Darkness at the edge of town
Title: Darkness at the edge of town
Author: creepylicious/alles_luege
Pairing: mostly gen, John/Bruce, John/others
Rating: R
Summary: John is fresh out of the orphanage and Selina takes in strays - sometimes.
“One day someone will come along who is stronger than you, who is way meaner than you and you will crumble.”
He turns to look at her. He isn't sure if she's concerned or what. She's hard to read. “And will there be someone who will ball their fists on your behalf?” she carries on.
Warning(s): prostitution, mentions of sex and violence
Author’s Notes: This is a sequel to This city built on rotten pillars. Can be read as a standalone. Based on this prompt.
Word Count: 5.132
Beta: omletlove
Disclaimer: Don’t know, don’t own, not real
~One~
John has no idea what to do with himself. He is eighteen and fresh out of the only home he ever really knew and it had been far from perfect, but it had maybe, just maybe, been better than the one he was born into. He can't remember much of that home anymore, but what he does remember wasn't too pretty.
There were fuzzy memories of his mother, and very clear ones of his father dying, and besides that there were a lot of the orphanage Before Wayne, as John likes to call it. Before Wayne, when John used to get into fights and hate everything and everyone, except the boys in the orphanage. And then there were the memories of Wayne and the days after Wayne.
John doesn't touch the memories of Wayne often. The older he gets the more afraid he is too look at them at all.
It's no use to think about Wayne anyway. Now that everyone hates Batman.
~+~
There is a job interview that the orphanage set up and an apartment that has the rent paid for the first two months. After that it's fending for himself. He guesses it's a start.
The apartment is small and barely furnished. He has a bed, a fridge and a table with two chairs. He needs a closet. Not that John has many things. But he has some books the director let him take. And he has a picture of Batman Andy drew him as a parting gift. Andy is fucking talented; he is going to frame that thing and hang it over his bed.
This is his life now, he thinks, sitting on the floor and staring at a wall. This is his life and he has no idea what to do with it. He doesn't have a plan - yet. But what he has is some kind of freedom. At least he is only responsible for himself now. That has to count for something.
~+~
The job is okay, but it doesn't really pay enough. It might have if the new owner of the shop weren't such a tool and asshole, John thinks. The nice elderly man who interviewed John had a stroke and his nephew took over the shop.
He is chronically broke. He can barely pay his rent and even though the old landlady is kind enough not to throw him out, he knows something needs to be done.
If more of his hours are cut at the shop, he will be homeless soon.
It's hard to find a job in the city when you only have basic education - and know a bit of French. Orphanage kids mean trouble, or so most people think. Once upon a time that had been true for John too. But he thinks he is past his trouble-making days. Even he sometimes has the urge to break his boss' nose. And maybe every other bone in his worthless body.
He keeps these urges in check and when he thinks he’s going to explode with the anger he goes to visit Andy and the other boys at the orphanage. It feels a bit like coming home. Soothes his nerves. He tells them stories and doesn't lie when they ask uncomfortable questions (not many do, but more than John thought). Life is hard, but you can make it. At least that is what John still believes. So that's what he tells them.
~Two~
The first time is an accident, a misunderstanding, a happy coincidence. Whatever you want to call it.
John was honestly only looking for someone to hook up with and he maybe has a type now, whatever. Thing is the guy misunderstands and John doesn't bother to correct him after, because he really needs the cash.
When he's home again he looks long and hard into the bathroom mirror. He doesn't think he looks like a hooker. He looks like a kid who lives alone. Maybe it's a thing in the city, under-age kids selling themselves. John would be thrown in that box, he supposes. He isn't nineteen yet and he looks even younger. With his face smooth and his hair too long and eyes that have seen too much already, even he puts on a mask every day to keep the anger at bay.
He shrugs it off. It was easy earned money but John has no illusions about prostitution. Especially the under-age kind.
He switches the light off and goes to bed. He has an early shift at the store tomorrow.
~+~
John doesn't plan it, but it's really easy. He doesn't even have to do much. He just has to sit around and wait and eventually someone will approach him.
He doesn't do it often. John calls it 'occasional prostitution' in his head.
It's mostly rich guys, probably with a family and a wife and a high-ranking job, who pay him to get their dicks sucked. John doesn't do more than suck dick. Well, not after that first time, but then he didn't know it wasn't a mutual hook-up for that guy, so it doesn't really count.
It's good money he can spend on stuff other than rent.
It's money he can use to take out Andy and a few of the other boys for ice-cream. And it's not like John doesn't enjoy himself. He likes to fool around with guys, gets off on it, and of course most people like when their partner (paid or not) is getting into it. John can choose when and if he wants to hook up for money.
So, John reasons, all is good.
~+~
It stays good for a while. He has a job and the 'occasional prostitution' that gets him extra cash and sex whenever he needs to blow off steam. A win-win situation. He can save up some money, for that wardrobe he still doesn't have and treat the boys to cake and milkshakes or whatever when he visits them at the orphanage.
~+~
John has fine-tuned senses. A radar, so to speak, for guys who will make trouble, who will treat him like a piece of meat. He makes it a habit to avoid these guys. To politely decline or laugh it off or tell them they've made a mistake and he is just here for a good time. Some of them laugh it off, some try to buy him a drink, some just scoff and go away. Which is all John wants, really.
~+~
He doesn't make friends with the other kids. The kids on the streets that look so desperate. He would like to help them, but he is in no position to do it. He can barely support himself.
He doesn't make friends with anyone, is the thing. The only people he cares about are the boys in the orphanage. And the landlady who invites him for dinner on Saturdays when she has leftovers. She always has leftovers on Saturday. He helps her with stuff around the house in return.
This city might be rotten, but there are still good people living here.
John, it seems, just can't give up hope. He wonders if it will bite him in the ass one day.
