Chapter Text
When most people brought up the Wayne family, the murder is usually the next topic in line. When his parents died, Bruce had only been seven.
It was tough and busy, with all the funeral processions as Gotham went into mourning. Naturally, high school had been the last thing on anyone’s mind at the time. But eventually, he grew up, and it needed to be considered.
Now Bruce Wayne was two months into his fourth and final year at the school. His reputation preceded him as a Wayne, the son of the town’s most beloved politician. While he easily had the money for some polished private school up in the hills, his father had insisted in his will that Bruce attend the same high school he once did. Bruce figured his father’s school spirit must have been unreasonably strong, but now it felt more like a curse. Alfred was legally required to send him out to the middle of nowhere for his education, and Bruce held a quiet grudge for it.
As a freshman, Bruce had been less gloomy than he was now. Less strange, too. He had tried to be kind, aware of others, even hopeful. But people hadn’t wanted Bruce… they had wanted a Wayne. They didn’t care what he said. When people were choosing who they wanted to be friends with, of course they picked the mild-mannered, well-off kid. Girls constantly hit on him, not for who he was but for the fantasy of bringing home a Wayne to their family dinners. Considering how isolated he’d been growing up, he had never really learned how to socialize. With anyone else, his odd turns of phrase would’ve been laughed at. Instead, people kept pestering him with shallow chatter about grades, sports, or the weather. They never seemed to catch on when he forced out a painful laugh at their jokes.
It grew tiring very quickly.
So Bruce stopped being so careful about his image.
He resigned himself to being a blur of black clothing in the halls. His unwashed hair, paired with the expensive designer clothes he obviously hated wearing, mixed badly with his awkwardness and general dislike of people. It wasn’t long before he gained a less-than-favorable reputation among his peers. That didn’t stop the occasional classmate from trying to sweet-talk their way into his circle, but it never went too far as Bruce had no circle to speak of. He thought he’d shut it down for good when he turned down the hottest girl in his grade in front of nearly the entire school…
but no. The love notes in his locker actually increased, and the popular girls were still trying to play footsie with him under the table the very next week.
By the end of freshman year, Bruce had stopped caring about keeping up appearances. That was when the gloom settled in. The Walkman, once an occasional sight, was now glued to his ears through every class. His awkward neutral face hardened into a death stare, aimed at anyone who dared glance his way. Eyeliner, once an experiment, became a daily routine…so much so that he slipped away mid-day to touch it up. His band merch grew louder: subtle patches and clean band T-shirts gave way to grimy local metal tees and clothes that screamed “sewer rat.” His entire style grew bolder, more unapologetic, as if daring the world to comment.
Bruce had only been testing the waters, seeing how untouchable his surname really made him.
By the end of his second year, Bruce had become the center of every rumor in school. It started with a pride pin Alfred had given him after Bruce confided in him. His small-town school was full of country kids who would beat down anyone different, yet none dared touch him. When the country boys did nothing worse than glare, he pushed further, sewing a massive pride patch onto his favorite hoodie. Since Bruce rarely talked and nobody ever bothered to ask, he never confirmed or denied anything. He let the rumors spread unchecked, let the reputation build around him.
For that, Bruce thanked the stars. Of course, there were doubters: students who couldn’t believe the son of the town’s golden politician might be queer. But Bruce let them gossip. If it meant people finally left him alone, then why fight it?
By the start of his third year, Bruce Wayne had become a ghost story. Nobody mentioned him anymore; the rumors had fizzled out once his reputation curdled into something untouchable. He had delivered more than a few black eyes and served even fewer detentions. No matter how much Alfred lectured him, he knew the teachers wouldn’t lay a real finger on a Wayne. His harshest punishment had been a one-hour detention for breaking some guy’s nose. One hour. He’d seen kids get the same for chewing gum in class.
He stopped causing too much trouble after that. His lecture from Alfred had been very effective, but he still fit the bill for a loner. People didn’t touch him, they wouldn’t dare.
And Bruce liked it like that.
Until he didn’t.
Towards the end of his third year, it started to catch up with him. His inability to get group project partners wasn’t that big of a drawback considering the teachers wouldn’t let his grades slip anyways. However, he had discovered so many cool things he was just itching to share. He had so much conversation stuck in his brain, rattling around ready to be set free. His days at the local arcade breaking high scores were rather bland with no one his age to brag to. Alfred humored him at the dinner table, but Bruce could tell he was boring his guardian by how many dinner talks had become about his bands or video game knowledge. Alfred could feign interest all he wanted, but Bruce knew he didn’t get it.
