GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY
2008
( TW ⚠️ assault and violence )
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LIVING IN THE STREETS TAUGHT Estela to survive with the help of three crucial rules: a) never sleep in the same alley twice, b) keep your fists ready at all times, and c) always trust your gut; you can never be sure if you think someone is following you or not. Better safe than sorry.
For the past year, those rules along with her wits were the only things she carried, nothing more and nothing less.
It had been hard to adjust at first, but it wasn't like Estela had much of a choice. Her father was dead—murdered by a someone who had broken into their home—and the last thing he told her was, 'Run. Run away, Stela, and do not use the last name Fares anymore.'
And so she did. Except, she didn't really get that far.
Because, let's face it—with no money where else can Estela go? She was already legal, meaning that orphanages or child support services were deemed useless to her. Jobs were already hard to come by nowadays, much more so when you're homeless and dirty.
Yet despite it all, Estela would never ever go back to her old house in one of the worst neighborhoods in Gotham. Not for money, not for answers, nothing. Not after what happened.
Shelters were her best friend when it came to food, as well the back alley of some high-end restaurants. Hotels were there for when she needed the bathroom, all it took was sneaking around and trying not get caught. Luckily, she picked on that fast enough, especially when she needed to steal some new clothes off flea markets on the street.
The guilt of stealing, Estela realized, disintegrated quickly to replace survival instincts sooner than she expected.
In a way, she kind of got used to it—as fucked up as it may seem. But at the same time, it changed her; made her cockier than she dared to be. Gone was the sweet girl who lived with her loving parents. She won't survive out on the streets with a weak heart like that.
In Estela's mind, dirty alleyways and abandoned buildings were her domain now; her playground.
Of course, it wasn't like she literally treated it as her playground. She only plans crazy stunts when she's desperate.
Most of the time, she gets away with half of the shit she pulls. It was easy, since Gotham was still under the fist of a society that viewed women as weak and innocent. All it took was for Estela to fake-cry and even the smartest crook wouldn't think twice to check if their wallet was missing.
It was how she got by—how she survived for a whole year with no help from anyone but herself.
On the other hand, the remaining thirty percent of her stealing-from-bad-people hobby don't turn out as successful as she expected them to be.
So that's where it led Estela to now: running away from four men after realizing that she wasn't as slick as she thought during that one moment it counted.
The asphalt was shining with water; the summer rain had filled the deep ends to create miniature puddles and coated the buildings until they were slippery wet.
Estela's shoes and pants were getting soaked the harder her feet pounded and her jacket was beginning to grow muddy from slamming into brick walls every sharp turn she made. The heat of June didn't help either, even if the sun was already long gone.
She panted as she ran, face burning and drenched in sweat that even the slightest wind on her face couldn't cool. She was exhausted and thirsty, but she didn't dare stop, not while those guys were still out for her blood.
Help would have been great, or a huge crowd of people to blend into, but unfortunately Estela found herself in some deserted part of Gotham that she was in no way familiar with.
"Fuck," she breathed, realizing with dread that she would not survive this run without some rest.
So she pulled herself into a seemingly safe-enough alley and slowed to a stop as she heaved and heaved and heaved. Her lungs were burning, heart racing and legs trembling. Estela felt like a ticking bomb: any movement would send her exploding, splattering her innards all over the walls.
She let out a strangled gasp and prayed—prayed that she would be saved by mercy tonight.
But because Estela's life was so fucked up, luck wasn't on her side this time.
"Well, well, well. Lookey here, boys," a strong Jersey accent rang out behind her. "Little miss thief couldn't run away too fast, eh?"
It was difficult to swallow because of how dry her throat was, but if she could, that would be the only way Estela would show an inkling of emotion.
Her mind was screaming at her to start running again, so loud in her own head that a pounding headache started to form.
She looked up, and felt her stomach sink as she saw two of the men advancing towards her. She didn't need to look back to know that the other two were doing the same.
"You think you can steal from me and get away with it?" the same man spoke angrily, much closer than before. "Huh, bitch?"
Estela let out out a painful groan as he grabbed her upper arm with an iron fist and threw her against the wall. In her weakened state she couldn't control her head in time, so her temple had collided with the rough-hewn bricks that worsened her headache even more.
She gasped in pain, seeing stars spring across her vision as something warm oozed down the side of her face.
Fight back! Fight back! her subconscious screamed shrilly.
Estela slowly brought her head up to take a look at the man in front of her. He didn't look like much but he was strong; she could already feel her arm bruising from where he manhandled her.
