when your father had been kidnapped, but nothing comes out of your mouth except strangled sobs. 

And he leaves you there. Crying in Oswald's purple car. 

Fuck, you would rather be with your bitch mother right now. Not that you were going to get behind the wheel again, not after the struggle you just went through. 

It feels like both forever and no time at all when Vic comes back, slumping into the drivers seat and immediately pulling away, not updating you in the slightest. 

"W-we're picking u-up Oswald. E-everything is fine." Vic quietly mumbles. 

He's trying to comfort you. It's an awful attempt, considering you're going through withdrawals, you're exhausted, traumatized. But it was sweet for him to try. 

-

You open your car door before the vehicle even fully comes to a stop, running up to Oz with a sob. He looks rough, but satisfied with whatever happened. You can feel him tense when you throw your arms around him. You can't fully wrap your arms around his midsection, but you try, crying against his chest. 

"I'm so glad you're okay, pa.." 

Pa. Christ, if you could see his face when you said those words. Compassion was a rare thing in Gotham, much more in the mob. Hell, he could get over that part quickly. But, knowing it was his daughter that cared for him?

You feel his hands pat your back, unsure in his movement. When he finally speaks, his voice is softened from the regular gruff tone he had. Quiet and thick with emotion. 

"Yeah, I.. I'm alright." 

Chapter Text

"It's good practice," Oz gruffly mutters. You've disinfected his wound, that Sofia gave him, you've only recently learned about her. 'The Hangman.' That doesn't really matter to you right now, though. Oswald can see the way your face contorts while looking at his shoulder, the way your hands tremble as you wrap gauze around it. It's disgusting, the sight of blood makes you feel sick, and you're still fucking sober on top of it all. 

Normally you might be able to handle this, you've seen a lot of awful things after all. Maybe nothing this bloody exactly, the sight of fleshly torn fibrous muscle and flesh is new. But under the buzz of drops, or at least a shot or three, this would be manageable. 

"Practice?" You sigh softly, tying off the end. Oz grabs the roll of gauze from your shaking hands to set it aside for you. "Yeah. Y'know, if you or someone ya' love ever gets hurt, you need to know how to do this properly."

So this is your life now? You look around his bedroom for a moment, internally lost with everything. Last night, you called him 'pa.' It meant way more to him than you thought it would. It didn't mean nearly as much to you. At least, you don't think it did. He's your father, after all, not that you've known that for very long. Victor drove you both to his place, then left.. to go home? He didn't say where he was going. In all fairness, you also didn't ask, which you now feel slightly guilty for.

"And," Oz starts, a palm against the bedside table as he stands up. Reaching over to his jacket, that had been earlier discarded on his bed. "I got you ya' drops, alright, kid?" You visibly light up at that, watching as he fishes the drug from his suit pocket. "Come here." 

You oblige, stepping in front of him. One of his hands holding onto your jawline, his touch is gentle against your skin, a far cry from the man. His palm is rough to the touch as well, so even with his attempt to be gentle, it's still slightly uncomfortable. It's nerve wracking to have someone else hold the dropper above your eye, but you're able to stay still enough for him. You blink rapidly when it hits your eye, it's a jarring feeling, but it's worth it.  

It's almost immediate, and you sigh, leaning your chin against his palm. It washes over your mind, you feel weightless and pleasantly heavy at the same time. It itches the scratch that has been bothering you since you left your mother's place. You can hear Oz chuckle at your reaction as he let's go of you, pulling away to tug his shirt on. 

"I gotta go, meeting with the Falcones. I'll call Vic, to keep ya' company." He mutters as he buttons up his shirt. Draping his suit jacket over his uninjured shoulder as he looks back at you. "Wait," you manage, your mind a little fuzzy under the effects of the drops. "That's not.."

"Don't worry, doll." He cuts you off, flashing you a grin. "He won't hurt ya', I promise. I gotta be at the Falcones," he doesn't hear you out, stepping through the room and opening up the metallic bedroom door. Guess he was in a rush. You've learned a bit from him talking on the drive back about the Maronis and Falcones. It's a lot you don't fully understand. Carmine died, Alberto was supposed to take over the crime family, just for Oswald to kill him, part of his impulsive and reckless behavior set—you've seen first hand now. 