Bruce needed a friend.
Badly.
Just… genuine human interaction with someone his age.
So when a confession letter turned up in his locker one morning, he didn’t know what to feel. On the one hand, it broke his personal record: four solid months without a single note, a streak he’d grown oddly proud of. On the other hand, it was… a chance. Human contact, hand-delivered right to his door-step. His stomach buzzed with nerves and giddy excitement.
He told himself he’d go. Maybe having a girlfriend wouldn’t be the end of the world, he reasoned. Sure, the untouchable reputation would crumble once girls realized he could, in fact, be dated, but he was desperate. Desperate enough to trade a little mystique for someone willing to listen to him ramble about metal bands. He shoved his locker shut and headed to class, already rehearsing what he might say. He really only knew how to reject someone.
By last period, he’d ditched entirely, psyching himself up to do something he’d never done before: say “yes.”
He sat behind the stairs in the far east wing of the school. It was a popular smoking spot and makeout corner for couples back a few years. However the wing had been closed down a few months back. Now, Bruce rarely saw students enter the area for fear of being reprimanded. Which meant he had it all to himself.
He reasoned that he probably needed some kind of dating experience in order to get through high school. And Alfred had always told Bruce to socialise more. And while he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having to give up his reputation as the untouchable queer of the school, he was desperately craving someone who could understand his interests.
…Maybe he would bore this girl’s brains out and she would leave him alone.
That was best-case.
He could empty his brain and she could say she’d been on a date with a Wayne. He wasn’t naïve. While his reputation wasn’t favourable, his name had always presided above all. That was most definitely the reason she had asked him out in the first place. He was at least self aware enough to realise this.
The final bell snapped Bruce out of his spiral of overthinking. For the rest of the school, it signaled freedom. For him, it signaled the death of solitude… he was still unsure how to feel about his choice. He figured he could bail if he wanted.
The moment he stepped outside, the swarm of chattering bodies would remind him why he preferred being invisible. With a sigh, he shoved his Walkman headset back over his ears, clicked play, and clipped the device to his belt loop. Music roaring, armor secured, he pushed himself up from under the stairwell and trudged out behind the school toward the field.
The note had told him to meet “at the ditch surrounded by trees,” which was almost laughably unnecessary. Everyone knew where Lover’s Clearing was: the school’s legendary confession spot. Bruce had never set foot there, but he didn’t need directions.
He’d always kept every love note he’d ever gotten, as it just felt rude to throw them away. He’d also occasionally receive one he was partial too: a nice drawing, a poem, a riddle… he sometimes got these ones all done on pink paper like they were from the same girl. He sometimes reread those ones.
Either way, half of them mentioned the clearing.
Add to that his skill for eavesdropping and he knew exactly how the place worked. Apparently, you practically had to book an appointment just to avoid walking in on another couple mid-confession. Tradition claimed it brought luck or long-lasting romance. His mother used to tell him that she and his father had gotten together there.
That was why Bruce had avoided it all this time, but he also didn’t want to risk bumping into some lovesick couple giggling in the bushes.
But now, as he crept closer, he spotted her immediately. A girl sat perched on a gnarled tree root, her black hair chopped daringly short, catching the sunlight and showing off a row of earrings. Bruce swore under his breath. Some part of him had hoped she wouldn’t actually show.
She looked up the second she noticed him, and his legs locked for half a second. Forcing his face into something resembling friendliness, Bruce managed an awkward smile and lifted his hand in a stiff wave. The girl stood, brushing dirt from her gingham dress, laughing softly as she waved back. He recognised her vaguely from his biology class, but it was hard to say as he never paid much attention to those around him.
Bruce clicked off his walkman, and pulled the headset around his neck, causing his overgrown hair to stick to his neck with the sweat of the early summer heat.
“Umm, hey,” he said, meeting her eyes again, hands still resting on his headset.
“So, you came. Totes thought you’d be a no-show,” she responded, exasperation in her voice.
