Chapter Text
A fog rising from the sewers enveloped Nyx Current as she stepped over the cracks in the sidewalk, a police car whizzing past her. Familiar alley cats poked their chipped ears around corners and mewled at her as she moved in silence.
Shed always been good at that, moving in silence.
The Glades weren't known for the beautiful skyline or the attractions, or even the heroes. The Glades were known for the grime, the darkness that seemed to envelop the city, and the crime ridden streets.
Growing up here hadn’t been the best, most people could say that, Nyx wasn’t special here. She wasn’t special in general, what determined it? Was it intelligence? Strategy? Or maybe possessing some other worldly power? Like the so called caped crusaders she saw on the television when it decided to flicker to life.
Something had always been missing within her. Maybe excitement, or routine, or devastation. She wasn’t sure anymore, her fingers curling and uncurling by her sides as she stared at the cracks in the concrete, imagining what something that thrived would look like. If it ever could.
. (This is a minor time skip for future reference.)
Her mothers apartment stood eight stories off the ground, a building shoved between two others, she tipped her head back at the front steps, her hood doing little to shield her from the rain. She could see her mothers bedroom light was on.
Great.
She preferred evenings where she came home from her nightly escapades, and the place was quiet and dark, so she could slip in unnoticed and simulate non existence. Apparently not tonight.
With a sigh, Nyx pushed the chipping door open, quickly locking it behind her back before another crazed man followed her in, and made her ascend up the several flights of stairs. Her boots were heavy, the soles thick and doing little to absorb the creaking of the wood below, her hood slipping down and her hair beginning to frizz around the edges.
She glanced over the railing, now six flights up, her steps faltered. She considered jumping, probably would just break her legs, maybe a dive would do the trick. Her eyes remained unblinking on the stained tile past the handrail, her brain whirring but no real thoughts forming.
Then she resumed her route up.
She heard her mom before opening the door.
”Ow! What even…” and more cursed mumbling beyond the wooden paneling, her fingers resting on the door knob. Shed lived in this apartment all her life, faded stickers of spiders and stars around the lower points, a small nick where someone had tried to break in once.
She opened the door.
”Oh Nyxie! You’re home! Great!” Her mom announced, her hands flying up in celebration, tired eyes and an even more tired smile graced her face. Her mom was definitely a sight, always loud, and messy, and couldn’t form a sentence without starting another one. Her flaming red curls were so frizzed they nearly drowned her, cascading to her lower back, similar to a shroud.
“Hi mom,” Nyx replied quietly, the door clicking shut behind her, fingers working on the several locks while simultaneously beginning to unbuckle her boots. Her body was already itching to put itself away, far away from her tornado of a mother. Her eyes scanned the apartment as she began to dart around. Boxes stacked by the small TV set they’d gotten when she was young, clothes strewn about, something about to overboil on the stove.
She’d began to pack again, she did this regularly, claimed of moving out, starting over. Excep the packing never finished and the boxes eventually were put back.
“What’s going on?” Nyx’s voice was gentle, always remaining a lower decibel as her mom tended to go haywire if she expressed a tone otherwise. She stepped over a stuck out leg, as she sat on the floor mumbling to herself, grabbing a spoon and stirring the mystery substance.
“Um, I just…I need to talk to you, well, confess something and, um, just, explain something really hard to explain,” her mom raked her fingers through her shag, nails getting caught as she peeked at her kid over the couch. Nyx took a breath, eyes locked on the brick above the stove before half turning around.
“Go ahead mom, and remember what Dr. Treyson said, start at the beginning.” She said softly, hand finding a rhythm of stirring and forcing her feet to stay planted and not leaded her to the nearest window.
She loved her mother, she had too, that was her mom, but Alexandria Current wasn’t much of a mother at all. Even from childhood there was a stark difference, her mother seemed to be born of fire, constantly aflame, never still, and wild, oh so wild. Shed scoop her up and hop on the back of some mans motorcycle and end up at a motel somewhere, or impulsively buy a storefront, and then sell it, and then buy another.
Nyx was quite the opposite, she’d always been quiet, her mother told her it was though she was born from darkness, jet black hair, pin straight and almost molten, pale pale skin. Her mom would tuck child-her behind her legs at grocery stores, laughing with a stranger, comparing her daughter to a vampire. Nyx never thought twice. She was the ash left in her mothers throat. Picking up the pieces as she moved, finishing the meals shed give up trying, bringing water when Alexandria would dissolve in bed for days. As she got older she began to sneak out at night, learning how to stay silent among rooftops, move through alleyways like a ghost. Discovered underground clubs, and lairs, staying away from those. She became apart of the night, her mind never thriving in her own home.