~Three~
Things go bad when the asshole boss fires John to give his job to some girl he wants to bang. John would tell her all about it, but he is sure she knows. She has that look that tells John volumes about how shitty her life was and that she has no illusions about this job and life in general. John can't really be mad at her.
He is very tempted to break this asshole's nose again. He doesn't, because he really doesn't need a record. It's best to stay far away from the police, even though they cleaned up their act after the whole Dent disaster. Still, cops aren't exactly friends with driftwood, runaways, or hookers.
The underbelly of the city is still greedy, still eats its children alive. The lost, the unwanted are disappearing and no one cares.
It's one of these things that make John angry and his hands ball to fists again. Just this time his anger doesn't have a real outlet, doesn't have a real direction, because the world they're living in is a crappy one and he can't change the world.
Batman tried to only change the freaking city and look what he got for his trouble. And John doesn’t really think he should be thinking about Batman these days.
~+~
The first time John steals is roughly five weeks after he lost his job. It's easy; his heart is still pounding like mad in his chest, the mantra of wrong, wrong, wrong repeating in his head. He had been raised better than this; at least people tried and with John it stuck. There is still some moral code buried in his bones.
It's annoying as hell right now.
Somehow, after that first time, he gets mixed up with a few guys who lift stuff from garages, unmarked store-rooms, and unsupervised trucks.
John is clever and fast and that's why they like to work with him - even if he can't really lift heavy shit. They are in and out under thirty minutes when John is there.
John still tries not to be on the wrong side of the law, but it's really fucking hard to get a real job. The city doesn't make living easy for people like him.
And the shadier side of the law pays better too.
He has no illusions; he knows if he gets caught shit is going to hit the fan. John is careful, he takes only jobs with a minimum risk, and if he really needs money fast, he sits down in a bar and waits for someone to pick him up.
It works more often than it should.
~+~
John didn't think he would become a criminal and a whore when he left the orphanage. He didn't have real plans, but if he would have, it wouldn't have been this.
He still takes the time to take the boys of the orphanage out for ice-cream once a month at least. But when Andy asks him to read something and holds up a brand new copy of La Fontaine's fables John shakes his head. Makes the younger boys pick something else. Something with child detectives and thieves. Still uncomfortable as fuck, John thinks as he reads out loud.
He would rather be playing basketball, but it's getting really cold outside. Winter is around the corner, so he reads them stories about kids being good and trying to make the world a better place.
~+~
“You think he comes back?” Andy asks him and John doesn't have to ask who he means. He knows. Andy's part of the room is drowning in drawings of Batman beating up the bad guys; there are some of the Joker too. They look scary as hell.
“I don't know.”
“I wish he would,” Andy says, shading Batman's cloak.
“Yeah,” John says. He wishes that too. The city needs him. People like John - John needs him.
~+~
John realises his cash is running out as he wants to buy presents for the boys. It's all or no one and Andy really needs a few more brushes and watercolours. There is no way he can make it, he thinks.
~+~
John's done a few shady things in his young life (seducing Bruce Wayne was one of them - but still worth it, always and forever worth it), but the job Mark proposes takes the cake. He can't.
“Come one, you're like a good luck charm. And you need the cash,” Mark says.
“No, this seems like a fucking huge risk and I don't work for someone specifically,” John answers. He doesn't. It's a rule. Stealing a few TVs or whatever to sell them is less shady than taking a job to get something someone else really wants badly. Those things never end well.
Mark shrugs. “Your loss.”
Maybe John thinks, but a guy has to have some kind of moral code.
With the new laws and Batman gone you have to be extra careful what you do on the streets.
~Four~
The new shop-girl's name is Kyle. She has short black hair and a mean punch. Not that John knows from personal experience. His former boss does. She breaks his fucking nose and John is there to see it happen. It's a glorious day.
“I guess you're fired,” John says.
She grins at him. Blood running down her fingers and the asshole mumbling and cursing, holding his nose. “I'm adaptable.”
John believes that in a heartbeat. He grabs a paper-towel and hands it to her. She nods in thanks or acknowledgement and cleans her hand. Throws the paper-towel on the floor as she leaves.
John kinda wants to follow, but he doesn't. He grabs a Snickers and the bread he came for in the first place, slaps some money on the counter and leaves.
He's in good spirits the whole fucking day.
~+~
He sees Kyle here and there. Hanging out at clubs, letting men buy her drinks, dancing, and on one occasion picking someone's pocket.
She is so good at it that the guy doesn't even suspect her as he tries to buy her a drink. John is maybe a little bit awed. He is sure he could learn a trick or two, but people like her don't give away secrets of the trade for free.
~+~
One thing John's learned pretty early on is that bruises pay extra. He doesn't let guys indulge in that - at all (he has all kinds of issues with being held down and tied up). He just isn't the submissive type. Once upon a time he didn't think he could make a convincing whore either, but here he is. Maybe it's because he only works for himself and only when he wants to. But occasional prostitution is still prostitution.
He has pretty good radar when it comes to men who could be into it, but sometimes even John fails.
He is bruised and blood is dripping from his lip and the guy still keeps coming. He punches back and makes a run for it. John had too much too drink, because he wasn't out to turn tricks, he had been out to get laid and have a good time. But then this guy came up and John really needs the cash.
John is slow and unsteady. He rounds a corner and nearly collapses. He can hear the guy’s footsteps on the pavement, walking away from the mess he made of John. But he's still too close to John's position for John's comfort.
“You look like hell,” Kyle says exiting the building he is leaning against.
“Thanks,” John answers, he doesn't like to ask for help, but he guesses if someone can kick that guy's ass right now it would be her.
She looks him over and then sighs. “Someone after you?”
“Aren't they always?” John asks. As jokes go it's not the best, but whatever.
She smiles at him. Sharp like a knife. “Come in then.” She grabs his arm to support his weight and helps him up the stairs to what must be her apartment.
He passes out on her bed.
~+~
“You need to learn to kick some serious ass,” she says holding up a mug of coffee. John takes it with a nod of thanks.
