Archive of Our Own

The girl stumbles through the dark alleyway, her stomach twisting as she desperately tries to keep the bile down that’s rising in her throat. Her thoughts run wild; question upon questions giving her a headache as she wonders who she is, and where she is, the questions pulling at distant memories in her mind that seem just barely out of reach. As she tries to get out of the claustrophobic space, she trips over an empty box, falling onto her hands and knees as glass cuts through her (now ratty-looking) dress. She pushes off the ground, ignoring the burning sensation emanating from her bloodied skin.

She looks around the nearly-empty street, but nobody turns to even glances at her (why does feel wrong?), even as she yelps in pain when the glass slices through her bare feet. Tears begin welling in her eyes, a quiet sob going unheard as the girl tiredly gives up, curling against the mossy wall, ignoring the putrid stench of trash wafting around the area. 

A shadow creeps over her and, when she looks up, she sees a man with dirt covered clothes and a leering smile with yellow teeth poking out from behind his lips. The girl’s eyes widen as the man bends down, fear entering her expression when he grabs her arm and pulls her up.

”Hey pretty lady, why don’t you come with me, we can have a fun night.” The man breathes in her face, the stink making the girl turn her face away, thrashing in his hold and shouting to be let go.

”Stop touching me! Help, help me! Please!” The man scoffs, tightening his grip on her.

”This is Gotham, pretty lady, no one’s comin’ for you.” He sneers, yanking her further down the street. They make it nearly a block before a dark figure appears in front of them. The man yelps, letting go of the girl in an instant before running away. He doesn’t make it far, the figure bringing out a long staff and hitting the man in the back of the knees, kicking his nose when the man falls down. In an instant, the man is tied to a light pole and the figure (now the girl can see that he’s dressed in colors akin to neon highlighters). He’s young, similar to the girl’s age, she supposes, but he has far more muscles. The trembles, shrinking away from the younger man as she scans her surroundings, trying to get away from him (even if he did just save her).

“I’m not gonna go with you, wherever you want to take me.” She tries to say in a determined tone, but the words come out shakes and meek. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I’m here to protect you.” The man says in a strained voice, the fact that he’s making himself sound older and gruffer than he actually is evident through his words. The girl straightens up, noticing the youthfulness of the man’s (which is actually a boy’s) face. The boy is likely around the girls age, if not younger, and that makes the girl feel at least marginally better. 

“You are my age.” The girl states, causing the boy to freeze momentarily. 

“And what age might that be?” He seemingly narrows his eyes at her. She pauses, trying to think hard about the answer to that question.

“I… don’t know. I don’t remember anything.” She gulps, tears welling up in her eyes as she remembers the uncertainty of her identity, and all the unknowns that come with it. She doesn’t have a clue about anything, about her family, friends, what she likes and dislikes, what she's gone through and what she's learned. She doesn’t remember anything, at all, and that terrifies her. What if someone tries to take her? What if someone tries to mold her into a puppet, all because she doesn’t know who she is and therefore allows others to tell her who she is and who she can be. What if she hurt people? What if she was a bad person? What if someone hates her and she doesn’t know why? She’s jolted back to reality by the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. She flinches back, eyeing the gloved hand with suspicion.

“I’m sure that must be scary,” he starts, “but I need to know if you have somewhere safe to go. Can I take you to a hospital? Or a shelter? I would like for you to be safe.” The girl casts her gaze to the floor, nervousness seeping through her actions.

“I don’t… I don’t even know where I am, much less if I have any family around.” She scoffs, her eyes moving to the boy before bouncing off of his sturdy frame. The boy bites his lip.

“Let me take you to the hospital, then, see if you have a concussion or any other urgent injuries.” He tries. She shakes her head.

“I feel fine.” She huffs, turning to face the sidewalk, preparing to leave when the boy hums disapprovingly.

“You’re covered in blood.” He deadpans. The girl sighs.

“Yeah, from the glass.” She doesn’t even bother turning around. 

“What glass?” He asks, concern creeping through his words. She shrugs.

“The glass, from when I woke up.” She explains.

“Woke up?” He once more asks. 

“You sure have a lot of questions, batboy.” She spins around and looks at the bat on his belt before looking back at his eye mask (not eyes, because they’re covered by the mask). 

“I’m trying to understand the situation.” He lifts his hands, his palms facing her in a defensive position. The girl sighs again.