But that was okay. Her mom did her best.
However something was missing. When she looked at her mother there was a disconnect. She couldn’t have came from her.
In another life, would she have chose her mother? Would God have given her a choice of all the moms and would her fingers still grasp at the hands of this one?
Nyx didn’t think her mother would have chosen her, she was treated more as a friend living under her roof than a daughter. And now? What could she possibly have to say now?
”I just…I got a call today, a call from a man I swore off long ago.” Alexandria stood, shaking her head and slicing her hand through the air. Nyx nodded slowly, sounded familiar.
“I-I can’t even believe he’d call, I mean we haven’t spoken in years! And yet he just calls me and…you know?” She was looking at Nyx like she expected her to read her mind, to which she fought a sigh.
”No I don’t, who called mom?” Her tone was almost bored, as this type of tangent had happened a few times over the years now.
Her mom took a pause, the weight of the silence now beginning to settle. “Your father, Nyx.” She breathed, and Nyx froze, locked up and rigid like a doe.
Your father.
Her boots began to melt into the floor, the spoon cutting into her palm, her breathing misting out in front of her.
“God, I was so young!” her mom continued, starting to pace around their dingy living room, picking up fabric and placing it back down, fingers tangling in her hair. “I thought…I thought it would be a one time thing! I found out I was pregnant and I left! We didn’t know eachother then and sure as hell don’t now-“
She was frozen, was this normal? Why couldn’t she move? Her mothers words were suffocating, nails clawing at her throat, skin collecting under fingernails, red stripes left behind down to her collarbones
Your father
Nyx had laid awake as a child, staring at the popcorn ceiling, wondering about…about a father, a dad. Would it have been different? Would he have understood her? Wanted her? She looked in the mirror and only saw him, except she had no clue who he was.
She managed to turn the oven off.
“…Not sure how he found my number but I looked him up and he’s rich! He’s an heir to this huge company in Gotham!” Her mothers hands went up in celebration again, eyes dazzling. This was exciting for her, this was…she wanted this.
”He called and he wants to, take a chance, have you meet him, maybe stay a few weeks, he asked what you like and…what you look like. He wants to try Nyxie.” Her moms voice was full of hope, as if an opportunity like this would never come again.
That’s when she finally snapped out of it. She hated that stupid nickname.
“What?” She whipped around, her voice like venom. “Y-Youre ready to jut ship me off? To some random man you had sex with and left? You don’t even know him. I don’t know him!” Her breathing was labored, her chest heaving as her mom looked like a beaten dog.
She never yelled. Quiet always quiet.
“He could be…” she flailed her arms out, “insane! or evil or…or a child trafficker! What the hell are you thinking?” Anger bubbled at the seam of her skin, threatening, begging to break out.
“I just-“ Her mom started, taking a quick couple of steps towards her and scooping up her ice cold hands. “I just thought you’d want to know your dad! Your father! He sounded so enthusiastic so I started packing for you I-“
“So you told him yes? You told him I’d go? Did you ever consider-“ Nyx ripped her hands away, like her mother burned her, her expression turned to disgust.
Realization hit, her mother, the woman who raised her, held her while she took her first steps, watched her chest rise and fall when asleep during movie nights, occasionally dressed her for school, didn’t even consider Nyx when making this decision. Ready to hand her off to anyone willing.
“You….“ Her breathing was uneven again, as her chest lurched and her blood felt cold and static. “Youre disgusting. How could you ever call yourself a mother?” She slammed the spoon on the counter, her mom flinching as she stepped back. Fear.
Her vision was blurring.
“Yknow what? Yeah I’ll go. I’ll go because I’d rather take my chances with some random guy than live another fucking day in this hell hole!” She yelled, her eyes practically searing into her mothers, and turning on her heel, bedroom door slamming shut behind her.
She didn’t mean it, but didn’t she? Nyx paced her room, her hands curling into fists on the side of her head, buried in her hair. Her eyes came up and met her reflection in her mirror, polaroids stuck in the edges, concert tickets and random junk. She looked around her room, borderline barren, no real identity here.
She had to do it. She had to go. Was this beyond idiotic? Sure, unknown city, unknown people, unknown dad. But maybe it was time he took responsibility for the mistake he made nineteen years ago, maybe it was time he looked her in the eye and realized she was half him. Besides, Nyx had no future here, no friends or college or jobs. She simply existed.