“Yeah, thought I’d be considerate,” he replied, not understanding her weirdly placed aggression. Or at least what he thought was aggression. Could have literally been anything… he was very out of the loop socially.
“Well then, you can leave now. Sorry for wasting your time,” she said sarcastically. “I don’t know why I even showed up so… hah!” She interrupted herself with a laugh. “Both of us being here is double surprising.”
Bruce was pretty lost. Had she not been the one to ask him out? Maybe his lack of sociability was finally catching up to him.
“Umm, I’m sorry, I’m lost.”
“What, never been told to leave before, Mr. Wayne?” she replied, no real malice in her voice.
Bruce could finally tell she was joking. He stood, just sort of awkwardly staring at her.
“Seriously, I’m sorry. I didn’t stick that note in your locker. My friend did that just to make fun of me for not being able to get a boyfriend. I think. She said she’d set me up or something.” She chuckled. “I’m not actually interested… again, sorry for wasting your time,” she finished.
Bruce was immediately relieved. Sort of. Maybe this would make asking her out to the arcade easier. He was desperate to show off his high score on several of the game cabinets, Dig Dug in particular.
“Oh, um, you’re not wasting my time, don’t worry. I’m not interested either, so like, no hard feelings.” Bruce laughed awkwardly.
“Makes sense, I guess. Didn’t think you’d be.”
Bruce couldn’t think of a response, so he just stood there after she finished. The awkward silence stretched out longer than it should have. The girl walked out of the clearing, past Bruce. She lightly brushed shoulders with him.
Fuck it, Bruce thought. He turned around and grabbed her wrist. The girl turned to him, confused.
“Uh, wanna hang out?” he stammered. “Like, like at the arcade.”
She had shock briefly flash across her face before smiling.
“I’d love to. Are you any good, dork?”
“I, um, yeah?”
She giggled. Relief washed over Bruce. Turns out he could actually do something right.
“Well then, I’m free, hmmmmm, right about now. Let’s go?” she suggested. Bruce let go of her wrist. “I’m Selina, by the way.”
“Selina Kyle, I know. We share biology. I’m Bruce.”
“I obviously know that, Bruce Wayne,” she breezily replied, drawing out his last name. Laughing, Selina turned away, walking toward the car park. Bruce followed, pretty pleased with himself.
Once they reached the car park, Selina turned around to face Bruce while standing in front of the most expensive car in the lot.
“So let me guess, yours is the Firebird?” she smirked at him.
He laughed, genuinely, for the first time in a while. “Umm, yeah, that’s… that’s mine.”
“Wow, never would have guessed,” she returned sarcastically. “Can I drive?”
Bruce thought for a minute. “Do you have a licence?”
“I can drive.”
“I asked if you had a licence.”
Selina leaned back against the sports car on the driver’s side. She crossed her arms, giggling a bit, looking him dead in the eye. Challenging him. Bruce exhaled, amused. He returned the look Selina was giving him: challenge accepted. He fished around in his back pockets for the keys, patting himself down. Once he retrieved his car keys, decorated in shiny keychains, he tossed them at Selina. She caught them midair. Her grin grew, reaching her eyes.
“Hop in,” she smiled, sliding into the driver’s seat.
Bruce walked around to the passenger seat, opening the door. He ducked his head in before getting in. “I get to pick the music though.”
“Oh, bite me! I do not want to listen to your loser music,” she giggled, teasing.
Bruce feigned offense, gasping dramatically as he buckled his seatbelt. “Oh, well then, I guess you shouldn’t be driving.”
Selina sighed, playing up the bit. “You drive a hard bargain, sir,” she said.
Selina mockingly pretended to think Bruce’s implied offer over, but Bruce knew full-well she wanted to drive this slick black car. Who didn’t?
“Well, it just better be good music. None of that hippie shit.”
Bruce lit up, excited. The prospect of finally getting to share his music made him giddy.
“Oh, you bet! I’ve got amazing taste in music. Prepare for me to blow your socks off!”
She giggled. Bruce sometimes forgot his tough voice and large frame didn’t fit his mile-wide smile and cheesy phrasing he’d picked up from Sunday-morning cartoons. She watched him rifle through the glove box for a good while, trying to find the perfect cassette to put in his sound system. She looked away from Bruce to start up the sparkly car, turning the key in the ignition. Just as the engine revved to life, the opening of the Meat Puppets’ new album filled the car.
