Chapter Text
“Be gentle with me, boys, I’m delicate,” said (Y/N) as the Arkham guards handcuffed her to the cold metal table in the visitation block. She giggled, rather manically, at her own words. “Say, wanna tell me who I gotta thank for seeing little ol’ me?”
They said nothing and rushed out fairly quick, much to (Y/N)’s amusement.
It was obvious they were afraid of her, the little pussies. So she wreaked some havoc Gotham with her big brother, Jerome, and the Maniax. So she dismembered a couple of civilians. So she was a little kooky in the head. Was that really enough reason to make them refuse to look her in the eye, or avoid being in a room with her? The thought made her smile.
She waited, drumming her fingers on the table, and hummed the Pop Goes The Weasel tune quite loudly until she heard the distinct buzzer of the reinforced door opening.
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!” (Y/N) let her lips pull up into a wide, all tooth grin as her eyes narrowed on the sight at the door. “Hiya, big bro.”
Before her stood (Y/N)’s other older brother, Jeremiah. It was freaky how much he looked like Jerome, despite the obvious differences. Redheaded, sickly pale, tall, nerdy scarless, and just as handsome as Jerome used to be. He looked skittish and feeble like he was having second thoughts about seeing her. His hands were even shaking!
“(Y/N),” he said. “I came as soon as I heard.”
She leaned closer, (E/C) eyes never leaving her brother. “Huh. Heard what, exactly?”
“That you were in Arkham.” Jeremiah took the seat opposite (Y/N), in a way that seemed like he didn’t want to startle her. As if the scrawny brat could. “(Y/N), I-I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I was when the authorities finally got you away from Jerome. Watching that bastard manipulate you into doing these ghastly things was the closest thing I’ve been to hell since we lived with him.”
“He manipulated me, hm? That’s what you think?”
“That’s what I know.”
(Y/N)’s smile flickered into something dark and threatening, something to be feared. The voices in her head screamed their gruesome inputs, suggestions and curses at her. She mentally noted that she'd add some fun ideas to her diary once this visit was over. “I’ll have you know, four-eyes, that all the iddy-biddy things I did were my choice. The knife I stuck in that guy’s eye? My choice. All those cops I shot? My choice. That couple I craved up? My choice. Every other fucked up thing I did? Well, take a wild guess, Xander.”
The reaction (Y/N) got from Jeremiah wasn’t expected: he seemed unfazed. If anything, he looked at her with a gaze of pity and… love. She tried to infuriate him, but he kept that stupid, calm expression on his face. God, she wanted to slap it right off.
“You’re sick, (Y/N). But it’s going to be okay,” Jeremiah told her, his voice tremoring. “This place, as much as I detest it, will fix you. I’m going to spend everything I can on your recovery.”
“Funny choice of words you got there. Fix? Recovery?” She barked out a harsh laugh. “They’ve tried this kinda stuff already, Miah! My adoptive parents were the reason I resorted to smoking and drugs and violence in the first place. Betcha didn’t know that. I’ve been in and out of recovery more times than I cared to count.
“I know I’m broken, a bit messed up in the head. I always have been, even before we got taken away from Mom and Jerome and the circus. Some of my most treasured memories are the times I sat in front of the mirror, thinking to myself ‘What would happen if I slit Momsie’s throat in her slutty sleep?’. At times I could hardly breathe. But then I realised… this is only natural. For me, for us, it's natural. The Valeska family’s natural. Y’know, we all have ghosts, hidden too deep. Jerome pushed me to dragging mine out to play, like I needed to, now I fully embrace it.”
“There are explanations as to why you feel this way, (Y/N). Your psychiatrist told me you mentioned a kidnapping, Jerome could have…” Jeremiah visibly shuddered, swallowing before continuing. “…performed several evil endeavors on you. Similar to that of Stockholm Syndrome or-or Lima Syndrome or brainwashing. Time here will help–”
“It’s cute how you’re acting like you care. You just feel guilty.”
“I do care, (Y/N). I care very much. Whether or not you know it, it's true. You’re my sister and I love you,” said Jeremiah. He sighed, sliding his glasses back up his nose. “Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I had refused to go with that family. You should have come with me, and I should have fought for that to happen. I failed you then like I failed you now, but I’m working to make it right.”
(Y/N)’s lips pressed together in a thin line as her whole body shook with silent laughter. She eventually let it out, her crazed cackling filling the room as if Jeremiah had just told a hilarious joke instead of a heartfelt sediment.
“Oh, Miah… The only person that’s done right by me is Jerome, and Jerome alone. He showed me the truth: that sanity was keeping my true self locked away. Keeping me a cog in the machine of society. But I’m free now, just like Jerome.”
“You’re sick, just like Jerome. But like I said, Arkham is going to fix you.”
“But there’s nothing to fix, Jeremiah! Can’t you see?” (Y/N) laughed like a maniac again, raking her hands through (H/C) hair. She heard Jerome in the way she laughed, and that encouraged her. “You’ll understand one day. Surely you don't think it's merely a coincidence that me and Jerome are bat-shit nuts. It’s in your blood! I just can’t wait for you to see it too, that there’s nothing wrong with being a little cray-cray.”
“(Y/N), please…” The little redheaded bitch sounded close to tears.
“There will always be a Valeska bringing chaos to Gotham, Jeremiah. Whether it be Jerome or me-” (Y/N)’s smile widened a little more, “-or you. We’re here to stay! Oh, and don’t worry about the money. It’s mighty generous of you, but I won’t be here long enough for them to use it.”