“I woke up, in an alleyway, in this dress, with no memories. Then, the man tries to take me. Happy?” She crosses her arms. The boy purses his lips. 

“Let me at least take you to the free clinic a few blocks down. Please?” He practically begs. The girl’s eyes dart around the street.

“Fine.” She relents, letting the boy lead her a little ways away to an odd looking building with lights so bright they illuminate the ground outside. The boy opens the door carelessly, holding it open for the girl as she nervously waddles in. 

There’s a woman in the lobby(?) holding a clipboard, her hair pulled back into a strict bun with wrinkles adorning her face. 

“Hey, Leslie. I’ve got another patient for you.” The boy calls out and the woman, presumably the ‘Leslie’ he mentioned, turns around with a scrutinizing look. 

“Robin.” Leslie greets, finally putting a name to the boy’s face for the girl. Leslie’s terrifying gaze moves to the girl, looking her over with perceptive eyes. She pauses at her bloody knees and the trail of red that the girl tracked into the clinic. Leslie takes a breath, signalling to Robin and the girl to follow her into a smaller room. Leslie stares at the girl as she points at the paper-covered bed (or, more accurately, cushion).

“Who have you brought me today?” She asks monotonously. Robin grimaces.

“She… doesn’t know who she is…?” He braces himself, as if waiting for her scold him. Leslie clicks her tongue. 

“What happened to her?” Leslie changes her approach. Robin looks at the girl, who shrugs and looks away. 

“She said she just ‘woke up’ with no memory. She said she stepped on glass, which is why I brought her here. I also have a feeling you’d know what to do about her… situation.” He drags out that word, as if trying to tell the doctor something using unspoken words. The doctor seems to understand what he means, but the girl remains lost. Leslie nods.

“Yes. I have an idea of how to help, but let’s first bandage her up before we talk about anything more.” She puts down her clipboard after writing something down in bolded letters, then turning her attention to the girl as she pulls out some white bandages and cream. She begins picking small shards of glass out of the girl’s feet and knees, the room silent as she works methodically through the task. As she moves along, she applies the cream to the wound, letting the skin soak it up while she continues her work. Eventually, after a long handful of minutes and a small cup full of glass sharks, she finishes and wraps the feet and knees in the white bandage, the colour slowly turning into an off-white from the cream she applied to the skin.

“So… what’s the diagnosis?" Robin asks after a moment. Leslie hums.

“I would like for her to come in later for a more thorough check up, but she looks like she needs some sleep and a little bit pf rest in a safe space might do her some good for her memory.” Leslie explains. Robin furrows his eyebrows (or, at least, as much as he can with the oddly shaped eyemask covering the top half of his face).

“Homeless shelters are everything but safe.” He deadpans. 

“Yes, which is why she will not be staying at a homeless shelter. She needs peace and safety in order to heal, and that kind of environment does not provide her with the kind of help she needs at the moment. I have a friend who I am sure would be happy to take her in for the moment. At least, until we figure out a more long-term solution.” Leslie states in a matter-of-fact manner. Robin frowns.

“Batman won’t accept that solution, and he knows that I’m here with the girl right now.” He clenches his jaw. Leslie gives him a pointed look.

“You, better than anyone, should know how to keep a secret well enough to fool even the world’s greatest detective. Plus, there’s no way you’d want to leave her at the hands of Gotham’s streets. I’m sure you can find a way.” Leslie responds, clearly referencing something that the girl continues to be lost on. Robin purses his lips before relenting with a sigh.

“Fine, I’ll tell Batman that I returned her to her parents, but I’ll try to deflect any follow up questions. You better have a good home for her. Who will be taking her in?” Robin asks, obviously annoyed. 

