Chapter Text
Selina, on the other hand, kept thinking about Bruce. It had been some time since Oswald, Gotham’s latest criminal, had quietly taken over the streets, looking for ways to surpass Carmine Falcone. Unfortunately for Selina and her friends, that meant being at the mercy of men.
Madame Maria’s orphanage for girls was never a good place—few places in Gotham were—but things had gotten worse after Oswald bought it to open one of his “businesses.”
What was once a shelter for orphaned girls had now become a nightclub that welcomed the worst kind of men every night. The children who used to live there either ran away or became the club’s prostitutes.
Running away sounds like a good idea in theory, but it was a thousand times “safer” to be behind four walls with some form of sustenance than out on Gotham’s streets, where—if you weren’t kidnapped and trafficked to even worse places—you’d end up hooked on drugs and die discarded in some alley dumpster.
Selina would hardly leave her “job” to risk becoming another corpse on Gotham’s streets. She and Oswald worked reasonably well together: she supplied him with a few omegas, and in return, he left her alone. She hoped to negotiate for all the other girls at the orphanage, but she knew Oswald would never agree, so Selina had to prioritize herself. That’s what she was doing now.
A few days ago, the boy from the city’s richest family had suffered an accident. Delivering him to Oswald was the best bet Selina could make. With the Wayne family’s money, Oswald could quickly rise through the ranks of crime. That was the deal that brought her to where she was now. Oswald enrolled her in Bruce’s school, dressed her up, and invented a convincing backstory.
Selina Kyle, daughter of two major entrepreneurs from Africa. She rolled her eyes. Honestly, just because she had dark skin didn’t mean she was African—but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that all those rich idiots didn’t suspect she wasn’t one of them, and therefore wouldn’t suspect her when she kidnapped little Bruce.
The boy was strange. His expressions changed quickly, he talked to himself, seemed clumsy, and knowing the history of the alpha in his pack, Selina wouldn’t be surprised if he was clinically insane or something like that. He was shorter than her, with straight black hair he kept perfectly neat. There were nearly healed scratches on his neck, below his left eye, and a smaller one on his forehead. He still wore a sling and cast on his left arm.
He had icy blue eyes and a face so adorable and unique that Selina thought she might melt. In other words, he was the perfect victim—and Selina’s ticket to a better life. And when the chance to help him appeared, Selina grabbed it in the blink of an eye.
Both were only pulled from their thoughts when a new student walked in, ten minutes late.
Mr. Louis looked at the boy, perplexed.
“Can I help you?” the gray-haired teacher asked.
“Yes, I was told I’d be in this class,” the new student, a red-haired boy, replied.
“Well, what’s your name?”
“Thomas. Thomas Elliot.”
Oh great, this school is basically a convention of figures from the past I never wanted to see again.
Shut up, B, this is a good thing.
How could anything about this possibly be good?
Well… I mean, they’re still just kids, right? We can stop them from becoming villains!
… you’re way too optimistic.
They were interrupted again by the teacher, who seemed uninterested in the student but needed a few answers to move on with the lesson.
“Mr. Elliot, can you explain why you’re late?”
“My parents had to stop by their company. There were some unexpected issues and it took longer than planned, so I had to walk to school,” he replied, indifferent, as if he were already used to it—which Bruce could understand. After all, many parents didn’t have time for their children because they were busy. But it was still neglectful to let a ten-year-old walk alone through Gotham’s streets, especially with Tommy being an Elliot!
“I see. Just go take a seat,” the teacher gestured for Tommy to enter. Tommy nodded and looked around the room. He saw an empty spot at the table where they were sitting and decided to sit there.
“Hey Bruce,” he greeted softly, then turned to face the teacher, pretending to pay attention. “I heard about your accident. Are you feeling better?”
…
Damn.
Yes.
He already knows us. How should we act?
I don’t know! Let’s keep pretending we have amnesia!
Then go on, he’s staring at us!
Bruce pulled himself together, cleared his throat, and smiled gently.
“I’m sorry, Thomas, right?” The other boy nodded, looking confused.
“I hit my head during the fall and it left my thoughts and memories a bit scrambled. If you don’t mind, after class I’d love for you to tell me more about our friendship. I’m looking forward to getting to know you again.”
The silence and Tommy’s wide eyes were the only response Bruce received from his former childhood friend—and longtime enemy of Batman.