Chapter Text
Fall leaves crunched under hoofbeats, his wooden cart bumping along behind his horse as he made his way down the mountain. Burning reds and oranges danced above him as the leaves of mid-autumn desperately clung to the branches. A cold wind swept through the trees, sending a shiver down his arms. Bruce pulled his hood further over his head and buried his hands deep in the loose fabric of his dark cloak. He knew the path down Mount Gotham well, and he gauged he’d reach town before nightfall.
He moved silently, dagger at his hip, hunting bow slung over his shoulder, his quiver nearly full with arrows, having only had to let a few fly to score himself some dinner on the long trek into town. He’d have to make this journey twice more before the snow set in if he wanted to make it through the winter. Normally, Alfred would accompany him into town, but the man was too busy with wintertime preparations to join him this time. Bruce huffed and hefted his leather pack out of the cart and across his shoulders. It was filled with various animal pelts and rare mountain herbs he’d use to barter while in town.
The sun was just beginning to set by the time Bruce made it to the outskirts of town, his body tensing at the familiar feeling of being watched. It wasn’t uncommon for eyes to follow him here— after all, it wasn’t often the mysterious hunter came down from the mountain.
Bruce shrugged off the feeling as he made his way for the stables before making a beeline for the inn. He’d have to take up lodging for the next two nights, and head into town for the market before heading back up the mountain.
The sounds of chattering and the smell of freshly roasted meat greeted him as he approached the tavern, an old oak sign hung over the door with the words ‘The Cat’s Cradle' scrawled into the aging wood. Bruce pushed through the oaken doors into the babbling crowd. The buzzing of conversation stilted for a moment as he entered before resuming to the usual casual chatter. Bruce didn’t miss the way eyes lingered on him as he moved to the bar.
The young woman cleaning a tankard behind the counter had short, black hair and gentle eyes. She glared at the customers making a ruckus across the room, her eyes sliding over to Bruce and lighting up with recognition.
“Selina. Good to see you,” Bruce cleared his throat and nodded at the innkeeper as he slid some silver pieces across the counter.
She smiled at him with knowing eyes, Bruce had to look away from her sharp gaze, “Ranger. Same as usual?”
Bruce nodded and Selina slid him an old metal key with a cat-shaped wood carving attached to it on a chain. She then shouted something into the kitchen before nodding over at an empty table tucked into a corner in the far corner of the tavern.
Bruce shot her a small smile in thanks. He didn’t like to be in the middle of things in town. Some people didn’t take kindly to mysterious strangers here, especially when the booze flowed easily.
Bruce settled into his seat, setting his belongings down and thanking Selina when she brought him his meal.
He ate the meat and potatoes quickly and silently. The feeling of a singular set of eyes lingering on him hadn’t stopped since he’d entered the tavern, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Bruce sipped at his mug of warm cider as he casually scanned the room, keeping his eyes well hidden in his cloak. A moment later, Bruce locked eyes with a small waif hiding under a nearby table.
The boy had dark hair and piercing blue eyes that looked at Bruce with intelligent curiosity. The child was small, probably no older than 7 or 8, perhaps younger. His cheeks were hollow, and he wore a yellow threadbare scarf that hung loosely over his narrow shoulders. Something in Bruce’s chest twisted at the sight. The kid was hardly noticeable in his sounds and movements— Bruce doubted that he would have noticed the boy if it wasn’t for his well-trained eyes.
The kid must’ve noticed that he had been caught, as he quickly disappeared into the crowd. Bruce scanned the room for the boy, but he was lost in the throngs of patrons moving about the tavern.
Bruce sighed, finished his cider, and sat for a moment longer before quietly making his way up to his room. The eyes didn’t follow him as he lumbered up the steps.
He slung his bow and bag off his shoulder as he closed and locked the door behind him, exhaustion from his journey making itself known as his muscles cramped and begged for rest. He moved to light the wood in the fireplace in an attempt to warm the small room before sliding off his hunting boots and climbing into the too-hard bed, body collapsing with ease onto the boards beneath him as he drifted off to sleep.
Bruce woke early in the morning. He could see his breath as he made his way into the city streets towards the market square. It was busy despite the early hour. Merchants bustled about setting up their various booths and stalls in preparation for the day.
He moved noiselessly around the stalls, running through his mental list of things he’d need to buy, and what merchants would trade coin for Bruce’s own goods.
He made his way to the small apothecary at the corner of the market, the brass plaque that read “Oak & Ivy Apothecary” shone in the morning sunlight. The welcome bell jingled as he pushed open the door. He was hit by the strong scent of herbs and damp earth. Light streamed into the store through the glass window pains, painting the room in soft golden light. Jars of various herbal remedies and colorful potions lined the walls, intricately organized and labeled by category and effect. The wooden countertop at the front of the room was empty, and the sounds of whirring and bubbling could be heard from the back room.