“Cool sound system.”
“Thanks, I, uh, I put it in myself last summer,” Bruce replied.
“Oh, the boy’s handy then?”
Bruce chuckled. “Yeah, I guess.”
Turning her eyes to the road, Selina pulled out of the car park. “Well, homeboy, you better be as good as you say. I’m pretty mean at Dig Dug myself.”
Bruce lit up. He knew he was going to have fun…
And it sure was fun.
CATWMN beat DRKNIGHT’s high score in three games, but was quickly put in second place by DRKNIGHT’s fourth try afterward.
It was painfully obvious that Selina was the only real person Bruce had met in a long time. They instantly clicked.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Bruce still didn’t much like going outside. But here he was, at this dreaded building he was told to call a school, finally in his last year. Selina always called him a herb, saying how impressive it was that he’d actually managed to make it this far in life.
He walked in through the front doors, music blasting in his Walkman, staring at people’s shoes. He hunched over, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. But it wasn’t like anyone was watching him. He’d been going here for years, and people generally ignored him by now.
Class didn’t start for the next half hour. This was because Alfred insisted that being early was always better than being late. Bruce didn’t care to argue. It’s not like he minded anyway. He usually hung out with Selina at this time, considering she often came to school early. The closed-down wing had become their hangout after Bruce had shown it to Selina quite a while back. It was a good place to spend the morning, sunlight seeping through the cracks in the walls, casting an orange hue that shone down the staircase.
Bruce walked through the hallway toward the far east wing, just like he did most mornings.
Lifting up a line of caution tape to access the door handle of the wing’s main door, he slipped inside. The heavy door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the sounds of his peers in the hallway. He clicked off his Walkman and pulled the headphones around his neck, enjoying the eerie silence of the vacant wing.
The student body was never given a reason as to why the wing was shut down, but Bruce could easily guess it was due to fire codes. The lack of large windows, the heavy doors, and the intense upholstery decorating the walls in school colours made it a death trap waiting to happen. Ironic, considering it was mostly used by smokers.
Bruce wandered through the first floor, alone with the sound of his breathing and the snaps of broken glass and debris under his shoes. He quickened his pace when he finally spotted Selina tucked away in the far corner of the staircase. Her cigarette flared to life under her cupped hand, raised instinctively to shield it from a nonexistent breeze. She took a drag and looked over in Bruce’s direction, exhaling as he walked toward her.
“Wow, earlier than normal.” She smiled, a cigarette hanging between her teeth.
“What is? Me?” Bruce responded, obviously clocking her smoking at these ungodly hours of the morning. “What’s got you pissed this early?”
“Shit day, homeboy. A shit day like any other,” she responded breezily before taking another drag of her cig.
Bruce sat down on the third step up, towering over Selina, who was sprawled out on the floor. He turned to her, trying to figure out if he should push the subject. She was usually only known to smoke when something was bugging her.
He caved, knowing that if Selina were in his position, she wouldn’t have let him worry by himself.
“Seriously, I’m here to talk if you need it.”
Selina turned her head, staring at Bruce. “I’m totally overreacting here. Promise you won’t think I’m being whiny?”
“Since when have you ever been whiny? You’re the toughest girl I know!”
“I’m the only girl you know, dork.” Selina giggled, nodding as she turned back toward the long hall outside the stairwell. “So, like, there’s this guy in my literature class. Um, well, you’ve never met him. But like, um…” She paused, clearly trying to force it out.
“Hey, you don’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to,” Bruce interjected.
“No, no, I wanna tell you! Just, like, promise not to overreact,” she said, leaning her head against the bars of the extended handrail.
“Alright, I won’t.”
“Okay, okay. So, like…this guy. He sat behind me last period yesterday. He, like, started playing with my hair. Which is pretty short, so it just felt like he was playing with my scalp. And I was trying to shuffle out of the way, but he wouldn’t stop.” She fell silent for a second. “That’s really it. I don’t know why it bugs me so bad, if I’m being honest. Just, like… personal space.” Selina finished, pulling another drag from her cigarette. “I told you it was just me being whiny.”
Bruce knew how much Selina hated being touched. He was sorta the exception, but even he couldn’t touch her head without earning a backhand. He was quite absolutely pissed at whoever this guy was.
