Chapter Text
To My Hope; Preview
Words: 1689
Thursday, October 31st.
You usually take the ‘day shift’, as Vengeance is always the shadows of Gotham’s streets under the cover of the night’s darkness. The people of Gotham know who you both are, as vigilantes, but in slightly different lights. There’s The Batman, a dark and mysterious character you never see coming, someone who can scare off the toughest of thugs just by seeing his symbol highlighting the sky with a hollow circle, a bat in its centre. He’s Vengeance, something fitting that he identifies himself as too, prepared to fight whatever and whoever persists in disturbing the peace, causing chaos, causing violence.
Of course, the violence and chaos still run rampant, but with Batman around, there are very few who dare to carry on through the night. He has terror on his side. You, on the other hand, have odd admiration and support.
Maybe it’s the way you go about things, with your pure white suit outlined in gold, the hood that covers your head and goes perfectly over the top half of your face not quite as menacing as Vengeance’s darkness and destruction. You’re out in pure daylight most of the time, on rooftops, too high to be noticed, ready to jump down and stop the threats and attacks. Fight off the gang who’s messing with a vulnerable older woman, then give her a hand up and get her home safely, smiling and waving at the stunned faces who see you leaving the scene with a friendly grin.
They called you Hope after just a few weeks. And that fits perfectly. That’s what you want to be, Hope, because without hope, there’s no strength to carry on persevering and believing in better. But no one knows who you truly are as a normal citizen of Gotham, the same as them not knowing who Vengeance is under his mask.
It’s a surprise to everyone that you and The Batman get along. Truthfully, you and he made the decision to be vigilantes together. Bruce Wayne and yourself have had a brother-sister relationship for as long as you can remember. You share similar pains and understand each other without too many words. He’s exactly like a fiercely protective and trustworthy brother, and you’re the positive and determined sibling, practically opposites, but it works for you, always had.
But it’s Halloween today, which means a lot more petty crimes and daring attempts of disorder and fighting. So you’re both out tonight, stopping a gang from the subway from beating down a random man who got off the train at the wrong time. A younger boy is the last one left in the end, staring up at you and Batman with wide brown eyes, and you give him a small, sympathetic smile, as if to say, “This isn’t the way to live your life, is it, really?” He seems to get it, and stumbles backwards onto his feet before sprinting off. You watch after him with an unfocused gaze, and The Batman nudges you from your side.
“What’s wrong?”
You frown, shaking your head. “Nothing. It was just something I did yesterday. Well, someone I helped out.”
“You saved their life,” he assumed. “They were probably starstruck that they got to meet Hope.”
But you shake your head again. “No, it wasn’t like that.”
It really wasn’t. It was an incident similar to the one you had just come across tonight: you were just finishing up, ready to get back home and call it a day in the late afternoon, when a man walking with his head down was suddenly yanked from the main street into an alleyway. You were quick to spot the action, easily overpowering the young, drunk thugs demanding money, and the man you had saved watched in complete awe the whole time.
You just can’t seem to forget that look.
Round green eyes behind clear-rimmed glasses, neat, soft bronze locks, simple clothes under his jacket. But he had stared at you while you fought in absolute wonder, his mouth open in disbelief. You had smiled at him warmly, taking his hand and pulling him up.
“You alright?”
And he’d simply stared at you for another long moment, before nodding slowly, stunned.
“I’m alright,” he breathed, his eyes wandering your hidden face, a smile tugging at his lips that grew with the next comment. “You’re Hope.”
“That’s me,” you’d agreed with a smirk. “And you’re a bit hurt, aren’t you? If it’s not too serious, you should probably go home and patch anything up. So, it was nice meeting you…?”
“Edward,” the man had responded instantly. “I’m Edward.”
“Nice meeting you, then, Edward,” you replied with a smile. “I love your glasses.”
Edward’s cheeks dusted pink, and his smile twitched in shyness as he looked down. “Thanks.”
“I should get going,” you told him with a nod. “See you around!”
And Edward had looked back up with a mixed, unreadable, intense look in his eye, his smile matching it almost unsettlingly.
“You will, Hope.”
And that was it. Why what he’d said and how he said it is confusing you at this point seems stupid to you now, and you brush it off, giving a reassuring smile to Batman.