In her defense—with his balding head, pot belly and knuckles filled with gold rings, Estela couldn't be blamed for thinking that he was just another sleaze-of-a-man who would be blinded by stupidity the moment a woman bats her lashes at him.
It was too dark to see his other companions but Estela had the feeling they looked the same.
But right now, she grew nervous; the man definitely had more character than she expected. She took a mental note to never judge people from their exterior, and to read people better next time.
He pinned her shoulders to the wall, her bones digging into its solidness as she let out a yelp of pain.
"You wanna try that shit with me again?" he growled at her, words practically trembling with rage as he shook Estela violently. "Try that with me again and I'll fucking kill you!"
Anger started to bubble insider her. Nostrils flaring, she looked at the man in the eye with a weak glare and bared her teeth in disgust. "Let me go, you fucking dick."
Wrong move. Wrong move, wrong move, wrong move—
"Who you calling a fucking dick, eh?" he yelled at her, pressed her shoulders harder and squeezed.
Estela yelped again, feeling his rings dig through her jacket and onto her skin.
Gone was the harsh exterior that she first projected out, only to be replaced by a growing fear that was forming in her belly.
She thrashed against his hold, seeing the other men close in from her peripheral, making her breathing turn even more erratic and hitched than before.
"Where's my knife?" the man muttered to the others. "Where's my knife—give me my fucking knife, Joey!"
Estela's eyes widened, heart rapidly thumping in her chest as the seconds ticked by.
Not like this. Not like this. Not like this. Not like this—
Gathering all her remaining strength, she let out an angry yell before bringing her knee up to kick the man's crotch.
He groaned loudly and immediately removed his hands off her. Estela took that as her chance to elbow him on the throat before dashing into a run—only to be caught by one of the other guys again.
Estela released an anguished cry, not caring if it made her seem weak or scared, because for once, she let reality tell her that it was the truth.
The man holding her pushed her down to the floor roughly, asphalt scraping her palms and knees as she scrambled to get away from them despite the aching that was already taking a hold of her body.
"Fucking—bitch! You're gonna pay for that!" the man she had kicked rasped. He took something from one of his friends and raised it in the air. Estela barely had time to register the glint of a knife before he charged towards her.
She screamed and instinctively held her palms out as if to stop him. Her eyes were screwed shut, mouth heaving out breaths as she waited for the impact; waited for the blow.
A second ticked by, followed by a minute, and Estela still didn't feel a thing.
Slowly, she peeled her eyes open and furrowed her brows when she saw that her breaths were coming out in tendrils of smoke. It was silent too, like all four of them suddenly decided to vanish into thin air.
Or maybe, someone else had taken them. . .
Estela dropped her arms from her face and looked up with hope, only for another scream to escape her mouth at the sight before her.
The man was still there alright, except that he was frozen—literally frozen. He was still holding the same stance as before: arm raised high, holding the knife with a menacing glower on his face that was distorted due to the blue glass that cocooned him inside.
Estela let out a panicked yell again and quickly backed away, only to feel her elbow slip on something smooth. Looking down incredulously, her eyes widened as she realized she was lying on top of frozen ice.
"What the fuck, what the fuck," she repeatedly whispered to herself, feeling a lump form at the back of her throat.
All her life, Estela was never one to cry when she panicked. At most, her chest felt like it was about to cave in, but at the moment, not even breathing exercises can help her as a dry sob escaped her mouth.
She slowly crawled to where the ice didn't reach, trying to get a hold of her footing with shaky legs before looking at her surroundings.
It wasn't just the ground that was covered in ice, but the walls surrounding the alley too—including the other men that had surrounding her; all three encased in ice so cold that it was unfurling smoke around the edges.
The temperature had dropped tremendously; Estela no longer felt herself sweating, but shivering instead.
Her hands shook and her breathing went through speeds she didn't realize were possible. Soon enough, tears started to rain down her face as she stared in awe and fear.
Out—she needed to get out of here.
So Estela did what she had been told to do in the first place. The only thing she was ever really best at: she ran.
IT WAS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME before the entire police department of Gotham City found her, but no amount of jumping from alley to alley could silence the sound of their sirens.
It was because of her, of course. In any other circumstance, the police wouldn't start the hunt immediately. They would first investigate the crime scene, figure out who caused the whole mess, and then start the hunt.
But the case was different for Estela—different because unbeknownst to her, she left patches of ice and snow wherever her hands touched, and she didn't notice it until she simply paused to look around and observe.
Ice in the middle of summer that acted as breadcrumb trails? She was already leading the police to her before the chase even started.
Denial had gripped her in a chokehold when she realized what was happening, and ultimately decided to just run from it again. But every time she looked back in paranoia, the same haunting piece of element was there, staring at her like the cold eyes of the devil.