“I can kick some ass,” he answers her a bit more sharply than necessary, maybe.
She raises an eyebrow. “Boy, you have a pretty face and a sharp mind, but that shit yesterday? Could have ended badly.”
At least she doesn't sugar-coat it, he thinks. “I'm just as skilled as you with your hands-”
“That's why you get on your knees and use your mouth?” she cuts in.
He shrugs. “A boy has to eat.”
She nods in acknowledgement. “There are better ways.”
“Didn't find my sugar-daddy yet,” John answers with a grin.
She grins back. “You don't need one. The only person you can depend on is yourself anyway.”
~+~
John has no real idea why Kyle takes him under her wing.
The one time he asked she gave him a look and said: “Because you're pretty.”
He doesn't believe that is the reason for a second. He doesn't really care for the reason either. She shows him how he can get more out of people for less. And in the cold winter-months she moves into his flat because the heating in hers is shit. John's landlady doesn't mind. She cooks leftovers for them both and tells them what a cute couple they are.
Kyle laughs it off later; John thinks she is way too scary to be with someone. Way too independent as well. He just can't imagine her committing to someone who is like her: a street-rat. Or in her case: a street-cat. She's just that freaking graceful.
They are a good team for those few cold winter-months. She makes coffee in the mornings, but doesn't ever cook and at night he likes to feel her warm body beside his. She doesn't mind waking up with him tangled around her.
~+~
“You think he's dead?” Kyle asks, tracing the outline of the Batman drawing Andy made for him. It's hanging on the left side of the bed, just above the crate he uses as a night-stand.
“No. Just hiding,” John answers.
She looks at him sharply. She is smart; if she wanted to, if she really cared, he is sure she could find out the truth on her own. But she doesn't really care. Maybe doesn't want to care. It's always dangerous to care for someone when you're part of the underbelly of a town. It can be used against you.
“I wonder if the city is better off without him or worse.”
“We're whores and criminals. I'd say we're off better,” John says, but he doesn't really believe it.
“You're such a liar, John,” she answers.
He is.
~Five~
When you're a thief and an occasional whore - John has no illusions about his position - life can always get worse. Someone can always screw you over. Scratch that: someone always will screw you over.
Kyle is bleeding and John doesn't have the car or the cash to take her to the hospital and a bullet-wound would raise all kinds of red flags. They're in deep shit and he wants to scream at her for going on her own and making deals with people like Mark for fucks' sake, but he doesn't. It won't help her and besides, she knows now.
He is not panicking. She is looking at him. Hard.
“You just have to sew me up,” she says.
“Are you insane?”
“You're an orphan, you learned how to sew. It's just like a t-shirt.”
“T-shirts don't bleed,” he answers hotly.
“You wanna think about this rationally?”
“I want to get you to a doctor!”
“There aren't any I would trust. You are here. You are going to do this,” she says and John gets all the things she doesn't say.
John is the only person she trusts not to screw her over right now. “Where do you keep your stuff?” he asks, because he just knows she has it hidden somewhere in his apartment.
~+~
John knows she doesn't like it that he takes care of her while her shoulder heals. She doesn't like that he gets her the good pain-killers either, because she knows exactly what he does to get them (he doesn't care how many dicks he has to suck for it, she is the only person he cares about right now and he doesn't want to think about if it will kick him in the nuts one day). Kyle doesn't like to owe people. John suspects she doesn't care about most people.
He still has no clue why she took him under her wing, but right now he's glad she did. He's glad it’s him at her side.
“You look like a baby-seal,” she says.
“You want to make a hat out of me?”
“Maybe, it would be a lovely hat,” she answers and he laughs. “You sure are giving me the good stuff.”
“Yeah,” John says, handing a mug of tea to her. It's still freakishly cold outside and he's glad he doesn't have to go anywhere. Not tonight at least.
~+~
“You ever think about doing something else?” he asks.
She shrugs and winces. “Sometimes. Doesn't everybody?”
“I don't know. I think?”
“You should, you know. You have no record, you are smart - for a guy.”
“Don't forget pretty,” he says.
She smiles. Sharp, but amused. “Yeah, that too.”
She's getting better. In a few days she'll be up and about. Climbing rooftops and dangling from tightropes.
John doesn't think he could ever be that kind of criminal. But she likes it; she likes the thrill of it.
“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” he asks.
She gives him a look. “Rich. You?”
“Batman,” he answers and she laughs out loud.
“Really? Batman. A dark vigilante?”
He shrugs. “It seemed like a good idea.”
“And now?”
“I bet it's lonely.”
She nods. “But you still want to help people?”
“Yeah.”
“Fireman then.”
“Or a nurse?”
She looks at him hard and he waits. “You would make a good cop.”
“Stop kidding. No way in hell,” he says, but he was thinking about it too. It pays okay and he could help people. Do something right.
~+~
John likes commissioner Gordon. He doesn't know the guy personally, but he seems like a decent person. He seems like a sincerely good guy. That's rare enough, especially in a town like Gotham.
Kyle mocks of course, but that's her way of showing she cares or whatever. Her shoulder is all healed up and he waits for her to leave. He doesn't like to think about it too closely, but it's still there at the back of his mind.
While he tries to do less shady stuff, it seems like she does more. He doesn't ask her where she's going, so she doesn't have to lie. Not that he thinks she would have any problems with that. It's him; he doesn't want to be lied to. John doesn't need to hear a prettier version of the truth, a version he can comfortably live with, he wants to live in a version of that lie. He wants it to be reality.
It works for them. It works for now.
~+~
John misses Batman. He catches himself tracing the drawing Andy made him absent-mindedly. When he does, he snatches his fingers away as if burned and turns away from it. He never even spoke to Batman.
He's pretty sure Bruce wouldn't recognize him anymore either. On some days he doesn't recognize himself. The guy staring back from the mirror seems to be a stranger.