Come on. He meets a girl that he just found out is his daughter and whisks her away, no planning in the slightest, with a guy he essentially held held at gunpoint to work for him, nothing was predictable in your life now. But at least it wasn't back with Eve. You don't need to remind yourself, you can practically feel the hands of men staining your skin. It's subtle now, a dull ache in your body, a dirty reminder. At least the drops kept your mind in an almost blissful state. 

Even on drugs, you can feel it. If you don't give them what they paid for, as soon as they want it, they get aggressive. You're just a little alley cat, after all. Your place in society was the bottom rung. You didn't get respect or love. You get hands against your throat, on your tits, over your body—it didn't belong to you, against your arms—

Victor shakes you back and forth, snapping you out of your mind. "D-Dawn?" His brows are furrowed, he looks genuinely concerned. "What? I.. I'm fine." You mutter under your breath, gently pushing his hands off from your arms. He lifts a hand up, pressing his knuckles to your cheek. 

"You're c-crying." He points out. Shit, runs through your mind immediately. That's so embarrassing. "Yeah, I'm good. Really, Vic." You mutter out with a soft huff. He clearly isn't convinced, but isn't going to push you, either. "You wanna get burgers?" What a stray, considering the previous heavy tension. ".. Yeah, sounds good to me." You mutter. You're not entirely sure you could eat right now, but you feel like it might be good for him.

So you go out for burgers. Sitting inside a rundown shop, sitting with your legs crossed over your lap to face backward in the booth, looking out the slightly fogged up window. The roads here are a mess, the further you get to the flooded areas of the city. If you look out far enough, you're sure you can start to see where the water begins to lap at the road. You try not to, though. It just adds to the desolation. 

"So.. that l-lady we saw y-you with.. was your m-mother?" Victor's attempts at conversations are awkward at best. "Yeah. Her name is Eve." You quietly murmur, glancing over at him. He's sitting stiffly beside you, facing opposite. Properly. "She's a bitch." You admit bluntly. His eyes just barely widen at the crude comment. "You'd say that about your own m-mother?" 

".. You ain't know her." You grumble quietly, clenching your jaw as you look out the window again. You can practically feel him sink into himself at the bite in your voice. He's the one who had the gall to defend your mother though..

"I know family bonds are strong," you're attempting to build over anyway. "But you.. you don't know the kind of stuff she's done to me." 

Now he's just feeling guilty and concerned. Well.. it was worth a damn shot. You can't help but feel a little bit guilty as well.

-

It's been a day or two. Not a lot of Oz around. Sometimes Vic. You mostly just grab something to eat with him. The conversations are short and awkward, but the silence is actually pretty comfortable with him. Suppose you just haven't found much in common yet. You've explored every inch of Oswald's place by now, and yeah, there was some fishy shit around there. Disinterest is how you mainly felt. Whatever he did in the past doesn't really matter now, huh? Just have to keep moving forward. Funny how you can ignore Oswald's past and not your own.

He told you he was visiting his mother once. Didn't wanna bring you around, since his mother isn't in a 'good headspace' for 'major news.' In the moment, you could only think that he was ashamed of you. Is anyone in a good headspace to learn their son has a random daughter with some prostitute?

You're so far out of the loop with the mafia crap, too. It's nerve wracking. Every time you hear footsteps nearing Oz's place, you tense up and stare at the door. Preparing for the day someone with less than positive intentions will find out about you. You're doing it now, hearing heavy footsteps pound nearby the door, approaching with every second. It's so close, you can hardly breathe, you're going to die—

"Come on," Oswald gruffly calls as he opens the door. He leans against the frame, dropping his gaze to you. Standing, frozen, in his living room. "We're going to a little Falcone shindig, alright? Need to get ya' something a bit nicer than that." 

Well, now is as good as time as any to suddenly get thrown into the mafia crap you were just thinking about. When you don't immediately move, Oz lifts his arm, gesturing you out the door. It snaps you out of your thoughts, and you quickly oblige, stepping past him and outside. You both walk over to the car, and like usual with Oz and Vic, you sit in the back. 

You've never been clothes shopping yourself. Your mother measured you, went to the shop, and got whatever was closest. Or whatever was a size too tight. 

But with Oz? He's gathered nearly every dress in the shop, using Victor as a clothing rack, having him stand outside the changing room. The lights in the store are slightly dim and warm, but the lights in the changing room are starkly white. It's uncomfortable, but you manage. The three of you deciding on a little black piece that went just past your knees and a see through silk cardigan. 