“Who was it? This guy?” Bruce asked.
“Oh, you don’t know him.” She turned around, looking at him. She saw the look on his face. “I told you not to overreact. Oh my god, Bruce! It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Who was it?” Bruce asked again, more curious than anything.
Selina went to deflect him but decided not to, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Bruce could see how she hesitated. If she told him who it was, he would probably murder the guy. And honestly… Maybe it wouldn’t really be the worst thing to happen if this creep got beat up. Bruce could have kissed her in gratitude when she decided it was worth telling him.
“Okay, so, I may have lied,” Selina started. “You sorta know him. You know that creep? Oh, what’s his name? Um, Stirk? From the year below?”
“Oh yeah, I know him.” And Bruce did. He’d, honest to god, been waiting for an excuse to beat him up.
He’d seen Stirk terrify the general female population of the school. Constantly picking his nose and wiping the buggers in girls’ hair, or kicking the legs of any girl brave enough to sit beside him. And those were the lucky ones. The things he whispered in girls’ ears, the notes he slipped into their lockers… they were gag-worthy.
So, who could really blame him for what went down when lunch period rolled around?
It wasn’t like he actively sought Cornelius Stirk out, but it definitely wasn't an accident that Bruce changed his usual lunch spot from his car to the field. He watched as the country hicks from his and the neighbouring school played kick-about in the football field.
Alfred had packed him a large lunch, but he wasn’t really eating any of it. He just watched on, resisting the urge to put his fist through the brick wall he was perched against. He spotted Stirk on the far left of the field, talking with a few of his friends. Bruce had honestly no idea what was happening in the game as he knew so little about sports. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting the game.
He set his back down and stuffed his bagged lunch and his walkman into the front pouch. The bag was a dark colour and would easily blend into the shadowy corner he was sitting in. So he left it to pick up later in case of this fight getting worse than he planned. He wouldn’t risk breaking his tapes he had packed, so he figured leaving them was a better idea.
He didn’t like the idea of leaving his walkman alone though, so it hung from his belt with The Clash playing faintly over his headset.
Bruce strolled over too where Stirk was laughing obnoxiously with friends. As he approached, one of the boys pointed Bruce out.
“Yo, Batboy, strange to see you awake at this hour!” Stirk teased.
Bruce stayed silent, walking in a straight line toward the gaggle of younger teens. He forced his face to stay neutral, but his stomach twisted. Sure, he’d been in fights before… but he’d never actually gone looking for one. Guess there was a first time for everything.
“Totally thought you were supposed to be nocturnal or somethin’, what with all the black,” Stirk continued as Bruce got closer. The boy turned to his friends, laughing with them. “What brings you here, then? Can’t imagine this is your kinda scene.”
Bruce stopped just an arm’s length away and had to physically stop himself from shoving Stirk into the dirt. He was a full head taller and much broader: this fight would be easy. But he held back. He knew this could be solved without violence. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a teacher giving him a once-over from the far end of the field.
Turning back, Bruce fixed Stirk with a glare. “Heard you were messing with Selina yesterday. Don’t go near her again.”
“Or what? Gonna hurt me to save your little girlfriend?” Stirk smirked, ignoring the worried looks from his friends. Bruce could see how their eyes flicked between him and the teacher.
“She’s not my girlfriend, and you know it,” Bruce spat. “I just want you to stop picking on girls.”
Stirk feigned shock, pressing a hand to his chest. “But the girls love it! They love me!” he sang, spinning around dramatically as if ready to walk away.
“I’m fairly sure they don’t,” Bruce muttered, more to himself than anything.
Stirk paused, trading a glance with the friend beside him. His smile widened as he turned back to Bruce. “I’m not gonna take advice from you, of all people. You clearly wouldn’t know what girls like.”
Bruce’s jaw clenched. He was more pissed at the idea that any girl would actually enjoy Stirk’s garbage than at the insult itself. “Girls don’t like it. I’m pretty sure.”
Stirk chuckled. “Oh, trying to play the hero now? Come on, Bruce… you don’t have to impress any girls to get them in your bed.” He frowned, lowering his voice. “Respect a brother’s attempts, alright? Not all of us are as lucky wi–”
He didn’t get to finish. Bruce’s fist connected with his face, cutting him off mid-word.