“You need to get out,” Kyle says, leaning on the door frame.
“Out?” He wonders how long she had been watching him silently. It's probably better that he doesn't know.
“Out of this. This life-style. It's not you. You don't really make a convincing whore.”
He nods, he knows that. He always knew that. Sometimes he wants to kick those guy's teeth in for preying on innocent kids - well, not innocent maybe, but vulnerable. Unprotected.
“Convincing enough,” he answers.
“One day someone will come along who is stronger than you, who is way meaner than you and you will crumble.”
He turns to look at her. He isn't sure if she's concerned or what. She's hard to read. “And will there be someone who will ball their fists on your behalf?” she carries on.
John doesn't know. Probably not. He wonders how she knows about the practice of the orphanage he was in. He wonders if the one she had been at had a similar one. He wonders how many teeth she kicked in. Or tried too.
He doesn't ask any of these questions. Her past is her own.
“Out?” he says.
“Out,” she answers.
~Six~
He has no idea what he should write in his resume. The major points are there. But what about after school? What can he say about the year he was doing, well not nothing, but pretty fucking shady stuff. There is no way he can write 'I was an occasional prostitute' and get away with it. There is no way the police of Gotham would take someone like him into consideration.
“You speak French?” Kyle asks, peeking over his shoulder. She moved completely into his apartment, but he isn't sure she doesn't have a hole in the wall somewhere else too. It would be just like her to have a hideout no one knows about. Not even John.
“A bit.”
“How? Where the hell did you learn French?”
He wants to say Bruce Wayne, because in his mind this is the answer to that question, but she wouldn't understand. “The orphanage.”
“The city spent money on that?”
“It didn't. Wayne did.”
“Bruce Wayne? Famous recluse of Gotham?”
“He used to be different,” John lies.
She looks sceptical and he can't blame her. “He used to be out and about with supermodels, but-” she bites her lip. He wonders if she ever wanted to be one of those girls on Bruce Wayne's arm when she was growing up.
~+~
“How good is your French?”
“Good enough to charm people out of their pants and -”
“Money?” she cuts in. She's sitting with her back against the couch, painting her toenails purple.
“Yeah.” His French is pretty good actually, he is nearly fluent in it, but he hasn’t had the chance to speak it in some time. He still reads his French copies of La Fontaine's books.
“So, could you be a-”
“I'm trying to get legit here. Don't even start,” he cuts in.
She gives him a look. “How do you want to start that life of yours? With no money?”
“Somehow.”
She puts the nail polish away and smiles at him. “You mean it.”
“What?”
“The whole going legit stuff. You really do want a real job that pays the rent on the right side of the law, whatever that means. You want a wife and 2.5 kids and a dog and maybe a picket fence.”
“Yeah, but I am a bit screwed up, so-”
“Fireman it is,” she cuts in.
Or cop, if they'll have him. He nods.
~+~
While he works on all kids of shit to get money to pay the rent, she is home less and less. He doesn't ask where she's going because he doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to question her. It's none of his business anyway. She's like a stray cat. He feeds her and he gives her a place to stay, but he has no rights to her. And he knows it.
He wonders when it happened: that transition from her taking him under her wing to him letting her invade the space he lives in whenever she wants with nothing in return.
It doesn't really matter.
It's enough to feel the bed shift when she slips under the covers late at night. At least then he knows she's okay.
~+~
“Would you go legit?” he asks her one spring day. It's still cold and windy as hell. But it gets dark later and the sun warms your skin if you can catch it just at the right angle.
She looks bleary eyed at him and he hands her his mug of coffee. It's a gesture born out of routine. He realises she is living for months now in his apartment. He wonders how long she'll stay. She puts a kilo sugar into it, stirs and takes sip. Then she looks around.
“Out of milk again?”
“Yeah,” he answers and waits her out. She might answer him, she might not.
“I used to think, yeah, one day,” she replies after a while of silence. “It's hard with a record.” She takes another sip and puts the mug on the small table. “Besides I'm an adrenaline junkie. A boring life would kill me for sure.”
He doesn't say that this might kill her too and far too soon. Kyle knows that.
She stretches and he looks out of the window. He misses sex, but he can't say he misses sex for money. He misses wanting to be close to someone. He misses those days at Wayne Manor. He misses Alfred and expensive rose-tea. He misses how he felt back then.
He wonders if she had ever been in love. He wonders if he had been.
~Seven~
She disappears on a warm April day. He's worried for days, looking for her franticly. He misses her grumpy face in the morning, that she hogs the bathroom and steals his coffee without him even noticing.
She's done it before. She's been gone for days without a notice and she looked very pleased when she came back. So he isn't too concerned in the beginning. He starts to worry after the first week and by the third he knows she's not coming back.
He doesn't like to think about her lying in some ditch somewhere. She's too clever for that. He must believe in her being alright, must believe in her coming to find him if she's not.
~+~
His landlady tells him his rent has been paid for three months in advance as he's about to hand his cash over. That's as sure a sign as any he thinks. This is her 'thanks' and 'goodbye'. He doesn't think he will see her ever again.
She's probably on a yacht somewhere drinking cocktails and charming money out of rich guys.
He, well he has three months to clean up his act or say, fuck it all, I'm staying here.
~+~
There is no question, actually, what John is going to do. He can't be a whore forever and even though he's quick and smart, he doesn't seem to commit fully to the criminal lifestyle. There is always something he won't do, fishy guys he won't work with, and word's going around. Soon there will be trouble on the horizon.
At some point it's commit fully or disappear. One way or another, and John doesn't want to end up as a corpse at the edge of town where no one will find him for months, maybe years.
He has to get out.
Kyle was right.
~+~
He puts a stamp on the envelope with his application to the police academy and makes sure his address has been written clear on the front before he puts it into the mailbox.
After he tells the boys, Andy draws him a picture of himself in a police uniform, a shadow at his feet that looks suspiciously like a bat.
