Chapter Text
A letter. That is all you had about your father, it wasn't even written by him, no, it took on the lavish scrawl you know so well but never knew the hand that wrote it. You loved your mother or so you've been told, there's feint memories and vague impressions of a hand carding your hair and humming you to sleep.
She didn't leave much behind besides you and a journal and of course the letter. It's what started this whole mess, you think you would have been fine never finding it with it's apologies and worries. It was a confession.
I left you with a good man, he has always been good to me and I know that will extend to you, I asked him no to tell you the truth, I didn't want you to live with the burden of your blood, I have made many mistakes but none so heartbreaking as Bruce Wayne my only consolation is that I got you out of it my little star.
The man you grew up with, tall with slim shoulders and a face that rarely smiled, he had steady hands and showed his love with entrusting you with responsibility, he was a doctor once upon a time but now he was a farmer have been most of your life.
You called him dad, that at least will never change, he raised you, clothed you, educated you, taught you a thousand different things in a million different ways,
You were different, you knew this from a young age it's something that reared it's ugly head on the rare occasion you left the farm, your dad never made you feel anything but normal, your body didn't match the vision of yourself but he took it in stride there wasn't much of a conversation about it just quiet acceptance of daily life allowing you to be you really are.
He wasn't your father, you know that now but he won't ever stop being your dad, it's why it was so difficult asking him if you could go try and find your father, not for any reason besides that terrible itching feeling of just wanting to know.
Do I look like him? Do we have the same eyes? Remember when one of the sheep gave birth and the lamb was defective? You let me take her in to take care of her but had the same temperament as her mother. Am I like that?
It was a surprise your dad said yes, you grew up on the farm, was taught from inside the farm house and had no real desire to go to town or to school, everyone always looked at you strangely like the questions you asked or the way you reacted was something that didn't fit into their clean cut cloth.
There was rules, of course there was, your dad loved rules and you had no reason to go against them.
Be back by spring, don't call if you get stuck, you got yourself into this you will get yourself out.
Simple, almost plain in comparison to the strictness you were so lovingly used to, discipline makes the man. He told you the first time you tried stitching flesh, one of the cows got stuck in barbed fence, your hands wouldn't stop shaking he said you did good for your first time, the stitched tore through the flesh several days later and eventually the cow had to be put down because of infection.
The journey to Gotham was a life altering, you didn't have a car or money, you lived on a farm and did chores all day you had no need for cash outside what your dad provided, you didn't think it would be much of an issue.
It was, of course, but you found your way around the long stretches of asphalt roads and rail lines, met strangers and became friends, drifted around from people on college break, found out the world is better than what you knew. The hope grew and swayed in the summer breeze that maybe just maybe this wasn't a bad idea after all that was until Central City.
You've never encountered a hero before, sure you've heard of them, knew they existed, there was no avoiding the news even if you got it in snippets on the farm, out of the comfort of green pastures you heard a lot more than you ever got to.
Hearing it and seeing it was a whole different thing, you were unlucky or maybe in an odd way very lucky to have seen the Flash in action, it was devastating, the damage ravaged buildings and smoke filled the air, it was later known as a terrible tragedy in Central City, the death toll higher than you can count on your hands and feet, you remember the day most by the screaming and that brilliant orange red blur moving past you.
You almost quit your quest, wanting to go back home and just sit on the same couch as your dad and listen as he explains anatomy once again.
You didn't, you were to stubborn for that, it would have been a waste to get this far just to quit, your dad hated wasting anything, especially time.
So you moved on, tried not to think of blood soaked hands and calling for medics and scrambling to help whoever was left on the street. Your dad raised a man of action, everyone seemed liked headless chickens in a disaster, you almost resented there panic, almost.
The days seem to drag from then on, most of it spent walking on and on, you couldn't bring yourself to hitch hike again felt like you couldn't hold anyone's gaze let alone a conversation.
Eventually there was a train that seemed to be going in the right direction and well you still didn't have money relying on the kindness and generosity of others, you didn't feel guilty for hopping on a train without paying, you knew your dad would be proud for being quick on your feet.
Now your here at the edges of Gotham, it's raining, Autumn's loving cold grasp snaking in like an old friend, the rain is colder than what your used to or maybe it's the wind really doing a number on you.
Gotham looked like the most stunning city you have ever seen in the distance, tall imposing buildings each with their own melancholic grey stone and glittering lights, the sight of it alone made a tight feeling in your chest curl horribly with fascination and pure adoration.
You tried to hitch hike in but no car stopped or even slowed down, speeding past like you were just a ghost in the cold. So with no other choice you let your feet carry you, one waterlogged step at a time over the bridge, you've memorized the address by now, the only piece of information your dad gave you to guide you like the north star.
The city was more stunning up close, even with the litter in the streets and the stench of smog and car exhaust, there was something comforting about the gargoyles peering down onto the street, the way the warm orange glow of the streetlights illuminating each fallen drop of rain.
You found yourself lucky to find a map of the city on a large board that seemed to be eerily out of place in the area but there was no use of looking a gift horse in the mouth.
So you walked and walked and you stopped feeling your feet a long time ago when the buildings started to shrink into town houses, starting to grow further and further apart from each other before becoming more and more grand, the hills getting steeper but the rain never getting any lighter.
