Chapter Text
Her chest heaves with each breath, burning with each inhale.
She straightens and looks up at the sky and for the first time in her memory, the stars of the Gotham night sky look back.
It starts in her chest as something tight, like she’s about to have a panic attack, it moves up her throat and her mouth stretches into what must be an unnatural grin. She throws her head back and laughs.
She's fucking free.
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Bruce Wayne was a well-mannered and intelligent boy.
Bryce Wayne was a well-mannered and intelligent girl .
It’s incredible how one little word can change a child's life. How such a small word can change the world.
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Bryce kicked and screamed as the men grabbed her arms to drag her away.
She didn’t want to!
She wants to stay with Alfred!
She wants to go home!
The men threw her into a sterile, white-padded cell.
She ran for the door but it was already closed.
She sobbed, tearless, as she banged on it, shouting for her mother, her father, Alfred.
She wants to go home.
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Bryce wondered sometimes, what her life would’ve been like if she were a boy instead of a girl.
Would she be so similar to her mother? Would she be more like her father?
Would she have been different?
God she hopes so, she wouldn’t wish the beginning of her life on anybody.
Well… almost anybody, Joker being a notable exception.
…and Ortega.
And Ra’s.
And the man that attempted to steal her daughter.
And– well, she takes that back, not on any non-monsters.
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“So, Bryce–”
“Wayne.”
“–I was… what?”
“You don’t get to call me Bryce.”
The psychologist sighs, as though her wanting basic respect was difficult, “I’m here to help you, Bryce, no matter what you think.”
Bryce doesn’t move from her position, straight-backed and empty eyes, just like mom taught– no, don’t think about it, she’s not safe.
The man waits her out for a moment before sighing again, “Alright,” he sets down his clipboard and stands from his chair, “We’ll try again after your next session.”
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As the daughter of Thomas Wayne, Bryce Wayne grew up knowing her place in the world.
She was taught that no one should be talked down to. It didn't matter who they were or where they were from, everyone deserves respect in some capacity.
People like that psychologist, however… deserved a little less.
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The people here in this… asylum, believed Bryce insane.
…she was technically , but that's beside the point. Her mother lived with the same affliction and ran Wayne Enterprises side by side with her father. She was never spoken of as insane.
However, being considered ‘unwell’, as everyone put it (except Alfred, he never belittled her like that, always told her what is and isn’t any of this half-cocked bullocks), and a woman – she always thought of how mom would clutch at her pearls as dramatically as possible whenever someone said that word like it was a curse. She laughed at the people who did, she was never lesser because of what body she was put into and she knew it – people tended to underestimate her.
That’s what made it so easy to escape.
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As the daughter of Martha Wayne, Bryce Wayne grew up manipulative and disillusioned with the world.
She knew how society viewed her.
For every time people cooed when she danced with her father, there was someone talking about how she was only going to be good for children. For every time she smiled, someone tried to… buy her from her home. Everything she did was being picked apart by everyone around her.
Her mother taught her to use that to her advantage.
Show them what they want to see.
If people wanted to see a weak little girl for them to ‘ save’? To ‘ protect’? Then that would be what they got.
That was when she struck.
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She couldn’t stop running. She had to keep going, had to cross the bridge into Gotham proper.
She needed to get off of Arkham Island, away from the Asylum.
By her estimation, she had three hours before someone noticed that she was missing, one hour before the GCPD was called, and another two before anyone got their act together to check the Manor.
Six hours. More than enough time to make it to the Manor and get legal on the line.
She’ll be fine.
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Bruce was nine when his parents were murdered, all because he wanted to leave a movie early. He blamed himself for that.
Bryce was ten. They died in a confirmed assassination. She blames no one but the person who ordered their deaths.
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Westward Bridge took her twenty minutes to cross. Five and a half hours.
She makes it through the Theatre District using the back alleys, it takes longer than she would like. Four hours and forty-five minutes.
The first bridge on Sprang River takes her to Burnley.
She has two options, go through the Diamond District to Amusement Mile, it’s faster, but includes higher crime rates and more police, or go through Otisburg and over Trigate Bridge, it takes more time, but isn’t high-risk… fuck it, she’s on a time crunch.
She makes it over the Miagani Channel to Amusement faster than she thought she would. Mostly due to the fact that she got an adrenaline jump due to the men following her for eight blocks. It takes her a little over an hour. Three and a half hours.
She cuts through the Gotham Fairgrounds instead of going around them, it gets her odd looks, but it cuts fifteen minutes off her time. Three hours.
It takes her five minutes to get over the bridge from Amusement to Bristol.
Now comes the hard part.
Bristol, being a wealthy area, has one major road that leads nowhere near the Wayne Estate. She needs to cut across underdeveloped land and even when she gets back onto the property, the Manor is nearly a mile away.