It's actually pretty comfortable. It's a strange thought, considering you've never worn new clothes that felt comfortable, comfort didn't matter. Just whatever showed just enough skin. But now, priorities have changed. You still don't really feel like you have much freedom, you aren't making your own choices, even with the dress. But.. it does feel a bit nicer. You don't feel as dirty. 

The drive there is tense, to say the least. Vic and Oz planning.. things. You're kept a bit out of the loop, you know that there are jewels that they are planting on someone. Oswald turns in his seat as Vic slows the vehicle, his brows furrowed. 

"And you.. don't you worry, doll. Nothing bad is gonna happen. You're just gonna chat with Sofia, alright? Just be real nice to her. Be yourself. She'll love ya'." 

You don't fully believe the whole 'nothing bad is gonna happen' and 'she'll love ya,'' but you've stepped out of the car with him anyway. Letting him lead you inside the extravagant building, with people dressed up in clothing you know is far too expensive. Almost immediately, Oz leaves your side. You're nervous as all hell, in a place you don't really belong. Walking along the dim halls, with only a faint outline of what Sofia looks like in your head.

You've only seen her in the news—maybe twice, and once in person. She was with that group of men that chased down you and Oz, then kidnapped him. So.. a friendly bunch, for sure. 

But when you catch sight of her, it's strikingly obvious that it's Sofia. She looked proper, but stressed, perhaps? Especially with the way she snatched a cocktail off a tray, taking a drink of it. You have to pause for a moment, trying to catch your breath, to prepare for talking with her. 

A pause too long. Another woman comes up to her. You can't help but to watch from the other end of the hall, one of your hands steadying you against the wall. They know each other somehow. A little girl runs up to the woman, and Sofia kneels down to speak to her, and you see the other woman hold onto the child's shoulder. 

She's nervous about Sofia. Untrusting. The moment they walk away, another man is talking to her. Damnit, why is it so difficult to find her in a free moment? 

You try anyway. Walking up behind her and purposefully, gently so, bumping into her. 

"Oh, my gosh, I'm so sorry," you mutter softly, patting her shoulder blade. "I'm such a klutz.." You sag your shoulders slightly, putting on the most guilty look you could muster. Sofia shakes her head, a forced smile on her lips as she looks at you. "Happens." 

Her brows furrow as she turns her body to look down at you properly, almost scrutinizing you. "I don't think I've seen you around before." You bite your lip. Part of you panics, it always will, your heart dropping.

"Yeah, I uh.. I'm Dawn." You hold out your hand to her. "I don't suppose Oz has told ya' about me..?" Sofia takes your hand anyway, shaking it. Her fingers are cold, you immediately notice. "Dawn?" She repeats. Unfamiliarly, you suppose Oz really didn't tell her. Which makes this a bit scarier, to be honest. What if she thought you were some two bit spy and decides to just put you out?

"Yeah, I'm his daughter." You smile slightly, bringing up your free hand to clasp against her knuckles, trying to warm up her hand. Almost on instinct. She acutely notices the action, but doesn't pull away. "Oz has a daughter, huh?" She leans forward slightly. "You don't look all that much like him." She notes, but it isn't accusatory. It's almost as if she was trying to compliment you. Then again, it's incredibly difficult to read her. "I think you're awful pretty as well." You respond, tilting your head to the side. Better to take it as a compliment, right?

"I have business to attend to, but.." Sofia sighs, pulling her hand from yours. You let go immediately, standing up a bit straighter. "Look, just don't let Oz pull you into anything, alright?" And with that, she's turned and is stepping through the halls. 

Does this count as having a connection to Sofia? At least, she hasn't kidnapped you, right? Better relationship than Oz has with her.. 

You glance down at the drink she had left behind on a table in the hall. You pick it up, pulling out the toothpick, olives attached to it, and throw it away. Sipping the cocktail as you return to the main room, looking over at the mingling people. Mafiosos, you imagine they all are. Maybe not the worst thought to build up a few friendships, right? At least, for your father. 

You join two men, chatting quietly. Vinnie and Milos, you learn their names are. They share a look when you tell them that your Oswald's daughter. You get it by now. Oz doesn't make the best connections with everyone, and he's not exactly a powerful man within the family. But, they don't shoo you off. Either because they're too nice to, or they just expect you to leave on your own. Or, who knows? Maybe they like your presence. 