“Crystal and Arthur Brown.” Leslie states.

~~~

The girl, now named Stephanie by the couple who took her in, wanders the apartment that the boy, Robin, had dropped her at. The couple stands anxiously at the doorway, watching Stephanie with plastered on smiles. They have worry written in their features, reminding Stephanie of a couple who just adopted a cat, the way that they seem to be watching her every move being eerily similar to the way she imagines someone with a cat watches said cat. She feels like she remembers something about a cat, but the memory seems just barely out of reach. Again. She is seriously getting tired of this whole not-having-a-memory thing. She hopes the doctor and the boy can sort it out soon. She just wants to know what her name is, at the very least. 

Alas, she doesn’t, so here she is, searching through this random couple’s cabinets for some food with annoyed grunts when she opens nearly-empty cabinets.

“Sweetheart, we can get you some food, if you need some.” The women, Crystal, reaches a hand out hesitantly, although she’s still way too far away to really do anything. Her words are coated in concern and fear. Stephanie scoffs. She feels like she should have a little more manners, something about that tugging on her memories as well, but she couldn’t care less. She just lost her memory, so she thinks that everyone should cut her some slack, and maybe stop treating her like she fragile while they’re at it.

She turns around and glares at the couple, ignoring the pit growing in her stomach from guilt. Crystal lets out a strained laugh 

“Of course, you can… make your own food? I just though, since you just don’t know where anything is, I could help…” She trails off. Stephanie turns back around and rummages through the pantry, finding a bag of crackers and whipping them out before stumbling to the room that the couple pointed to when she first got there with tired urgency. She nearly falls into bed, not bothering to change out of her ratty dress before passing out. Not that she has anything to change in to, but that’s not the point. The crackers stay uneaten, the girl being far too tired to stay awake any longer. 

~~~

Stephanie stares at the pale white wall, medical terms that she has no idea what they mean floating around the room as Leslie talks to the girl’s new parents. 

“She hasn’t been speaking at all since she got here, and we just don’t know what to think about it…” Crystal says, her eyes darting around the room nervously, as if she’s scares that Stephanie is going to get mad at her for saying that. She doesn’t know why, it isn’t like she’s shown any violent behavior since waking up in that random alleyway a few weeks ago. Stephanie sighs, biting down a scoff in an attempt to not prove Crystal’s point. Arthur nods solemnly, agreeing with Crystals words. Something about him makes Stephanie mad, his whole vibe throwing her off balance whenever he walks into a room. He hasn’t done anything to warrant that instinctual response since Stephanie has been there, but something about him… She just needs to keep an eye out for him, she thinks. Leslie nods.

“It could be shock, or she could just be selectively mute, we don’t know much about her prior to this point so we don’t really know what she’s normally like. She could just be a quiet kid, or it might be from the traumatic experience she had upon waking up with no memories, we don’t really have a way to know. I’m sure, as she warms up to you, she’ll start speaking more. Children typically are like that.” Leslie explains. Stephanie wishes she knew the answer to that, as well, but she doesn’t know anything more than what they know about her past. Whenever she speaks, though, it feels wrong, like something bad is going to happen to her because of it, and she hates that feeling, so she just doesn’t talk. Simple. She doesn’t know how to tell them that, though, so she stays silent. 

The only time she’s felt safe enough to talk was when the boy helped her out. She wonders if Robin is his real name, or if he goes by that to keep himself safe.

She feels like she’s met a Robin before, another distant memory of a life far different from hers right now.

~~~

Stephanie stares at the board, the teacher going on and on about geography or whatever it is that they’re learning about now, Stephanie can’t be bothered to listen. The stifling, hot air is still against the teacher’s movements, sweat slowly soaking through Stephanie’s shirt. She wishes that the school would actually use the air conditioner that they have been so kindly given by the state, but whenever someone brings up the conditions that the children are under while at school, the principal says that they are using the money that would go towards the AC for ‘field trips’, which translates to ‘sending the kids to the art museum for the third year in a row while all the staff get to stay at a fancy resort getaway for the weekend’. And they wonder why half of their students grow up to become criminals. Stephanie would turn to a life of crime, too, if her father wasn’t insufferable about his own criminal activities. God, she truly hates Arthur. 

When she finally tunes back into the teacher’s ramblings, he’s talking about how the world was divided a couple hundred years ago. Stephanie furrows her brows at that.

“No.” She says, far louder than she was originally intending. The teacher locks eyes with her.

“What do you mean, no?” He clenches his jaw. 

“That… isn’t right.” Stephanie responds, the words pulling on a distant memory of a different world. Her words are mumbled, absentminded, even. 

“Yes it is. Every map since that point can reiterate that fact. Unless you were there 200 years ago, I think I know more than you.” The man seethes, ignorant disgust painting his sneer. Stephanie gulps, the memory falling out of her grasp as she sinks lower into her seat. 

“Sorry.” She mutters, staring at the empty paper that’s laying on her desk with embarrassment coating her cheeks. A few other kids snicker, whispering amongst themselves once the teacher returns his gaze to the board, continuing on about the maps of the time. Stephanie sighs, righting herself with a glace at the clocks, counting down the minutes until she can leave this class. 

