Chapter Text
Everyone knows that each of the Bats had a special kind of person. Of course, they would save anyone that needed help, but there are certain groups of people that drift toward certain vigilantes. Sex workers gossiping with Nightwing in the Bowery, Park Row kids letting down their barriers for Red Hood, and immigrant mothers leaving treats out for Robin were all commonplace sights in Gotham Knights.
Tonight, a girl sits atop a rooftop, staring at the ground below. This high up, people and cars looked inconsequentially tiny, like little bugs. Her black hair whipped around like fabric in the wind. She tried to imagine that every person had their own lives, that time hadn’t stopped for everyone else, but she found she couldn’t. Below her, the ugly concrete infrastructure turned into a sea of swarming shadows, as if when she closed her eyes and tipped over the edge she would just keep falling and falling forever—
“Hi.”
She turned around, and from the shadows of the rooftop access door, two white lens-covered eyes regarded her calmly.
“H-hi,” she said weakly, heart beginning to pick up speed.
“What’s your name?”
“...Luisa.”
“Cool. What are you doing up here?”
“N-nothing,” she stuttered, not even buying her own lie.
The eyes tilted, like he was cocking his head. “I don’t think I believe that,” he said.
She knew what he was going to say before he even askedthe question, but the question still hit like a wrecking ball. “Are you going to jump off?”
Louisa hesitated, sweat dripping down her back. She honestly didn’t know. “Not with you here,” she decided aloud, reasoning that he would definitely catch her if she did.
“That’s good.” The vigilante crept forward, exposing himself to the neon night. Luisa got her first good look at him, and it wasn’t somebody she recognised.
He was dressed in a mostly black, fitted costume. Upon first glance, his belt and insignia held the only splashes of color on his suit— a shiny metallic yellow— aside from his wrists, which were wrapped in strips of white athletic fabric.
“My partner died. They were everything I had,” she said blankly, fighting against the flashbacks. “I don’t know who I am without them.”
He sighed heavily. For a moment, she could see him considering his next words. “I know how you feel. I felt like that for a while, too. Have you tried talking to someone about it? That’s a heavy thing to carry alone.”
Hesitantly, she offered, “I tried talking to the… y’know, the people at the Suicide Hotline. But they weren’t really…”
“Helpful?” The bat said wryly. “Yeah, they weren’t great for me either. They mean well, but there are a lot of untrained people and the state doesn’t really fund them right.”
“Y… yeah.” It began to dawn on her that she was really talking to a vigilante about underfunded crisis prevention programs.
“Back then,” he continued, “things were really bad for me. I know they’re really bad for you. None of the shit people usually say helped me. I couldn’t believe I had “so much to live for”, and all the people that would miss me I was pretty angry at, like if I died I’d have the last word.
“But you know what kept me going?”
Slowly, she shook her head.
“It was the fact that my favorite show hadn’t ended yet,” he admitted. She startled. “My friends and I were all big fans of Wendy the Werewolf Stalker, and I knew they’d all hate me if I gave up the chance for at least one of us to see the finale.”
“Oh. Huh,” she said slowly. “Was it… good?”
He flapped his hand at her dismissively. “Oh, no, the show hasn’t ended yet. They’ll probably be making it until the sun flickers out. How about I tell you about it, so when you get the opportunity, you can watch it too? There’s some stuff in the comics that makes the beginning way less confusing.”
Far below them, in Luisa's peripheral vision, a truck covered with emergency markings pulled up. It barely registered in her mind. “Sure,” she said, curious despite herself. She hadn’t imagined superheroes had much time to watch TV.
He talked softly for what was probably only ten minutes, but it felt like hours. He didn’t even pause when a hand came down softly, but firmly, on Louisa’s shoulder, and she peered up into the helmet-clad face of an Emergency Services member.
The first responder began tugging her backward, toward the door, murmuring encouragingly.
“Check out that show, okay?” the hero said, floppy black hair hanging in his eyes. There was an odd set to his mouth. He got up, and made his way toward the edge of the rooftop. “Stay safe out there.”
“Wait,” she whispered, even as Emergency Services wrapped her in a blanket and began coaxing her backward. The vigilante stopped on the ledge. “You never told me your name.”
The vigilante looked back at her and gave her a small, genuine smile. “You can call me Black Bat,” he said, then leapt off the rooftop, cape fluttering in his wake.