You hear some chatter and end up following the two men, soon Sofia joins the front of the group as we walk into a hallway, lined with windows. There's an obvious tension in the air as certain members of the family are lined up against the wall. Including Oz. You can only imagine that whatever happened, it's entirely his fault. That feeling only increases tenfold when he starts a fight with another guy, having to be practically pulled off him.

"What's going on?" You manage out quietly, your brows furrowed as the don shouts at the men to behave properly. Milos pats your back, Vinnie standing at the other side of you, and for a moment, it almost feels like they are looking out for you. "Nothing for you to worry about, alright?" Milos quietly mutters. 

That's not comforting. It is something for you to worry about, as long as Oz is involved. 

"One of you is a traitor." Luca starts. The Falcone in charge, you've learned by now. "Feeding information to the fuckin' enemy. That ends tonight. I will not tolerate a rat." Even you're getting nervous, and you're not even one of the people being searched. You watch in tension, your eyes flickering between your father and the men who are searching the group. Oz doesn't look nearly as nervous as you'd expect him to be, all things considered.

"Got him," drags you from your thoughts. "It was in his pocket." They found what they were looking for, and not on your father. "That's not mine," you don't fully recognize the man who gets caught. "That's not fuckin—get off of me." He shoves the other man. "Ms. Falcone, I swear to God, that is not mine." He pleads with Sofia. "It was you." She responds, taking a slow step closer to him. Her voice is so cold, you can hardly recognize it. "That's not true." He almost seems to plead with Sofia. 

"You were there with him that night, you killed him." At least you found out what this is all about. You can't imagine it was actually that man who did it. Your eyes manage back to Oswald, and you can tell from the look on his face what the truth is. Of course it was Oz. The man continues to plead, as Sofia demands a gun, beginning to shout. Your heart is racing. 

But when a bullet actually fires, you almost scream, gasping in horror as blood splatters the curtains behind the man. Covering your mouth as you hold onto Vinnie's sleeve, essentially hiding behind the man. Luca took the shot. 

And then walked away as if nothing happened, Milos following behind him. 

You feel frozen. You had heard about men being killed, yes. Even your own father being the killer at times. But to watch someone lose their life? Right in front of a group of men, like it didn't even matter. 

Vinnie holds onto your shoulders, forcing you to turn away from the corpse and gore that splattered the wall. 

"Hey, focus, Dawn." He mutters, his voice raspy as he looks down at you. Slouched over slightly to meet your gaze. "I know you're new here. Can you handle this?" Handle this? You're not even sure anymore. Do you even want to be able to handle this? To be so 'hardened' that you don't flinch when someone dies? "He wasn't a good man, alright? He killed Alberto. What happened to him was deserved." He's trying to comfort you, it only causes a worse agony in your body. Because you know who killed Alberto, and it's not the man whose lifeless corpse is being dragged out. 

Vinnie shakes his head slightly, he can see his words aren't helping. "You're safe, alright?" He sighs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to pull you into an embrace. The warmth does help in a way, reminds you that you're not alone. And maybe you're not the only person who was affected by that sight, maybe. At the very least, a few men still had sympathy here, or Vinnie wouldn't have hugged you in the first place, right? 

You pat his back, closing your eyes tightly. Forcing your mind to think of anything but the scene you just saw. 

"I'm safe?" You manage out, your voice hoarse and low. "Yeah. Yeah, doll. You're safe." Vinnie pats your back as he pulls away, a slight smile on his expression. "The Falcones look out for each other. That's why he had to go, he was a traitor. No one here would hurt a hair on your head. If anyone did, we would immediately take care of 'em, alright?" 

You nod slightly. You were a traitor, though. You knew what Oz did, all his lies, and you didn't say a word. That made you just as bad as his actions. "Thank you, Vin'." You mutter softly. He nods, standing upright. "You might see a lot worse." He warns, preparing to step away. "If you need help dealing with it.." Vinnie sighs, taking a card out of his suit pocket, holding the back of your hand. "Call me any time. Alright? Day or not, on business or off. I'll pick up." He holds the card against your palm for a moment, before he lets go and walks past you. Out the hallway Sofia and Luca had stormed out. 

Well.. he certainly liked you a lot more than you originally assumed. 