~~~

Stephanie stands at the doorway, the door creaking as she slowly opens it. The lamp is on and her mom is reading a book, his eyes glancing up when Stephanie pops her head into the room. It’s just Crystal there, Arthur serving yet another stint in Blackgate from whatever idiotic scheme he attempted to pull of this time, but Stephanie like it more when he’s not home. Crystal is happier and the house stays clean for more than a few hours at a time. Plus, the ever present smell of alcohol seems to be put on hold whenever he’s locked up.

Crystal knows that Stephanie likes it better without Arthur there, and Stephanie knows that. Teachers always tell Crystal how Stephanie is doing so much better in school and they ask ‘what changed with her home life? Because she’s doing so much better now!’. Stephanie hates when teachers call parent-teacher conferences for something like this, because then when Arthur inevitably returns, they ask her too many questions. Crystal smiles at Stephanie, her features soft. Stephanie steps further into the room, her eyes darting around her mother’s tired form nervously. Crystal sets her book down on her nightstand, looking at Stephanie with concern.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” She asks, shifting to the side in an offering, patting the bed for Stephanie to sit down. Stephanie shuffles into bed and rests against her mother’s chest, relaxing when Crystal starts running her finger through Stephanie’s hair.

“Why does dad keep coming back?” Stephanie whispers, frowning when Crystal pauses her gentle scalp massage. When she looks up at her mother’s face, surprise coats Crystal’s expression. 

“We’re still his family.” Crystal responds, her words hesitant, like she’s trying to believe them herself. Stephanie hums.

“I don’t want him to come home anymore. You always get so sad when he comes home. I like it when you’re happy, mom.” Stephanie responds, ignoring the way she sounds, her words feeling far younger than she actually is. Crystal resumes brushing through Stephanie’s hair. 

“I know, sweetheart. But he wouldn’t have anywhere else to go, if not for us.” She pauses. “Lets go to bed, yeah? We can finish this conversation in the morning. It’s getting late.” Crystal desperately tries to change the subject. Stephanie knows that they never will finish this conversation, at least, not anytime soon, but she nods her head regardless and settles down, listening to her mom’s breathing even out before following Crystal to sleep herself. 

~~~

Purple. All she can remember from her previous life is purple. There have been other things, fleeting memories that go before she can really think about them, but the one thing that she can always remember about her time before being Stephanie, is purple. A purple dress, with a purple necklace and intricate lace details, much like the dress that she arrived in might’ve looked like before getting destroyed. She tries to draw it, despite her mediocre artistic abilities, but every time she draws it, it turns out different and none of them feel right. She throws her pen against a wall, frustration making itself known through her actions. She hears her parents’ chatter cease, the apartment growing silent. She lets out another frustrated grunt as she throws herself on her bed, thrashing wildly in an attempt to expel the energy building up in her body. It works, but only a little bit. She can hear her parents whisper to each other, their words unintelligible to Stephanie’s ears. She sighs, picking herself up from her pitiful tantrum and wandering out of her room and to the kitchen.

She is always hungry. She doesn’t know if she’s always been like that, or if that’s just something that has manifested during her time as Stephanie, but it’s annoying nonetheless. They can’t exactly afford to feed her neverending appetite, especially with Arthur spending more and more money on his criminal ventures. He really is ruining this family, Stephanie thinks. Regardless, she digs through the fridge, severely lacking in anything still edible, but she ends up finding a probably-alright-to-eat bag of ham and a stale loaf of bread that still has a little life to give. She makes herself a sandwich and eats it slowly, keeping an ear out for any sign that he parents might exit their room. 

Eventually, their door clicks and Arthur storms out angrily, slamming the front door on his way out of the apartment hard enough to shake the room, Crystal quietly making her way out of her bedroom to stare at the from door with a frown etched into her face. Stephanie stares at her with a curious look.

“He’ll come back, he always does.” Crystal sighs and retreats back into her room, closing the door gently, leaving Stephanie in the kitchen/living room alone.

She really has to do something about this man tearing their family apart. She may only have been part of this family for two years, but Crystal has done nothing but love and help her, and Stephanie refuses to let Arthur turn her into a shell of a human just because he’s a wannabe rogue. She won’t let that happen to her. 