Author: creepylicious/alles_luege
Pairing: mostly gen, John/Bruce, John/others
Rating: R
Summary: John is fresh out of the orphanage and Selina takes in strays - sometimes.
“One day someone will come along who is stronger than you, who is way meaner than you and you will crumble.”
He turns to look at her. He isn't sure if she's concerned or what. She's hard to read. “And will there be someone who will ball their fists on your behalf?” she carries on.
Warning(s): prostitution, mentions of sex and violence
Author’s Notes: This is a sequel to This city built on rotten pillars. Can be read as a standalone. Based on this prompt.
Word Count: 5.132
Beta: omletlove
Disclaimer: Don’t know, don’t own, not real
~One~
John has no idea what to do with himself. He is eighteen and fresh out of the only home he ever really knew and it had been far from perfect, but it had maybe, just maybe, been better than the one he was born into. He can't remember much of that home anymore, but what he does remember wasn't too pretty.
There were fuzzy memories of his mother, and very clear ones of his father dying, and besides that there were a lot of the orphanage Before Wayne, as John likes to call it. Before Wayne, when John used to get into fights and hate everything and everyone, except the boys in the orphanage. And then there were the memories of Wayne and the days after Wayne.
John doesn't touch the memories of Wayne often. The older he gets the more afraid he is too look at them at all.
It's no use to think about Wayne anyway. Now that everyone hates Batman.
~+~
There is a job interview that the orphanage set up and an apartment that has the rent paid for the first two months. After that it's fending for himself. He guesses it's a start.
The apartment is small and barely furnished. He has a bed, a fridge and a table with two chairs. He needs a closet. Not that John has many things. But he has some books the director let him take. And he has a picture of Batman Andy drew him as a parting gift. Andy is fucking talented; he is going to frame that thing and hang it over his bed.
This is his life now, he thinks, sitting on the floor and staring at a wall. This is his life and he has no idea what to do with it. He doesn't have a plan - yet. But what he has is some kind of freedom. At least he is only responsible for himself now. That has to count for something.
~+~
The job is okay, but it doesn't really pay enough. It might have if the new owner of the shop weren't such a tool and asshole, John thinks. The nice elderly man who interviewed John had a stroke and his nephew took over the shop.
He is chronically broke. He can barely pay his rent and even though the old landlady is kind enough not to throw him out, he knows something needs to be done.
If more of his hours are cut at the shop, he will be homeless soon.
It's hard to find a job in the city when you only have basic education - and know a bit of French. Orphanage kids mean trouble, or so most people think. Once upon a time that had been true for John too. But he thinks he is past his trouble-making days. Even he sometimes has the urge to break his boss' nose. And maybe every other bone in his worthless body.
He keeps these urges in check and when he thinks he’s going to explode with the anger he goes to visit Andy and the other boys at the orphanage. It feels a bit like coming home. Soothes his nerves. He tells them stories and doesn't lie when they ask uncomfortable questions (not many do, but more than John thought). Life is hard, but you can make it. At least that is what John still believes. So that's what he tells them.
~Two~
The first time is an accident, a misunderstanding, a happy coincidence. Whatever you want to call it.
John was honestly only looking for someone to hook up with and he maybe has a type now, whatever. Thing is the guy misunderstands and John doesn't bother to correct him after, because he really needs the cash.
When he's home again he looks long and hard into the bathroom mirror. He doesn't think he looks like a hooker. He looks like a kid who lives alone. Maybe it's a thing in the city, under-age kids selling themselves. John would be thrown in that box, he supposes. He isn't nineteen yet and he looks even younger. With his face smooth and his hair too long and eyes that have seen too much already, even he puts on a mask every day to keep the anger at bay.
He shrugs it off. It was easy earned money but John has no illusions about prostitution. Especially the under-age kind.
He switches the light off and goes to bed. He has an early shift at the store tomorrow.
~+~
John doesn't plan it, but it's really easy. He doesn't even have to do much. He just has to sit around and wait and eventually someone will approach him.
He doesn't do it often. John calls it 'occasional prostitution' in his head.
It's mostly rich guys, probably with a family and a wife and a high-ranking job, who pay him to get their dicks sucked. John doesn't do more than suck dick. Well, not after that first time, but then he didn't know it wasn't a mutual hook-up for that guy, so it doesn't really count.
It's good money he can spend on stuff other than rent.
It's money he can use to take out Andy and a few of the other boys for ice-cream. And it's not like John doesn't enjoy himself. He likes to fool around with guys, gets off on it, and of course most people like when their partner (paid or not) is getting into it. John can choose when and if he wants to hook up for money.
So, John reasons, all is good.
~+~
It stays good for a while. He has a job and the 'occasional prostitution' that gets him extra cash and sex whenever he needs to blow off steam. A win-win situation. He can save up some money, for that wardrobe he still doesn't have and treat the boys to cake and milkshakes or whatever when he visits them at the orphanage.
~+~
John has fine-tuned senses. A radar, so to speak, for guys who will make trouble, who will treat him like a piece of meat. He makes it a habit to avoid these guys. To politely decline or laugh it off or tell them they've made a mistake and he is just here for a good time. Some of them laugh it off, some try to buy him a drink, some just scoff and go away. Which is all John wants, really.
~+~
He doesn't make friends with the other kids. The kids on the streets that look so desperate. He would like to help them, but he is in no position to do it. He can barely support himself.
He doesn't make friends with anyone, is the thing. The only people he cares about are the boys in the orphanage. And the landlady who invites him for dinner on Saturdays when she has leftovers. She always has leftovers on Saturday. He helps her with stuff around the house in return.
This city might be rotten, but there are still good people living here.
John, it seems, just can't give up hope. He wonders if it will bite him in the ass one day.
~Three~
Things go bad when the asshole boss fires John to give his job to some girl he wants to bang. John would tell her all about it, but he is sure she knows. She has that look that tells John volumes about how shitty her life was and that she has no illusions about this job and life in general. John can't really be mad at her.
