Chapter Text
The first thing you noticed about Gotham was the smell.
Metropolis smelled like clean concrete, coffee from corner carts, and whatever chemical the city used to keep the skyscrapers gleaming. It was a manufactured smell. Everything was controlled. Like everyone. Well most.
Gotham smelled like rain on old asphalt, cigarette smoke, and something rusting in the distance. It was honest about being filthy. It was fucking shit.
You weren't sure which was worse.
The second thing you noticed was the noise. Not the good kind, not the kind of noise that a city knew what it was doing. This was the sound of a place that sounded like trouble 24/7. Gotham had sirens every three blocks over. A car alarm that had been screaming for ten minutes and NO ONE bat an eye.
You pulled your backpack higher on your shoulder and kept walking.
The basement apartment on Crowley Street was exactly what you'd expected from the listing photos, which meant it was terrible. A mattress on a concrete floor. And a mini-fridge that hummed like it was dying.
The first thing you do was installing a lock yourself woth a screwdriver you found on the streets. It took forty minite and a bunch of cursing
The place was shit. Gotham is shit. But it was yours. And more importantly, it was cheap. This was the place that your going ti call home.
Your aunt, your mother's sister, a woman you'd met exactly four times in your life had signed the lease over the phone. She lived two hours north of Gotham, and didn't want you in her spare room. The arrangement was simple: she'd keep cashing the monthly check from the state (the one meant for your care) and in exchange, she'd sign whatever paperwork the school needed.
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Gotham Heights High School looked like a prison.
The building was all gray stone and chain-link fences, it kinda looked like a zoo? Theres metal detectors at every entrance and security guards who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.
"New student?"
The voice came from a woman behind a desk in the main office.
"Y/N L/N," you said. "Transfer."
She nodded, already pulling a folder. "Metropolis. That's quite a change."
You have no idea.
"I have your schedule here. Homeroom is Mrs. Calloway, room 217. You've got about ten minutes before first bell.” She handed you your schedule. “Fair warning, this school isn't like what you're used to. Kids here can be... rough.."
"Thanks," you said, taking the schedule.
She gave you a small smile. "Welcome to Gotham."
The hallway hit you like a fever dream.
It was loud. A group of juniors shoved past you without apology. Someone's backpack clipped your shoulder. A girl was crying near the lockers while her friends screamed furiously around her.
You found your locker number 1412, dented, with a strip of faded tape where someone's name had been peeled off. You spun the combination lock twice before it opened.
That's when you heard it.
"Hey. That's the transfer. From Metropolis."
You didn't turn around. But you listened.
"She doesn't look like much."
"Probably couldn't hack it in a real city. Came running to Gotham."
"Running where? This place is a shithole."
The voices were close. You caught a flash of bomber jackets in your peripheral vision. Football players, maybe.
Great.
Like Metropolis, you thought. Same privilege, different zip code.
You closed your locker. Turned around. Walked straight past them without making eye contact.
One of them laughed. "See? Doesn't even say anything. Probably scared."
You kept walking. Not because you were scared. You'd learned, a long time ago, that the best way to survive was to be invisible.
The bell rang. You followed the crowd up two flights of stairs.
Room 217 was a standard classroom, but shitty: fluorescent lights, scratched desks, a whiteboard that had been cleaned so many times it was permanently grey. In fact, you were shocked that it didn't stink as much as you thought.
Mrs Calloway was writing announcements on the board when you walked in. She glanced at you, at the schedule in your hand, and nodded toward an empty desk near the window.
"New student. Welcome. We're finishing 1984 this week. Try to keep up."
You sat down. Pulled out a notebook and kept your eyes forward.
The seats around you filled slowly. Many people looked at you in an unfamiliar place. Transfer student. You hear their whispers, feel their glares.
Then the door slammed open.
You don’t look up
number one: don't react to loud noises, don't show you're afraid, don't give them anything.
Your eyes slowly look at who walked in, a casual glance.
Despite the loud entrance, he wasent trying to act scary.
Leather jacket. Dark jeans. Scuffed boots that seemed like it went through war.
His knuckles were taped under fingerless gloves, not for show… You realised, the tape was frayed, that he actually used it. His hair was black with a streak of white at the front. Was it dyed? No.It was natural. You'd never seen anything like it.
He moved like someone who expected people to get out of his way. And they did. Students parted without looking at him, like his presence was a physical force.
He dropped into a seat in the back row without saying a word to anyone. Pulled out a book, not a textbook, not 1984 that everyone is reading, something with a worn cover and cracked spine. He was reading before the teacher even finished taking attendance.
You shouldn't have been staring, you knew you shouldn't have been staring.
But he looked up.
Green eyes. Sharp. Assessing. They landed on you, shark, looking at a bleeding fish.
Then he smirked
You looked away first and quickly regretted it. You hated that you looked away first.
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At lunch, you learned his name.
You were sitting alone at a table near the back of the cafeteria. Your lunch was a granola bar and a bottle of water. The diner job didn't start until next week, and the cleaning job didn't pay until Friday. You were making it work.
The table next to you was full of juniors talking loud enough for everyone to hear.
"...Jason Todd got suspended again. Third time this semester."
"Detention doesn't even phase him anymore."
"His dad's Bruce Wayne. What's he gonna do, ground him? They live in a mansion."
You filed the information away. Bruce Wayne's kid. That explained the arrogance. Rich kids were the same everywhere; they just wore different clothes.
"Yeah, but he's actually smart. Like, scary smart. Did you see his essay on Macbeth? Mrs Calloway read it to the whole class."
"Doesn't matter how smart he is. He's got a temper. Remember what he did to Mark Harrison?"
"Mark deserved it. He was being a dick."
"Still. You don't mess with Jason Todd. Or his brothers."
Brothers. Of course, there were more of them. Gotham's elite, reproducing like rabbits.
You took a bite of your granola bar and tried not to think about how hungry you were.
—————
The afternoon passed in a blur of introductions and awkward pauses.
Teachers said your name wrong. Students stared. You answered questions quietly, turned in the transfer paperwork, and counted the minutes until the final bell.
By the time you were walking out the front doors, your shoulders ached from holding yourself so tightly. Your feet hurt from shoes that were too thin. Your head throbbed from the fluorescent lights.
"Hey. Metropolis."
You stopped walking. The voice was close to ignore, and something in your gut told you that running would be worse.
You turned.
Jason Todd was leaning against the brick wall by the exit, arms crossed. He wasn't wearing the leather jacket anymore; it was slung over his shoulder. His t-shirt was plain black. His arms were more muscled than you'd expected.
He was still smirking.
"I'm not from Metropolis," you said flatly. "I went to school there."
"Same thing." He pushed off the wall. He was taller than you. Not massively, but enough that he had to look down to meet your eyes. "You've got that look. Clean. Like you've never had to fight for anything."
"You don't know anything about me," you said.
His smirk flickered just for a second. Something else passed over his face.
"I know you're not gonna last a month," he said. "Gotham eats pretty little transfers for breakfast."
"Then I'll be a pretty hard meal to digest."
He blinked and raised an eyebrow.
You turned and walked away before he could respond. Your heart was pounding. Your hands were shaking. You'd talked back to the wrong person again. You'd done it in Metropolis, and look where that got you.
But you were tired. Tired of being invisible. Tired of being afraid. Tired of letting boys with money and power decide who you got to be.
Behind you, you heard him laugh.
"Hey, Metropolis!"
You didn't stop walking.
"That was almost interesting."
You kept walking. The doors slammed behind you. Gotham's grey sky overhead, and somewhere in the distance, another siren started to wail.
You had a job interview at a diner in the Bowery at 4pm.