~~~

Stephanie stares at the TV screen, Arthur narrowly escaping from the police once more as a news anchor explains the situation. Cluemaster is back, he’s trying to enact some revenge plot after his latest stint in blackgate. Stephanie is furious to learn that he’s escaped that pitiful excuse for a prison once more, slamming her fist into the couch with a thud. She breaths heavily, staring at Crystal with tears welling in her eyes as Crystal reads the screen. 

“He’ll probably come home soon.” She whisper. Stephanie shakes her head, opening her mouth to hopefully push out a word, any word.

“No.” Stephanie cries. “Don’t let him.” She rests her head against the back of the couch. 

“This is his home, too, Stephanie.” Crystal tries to reason.

“No, mom, he doesn’t deserve to come home.” Stephanie’s voice cracks. Crystal shrugs, biting her lip before turning around and locking the bedroom door behind her. Stephanie lets out a strangled scream, defeat running through her veins as thoughts of him being home flash through her mind. She has to do something about this. She has to. She refuses to stand by and watch that man destroy the peace that her and her mother have worked so hard for. 

With her newfound energy, she leaves the apartment and heads towards the nearest thrift store with the hope of finding something to spark an idea. 

In the end, she finds herself holding several yards of purple fabric, a mere concept rushing through her head, and a whole lot of determination.

~~~

She stands on the roof, her new costume brushing uncomfortably against her skin as the cool Gotham breeze blows around her. She ignores the seams, resolving to fix them once she gets home for the night, when she feels someone tackle her from behind. Before she can even process what she’s doing, she grabs the brick that lay beside her and hits to figure (who she can now make out as a boy) as hard as she can. She takes the boy’s moment of stunned silence and wriggles out from under him, Stephanie about to open her mouth to say something when she realizes who is in front of her.

“Robin?” She asks, quizzically. The suit looks so similar, yet so different, from the one she saw that first night she woke up. There are pants this time– she always thought the leotard looked quite odd– and there are subtle details (like certain shades and patterns) that make the outfit unique. That and the fact that the boy wearing the suit is obviously not the boy who saved her that night. Stephanie looks at the unknown boy with disdain clearly evident in her eyes. The boy grasps his head, groaning as he screws his eyes shut.

“That was your fault. You’re the one that tackles me.” Stephanie bristles.

“What the hell?!” The boy replies oh-so-elegantly. Stephanie stares at the boy. 

“Why are you here?” She asks, although it sounds more like a statement than a question. The boy stares at her with disbelief.

“Who do you think you are, prancing around the streets in a costume, playing hero?” Robin dodges the question. Stephanie scoffs and crosses her arms. 

“I could be asking you the same thing.” She looks him up and down in an obviously-judgemental way. He glares at her.

“I have Batman.” He tries. Stephanie rolls her eyes.

“And I have an asshole father, get in line. And that doesn’t answer my question.” Robin stands up straight and throws his hands up in exasperation.

“You never even asked a question, and that doesn’t even make sense!” Stephanie smirks.

“I never meant for it to make sense. Bye Batboy!” She laughs as she runs off, turning from street to street to make sure he can’t follow her home. He might not be the batboy from before, but he’s still a batboy nonetheless. Maybe he’d be willing to teach her how to fight better sometime. Perhaps, if they run into each other again, she’ll ask. (Or maybe she’s just desperate for a friend)

~~~

A man stands in front of her, red staining her vision as he moves around the room. 

“You’re with big ol’ Batsy, aren’cha.” The man spits. She wriggles her hands, the two bound together with tightly round rope. She glares at the red-tainted frame, trying to speak but her woulds come out muffled through the duct tape covering her mouth. The man laughs, the sound coming out more of a crackle through his voice modifier. “You know, I recently learned that, once the third little birdie was hurt, the old man threw you into the suit. How crazy is that?” The man whispers, leaning his masked-face only inches in front of her own. She protests, trying desperately to tell the man that it was her choice to be Robin while Tim was out of commission, but it comes out more of a strangled scream. She pants as she slackens her arms, trying to get a full breath of air despite the tape that covers her nose.

She looks back up at the man, her eyes tracking him as he paces back and fourth in front of her. She tilts her head curiously, the movements reminding her of someone she used to know. There’s a thump on roof above them, the man pausing his pacing with a deep breath. He smiles, she can see that through his body language and the crinkle of his eyes. 

“It seems the Batsy has come for his knockoff Robin.” He turns to her as he squares his shoulders, trying to make himself look begger than he already is. 

Spoiler gasps.