She threw a duffle bag on her bed and started shoving anything she could find in there, her hands were shaking and she felt sick. Her mind raced as she grabbed and pushed items into the bag. She changed into a denim skirt and a band tee she’d turned into a halter top, pulling on her boots and slinging the bag over her shoulder she hurried out of her room.
The pot contents had overflowed onto the stove and was burning into the glass. Her mother was standing in the kitchen hugging herself and shaking, her head shooting up as Nyx crossed the living room.
“Nyx wait-“ She called, a hand reaching but no effort made to stop her daughter from walking out that door.
She paused, looking dead at the chipping paint, knot in her throat, eyes burning. “You know where I’ll be.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper before she was outside the apartment and moving down the stairs. The rest was a blur, the push through steam and mildew smelling awnings, bumping shoulders with strangers, shoes splashing water up to her knees.
She had no idea where she was going. Until she stopped and looked up at the train station map. The B-liner had a straight shot to Gotham City. Her mind was a mess, voices telling her to go back, to apologize, you didn’t mean it, you can take it back, this is absurd! No way you’re about to do this!
Like a bat cave, the animals screeched and slammed into the walls of her skull as she moved within the station, working up to the counter and placing a twenty dollar bill in the dish between the glass.
“One for the B train please,” she mumbles, the withered man behind the window tilting his head back, inspecting the bill before taking a drag of the cigar hanging between his teeth.
“Have fun kid. Gotham will swallow you whole,” and then he laughed and Nyx swore it sounded like it was attempting to escape the depths of his sternum. She took a weary step back and nodded a “thanks” before heading to the tracks.
Her body felt numb, chilled to the bone, even though it was humid as a train chugged past her, black hair slashing across her face.
Gotham will swallow you whole.
Couldn’t be worse than this. Couldn’t be worse than feeling as though she was ghost in her own skin, but maybe she liked that. Maybe she had become accustomed to the ghosts, friends with them even.
She wished Devin was still here, her one companion from childhood. He had lived in the apartment complex next door, windows facing each other. He was the boy who’d picked daisies between sidewalk cracks for her, and taught her how to shoot a 9mm. He’d tell her she was insane for this, that she’s walking headfirst into danger, but at least google the guy.
She looked to her left on the tracks and could still see his shaggy brown hair in his eyes, and that stupid lopsided smile he had at all times. His oversized ripped up clothes and fingerless gloves. The image evaporated with the squealing of the train stopping in front of her. She wished she’d never found him in that alley. That he had just disappeared like everyone else, that she never found a trace.
She stepped into the train, fingers curling around her ticket as the footman clipped a hole into the corner. She was really doing this, she needed to do this.
The train ride was boring, her body so exhausted from the sudden rush of emotions she’d suppressed for years that she fell asleep, head resting against the fogged window. Her dreams consisted of nothing really, emptiness as always, when she woke up to the soft tapping of the lady across the row, alerting her they had arrived, her head felt heavy.
She walked off the train platform into the night, her eyes scanning the street, lights cast shadows along graffitied walls, rats scampered into a sewer nearby, and vapor curled around the curbs.
She almost laughed, it looked the same as The Glades, just a whole lot bigger. Gotham felt more alive, but not with the hustle and bustle of life, but that the ground below her feet held secrets and darkness she wasn’t ready for.
Too late now, she didn’t have the cash for a train home. Then it dawned on her that she didn’t know where to go, or who she was even looking for, she never caught a name, her mother had never mentioned her dad prior.
“Shit.” she mumbled, carefully stepping back against one of the clouded windows of the station, fishing out her phone. She should just call home and apologize, head back and forget about this outburst.
No. If she was that convinced to give you up then let her feel your absence.
She noticed a small homeless man crouched down a few paces beside her, digging in his pocket for something. She typically had familiarly when speaking to strangers, even in this…completely new and somewhat terrifying city.
“Hey,” She whispered, and he didn’t hear her “Psst!” He looked up, his eyes weighed down by his eyebrows as he scowled at her. She smiled sweetly at him “Super odd question, but do you know of any…” she nervously tugged a piece of hair, “billionaires around here…perhaps?” She sounded like an idiot.
The man burst into laughter and began to cough, she shrunk back a little, heat blooming in her face. “Seeetheart,” his voice like grain, “does it look like I know any billionaires?” His laughter metal on metal.
“I-I just meant if there’s someone-“
“You’re looking for Bruce Wayne.” A voice from beside her said, smooth and confident, her entire body locked up in response. Damn she really needed to stay on her toes around here.
