ANGELS WEEP || bruce wayne

the third

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"I cannot believe that I was talked into this."

Stacey plucked another flyer from the stack in her bag and taped it to a post. It was her third night with her new routine of working at the doctor's office in the day and stitching up down-on-their-luck sops who had the misfortune to be jumped and consequently "saved" by the vigilante, and she was disappointed with how little people reached out for aid. The papers had been calling him "Batman" after the symbol on his chest and tendency to appear in the dark. Stacey thought it was a bit silly- but who was she to judge? In the fifth grade she made up a superhero named Duckman who would save her from bad guys and rescue puppies from trees. Bruce had had a laugh over that one, but Stacey still had fond memories of his green cape and bright yellow mask.

She ventured down Main Street and stuck another flyer to a building. SHe surveyed the typeface and hoped it didn't look like a scam.

Have you been injured by the Batman and need medical help? Can't afford a hospital? Call the Gotham Angel at XXX-XXXX. Please state your injury and location.

"There." she said, pressing the last flyer into the wood of the post. Nodding, she started walking towards her house, her ten dollar burner phone tucked securely in her pocket.

The first call of the night rang out and she put it to her ear- hesitant.

"Yo, is this is Angel? We gotta couple of hurt people," the man snickered into the speaker, several distinctly male voices joining in his laughter.

"This channel is for serious inquiries only. Please refrain from making prank calls in the future," Stacey replied in her more serious voice, hanging up the phone and jimmying the key into the lock on her house. She slipped inside, locking the door behind her. Breathing in a long breath of relief, she turned the lights on.

A knock sounded at her door and she jumped, grabbing the baseball bat behind the counter. "Who is it?"

"I gotta real bloody guy here, might wanna check him out."

"Oh, Lorenzo-" Stacey scurried to the door, opening it to reveal Lorenzo and a man collapsed by his feet.

"I think he got shot."

"Yeah, I can see that," Stacey sighed, motioning at the man's limp form. "Well, help me carry him in."

Lorenzo complied, grabbing the man easily and hoisting him onto her spare chair. She groaned at the amount of blood now on her chair, but thanked god when the man blinked his eyes.

"I'm going to help you, alright?" She reassured the man, who only looked at her dazily. "You're going to be fine." She turned back to Lorenzo. "Do you know where he was shot?"

"Shoulder. Heard him screaming and decided to head on over. Anyways, you could use your help with this little side gig. And since I came up with the idea, and I'm retired, I've decided to volunteer myself."

"How generous of you." Stacey leaned the man back, getting a better look at his shoulder. "You really don't have to, I can handle myself-"

"You get any creepy calls yet?"

Stacey's concentration faltered for a second- and Lorenzo swooped in at the opportunity.

"Ah hah! There you go. I'm here to help out."

"That's not really necessary..."

Lorenzo held up his finger. "You're the doctor, I'll be the fetcher. Wait, that doesn't sound right. The getter? We'll figure out titles later. And anyways, I owe your father, let me make it up to you."

Stacey's face turned cold and her hands stilled, dropping the bullet out of her tweezers and onto the tin with a "tip!" Her grey eyes hardened and Lorenzo gulped, remembering that infamous Maroni stare. They say that when a Maroni would glare at you, the sky itself grew to match their eyes to show the whole world that they were mad at you. But the black sky stayed black, and those stone gray eyes continued to bore holes into Lorenzo's soul.

"I am not my father."

Lorenzo gulped, nodding. "Never said you were. I just owe a few favors to your family-"

Stacey huffed, returning to her work sewing the man up, who was still passed out from the pain and shock. "My family is in jail or dead. I'm the one who made it out."

"And yet you're still back here."

Her eyes were trained back on the wound, fingers carefully pulling surgical thread taut. They sat there for a long moment, neither knowing quite what to say.

"Hometowns. Something always makes you wanna go back," Lorenzo finally said, plopping himself on the couch. "You almost done?"

"Done." Stacey confirmed, gathering her supplies and bringing them to the sink. "What do we do now?"

Lorenzo stretched out an arm. "Pass me the phone."

"You gonna call someone with it?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, stupida, I'm going to answer them. I'll answer calls and haul people to your doorstep, and you stitch 'em up."

Stacey raised her eyebrows. "Really? A five-foot Italian man is going to wander Gotham at night and pick up strangers to cart over to my house?"

His mouth fell open. "Five one, missy!"

Stacey paused for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. She couldn't think of any cons worth mentioning, so she shrugged, checking the man's pulse one more time. "Well, alright." She grinned, turning back towards her overenthusiastic landlord. "Let's do it. Let's see if it works."

Lorenzo grinned back at her and nodded, walking out the door with a "Ciao! Gonna find more people."

She snapped the first aid kit closed and opened a new set of gauze.

Finally, she was doing something for her city. Helping stitch up the gaping wounds her father left. Maybe she could become someone that Gotham needed.

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