He is very tempted to break this asshole's nose again. He doesn't, because he really doesn't need a record. It's best to stay far away from the police, even though they cleaned up their act after the whole Dent disaster. Still, cops aren't exactly friends with driftwood, runaways, or hookers.
The underbelly of the city is still greedy, still eats its children alive. The lost, the unwanted are disappearing and no one cares.
It's one of these things that make John angry and his hands ball to fists again. Just this time his anger doesn't have a real outlet, doesn't have a real direction, because the world they're living in is a crappy one and he can't change the world.
Batman tried to only change the freaking city and look what he got for his trouble. And John doesn’t really think he should be thinking about Batman these days.
~+~
The first time John steals is roughly five weeks after he lost his job. It's easy; his heart is still pounding like mad in his chest, the mantra of wrong, wrong, wrong repeating in his head. He had been raised better than this; at least people tried and with John it stuck. There is still some moral code buried in his bones.
It's annoying as hell right now.
Somehow, after that first time, he gets mixed up with a few guys who lift stuff from garages, unmarked store-rooms, and unsupervised trucks.
John is clever and fast and that's why they like to work with him - even if he can't really lift heavy shit. They are in and out under thirty minutes when John is there.
John still tries not to be on the wrong side of the law, but it's really fucking hard to get a real job. The city doesn't make living easy for people like him.
And the shadier side of the law pays better too.
He has no illusions; he knows if he gets caught shit is going to hit the fan. John is careful, he takes only jobs with a minimum risk, and if he really needs money fast, he sits down in a bar and waits for someone to pick him up.
It works more often than it should.
~+~
John didn't think he would become a criminal and a whore when he left the orphanage. He didn't have real plans, but if he would have, it wouldn't have been this.
He still takes the time to take the boys of the orphanage out for ice-cream once a month at least. But when Andy asks him to read something and holds up a brand new copy of La Fontaine's fables John shakes his head. Makes the younger boys pick something else. Something with child detectives and thieves. Still uncomfortable as fuck, John thinks as he reads out loud.
He would rather be playing basketball, but it's getting really cold outside. Winter is around the corner, so he reads them stories about kids being good and trying to make the world a better place.
~+~
“You think he comes back?” Andy asks him and John doesn't have to ask who he means. He knows. Andy's part of the room is drowning in drawings of Batman beating up the bad guys; there are some of the Joker too. They look scary as hell.
“I don't know.”
“I wish he would,” Andy says, shading Batman's cloak.
“Yeah,” John says. He wishes that too. The city needs him. People like John - John needs him.
~+~
John realises his cash is running out as he wants to buy presents for the boys. It's all or no one and Andy really needs a few more brushes and watercolours. There is no way he can make it, he thinks.
~+~
John's done a few shady things in his young life (seducing Bruce Wayne was one of them - but still worth it, always and forever worth it), but the job Mark proposes takes the cake. He can't.
“Come one, you're like a good luck charm. And you need the cash,” Mark says.
“No, this seems like a fucking huge risk and I don't work for someone specifically,” John answers. He doesn't. It's a rule. Stealing a few TVs or whatever to sell them is less shady than taking a job to get something someone else really wants badly. Those things never end well.
Mark shrugs. “Your loss.”
Maybe John thinks, but a guy has to have some kind of moral code.
With the new laws and Batman gone you have to be extra careful what you do on the streets.
~Four~
The new shop-girl's name is Kyle. She has short black hair and a mean punch. Not that John knows from personal experience. His former boss does. She breaks his fucking nose and John is there to see it happen. It's a glorious day.
“I guess you're fired,” John says.
She grins at him. Blood running down her fingers and the asshole mumbling and cursing, holding his nose. “I'm adaptable.”
John believes that in a heartbeat. He grabs a paper-towel and hands it to her. She nods in thanks or acknowledgement and cleans her hand. Throws the paper-towel on the floor as she leaves.
John kinda wants to follow, but he doesn't. He grabs a Snickers and the bread he came for in the first place, slaps some money on the counter and leaves.
He's in good spirits the whole fucking day.
~+~
He sees Kyle here and there. Hanging out at clubs, letting men buy her drinks, dancing, and on one occasion picking someone's pocket.
She is so good at it that the guy doesn't even suspect her as he tries to buy her a drink. John is maybe a little bit awed. He is sure he could learn a trick or two, but people like her don't give away secrets of the trade for free.
~+~
One thing John's learned pretty early on is that bruises pay extra. He doesn't let guys indulge in that - at all (he has all kinds of issues with being held down and tied up). He just isn't the submissive type. Once upon a time he didn't think he could make a convincing whore either, but here he is. Maybe it's because he only works for himself and only when he wants to. But occasional prostitution is still prostitution.
He has pretty good radar when it comes to men who could be into it, but sometimes even John fails.
He is bruised and blood is dripping from his lip and the guy still keeps coming. He punches back and makes a run for it. John had too much too drink, because he wasn't out to turn tricks, he had been out to get laid and have a good time. But then this guy came up and John really needs the cash.
John is slow and unsteady. He rounds a corner and nearly collapses. He can hear the guy’s footsteps on the pavement, walking away from the mess he made of John. But he's still too close to John's position for John's comfort.
“You look like hell,” Kyle says exiting the building he is leaning against.
“Thanks,” John answers, he doesn't like to ask for help, but he guesses if someone can kick that guy's ass right now it would be her.
She looks him over and then sighs. “Someone after you?”
“Aren't they always?” John asks. As jokes go it's not the best, but whatever.
She smiles at him. Sharp like a knife. “Come in then.” She grabs his arm to support his weight and helps him up the stairs to what must be her apartment.
He passes out on her bed.
~+~
“You need to learn to kick some serious ass,” she says holding up a mug of coffee. John takes it with a nod of thanks.