Bruce was infuriated. He had knocked Stirk off his feet, sending him tumbling down to the field. His beige shorts were streaked along the floor and probably had long trails of mud and grass stains down the back of his legs. Blood gushed out of his nose that he had covered with his hand on reflex. Stirk was in shock as he sat on the field, staring up at the tall shadow of Bruce. He looked down at his hand as he took it away from face, his heightened adrenaline being the only thing that kept him from puking at the sight. Blood dripped between Stirk’s fingers onto his outstretched legs and the surrounding grass.
Bruce was sure the boy knew how ridiculous he looked, spread out on the soccer field covered in blood in front of the school queer. And maybe that made him a bit delirious.
“That's all you got? fairy”
Bruce could tell Stirk immediately regretted this as he saw the look that flashed over Bruce’s face. Bruce was honestly pissed at this kid’s audacity. So maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault when he kicked Stirk square in the face.
The boys were both equally pissed at each other by this point. Stirk stood up and hit Bruce right between the eyes, sending him back on impact. Bruce protected his walkman instead of his face on instinct, making his head hit the dirt quite hard. He quickly recovered and attempted to hit him back.
Stirk dove at him, checking him in the middle, sending them both back down. Stirk knelt on either side of Bruce’s ribs and delivered blow after blow. Before he could get in a fourth hit, Bruce grabbed at the ground of the football pitch, grabbing a handful of grass roots and dirt. He lobbed it in the kid’s face, stopping the other’s ministrations. Stirk lifted his hand in order to clear the dirt that was now in his eyes. Bruce took this chance and flipped them both over with relative ease despite the adrenaline making him shaky. He attempted to go for Stirk’s face but was quickly interrupted by a fist flying to his face. He grabbed the first before a painful collision and restrained both of Stirk’s hands to the ground in a vice grip. The boy struggled under Bruce, thrashing around.
Bruce took a second to calm down. His hair had begun sticking to his face and neck with sweat. He took a shaky breath while looking down at the kid through his bangs. He was quickly snapped back to reality when he noticed several feet crowded around him. He looked up and noticed a group of maybe a couple dozen students crowded around the fight. He was frozen in place for a second out of shock, his grip laxing on the boy underneath him.
The shock was from the small scare he had received when he noticed a teacher's desperate attempt at pushing their way through the crowd of children. Bruce quickly felt himself having his face pushed into the dirt by a large pair of grubby hands. He quickly fought back against Stirk but was pulled back before he could land a blow.
The teacher had grabbed Bruce by under his arms and dragged him back. The teacher in question wasn’t particularly strong but he had taken Bruce by surprise. He also knew better than to fight against a teacher.
He was probably already in deep shit.
In fact, he knew he was.
His first proper fight in almost two years, and Alfred was not happy. Not even a little. Bruce had been yanked out of school early that day, dragged straight to the kitchen, and then spent what felt like several hours enduring a lecture that could have been classified as a minor form of torture. Finally, he had spilled the story about what happened. Alfred wasn’t mad at Bruce, per se (he had that particular brand of calm fury that made you feel simultaneously judged and loved) but he still made sure to drone on and on about the importance of image. Because apparently, even when you’re beating up a bully, you have to look good doing it.
And on top of that… Bruce was royally fucked. He hadn’t had a single second to check his bag after the fight because of being dragged into the principal’s office. By the time he had managed to sneak out under the guise of a bathroom break, it was too late. The bag was gone. Vanished. He had maybe a minute to search before realizing he had to return to the office. He sat back down, feeling an almost pathological grief for his poor backpack. It wasn’t like he only owned one bag, but still… His tapes.
He had planned to tell Alfred later, but by the time he was driven home, enduring his second lecture of the day (because one apparently wasn’t enough), he figured he could live without it. He definitely had bigger problems to come.
Alfred received the phone call at dinnertime. The school had decided Bruce couldn’t possibly handle the crushing blow of bad news on his own, so naturally, they passed the burden to Alfred.
Bruce sat perfectly still in front of his meal as Alfred delivered the verdict: detention every afternoon for the next three days. Three whole afternoons. Bruce hadn’t gone easy on Stirk and by the sounds of it, he should have been grateful they weren't suing. He was honestly underwhelmed by his punishment.