“Robin!” She exclaims, her words still muffled from the tape, but she couldn’t care less. This was the boy who saved her from the streets, who found her a home and checked on her while he was still alive. The only person who truly made her feel safe when her dad was out of jail. Even though he was currently holding her hostage, she will always remember her Robin. 

~~~

Spoiler runs across the roof, Oracle speaking directions into her ear as Nightwing shouts orders at Robin from behind her. The sound of gunshots echo throughout the street, and when Spoiler finally arrives at the abandoned warehouse they were called to, she sees Batman and Red Hood in the middle of a ring of low level thugs, all of them armed with their weapons pointed at the two bats. 

Nightwing takes charge, signalling for Robin and Spoiler to hang back while Nightwing tries to scope out the situation. Spoiler and Robin lock eyes, having a silent conversation before both jumping down from the rafters onto a pile of crates. Nightwing’s eyes widen, trying to call them back but Robin speaks up before Nightwing can get his attention.

“Hey, that fight looks a little uneven, don’t you think you should play fair?” Robin smirks when the group of thugs all turn to him, given Red Hood and Batman a moment of distraction to allow them to start knocking the thugs off their feet. Spoiler joins the fight, causing the warehouse erupt in chaos. Nightwing joins the fray, and with all five of them fighting, they got the thugs unconscious and tied up with minimal injuries. 

“So, what was up with these thugs?” Spoiler asks, an eyebrow raised at Batman, who just grunts. 

“I was in the middle of a stakeout, but they brought out a kid so I stepped in. Batman heard the shots.” Red Hood replies.

“Since when did you call for help?” Spoiler teases. Red Hood scoffs and turns away, obviously trying to avoid the conversation. 

“Sofia?” He calls out, checking behind the stack of crates. Spoiler looks at Robin with a questioning look, who merely answers her with a shrug. Hood reappears from behind the stack, a young girl with dried tear tracks on her cheeks and blood splattered on her dress. A purple dress, one that looks oh-so familiar. She narrows her eyes, trying to access long-lost memories in an attempt to remember why she recognized the girl. The girl in the dress looks like the one in her dreams, the one that bears a happy, bright girl that seems to never have the same face, as if it changes every time Spoiler focuses too hard on it.

The familiar feeling of frustration bubbles up in her chest as she latches on to the image of the dress, trying to draw it closer as she analyzes the details and tries to match them with the dress in front of her. Red Hood gives her a weird look through his mask.

“Is Sofia alright?” Batman asks, surprising Spoiler. Through the corner of her eye, she can see Robin’s own eyebrow raised. Red Hood nods. 

“I’ll be clocking out early, I want to make sure that she’s safe. I told her to stay home but clearly she takes after me and refuses to stay off the streets.” Red Hood sighs and leads the girl to the exit, but pauses when he hears Spoiler’s gasp. 

“Princess Sofia?” She asks, her eyes wide as they flash with recognition, memories from her old life rushing back into her brain at a speed that she can’t contend with. Flashes of her arguing with the girl, calling her a faker while guilt filled her every bone. Her finally learning to be nice to the girl, to accept her as part of her family. Her and the girl giggling while messing with their dad, or their brother. Her, seeing the girl be bullied while at school and ignoring it, trying not to feel guilty about standing by and letting the girl get hurt. 

A name, Amber, accompanying every memory, the name that brings up bright smiles and deep-set frowns, every emotion possible swirling in her stomach as tears that lean neither happy nor sad well up in her eyes. Her breath stutters, as if all the wind was knocked out of her. She clutches her head, a sharp pound already forming against her skull. SHe doesn’t notice when Red Hood freezes, looking at her with confusion as he glances between Sofia and Spoiler. 

“Do I… know you?” Sofia asks, lost. Spoiler gulps.

“You’re so– you’re so young, how are you so young? It’s been years, Sofia, why do you look the same?” Spoiler replies, not offering the girl a real answer. Sofia’s eyebrows furrow. 

“What do you mean, it’s been years?” She looks around the warehouse, nervousness flowing off of her. Spoiler takes a breath, trying to find the memory that her brain was talking about. 

“That- that night! When mom, and dad, and James,” her words are choked off by a sob, the image of her family, bloodied and on the ground, filling her mind. Sofia looks at Spoiler with wonder. 

“Amber?” Sofia asks breathlessly, looking the girl up and down. 

“Yeah,” Spoiler lets out a broken laugh. “That’s my name.”