Beside her a man stood about half a foot above her head, his jet black hair perfectly wind swept and styled, sharp jaw and even sharper eyes, his shoulders down to his hands filled out the black track suit he wore, his skin pale against the soot of the street.
He was gorgeous.
She must have had a look on her face because he laughed, it was low and smooth and he definitely didn’t belong here.
“You’re looking for Bruce Wayne, of Wayne enterprises?” He continued raising a brow, and gesturing to the massive building across the street with….well that exact name plastered across the top in glowing letters.
“Oh.” She said quietly and swallowed hard, she should have guessed that. “Right. Thanks.” She gave him an awkward wave and turned to walk away, looking around to hail a taxi.
“I can give you a ride!” He called, and she paused, she definitely wasn’t used to this kind of hospitality and she definitely wasn’t going anywhere with a random man. Even if he did look straight outta GQ.
“Oh! No that’s alright, I’ll manage!” She called back, and he flashed a smile that nearly made her trip.
“No really, I can call my bike, i’m headed that way anyways, I swear i’m not crazy, you wanna see ID?” He asked, pulling a few things out of his wallet, and pressing something in his palm, some sort of key fob. “My name is Richard! Um…” He pressed it again and this time a sleek black and electric blue motorcycle, driving on its own, pulled up parallel with the curb. “I live down the road from here, I swear I won’t take you to some abandoned wearhouse!” His smile lingered as he swung a leg over the bike and grabbed a helmet, holding it out.
Absolutely do not get on that bike.
Her head was spinning, her brain too fried to think rationally, and her feet moved before she could stop herself. It’s not like she’d never taken rides from strangers, she lived on the edge back home, any free ride was a free ride.
His hands found the strap of her bag and lugged it into the back compartment, where it hardly fit. He watched her then carefully, almost like some sort of bird as she awkwardly tucked her hair back and mimicked his swing, settling behind him.
“I’m Nyx, by the way,” She mumbled to him, eyes hardly staying on his as he handed her the helmet to which she clicked into place.
She’d never seen that shade of blue before.
“Nice to meet you Nyx,” He replied, shifting and hands curling around the handle bars, a quick flick and the bike purred to life below them. He mentioned something about holding on, to which she blinked at him until he guided her arms around him and showed her where to rest her boots.
And took off.
The bike shot through the streets like a bullet and whatever shriek she made was long gone as she forced the hull of the helmet into his spine, eyes squeezed shut as the wind roared past her ears. The city was alight in some areas and dark in others, steam tendrils reaching for them as the engine bounced off the fire escapes and into the night. The ride was long, and as he rounded a curve, slowing down, she hesitated to look past his shoulder, the stretch of a manor blooming into view.
Just behind the edges of the last few buildings, a small but curved driveway led past sculpted shrubbery and marble fountains. The gates were already open as he pulled in, which she noticed was a bit odd, as someone with a home like this wouldn’t normally leave the front gates wide open.
She felt her heart thunder, this was it, this was the place of the man who had half her genetics, who called her mom and convinced her to give up her kid, who wanted…to try.
Richard pulled up in front of the house, slowing to a stop and cutting the engine, to which a dark silence carried, a winged animal lifting off a tree in the distance. He kicked the bike stand out in one fluid motion and stepped off, helping her as well.
“Well this is it, welcome to Wayne Manor,” he said, eyes creasing at the edges, like a joke he knew all too well, her hand found his as she got off, her mouth agape at the sheer size and victorian goth of the building in front of her.
“Um,” she swallowed, “yes thank you…” she trailed off, her hands beginning to shake again.
“I’ll see you around, Nyx, I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He replied, setting her bag down beside her and shooting another nauseating smile over his shoulder, dark hair clashing with his skin as he revived the engine and disappeared into the setting night.
She couldn’t believe she just did that.
She couldn’t believe that she felt like dying.
This was all wrong. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t be here. He doesn’t know her! What if this is the wrong place? What if her mother lied?
These thoughts raced in her mind as she stared ahead, her eyes working to take in every detail of her new…home. Temporary home. She’d have to figure out what the hell to do next. But first things first, meet the man.
She took slow steps towards the small staircase up to the door, the pillars were wrapped with vines, arching into shadow. Cloaked with darkness and layers of brick, the stone façade was blackened with time and storm, its once-proud carvings weathered into grim visages that seemed to watch her. Everything about this place was alluring.
And here she was, tired, melancholy, and having no other choice. And it was as if the very earth felt her weight, as the skies cracked open and rain began to pour.