Estela wanted to scream when she knew there was no escaping it, but even she knew no amount of tantrums could undo what she was doing.
She didn't even dare hope that this was all a dream, having had stopped thinking that the moment her new started out on the streets.
So with defeat resting triumphantly on her shoulders, Estela stumbled into another alley with her hands tucked inside her jacket, and curled up beside the dumpsters.
Glancing at the trail of snow that followed her, she heaved a sob and finally allowed all her emotions to burst free.
Estela didn't cry about those men she froze—no, they deserved what she had done. Rather, she let herself cry about what was happening.
When humans see something they don't understand, they either get angry or scared. Perhaps that's why Estela was reacting the way she was now, though she felt it was mostly due to the latter.
Exhaustion rippled in her body, cutting off her supply of tears and pathetic whimpers, reducing her to a mere shell of a person cowering in dirty corners.
In all her life, she never really felt alone. Except for right now—that feeling immediately hit her like an unstoppable bullet train.
As the seconds grew into minutes, so did the loud sirens of the police cars, signifying that they were already nearby.
Half of Estela was already beginning to accept that she would be taken into custody. The cops would find out about her new powers soon enough and then send her to jail—or worse, Arkham Asylum.
Suddenly, a flutter of air sounded from above her.
Estela jerked her eyes upwards and squinted at the night sky as much as her swollen eyes could. Then, the same noise erupted from a few feet away, followed by stomps of what sounded like heavy boots. She inhaled sharply and peered over the dumpster, eyes trailing the asphalt to see two pairs of black boots that supported two cloaked figures.
Upon seeing the familiar pointed tips on one of their heads, Estela let out a strangled gasp and immediately stood up to back away strategically. Glancing behind her, she cursed when seeing that it was all just brick walls.
She wasn't stupid, there was only one reason why Batman and Robin showed up during nights like these in Gotham. Yet, as the thought crossed Estela's mind, she didn't dare ask for them to spare her.
Besides, she was never really one for begging anyways.
With as much iciness she can muster (and not with her hands, but with her words), Estela glowered at the two vigilantes. "What? Are you two here to kill me?"
"We don't wanna kill you, kid," a gravelly voice rang out. Batman, she presumed.
"Yeah, like I'm gonna believe that," she scoffed at them.
The other hero bristled and glanced at his partner before hesitantly taking a step closer to Estela. From the barest glint of moonlight, she saw the infamous tri-colors of red, yellow and green—Robin.
"Look, we just wanna help," he told her. "We saw what you did in that alley with those guys. It's the first time you found out you had those powers, isn't it?"
Estela didn't reply, but he took her silence as an answer enough.
"We can help you with that."
Despite the generous offer, she felt herself grow angrier than before. How could these masked heroes know anything about she had been through?
Robin paused in place when he saw white ice forming on the walls around him, creaking and groaning as it expanded ever so lightly. He took some time to admire it, to be awed at the fact that this girl in front of him was the cause of all of it.
"We know someone just like you," he said clearly. "She has powers like you too; powers she was born with." Except that she can muster a killer scream instead, he thought to himself.
"How can I trust you?" her voice rang out to him. "In fact—how can you trust me?"
He knew she was right, and from behind him he knew that Bruce silently agreed with her. It was risky to take her in the manor; to reveal their identities if it ever came to that, but no matter how tough of a front she put up to show them, Robin could only see the haunted look in her eyes that clearly screamed 'help'.
And what was he better at if it wasn't helping people?
Batman made an impatient noise. "Look, kid, it's either us or the cops."
Estela clenched her jaw as she watched Robin hold out a gloved hand, stepping over the ice with no hesitations like he wasn't afraid of her.
She had to make her decision quickly. The sirens were growing louder by the minute, and here were two vigilantes offering their help for someone like her. As much as she didn't trust them, Estela didn't trust the police even more.
So with a resigned sigh, she stiffly took Robin's hand and thought to herself, What the hell am I getting myself into?
It was a relief that she didn't end up freezing him too.
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dear readers !
so in case u guys haven't guessed it,, estela is a metahuman who can create / manipulate ice and snow! (very much giving me elsa vibes)
if anyone was wondering why estela didn't realize her powers earlier on: metagenes in metahumans can either be activated instantly or spontaneously. so in her case it was activated due to her panic and fear at the moment. plus! i love tropes where a characters powers depend on their emotions 🥴
you guys can even read more about metahumans on wikipedia :> it's where i for my source from and it's acc pretty interesting
ofc i had to mention the most famous metahuman in dc ,, black canary that is 😼
— seph <3
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© cherrymalfoys