His blood boiled when Alfred added that Stirk faced… nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
No detention, no scolding, no reality check for the creep who had apparently been terrorizing every female student in a five-mile radius. Sure, the fight had technically been Bruce’s fault, but really? The sheer audacity. At least Bruce had taken initiative.
That evening, Bruce sulked in his room like a miniature cat sulking on the back of the couch. Alfred left him mostly alone, only knocking to drop off a fresh towel… Bruce had made the mistake of using a white towel the previous night and gotten black smudges all over the nice cloth. Alfred had been less than pleased. So when Bruce opened the door to find a clean towel on the floor, he was relieved to see his usual black one. Small victories, he thought, small victories.
Bruce threw the black towel onto a chair in the corner of his room as he stormed back into bed. He flopped face-first onto the mattress. He looked over at his bedside clock. It was already nine thirty four. This meant he had missed his usual call time with Selina by almost nineteen whole minutes. Bruce quickly scampered to the landline he had hanging on his wall and picked up the receiver. He punched in her number and waited for the tone. After only two rings, Selina picked up.
Their conversation went on longer than it usually did as they actually had a lot to talk about tonight. Selina was surprisingly less pissed at Bruce than he had expected. She confessed to actually predicting the outcome so it was also kind of her fault as well, no matter how much Bruce tried to convince her she wasn’t to blame. Bruce then told Selina about the detentions he was supposed to survive.
“Really, only three days?”
“I know, less than I thought”
“Ugh, totally!”
They reluctantly got off the phone at around eleven when Selina’s mom uninterrupted on her landline to wish Bruce goodnight, as well as to tell Selina off for staying up so late.
He quickly got off the phone and went into his on-suite. He scrubbed the grime and blood off himself that he hadn’t properly gotten rid of since the fight. He felt rather bad about himself. He knew it was only the post-fight guilt kicking in, but he still felt weird nonetheless.
He quickly finished his shower and went over to his wardrobe afterwards to grab something to sleep in. He picked up his favourite Depeche Mode T shirt. He wore it all the time last year to the point it had holes all along the neckline and seams. Therefore, it had been reduced to a sleep shirt. He threw it over his head and grabbed a pair of bunchy black boxers with an elastic waist. He flopped onto the bed in order to catch some sleep before the next day. He knew he’d be tomorrow’s rumour spread around the halls.
Unsurprisingly, people noticed him when he walked into the school the next day. He was no longer just the centre of rumours, but a full on commodity. Bruce let R.E.M. blast in his ears to drown out the noise and he kept his head low. He could feel his peer’s stares blaring through him. All it did was remind him how much he hated attention. He decided not to go to the stairwell, instead going straight to class. That way he’d not have to push through even busier halls when class started in about half an hour. He’d quite literally never been early to a class before. His first period class was mathematics. His personal favourite subject next to science.
He went up to the classroom door, hoping no one saw him slip inside. He let out a sigh of relief once he’d made it. He strolled over to his seat in the back of the class, dragging his feet to the beat of the song. He had avoided his locker today so he put away his newly decorated backpack under the desk and began unpacking for class.
He also made sure to grab his journal from the front zippy pocket. Thank fuck he decided not too bring it too school yesterday, losing it would have been like losing a son. He liked to fill it with precise notes and small doodles when he was bored. And he definitely had time to kill before class started again.
He clicked off his music in order to concentrate on his writing. He still wore the headphones though, they kept out a bit of sound. Sort of like socially acceptable ear plugs, Bruce reasoned.
He got lost in his doodles, currently laying out a blueprint for a car he had imagined. He let the day go by just like that.
He spent all of his classes doing absolutely nothing other than doodling. He went between classes with the crowd, trying not to stand out. Hard to do considering he stuck out like a sore thumb with his large build and height. He moved back to eating lunch in his car like he normally did. Selina had joined him for lunch at least, so he got to see her.
After school ended for the day, he dragged himself to detention. The teacher standing at the door left out her hand, face up, towards Bruce. He begrudgingly yanked off his headset and clicked on his walkman, dropping them into her hand. He pushed through the door, into the empty class and towards the back row.
The teacher laid out the rules. Bruce already knew them, but he listened politely as she walked. No talking, no tapping, no noise. Only get up for the bathroom. No napping. Once she finished her spiel, she sat down at the desk at the front of the room and picked up a book. Bruce pulled out his journal again and finished up what he had been doing. After about 3 hours, he was fully done and was back to having nothing better to do. He begrudgingly pulled out his homework from the day. He decided on Maths first then science.
