Chapter Text
I Live In Gotham
A Batman Fanfiction
Chapter 1
The Boy
Usually when there was a child living on the streets or in a slum or at shelter and not in an orphanage, most people think they're a run away. They don't expect 5 year olds to be curling behind dumpsters for warmth.
This little boy is unnamed. He doesn't have a mom or a dad. He doesn't know what a birthday is, though he's seen the parties at a park. Most parents would turn away for some reason he didn't know.
If was probably the bruises, from men 6 times his size or maybe it was the dirt smudges. Or the smell of him. One time he talked to a cop, who immediately ignored him. He remembers the hurt and walking back to the swings.
He woke up everyday to bitter cold. Once, he woke up with no clothes and he didn't want that to happen again. He rubbed his eyes, knocking what little sleep out of them. It was morning and a group of cars lined the streets. Reporters standing talking about something.
There was a crowd of people, waiting. The little boy wondered if it was a parade. He liked those, he actually got candy from those. Groggy but able to stand, he wondered through the crowd.
A man with a camera was polishing the lens. He looked like a reporter. The little boy tugged on the pant leg, "Excuse me?" He asked, it was tiny and probably barely heard. The man looked down and the boy prepared to be kicked away, only to be surprised when the man knelt down on one knee with a soft smile.
"Yes?" The man asked.
"What's going on?" The boy asked. He was still rubbing his eye, a bruise from a few nights ago was welping up.
"Oh well this is a new unveiling of a statue paid by Bruce Wayne."The man said. "I'm a reporter, my name is Clark. What's yours?"
"I don't got one." The boy answered quietly. He pulled his hand away from his eye. "I don't got no parents either." He felt unnecessarily warm.
The man, Clark, looked a little shocked, pulling out a small cloth. He put it on the boy's cheek. Putting a hand on top of the boy's forehead. "Where did you come from?" Clark asked. The boy pointed to the dumpster.
Clark pulled the cloth back and the boy saw the little specks of blood. He was bleeding? He didnt feel good either. Clark stood, scooping the boy up as he did so.
The man walked back to the crowed. Near the end sat a nice car and a very old man standing beside it. Mr.Wayne, the boy had heard of him before, had barely made it back to the car from the little unveiling. "Bruce." Clark said.
"Clark?" Mr. Wayne asked, before seeing the boy in Clark's arms. The boy noticed a look of shock from Mr.Wayne, the old man opened the door to the expensive car and all three climbed in.
The boy slowly fell asleep in the warm car and only woke up later in a bed. He coughed, and didn't feel better.
The old man entered only a minute later. "Ah. Awake I see." He said, he poured some sort of liquid in a small cup and offered it to the boy. The boy recognized it as medicine, only seeing it in commercials on the store front TVs.
He didnt expected the awful taste but swallowed anyway. The old man offered a small glass of water, leaving shortly afterwords. The boy gulped it down immediately. Carefully putting the cup on the table.
He got a good look of the room. An expensive TV, two bedside tables, a chair, long bed, three doors and at least 2 lamps. Mr.Wayne entered the room not long after the old man left. His hand immediately brushed up on the boy's forehead.
"At least your fever is down." He said.
"What's that?" The boy asked, he yawned as he asked.
"It's when your body heats up while your sick." Mr.Wayne said, "get some sleep okay?"
The boy nodded.
His first two days, he was in and out of consciousness. Only waking up to take medicine when the old man, Alfred, would give him a bowl of warm soup and a glass of water.
On his third day, the boy was finally able to move around his room. No longer experiencing the effects of a fever. His night shirt, which he found out was an old shirt belonging to one of Mr. Wayne's children, pulled down bellow his knees.
He got a hold of a mirror, the first one in months, and stared at his reflection. Dark, messy brown hair. Bright green eyes. He had freckles. He made a silly face and laughed.
Eventually, he got bored of the mirror. He wanted to explore thus place only to loose interest when finding the remote for the TV and seeing the first cartoon of his young life. He eventually laid back down. Flipping the TV off. Falling asleep.
The door opened a bit later.
"This is him?" A voice asked. It sounded young and almost annoyed.
"Yes, Damian." Mr. Wayne said. "I'm adopting him. I put the forms in today."
A small scoff. "He's small."
The boy coughed. In a half sleeping state, he could hear their little conversation. Something fuzzy was plopped down beside him, over his fingers. A toy of some sort.
"He is very small for his age." Mr. Wayne said, moving the blankets to tuck the boy in a little bit. The door closed as the voices faded.