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Little Stephanie Brown is used to the sight of blood. She washed it from her nose and her face enough times, bit her lip so hard once that her teeth dug into the tender flesh, saw the used bandages stained of red in the trash when mom and dad changed the dressings on their own wounds: daddy these he collected by being out with weird people, mommy these in the crook of her elbows when she used too many needles and it made her arms bleed.
It was new however, to catch a stranger patching himself up in her bathroom, washing away the blood in the sink.
It was the middle of the night, eight-year-old Steph hadn't meant to make any noise but she was thirsty, she exited her bedroom to head toward the kitchen and fill a glass of water.
Except that... she heard someone swearing from the half-opened door of the lighted bathroom on the ground floor when she arrived down the stairs.
She froze, eyes wide open and heart pounding in her chest.
That was not dad or mom's voice, not uncle Chuck's either. One of daddy's friends, maybe? She dearly hoped not. It scared her beyond compare, when dad had people over for his 'parties' during the evenings.
She was always terrified someone would come upstairs and see her, she hid in the closet of her bedroom and waited, afraid, for the guests to finally leave the house.
Notwithstanding this, because she relied on an inquisitive nature, Stephie couldn't help: she had to take a step forward and gaze at what was happening in her bathroom.
She silently pushed the door in order to sneak a peek inside.
Shirtless, a redheaded young man was stitching an injury on his flank, his shirt stained with red placed on the bathtub edge, his ginger hair tousled and his teeth gritted together whilst he performed the meticulous operation.
Stephanie blinked, curiosity replaced with... a strange pang of compassion. The same kind of pity mixed with warm feelings she felt for Sphinx, the little robin she saved last year and nursed back to health after finding the poor hatchling abandoned, probably because his mother deemed him 'too weak' to survive. Stephie took care of him, gave him a name, fed him, taught him how to use his feathery wings, watched over him with the dedication of a loving parent... until the bird left one day, when grown enough to fly away and live his own life.
The young man's back was covered in scars. Pink, white, greyish at some places. A gruesome map of lines of various lengths and shapes crossing on his milky, lightly freckled skin. Some curved on his shoulders too, and when he turned slightly, following the movement of his stitching, she noticed he has a couple on the torso and arms as well. At multiple spots, his skin turned blue and purple where it bruised, his lip was bleeding and there was a ugly red mark on his cheek below the right eye.
He visibly got into a fight, what explains his recent wounds, but the scars were ancient. Fossilized on his skin, like a permanent reminder of harsh, difficult times.
"... Hello?"
Steph realized she stared and the guy suddenly spotted her when he looked up, having finished his stitches and about to take off his medical gloves (the ones stored in the top corner of the bathroom shelf dad uses to stitch himself too) covered of thick red liquid.
"Who are you?!" She asked right away.
She should be scared or retreat now that he crossed her gaze, nevertheless... she felt no fright at the sight of him. None at all.
"... My name is Edward," the mysterious guest answered.
He had a soft, smooth voice. He also sounded exhausted, but it's nearly 3 on the morning and he is currently washing his own blood off so... that's not much of a surprise.
"You must be Stephie," he went on because the kid kept staring, not scared yet unsure regarding how to behave. "I, hu... I work with your dad. And I know your mom. I had... how to say that, a sort of 'accident' and my hideout is compromised. My boyfriend is in Arkham, my friends are... absolute douchebags, I needed a safe place to crash at to... hu... take care of a few things. I hadn't meant to wake you up, I would have waited tomorrow morning to ask your parents if I can squat at your place for a bit."
"Stephanie."
"Hu?"
"My name is Stephanie. I don't know if you're friendly yet, so you can't use a short version."
'Edward' grinned, visibly amused by her bold answer.
"Very well, Miss Stephanie. Do not worry. I'm a friend of the family. I know we've never been introduced, but... I heard about you already, and I just need material to patch myself up. I won't hurt you."
"I know. The bandages are in the cupboard on your left. Third from the ground. To wrap around your middle."
"Thank you," he nodded, appreciative. "I won't take long."
Ed was not expecting the kid would be sitting in the living room when he exited the bathroom at last, expectantly waiting for him on the couch.
He settled next to her, wearing a pair of (too big for him) pajamas borrowed from Arthur which he found in the cupboards.
"You have a boyfriend?" The girl asked right away.
"Sort of," Eddie smiled, amused this is her first inquiry. "It's... complicated. Sometimes we're in love, sometimes I'm his... fear experiment or something. And yet I... come back to him, like a 'moth attracted by a flame' kind of effect. The worst in this is that I'm well aware how that sounds, however I don't do anything to remedy the issue. But. That's adult concerns. Shouldn't you have gone back to bed?"
"I can't sleep when I overthink. You went to Arkham?"
"..."
"Are you the Riddler?" She brought up without transition, digging into the heart of the subject. "You don't have your costume or anything shiny and bright with you and you look kinda miserable, like a stray cat who has just been kicked by mean people and searches a place to lick his wounds clean. So I didn't make the link right away but... daddy talks about the Riddler. A lot. He likes him and I saw him on TV multiple times. Often with his boyfriend, the Scarecrow. You're as short as the Riddler is, I mean, for an adult man; you're young, you wear his first name and you're a ginger. So... is that you?"
"That's me," he chuckled, delighted by the audacity behind her not-so-flattering depiction. "The... miserable, short, young ginger who resembles a wounded stray cat. I love it, I should ask doctor Leland to add this to the description page in my file."
"Did you kill people?"
"Never," he shook his head no. "Contrary to what the Gothamite news enjoy to make citizens believe, not everyone is like the Joker. Besides, I'm... kind of unique in my case."
"Because you're younger than the other rogues?"
"Among others. Plus I don't take account of the times my former lieutenants or people under my commands snapped and took a life, I consider that's not my responsibility. For myself nonetheless? I never killed, and I never will. It's just... not what I want to be remembered for."
"What do you want to be remembered for?"
"... I don't know anymore. It used to be... for being a proud Batman ally. Then it slipped to being the smartest man in Gotham. And now..."
"You're not a villain?"
"I am a villain! I fight my beloved Bat. But... I'm not 'a villain' like my colleagues understand the term. To them and to the bats I'm... just a guy. Not even a genius. And certainly not a threat. Just a scared little boy playing dress-up who somehow befriended the monsters under his bed and ended up tolerated among them. Never liked, never considered one of them but... tolerated. Talk about a glorious fate."
He sighed. He sounded lost, broken.
Defeated.
"It's okay," Steph comforted him softly. "You don't have to be like everybody else. That would be boring. Better be remembered for who you really are rather than for trying to copy people you won't ever be."
He sent her an interested gaze.
"Thank you, Miss Stephanie. That's... exactly what I needed to hear, actually," he acknowledged, a warmth of a new kind blossoming in his heart.
"You can call me Stephie. You're friendly."
After what she helped him set up the couch with bed sheets, a blanket and a pillow, then they wished each other good night for the little 'night time' left.
Steph had a feeling it could be... fun, to host the Riddler as a guest in their house.
She felt already rejoiced by the prospect to see him again, over breakfast in a couple of hours.