“I can kick some ass,” he answers her a bit more sharply than necessary, maybe.
She raises an eyebrow. “Boy, you have a pretty face and a sharp mind, but that shit yesterday? Could have ended badly.”
At least she doesn't sugar-coat it, he thinks. “I'm just as skilled as you with your hands-”
“That's why you get on your knees and use your mouth?” she cuts in.
He shrugs. “A boy has to eat.”
She nods in acknowledgement. “There are better ways.”
“Didn't find my sugar-daddy yet,” John answers with a grin.
She grins back. “You don't need one. The only person you can depend on is yourself anyway.”
~+~
John has no real idea why Kyle takes him under her wing.
The one time he asked she gave him a look and said: “Because you're pretty.”
He doesn't believe that is the reason for a second. He doesn't really care for the reason either. She shows him how he can get more out of people for less. And in the cold winter-months she moves into his flat because the heating in hers is shit. John's landlady doesn't mind. She cooks leftovers for them both and tells them what a cute couple they are.
Kyle laughs it off later; John thinks she is way too scary to be with someone. Way too independent as well. He just can't imagine her committing to someone who is like her: a street-rat. Or in her case: a street-cat. She's just that freaking graceful.
They are a good team for those few cold winter-months. She makes coffee in the mornings, but doesn't ever cook and at night he likes to feel her warm body beside his. She doesn't mind waking up with him tangled around her.
~+~
“You think he's dead?” Kyle asks, tracing the outline of the Batman drawing Andy made for him. It's hanging on the left side of the bed, just above the crate he uses as a night-stand.
“No. Just hiding,” John answers.
She looks at him sharply. She is smart; if she wanted to, if she really cared, he is sure she could find out the truth on her own. But she doesn't really care. Maybe doesn't want to care. It's always dangerous to care for someone when you're part of the underbelly of a town. It can be used against you.
“I wonder if the city is better off without him or worse.”
“We're whores and criminals. I'd say we're off better,” John says, but he doesn't really believe it.
“You're such a liar, John,” she answers.
He is.
~Five~
When you're a thief and an occasional whore - John has no illusions about his position - life can always get worse. Someone can always screw you over. Scratch that: someone always will screw you over.
Kyle is bleeding and John doesn't have the car or the cash to take her to the hospital and a bullet-wound would raise all kinds of red flags. They're in deep shit and he wants to scream at her for going on her own and making deals with people like Mark for fucks' sake, but he doesn't. It won't help her and besides, she knows now.
He is not panicking. She is looking at him. Hard.
“You just have to sew me up,” she says.
“Are you insane?”
“You're an orphan, you learned how to sew. It's just like a t-shirt.”
“T-shirts don't bleed,” he answers hotly.
“You wanna think about this rationally?”
“I want to get you to a doctor!”
“There aren't any I would trust. You are here. You are going to do this,” she says and John gets all the things she doesn't say.
John is the only person she trusts not to screw her over right now. “Where do you keep your stuff?” he asks, because he just knows she has it hidden somewhere in his apartment.
~+~
John knows she doesn't like it that he takes care of her while her shoulder heals. She doesn't like that he gets her the good pain-killers either, because she knows exactly what he does to get them (he doesn't care how many dicks he has to suck for it, she is the only person he cares about right now and he doesn't want to think about if it will kick him in the nuts one day). Kyle doesn't like to owe people. John suspects she doesn't care about most people.
He still has no clue why she took him under her wing, but right now he's glad she did. He's glad it’s him at her side.
“You look like a baby-seal,” she says.
“You want to make a hat out of me?”
“Maybe, it would be a lovely hat,” she answers and he laughs. “You sure are giving me the good stuff.”
“Yeah,” John says, handing a mug of tea to her. It's still freakishly cold outside and he's glad he doesn't have to go anywhere. Not tonight at least.
~+~
“You ever think about doing something else?” he asks.
She shrugs and winces. “Sometimes. Doesn't everybody?”
“I don't know. I think?”
“You should, you know. You have no record, you are smart - for a guy.”
“Don't forget pretty,” he says.
She smiles. Sharp, but amused. “Yeah, that too.”
She's getting better. In a few days she'll be up and about. Climbing rooftops and dangling from tightropes.
John doesn't think he could ever be that kind of criminal. But she likes it; she likes the thrill of it.
“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” he asks.
She gives him a look. “Rich. You?”
“Batman,” he answers and she laughs out loud.
“Really? Batman. A dark vigilante?”
He shrugs. “It seemed like a good idea.”
“And now?”
“I bet it's lonely.”
She nods. “But you still want to help people?”
“Yeah.”
“Fireman then.”
“Or a nurse?”
She looks at him hard and he waits. “You would make a good cop.”
“Stop kidding. No way in hell,” he says, but he was thinking about it too. It pays okay and he could help people. Do something right.
~+~
John likes commissioner Gordon. He doesn't know the guy personally, but he seems like a decent person. He seems like a sincerely good guy. That's rare enough, especially in a town like Gotham.
Kyle mocks of course, but that's her way of showing she cares or whatever. Her shoulder is all healed up and he waits for her to leave. He doesn't like to think about it too closely, but it's still there at the back of his mind.
While he tries to do less shady stuff, it seems like she does more. He doesn't ask her where she's going, so she doesn't have to lie. Not that he thinks she would have any problems with that. It's him; he doesn't want to be lied to. John doesn't need to hear a prettier version of the truth, a version he can comfortably live with, he wants to live in a version of that lie. He wants it to be reality.
It works for them. It works for now.
~+~
John misses Batman. He catches himself tracing the drawing Andy made him absent-mindedly. When he does, he snatches his fingers away as if burned and turns away from it. He never even spoke to Batman.
He's pretty sure Bruce wouldn't recognize him anymore either. On some days he doesn't recognize himself. The guy staring back from the mirror seems to be a stranger.