You manage to find Oz after a few moments, walking out with him to the car. "So, I'm not entirely sure if Sofia likes me," you admit in a slightly hushed voice, watching as he hauls a black bag into the back of the car. Two dead bodies, of course. The most normal thing to haul around. This is your life now. "But.." As he stands back up, you show him the card Vinnie gave. 

"Huh. One of Carmine's old body guards, now he's all over ya', huh?" Oz mutters, looking at the black card, small white imprinted letters in the material. "He also.. made sure I didn't go crazy after seeing what happened in there.." You mutter softly, pocketing the card with a sigh. Oz steps over to open the car door for you, before he slumps into the passenger's seat. 

"Sorry you had to see that, sweetheart." Oz gruffly responds. Guess he actually has the capacity to feel guilt. 

During the drive out, you ignore Vic and Oz in the front. You're loosely aware that they make a stop before they drive out to bury the bodies. Oz can see the look on your face, and hands you some drops before they get out to actually bury them. And keeps the vehicle on so you can listen to a CD. So you sit in the back of the car, sprawled out against the backseats, with the faint buzz of drops fogging your mind. No longer are you thinking about the blood or bodies, just the lyrics that drag out from the vehicle. 

You decide to text Vinnie. You're not entirely sure why. You have his number and your phone out, hardly thinking as you type it in. 

'Have you ever done drops?' 

You had fair reason to be curious. You suppose the whole idea of 'don't get high on your own supply' might apply here, even if it wasn't technically his. 

'No.'

It's a fairly fast, and short, reply. It's a bit disheartening, at least as you're under the influence it is. Maybe he was judging you for it. Maybe you had just ruined the one good connection you made to the Falcones..

'Are you high right now?' 

He further messages you. You've been caught red-handed. No use denying it.

'Yeah' 

'To cope with what you saw?' 

'I don't know. I guess.' 

'I get it. It was your first time seeing something like that. It gets easier.' 

You don't feel like it's a good thing for it to ever get easier. You almost hope it gets harder every time. You don't want to feel indifferent to a human life being lost. Well, that wasn't worth much, it only made you feel bad. You turn off your phone and let it drop against the floor of the vehicle, holding your head in your hands. 

With a loud thump, Vic and Oz are back, slumped into the front seats. 

"Drive slow," Oz mutters to Victor. "Dawn is laying in the back and isn't buckled." He notes. Instead of simply telling you to get up, he was having Victor drive comfortably for you. The world feels a bit too light to sit up anyways, everything is spinning around you. Maybe that was just the heavy scent of Oswald's cigar, though. 

-

Vic drops Oswald off someplace, before driving you to Oz's apartment. You stay in the back the whole time, not bothering to look out. Only when Vic opens the door for you, do you sit up and slip out of the vehicle. He has to hold onto your arm to help you balance yourself. "You want me to s-stay a bit for you? Until Oz is d-done with Sofia?" 

You shake your head slightly. "No. I'll be fine. I think I'll take some cash from Oz's stash and grab a burger by myself. Or maybe go someplace nicer." You mutter under your breath, letting him help you inside the apartment. "If you're sure. Stay s-safe, Dawn." He mutters in a slightly raspy tone as you shut the door, stumbling onto the couch as you take a moment to think. 

Burgers had gotten old fast. There wasn't enough ingredients to cook at home, not that you even knew how to cook anything. You'd probably just burn down your father's kitchen. You don't know the area well, maybe it's time for you just to scope it out yourself. Perhaps.. after you come down from your high. Or at least, until your riddled mind decides you're good enough to go, which doesn't take too long. Hell, you can stand on your own, what's the worst that could happen? Not like you needed the best mindset just to buy some food and check out the place. 

It's a lot easier without Eve's nagging voice in the back of your mind. You can't go running off, she's gotta keep an eye on you. Without her around.. well, this is freedom—or as close to it as you'd ever get. You throw on something baggy and warm, and it's not that bad. Hell, stumbling down the steps, it's.. kinda peaceful. Of course, with the usual chaos of Gotham around you, speeding cars, people shouting in the distance, the humid atmosphere. It's nice when there isn't a world crushing your shoulders. No expectations of looking like a hot piece for some grubby guy to use, you can just talk a walk. 