Guess she really didn’t have a choice.
Nyx rushed to the front door, now soaked below the porch light. Her chest constricted as she reached for the doorbell, every detail of this home was etched in some kind of time piece, as if Transylvania moved to the states.
Before she had any more time to admire the woodwork, the massive door swung open, creaking on hinges as an older man stood beyond it. His eyes landed on her and instantly widening a centimeter.
“Hello, you must be Nyxia,” His voice was smooth, tinged with an accent as he stood, dawned in a soft suit and stepped to the side, hand motioning her to enter. It had been so long since she heard her full name, she almost didn’t recognize it. “Please come in! Wouldn't want you to catch a cold.” His tone was light, as though she was a regular visit, rather than an estranged biological mistake.
She couldn’t find any words to respond, her throat was dry, and she was afraid if she spoke it wouldn’t emit noise. So instead she carefully stepped past the threshold, past the train, past the outburst, and into the house.
Inside, the manor was a cathedral of silence. Vaulted ceilings stood with ancient timber, and chandeliers dangled like skeletal remains from chains above, curtains and lace graced every floor to almost ceiling window. The air hit her as she entered, smelling of leather, ash, and memory.
The man recognized her, that had to of meant something, was he her father? She wondered, glancing over at the older man who had shut the door quietly, the scream of the rain quieter now.
He couldn't be, she’d know him when she saw him. Maybe.
Bruce Wayne. The pretty guy had said it with such certainty, like he knew her already. The name alone struck a cord deep within her, fingers twitching in response.
“You may leave your bag here, I’ll have it taken to your room, however, you do have someone eager to meet you.” The man said politely, leaning into her sight and gesturing down the hall.
“Uhm yeah, sure.” She placed the bag down and then immediately picked it back up, squeezing her eyes shut and turning to face him. “I’m sorry I’m just-“ She paused, taking a breath. “Am I in the right spot? Or the right house? I just…I came here from, far away, apparently whoever lives here is apparently my dad?” Her tone sounded unsure, even though she had no reason to be, and embarrassment was inching its way up her spine. “Which is insane, my dad, I've never even said the word out loud.” She gripped at her hair, an exhausted look on her face as the man watched carefully, eyes like those of a kindred father. “And he called my mom to ask who…or how I was? And I…it’s a long story but now I'm here and am I even…is this where im supposed to be?” She was breathing heavily at this point, panic awakening the wings of the bats within her mind again.
The man smiled softly, gently taking the heavy duffle off her shoulder as he nodded slowly.
“Yes, this is where you’re supposed to be. My name is Alfred, I am a dear friend of your fathers family, your family, I suppose,” He let out a light chuckle and offered his hand, which she took, trying to wrap her mind around the family comment. She wasn’t alone, there were other people who may be like her, who may resemble the wash of seafoam rather than a blaze. “And may I say the resemblance is striking.” His tone was wistful, like something he’s waited to see. “I do believe your questions are better suited for Bruce himself though, who should be arriving-“ He was cut off.
“Alfred I really am quite busy you know, I can’t always come out of the cave for door calls I-“ A voice behind them both making them turn around and the other man, emerging from a side door, froze in his tracks.
“…now.” Alfred finished, his hands folding behind his back. Nyx's shoulders straightened as she slowly turned to face him.
Bruce Wayne.
Her dad.
Her black hair was sticking to her face and dripping to the velvet below, her arms trembling and her being ached as she met his eyes, her eyes.
Bruce's hair was the same color, slightly messy as if he’d been running his fingers through it, jaw set and shoulders rigid with angles, a woven sweater he filled, and a watch probably worth more than her on his wrist. He was tall, much taller than she realized, probably twice her height, and scarring littered his visible skin. Did he fight? Or maybe a soldier? Where did those come from? She supposed she’d find out.
His eyes were wide, wide but soft, so many emotions flashing at once, shock bleeding into recognition. The silence grew taut as they both stared at each other. He looked like he was hiding something, like he didn’t know what to do now that she was actually standing there. Like he could change anything.
He looked just like her.
Did he also ever feel like something was missing?
They knew each other instantly, the familiarity was that of animals, a scent alone screamed family! family! Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she spoke first.
“Hello.” She said, the singular word seeming to stretch into every cobweb and baseboard of the manor, his fingers twitching as he brought his hands together, the look on his face one of twisted admiration and wariness.
“Hi.” He breathed, staring at her as she stared at him.
So that’s where she gets it from.