“You need to get out,” Kyle says, leaning on the door frame.
“Out?” He wonders how long she had been watching him silently. It's probably better that he doesn't know.
“Out of this. This life-style. It's not you. You don't really make a convincing whore.”
He nods, he knows that. He always knew that. Sometimes he wants to kick those guy's teeth in for preying on innocent kids - well, not innocent maybe, but vulnerable. Unprotected.
“Convincing enough,” he answers.
“One day someone will come along who is stronger than you, who is way meaner than you and you will crumble.”
He turns to look at her. He isn't sure if she's concerned or what. She's hard to read. “And will there be someone who will ball their fists on your behalf?” she carries on.
John doesn't know. Probably not. He wonders how she knows about the practice of the orphanage he was in. He wonders if the one she had been at had a similar one. He wonders how many teeth she kicked in. Or tried too.
He doesn't ask any of these questions. Her past is her own.
“Out?” he says.
“Out,” she answers.
~Six~
He has no idea what he should write in his resume. The major points are there. But what about after school? What can he say about the year he was doing, well not nothing, but pretty fucking shady stuff. There is no way he can write 'I was an occasional prostitute' and get away with it. There is no way the police of Gotham would take someone like him into consideration.
“You speak French?” Kyle asks, peeking over his shoulder. She moved completely into his apartment, but he isn't sure she doesn't have a hole in the wall somewhere else too. It would be just like her to have a hideout no one knows about. Not even John.
“A bit.”
“How? Where the hell did you learn French?”
He wants to say Bruce Wayne, because in his mind this is the answer to that question, but she wouldn't understand. “The orphanage.”
“The city spent money on that?”
“It didn't. Wayne did.”
“Bruce Wayne? Famous recluse of Gotham?”
“He used to be different,” John lies.
She looks sceptical and he can't blame her. “He used to be out and about with supermodels, but-” she bites her lip. He wonders if she ever wanted to be one of those girls on Bruce Wayne's arm when she was growing up.
~+~
“How good is your French?”
“Good enough to charm people out of their pants and -”
“Money?” she cuts in. She's sitting with her back against the couch, painting her toenails purple.
“Yeah.” His French is pretty good actually, he is nearly fluent in it, but he hasn’t had the chance to speak it in some time. He still reads his French copies of La Fontaine's books.
“So, could you be a-”
“I'm trying to get legit here. Don't even start,” he cuts in.
She gives him a look. “How do you want to start that life of yours? With no money?”
“Somehow.”
She puts the nail polish away and smiles at him. “You mean it.”
“What?”
“The whole going legit stuff. You really do want a real job that pays the rent on the right side of the law, whatever that means. You want a wife and 2.5 kids and a dog and maybe a picket fence.”
“Yeah, but I am a bit screwed up, so-”
“Fireman it is,” she cuts in.
Or cop, if they'll have him. He nods.
~+~
While he works on all kids of shit to get money to pay the rent, she is home less and less. He doesn't ask where she's going because he doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to question her. It's none of his business anyway. She's like a stray cat. He feeds her and he gives her a place to stay, but he has no rights to her. And he knows it.
He wonders when it happened: that transition from her taking him under her wing to him letting her invade the space he lives in whenever she wants with nothing in return.
It doesn't really matter.
It's enough to feel the bed shift when she slips under the covers late at night. At least then he knows she's okay.
~+~
“Would you go legit?” he asks her one spring day. It's still cold and windy as hell. But it gets dark later and the sun warms your skin if you can catch it just at the right angle.
She looks bleary eyed at him and he hands her his mug of coffee. It's a gesture born out of routine. He realises she is living for months now in his apartment. He wonders how long she'll stay. She puts a kilo sugar into it, stirs and takes sip. Then she looks around.
“Out of milk again?”
“Yeah,” he answers and waits her out. She might answer him, she might not.
“I used to think, yeah, one day,” she replies after a while of silence. “It's hard with a record.” She takes another sip and puts the mug on the small table. “Besides I'm an adrenaline junkie. A boring life would kill me for sure.”
He doesn't say that this might kill her too and far too soon. Kyle knows that.
She stretches and he looks out of the window. He misses sex, but he can't say he misses sex for money. He misses wanting to be close to someone. He misses those days at Wayne Manor. He misses Alfred and expensive rose-tea. He misses how he felt back then.
He wonders if she had ever been in love. He wonders if he had been.
~Seven~
She disappears on a warm April day. He's worried for days, looking for her franticly. He misses her grumpy face in the morning, that she hogs the bathroom and steals his coffee without him even noticing.
She's done it before. She's been gone for days without a notice and she looked very pleased when she came back. So he isn't too concerned in the beginning. He starts to worry after the first week and by the third he knows she's not coming back.
He doesn't like to think about her lying in some ditch somewhere. She's too clever for that. He must believe in her being alright, must believe in her coming to find him if she's not.
~+~
His landlady tells him his rent has been paid for three months in advance as he's about to hand his cash over. That's as sure a sign as any he thinks. This is her 'thanks' and 'goodbye'. He doesn't think he will see her ever again.
She's probably on a yacht somewhere drinking cocktails and charming money out of rich guys.
He, well he has three months to clean up his act or say, fuck it all, I'm staying here.
~+~
There is no question, actually, what John is going to do. He can't be a whore forever and even though he's quick and smart, he doesn't seem to commit fully to the criminal lifestyle. There is always something he won't do, fishy guys he won't work with, and word's going around. Soon there will be trouble on the horizon.
At some point it's commit fully or disappear. One way or another, and John doesn't want to end up as a corpse at the edge of town where no one will find him for months, maybe years.
He has to get out.
Kyle was right.
~+~
He puts a stamp on the envelope with his application to the police academy and makes sure his address has been written clear on the front before he puts it into the mailbox.
After he tells the boys, Andy draws him a picture of himself in a police uniform, a shadow at his feet that looks suspiciously like a bat.