That was unfamiliar. To live a moment for yourself. Despite everything you saw, it was something you could appreciate, your shoes clashing with the puddles in the ground. Your hands are cold despite being shoved into your pockets, and normally you would be aching for another hit, but.. it's strangely peaceful. Maybe.. maybe Gotham wasn't as bad as people made it out to be, yeah? People could find happiness in living like this, that meant something, right? 

You can see a crowd up ahead on the corner of the street, looks like trouble, so you take a turn. Walking down a smaller pathway, it's a bit dark and musty here, but it doesn't click in your head that it's a dead end until it's too late. Face to face with a half broken brick wall, that looks like it could fall down with a firm shove. There's a sound that echoes off the walls behind you, it almost sounds like a clicking. 

God. You don't really want to turn around. How fast could the world make you eat your words? When you do, instead of being faced with a brick wall, you're faced with the least innocent looking men you've come across. You wish this was a dream, that you'd just wake up back in Oswald's place, and this was just some sort of stress nightmare. 

"You lost, sweetheart?" One of the men drawls, a heavy hand on your shoulder. You can feel that it's to stop you from running off, to shove you back against the wall, knocking your breath from your lungs before you can think about answering. "She looks pretty lost to me." The guy next to him breathes, and you can almost taste it. The man's digits are digging into your skin, the plush fabric of the sweatshirt does little to protect you from the roughness of a man that holds no care for you. 

What an awfully familiar thing. You're not even sure how to react, just staring blankly at the two. Is this life? How come, no matter what corner you turn, there's always a man there that wants something from you? Gotham will swallow you whole before anything improves. 

 "She's a quiet lamb." He scoffs, clearly disappointed at the lack of fight left in you. There's an aching panic inside you, the desire to run, but you stay still. It's like your limbs have stopped working, no matter how your mind screams to run.

"All the easier, man. Who gives a crap?" The other mutters, shooting his friend a look. And indeed, no one gives a crap. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see people step by the alley, a few glancing in just to awkwardly shuffle away. No one wants the trouble. You aren't worth the time. It's a dark night in Gotham, and this is hardly the top of the iceberg, no one would waste their time on a little alley cat. 

It's a dark night in Gotham.

Since when did you own your body anyway? What right do you have to feel gross with a stranger's fingers around your throat? Hands that press lower, linger where they please? 

Until it's suddenly silent. One of the men gasp, and you're no longer being held to a wall, just trying to shakily catch your breath as you peer up. Only to immediately cover your eyes, palms pressed to your face as you hear the sickening fleshy smack of knuckles against one of the men's faces. You're praying that whatever liquid splattered on your cheek was rain and not blood. 

How long did you make it before seeing a grim sight again?

When things do go purely silent, you almost feel nauseous, hesitantly pulling your hands from your face. The men are gone, not without some marks of a scuffle behind. And the man that had decided to fight them? Still there, standing straight like the most terrifying gargoyle imitation you've been faced with. Wearing armor for pete's sake-

"Are you okay?" He asks, his voice raspy and breathy. He's probably out of breath after that, right..? It's hard to compose yourself, you feel like you're choking on every breath you manage out. Too deep into shock to even cry properly. You're pathetic.

You watch him as he tugs off one of his gloves in your silence, slowly taking a step closer to your trembling figure. Lifting his bare hand to your cheek, brushing his knuckles over your cheek in a gesture that is so tender that it makes you feel sick. 

"Yes." You hoarsely manage out after the pause of silence. For a moment, you almost forgot that you should probably answer that question. He brushes his thumb just under your cheek bone, wiping off the blood from your face, before he turns away.

And.. leaves you there? You're still frozen there, just watching him walk off, pulling his glove back on and turning the corner, disappearing into the shadows of Gotham. 

What kind of guy randomly beats up two men then leaves the stranger he just defended? For no reason? He doesn't want anything out of you, he just wanted to..

You're so incredibly lost, and still scared, but you find yourself running after him. You're not really surprised when you can't find him in the dark, damp streets, but you're trying. The sound of your own uneven breaths in your ears as you stumble down the road and look through a few alleys. He's seriously gone, just like that?! You didn't even get his name! The first time someone has-without ulterior motive-cared about you and he's gone?! 

... He's gone. And you're alone again. It's surprisingly painful, more so than you think it should be, given you don't know him. 

Defeated, tired and shaken up, you sluggishly make your way back to Oswald's apartment, to sit in complete silence and stare a hole through the wall.