“Just a moment!” A woman’s voice called from the back of the store.
A young woman with red hair and striking green eyes rounded the corner, coming to stand behind the wooden countertop. Arching an eyebrow at the sight of the reclusive hunter.
“Dr. Isley.”
“Well, if it isn’t our local cryptic.”
“So says the witch.”
Dr. Isley hits him with an amused and knowing smirk, “What have you brought for me today, hunter?”
Bruce reached into his pouch before pulling out several bundles of dried herbs and seed pods and handing them over to the herbalist behind the counter.
Dr. Isley took the herbs and looked them over, intelligent eyes scrutinizing the bundles behind her glasses. She nodded, moving to place the herbs on the counter.
“Not bad, ranger. These herbs are difficult to come across. I’ll give you 7 gold pieces for the lot— or, I can trade you for them.” She gestured at the portions, ointments, and salves that lined the walls.
Bruce gave her a quick nod, moving to scan the various labels. Usually, he or Alfred would make their own medicinal concoctions, but there were some things they just couldn’t replicate. Magic was one such thing.
He reached up and grabbed a particularly strong healing salve and some burn cream, tucking them into the pouch at his hip.
He gave Dr. Isley a polite nod in farewell before heading back out into the market square, the herbalist mumbling over the herbs behind him.
The stun was still on the rise as he made his way through the market, trading his pelts for preserving salts and various winter clothes.
As he waded through the market, a red scarf sliding underneath a nearby booth caught his eye.
Bruce watched as a small hand reached up from underneath the table cloth, quickly snatching a loaf of bread off a nearby table. The merchant seemed unaware that someone was swiping his goods from underneath his nose, too engrossed with the patrons engaged with his wares. Bruce watched as a young boy snuck out from under the merchant's table. The boy had dark hair and sharp teal eyes, not unlike the boy he’d seen in the tavern the night before, except this boy was older, maybe 10 years old. His dark hair curled around his ears, a white streak of hair standing out starkly against his dark curls. An old and angry bruise was fading from around the boy's eye. Bruce felt himself stiffen. The boy was thin, his clothes well-worn, and he stole with what could only be practiced ease.
Bruce watched as the boy tucked the bread into his cloak, moving casually into the crowd. Bruce followed. He wasn’t sure why he followed the young lad, but his curiosity had been piqued.
The boy moved through the crowd like water, his small frame allowing him to glide through the mass of people gathered at the market. Bruce followed with much more difficulty. He thought he’d lost the boy until he spotted the dull red scarf lurking near a fruit stand. He watched as the boy swiped a couple of apples from the unsuspecting seller before once again disappearing into the crowd. Bruce’s attempts to follow were thwarted by the number of bodies before him, and he once again lost the waif in the throngs of patrons.
Bruce shook his head. He had work to do here, and he’d spent enough time at the market already. He moved back through the market, making sure to leave a copper piece at each of the stalls he’d seen the boy swipe from before moving to complete his chores.
Bruce couldn’t shake the images of the two young boys he’d seen around town from his head. He’d never spotted them in Gotham before, and he’d been coming into town for many years at this point. He made a mental note to ask around if a new family had come into town recently.
It was late by the time Bruce made it back to the tavern with his goods in tow. He’d managed to sell or trade almost all of his pelts, leaving his coffers far fuller than when he’d first come into town.
He nodded at Selina as he entered, making his way to his room where he deposited his various goods. He’d need to load them into the cart to haul them up the mountain tomorrow.
He left his room to eat a quick meal before leaving to check on his horse. The stables were not a far walk from the tavern, but it was far enough away that the noise of the bustling crowd died with the distance.
He made his way to the stables near the far end of the row, approaching his black mare, and reaching up to gently stroke her nose. She huffed and pressed her large face into his hand. Bruce smiled, running his hand along her strong neck.
He almost didn’t hear the whispering behind him. He turned slowly, keeping his movements silent until he reached the end of the stables where the whispering was loudest. Bruce peered into a stall at the end of the room.
He spotted a dark-haired boy, with a blue scarf wrapped around his shoulders, crouching near a sleeping goat. Next to him, was another much younger boy wrapped in deep green. The older boy watched with a fond expression as the younger boy pet the goat in awe. Bruce didn’t miss the way their clothes hung just a little too loosely, and the way the older boy shivered as he wrapped the younger boy in his meager cloak.
Bruce felt his chest tighten around his heart. He stepped away from the scene, moving silently as he exited the stables and headed back to the tavern.