At seven, the teacher stood up and began packing her things. She pulled out Bruce’s walkman and put it on the desk in front of her for him to take. She dismissed Bruce once she was done and left the room. Bruce walked straight out the door and down the hall to check lost-and-found. Once he did his check and turned up empty handed, he dragged himself out of the door and outside towards the main gate of the car park. He drove home with his music blaring to keep him awake after such a boring day. He was honestly trying not to fall asleep at the wheel. He got home to Wayne Manor for a home cooked meal by Alfred.
The next day was pretty much the same. Avoiding people, lunch in his car with Selina and dragging himself to detention after the bell had rang.
This time a different teacher was in the class. He was a football coach Bruce had seen at assemblies and in the hallways. He was already sitting at the desk when Bruce walked in.
Bruce simply clicked off his walkman and placed it on the teacher’s desk before turning to the rows of desks. He noticed a few kids in today, so the room wasn’t empty like yesterday. Maybe Wednesdays were the best day for children to cause trouble. Bruce dragged himself to the back of the room, sitting in the last spot as the previous detention. Most of the kids already looked bored to death and school had only ended about ten minutes ago.
Bruce pulled out a poetry book he had brought from his home library. Poetry could keep him busy for hours, he loved the ways authors painted scenes and emotions with expertly placed words.
About two hours into his second detention, a couple kids got up and were dismissed.
He noticed because one of them laughed under their breath as they both left, the squeak of sneakers down the hall waking him out of his poetry induced zone-out.
By the fourth hour, Bruce was rudely awakened from his unplanned nap by a knock on the classroom door. He looked up to see the teacher welcoming a kid into the room. Bruce looked over the new person who had entered the room, recognising him as a boy from his maths and literature class.
Bruce only ever paid him any attention due to his intense note taking, once snapping a pencil during a lesson with how much force he was writing with. Bruce had been having a particularly bad day yet still found himself stifling a laugh when he heard the loud snap and realised what had happened.
He’d never heard him talk, let alone learned his name. Hell, he hadn’t even seen the kid’s face before, considering he tended to sit in the front row. He was dressed rather plainly in muted browns and beiges, real-plain hand-me-downs. His sweater was the only reason Bruce had recognized him at all, an old and worn-out army green pullover that he wore everywhere.
Bruce was suddenly regretting never seeing his face before because holy shit, was he ever pretty. And he was really not prepared to see the amalgamation of his type today.
The boy walked into the class and handed a folder of papers to the teacher in charge. They then had a small exchange and the boy looked up, catching Bruce staring. The boy's face immediately turned sour. Bruce didn’t mean to stare, so he felt kinda bad. He understood how much it sucked when people stared. He was about to offer an apologetic look but by then, the boy had turned and motioned to another kid sitting in the room. He leaned against the desk as the other kid got his things and backed them into his messenger bag.
Bruce watched the tall boy in front of him, as if staring at him more would recall his name in a moment of clarity. He was entranced in the way that his golden brown hair fell at his shoulders, curling inwards like an overgrown bowl cut.
The other kid that the boy had motioned too got up and joined the boy at the front of the class. They began walking out of the classroom, the boy throwing one last sour look in Bruce’s general direction, catching him staring once more.
Then it clicked for Bruce. Both of the kids walking away from the class had been wearing matching rosaries around their neck. They were probably orphans from the local church’s orphanage. It explained the untamed hair and awkwardly plain clothes the boy had on.
And.. It explained The Glare.
Bruce’s water bottle sat on the table with a large rainbow sticker on the front. Along with his scribbled pentagrams and random band names in Sharpie.
Bruce wished he had been sitting closer to the front of the class so he would have been able to watch them leave. His current sitting position made the doorway cut off his line of sight as soon as they had left.
Bruce was now alone in detention with a few more hours to kill. He picked his poetry book back up, still slightly in awe. He couldn’t even pay attention to the words on the page anymore. He just couldn’t considering who he had just seen.
Bruce was supposed to sit still?
He had quite literally just seen the human embodiment of his type walk through the door and said human embodiment probably hated his very existence.
This was going to be a long couple hours.