“Whatever. I guess I’m still getting used to things.”
Batman nodded, not entirely convinced, but deciding not to push it. Instead, his dark eyes glide up to the skies to take in the warning sign.
“Come on,” he says, and you nod, following him to the rooftop, where James Gordon was waiting impatiently.
“Hope,” he addresses you with a weary smile. “Batman. I need you to see something.”
That something leads you to the Mayor’s house. Or, the late Mayor’s house. Because, as you and The Batman walk through the hallways, the FBI and GCPD crowding the rooms and flashing photos make it clear that Don Mitchell is, in fact, dead. Murdered.
You and Batman receive the usual questioning stares from the officers, though some who meet your eye nod approvingly at you. The officer guarding the door to the main room gives you a hesitant glance when Gordon leads the way, but shakes his head and puts a hand out to stop Batman from going any further.
“Woah, woah, woah,” he stops him. “Police action.”
“He’s with me, Officer,” Gordon assures him. “So’s she.”
“Are you kidding me, sir? You’re gonna let him in here?”
Vengeance stares at the officer silently, and you watch with an uncertain, halfhearted smile.
“Martinez,” James insists, “let them through.”
Martinez sighs as he lowers his hand, and they carry on walking into the room. You smile properly at the officer in an attempt of calming him down, and he nods at you in slight approval before glaring at Batman.
“Goddamn freak,” you hear him mutter, but you walk on, into the scene.
And, quite frankly, you’ve never seen anything like this.
It’s the Mayor, one of his hands in a paper bag, his head wrapped in silver duct tape, with the red, bloody lettering of 'NO MORE LIES’ written on the front.
“What do we know?” Gordon asks one of the detectives, his torch aimed at the once Mayor of Gotham as he snaps his notebook shut. His eyes follow Batman and then you, as you both get a better angle, your brows furrowing and face screwing up in disgust. All over the walls, the same writing of 'LIES’ is scribbled
“Detective?” Gordon regains his attention.
“Sorry, Lieutenant,” he starts, “we got blunt force trauma. Lacerations on the head. He got hit a lot of times. And hard.”
Gordon examined the head with his own torch. “All this blood is from his head?”
“No,” the detective continues, stopping abruptly before he bumps into Batman. “Excuse me. Most of it’s from his hand.” He pulls the paper bag away to reveal Mitchell’s cold hand.
“Thumb was severed. Killer may have taken it as a trophy.”
“He was alive when it was cut off,” Batman observes, and the men look back at him. “Ecchymosis… around the wound.”
Cameras flash and snap while you look around, spellbound at the sight. There’d never been anything as bad as this in Gotham. Never like this.
“Security detail downstairs said the family was out trick-or-treating,” the lead detective says, “the Mayor was up here alone. Killer may have come through the skylight.”
“You said there were two cards,” Gordon asked, and the detective agreed, pulling out two green envelopes.
To The Batman
To My Hope
He opens the first one, where a cartoon image of a skeleton and an owl are on the card.
“From your secret friend,” Gordon reads, “Whoo? Haven’t a clue? Let’s play a game, just me and you. What does a liar do when he’s dead?”
“There’s a cypher, too,” the detective points out, handing him a sheet of paper with an odd type of code written on it in a plastic covering. Gordon hands you the second one when you reach for it, the one addressed to you, and he and the detective watch as you open it, Batman behind you with a focused glare.
It’s a card similar to the one for The Batman, but there’s a cartoon picture of a girl with a shining halo above her head, hands clasped innocently, big eyes staring. The title reads 'YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN MY ANGEL!’
Your brows twitch in confusion as you open it up, and identical writing to the other card is written inside, this time with a much sweeter riddle, messy hearts scribbled inside.
“Made by God in pairs, separated at birth on Earth, found after years of search, inseparable for the rest of the time. What are we?” you read quietly, and you feel Batman tense from behind you.
“Soulmates,” he says under his breath, and you look up at the disturbed, equally confused stares from the detectives. You look back down with a short sigh, studying the writing and looking back at the envelope.
To My Hope…
This killer, whoever they are, might just be making everything a whole lot more difficult. Because this killer, whoever he is… likes you.