Her shoes were taken when she was put into the Asylum. Her feet are bleeding.
She doesn’t stop running.
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She remembers… imprints. Sounds, snapshots, never anything concrete.
The screams– the bangs.
They were at a brunch of some kind, she can’t even remember for what. They were leaving the restaurant when the shots went off. There were reporters.
Alfred was waiting for them at the limo, he was holding the door.
Then they were on the ground and… she was dragged down with her mother. They were holding hands.
Alfred was running for her. Everyone else was running away.
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She makes it with fifty-three minutes to spare.
She practically rips apart the front lawn flower bed trying to find the spare key to the family entrance. Her hands were shaking so much she could barely unlock the door.
Practically falling through the door, she starts shouting, “Alfred!” The lights are on, she knows he’s here, “Alf red!”
“Bryce?” Alfred's voice beckons from one of the hallways around the stairs, he looks as though he’s seen a ghost.
“Alfred,” she sobs. She practically throws herself into his arms, nearly taking him down to the floor, “Alfred, you have to help me! They’re gonna–”
“Bryce, love, it’s alright, I’m never letting you go back there.”
She lets herself sob since the first time she was forcefully taken from the Manor.
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Her father raised her kindly, the doting parent if there ever was one.
The effect this had on her was very strange. Where her male counterpart would've been taught by their father how to tend to Wayne Enterprises, she was taught how to tend to people. When Bruce would've been taught how managerial practice works, Thomas showed her how to thread a needle.
It was all quite normal to those on the outside. Sexist, one might say if it was seen in modern day. It wasn't really. The Waynes would never be so uncouth. Bryce merely needed a different type of care than Bruce.
You see, the women of the Kane family had an unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on who you were) affliction.
They were all insane.
To different extents, mind you, some were just clinically crabby, others were (alleged) murders, the usual. Martha was merely intelligent.
Bryce… was something else entirely.
The Waynes, after all, had their own set of problems.
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Alfred ends the call with the Wayne family lawyers and PR team ten minutes before the GCPD knocks on the Manor door.
The legal team makes it there in three and the PR team gives an official statement about Bryce’s situation within forty.
It would be a very bad idea for them to try and take Bryce away.
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BRYCE MARTHA WAYNE; TRUTH OF THE MISTREATED DAUGHTER OF GOTHAMS ‘ROYALTY’
Bryce grins, “Alfred,” she holds up the newspaper from her place at the kitchen island, “They’re done for.”
Alfred turns from the stove and gives her a soft smile, “Indeed, Mistress Bryce, how about a celebratory ice cream?”
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Contrary to what most people believe about her gender in the twentieth century, Bryce isn’t stupid. She knows that the only reason she was forced into Arkham is because she was a threat to someone and it was the easiest way to get rid of her. Now she just needs to figure out who.
Which led her to a rather unhealthy obsession with all things in her legal (or legal once she reaches eighteen) possession. Most, if not all, is related to WE.
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About a week after her parents were killed, these… men showed up at the Manor. The police were there too.
Alfred was cleaning dishes, she was keeping him company after lunch. He went to answer the door… she doesn’t know what happened, but suddenly she was being dragged off her stool and out of the house.
Alfred kept screaming for her.
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She’s thirteen and it’s been two and a half years since she escaped from her own personal hell. She’s safe, if not sane (she gave that up about two months in), and about to do something stupid.
“They’re called the Court.”
Alfred looks at her, then looks back to the folder, “Mistress Bryce, they seem quite dan–”
“They’re responsible for my parents. They’re responsible for… for me.”
Alfred sighs, “And what exactly do you plan to do?”
She grins, “Be a Wayne of course.”
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Later, when she had a daughter of her own, Bryce finally realized the drastic differences in the way her parents took care of her. Her father loved her, she had no doubt, but her mother took it to a whole new level.
Physics, biology, chemistry, astronomy, history, calculus, artillery, geometry, economics, marketing, accounting, architecture, engineering– anything that Martha could find in both Wayne Manors library and all over the damn world , she put in front of Bryce and she ate it up. She had favorites, of course, but Martha knew that Bryce needed to know as much as she could.
Martha knew her daughter was going to be… something, with the unfocused passion she had. She didn’t know what, didn’t know if it would be good or bad, frankly she didn’t really care.
Martha had never had a drive to do much in any sort of way until she met Thomas and kicked his ass in an impromptu sparing match. She knew she had to marry him, she was lucky he was like-minded.
Then she had Bryce and she realized that her child had a drive to fix, maintain, protect, keep, and she was excited to see where it went.
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"At times the world may seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe that there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough. and what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may in fact be the first steps of a journey."
- Lemony Snicket