Doubt started to grow into you but there really was no other place to go now.
When you reached the gates of the Wayne Manor in the distance you can see the gravel driveway leading up to the beyond large building, rain wrapped and appearing straight out of the movies you loved to watch when you were a kid.
You stood and watched tempted to just say. I did it, I'm here, I completed my goal I can leave now. Your face feels hot, you can't feel your hands now either. You stare.
"Can I help you?" A voice calls from nowhere, you startle backwards looking around before laying eyes on a small box attached to the wall next to the gate it crackles to life once again. "It's very late." The voice was smooth but old with a very prominent English accent.
You walk forward cautiously towards the intercom searching for a button like you've seen on others in the city to respond, there is none. "I can hear you, though the wind is awfully loud." You didn't even notice, your voice is trapped in your throat, you never actually thought about what to say, thinking it would just come to you when you got here.
"I'm looking for Bruce Wayne." Your voice sounds ragged to your own ears, your tongue pushing against your teeth just to try and stay calm.
"It is a rather inopportune time would you like me to call you a taxi?" The voice is like a string of reason, but you have no money, no where to go.
"I-" You stop for a second. I'm his son, he probably doesn't know me. "My mothers name is Stratt she knew him once." You say instead. "I just- can I please see him? I'll leave straight after."
Silence stretches, you count the seconds but miss a few numbers, this doesn't feel any sort of real but the discomfort keeps you from slipping into blankness.
The iron-wrought gates creak open and then- "Come inside you'll catch your death out there." The voice sounds more weary than before it reminds you of the time the animals kept escaping the barn in the middle of the night, your dads disappointed sigh.
"Thank you." You whisper and your unsure if your voice is even able to carry into a microphone you can't see.
The gravel sounds pleasant to your ears but your body can't stop shivering, you don't even know when it started.
The front door opens and someone steps out but you can't see from the distance, they walk down the stairs an umbrella firmly in hand to meet you at the bottom of the staircase, you smile at the man with your sure looks more like a grimace than anything actually polite.
You want to talk but can't find the energy to, the man, grey hair, wrinkles, but well aged, slim shoulders, gloved hands shifts the umbrella to cover you as you walk up the staircase and inside the house.
"Come in, quick now, it's freezing out here." His voice is nice to listen to, soothing and perfectly devoid of any strong emotion.
The entrance is massive, you've never seen anything like it in your entire life, marble floors, clean perfect pillars, a giant chandelier casting light across wall tapestries and a grand staircase.
The man leads you off to the side past an entryway, through what you presume is a dining room that could have easily have fit thirty people, into a side door to a kitchen that could feed triple the amount of people and once again into another side door that leads to a long hallway.
"Sir?" You ask feeling dizzier by the second.
"Yes?" The man replies putting the wet folded up umbrella against a wall before opening a door to a room that looks as if it could have fit four of your bedrooms from the farm.
"What is happening?" Your voice sounds weak again and the man frowns.
"Have you not been listening?" He asks and you flinch at the question you didn't even realize he had been talking.
The mans frown deepens as he places a hand on your shoulder, you swallow back another flinch suddenly aware you've been dripping water all over the extravagant floors you've been mindlessly walking through.
"I-" Your gaze drops to the floor, you can feel your hair dripping water on the back of your neck and you shiver again.
Your being lead again and you don't protest, yet another door is opened in the room and your being guided into a bathroom where the man gently pushed down upon your shoulder for you to sit on a closed toilet lid.
You just watch it feels like it's all you can do as the man turns the tap of a bath and water pours out steaming hot, you find yourself in awe of it, it took minutes you couldn't wait at the farm for the water to run hot.
"I'm afraid you may be experiencing hypothermia, it's in both of our best interest to get you warm, can you undress yourself or do you need assistance?" The man speaks voice slower than before tone gentle and careful not to overstep.
"Yes." You find yourself saying instinctually and move to start taking off your shirt realizing your no longer wearing your backpack but you don't focus on that, hypothermia is bad, can now recognize it once it's been pointed out by someone else.
You can't curl your fingers around the bottom of your shirt but you try to anyway, your face feels stiff and you can't stop shaking.
"I-" The words die off, embarrassment curling inside you realizing that you do in fact need help. "Please help me." You force yourself to say, logically you know there is no shame in asking for help when you could very well go into shock at any moment.
The man moves closer and helps removes your clothes in polite silence leaving you in your boxers, your chest is bare and the scars are stark against your skin the most prominent being two long slashes under your chest, they make you happy when you see them and your mind is drifting off when the man tugs you up off to stand up, you stumble a step then two, the older gentlemen being surprisingly strong.
He's talking again but your to focused on taking the steps closer to the bathtub, he helps you get in and it feels like it's burning, there's no steam now, so you know it can't even be as hot as you body is telling you it is, you sit down anyway nearly falling twice to do so.
You can't stop shivering the man says something but you don't respond again focused on the feeling of your limbs starting to warm up again, there's a sound of a door closing and when you turn you see the bathroom empty, nausea swoops into your gut but you settle to lay down in the bath, your eyes closing shut, it should be okay for a little while right?