HAZEL POV:
Ma was the one who found me, slumped against the bed, faintly glowing blue. She freaked out, hurriedly getting me back together.
She told me everything.
How I was out for a day, how there was a fresh brand of a Aztec sun on my back, how she quickly explained to the cops that my guitar amp malfunctioned and caused a mini sonic boom (I have no idea how they believed that one, but they confiscated the amp, which honestly was upsetting. Cops here are true idiots).
She told me about Damian and Jon and the jocks, all of whom came pounding at my door, demanding to see me, and how she turned them away.
My back was dressed with fresh bandages, and I felt strange, so utterly strange, when I woke up. Ma was next to me, clearing up my bedside table and setting a tray of cocoa onto it.
Are you alright? She signed. Was it another overload? I thought you had grown out of that...
I prop myself up on my elbows, looking over at the newly installed windows and at the dark night outside. I slept for a full 24 hours, it seems. "I guess not." I sighed.
"Ma? I know you might think this is my imagination again, but I- I saw someone. In the ball of light I was in."
Ma raised an eyebrow. What sort of someone?
"Someone in a trench coat."
That could've been anyone. She signed, gently checking my temperature.
"They wore a necklace, Ma. A gold lyre."
Ma stiffened, avoiding my gaze.
"You know them, don't you? "
From a long time ago, sweetheart. You don't need to worry about him. He promised to stay away.
"Stay away? What did he do? Who is that guy?"
I told you, you don't need to worry. She took a sip from her cocoa. I paid for the windows, don't worry about that either.
"Ma, can you at least tell me his name?"
...When I knew him, he called himself Eli. She signed, looking away as memories flooded her vision.
"Eli. What an unsuspecting name for a guy who branded me." I huff, downing the cocoa in a few seconds. I was beyond starving, and Ma seemed to know that too.
There's chili in the fridge. I'm going to go get it out. Stay. Here.
She glared over at me, daring me to try to move around on my own. I shrunk back under the covers. I was not going to go to a battle of the wills against my Ma so early into my renewed consciousness, so I just nodded.
"Thanks, Ma. I love you."
I love you too.
*******************************************************
*DAMIAN POV*
28 hours since Hazel Cotello stormed out of the Manor after getting concussed. 28 hours since I haven't been able to reach her.
She's been quiet in the Otter Bois group chat. Her mother wrote down that she was sleeping, showed us the note and shut the door in our face. She hasn't spoken to anyone, and that was a feat unto itself, since Cotello didn't know how to shut up.
Something was up.
Cotello is definitely hiding something.
The way she slammed Kent off his feet, the way she glared at me before she disappeared from the Manor- it wasn't settling right in me. She'd given me that same, dark glare that I saw once before on her face, when I asked her about her possible combat training and she'd gotten all unsettling.
She could fight well, but I doubt it was a simple, licensed teacher who trained her. After all, who fights on rollerskates?
I sat at the Batcomputer, digging. Maybe Talia sent her after me. Maybe it was the Court of Owls.
I check on her mother, perhaps she was the rotten one.
Lana Cotello. 39 years old. Born to Maria and Antonio Cotello, both of whom are deceased. Had a sister, who died of a stroke, and a younger brother, who currently lived in the UK.
The mother seems all clear, a simple, boring life in her childhood to teenage hood. The only remotely interesting thing that happens then was that she dated a guy, whose name wasn't on record.
That could be a clue of sorts.
Lana fell pregnant after a one night stand, gave birth to Hazel on March 4th sixteen years ago. When Hazel was 7, Lana was hospitalized for severe tracheal injuries after several carjackers pulled a gun to her head, roughed her up, and stole her car. The car was ditched only a few miles outside the city, but the carjackers were gone.
Her vocal chords were permanently damaged, making her a mute.
The carjackers were never caught.
Lana lost her good-paying job in customer service, and they were on the verge of being homeless. But somehow, even with an unemployed single mother, the bills were paid and the rent was kept on top of.
Another clue, another crack in their story. Sure, the woman's brother could've been sending money, but that couldn't be determined.
Age of 8, Hazel was diagnosed with ADHD.
Lana recovered, not fully, and got herself a minimum wage job as a janitor.
Seven years pass, Hazel got employed at the L.A. wildlife rescue center, got a scholarship to the Academy and they moved here.
Shutting the computer down, I get up. There was something missing.
Who was Hazel's father? Drake had run her blood through testing and the father came up as unknown. And how did they avoid homelessness? How did they pay even though they were broke?
And who were the carjackers? Surely a gun to the head was enough, so why did they injure Lana? They didn't even take the car very far.
Something was definitely up. If they were broke, where did Cotello learn to fight?
Looking back on it, perhaps one of Cotello's friends taught her. Friends weren't often put on records.
I suit up, pulling on my domino mask and leaving a small note for Father.
Maybe I'll ask her myself. I'd also get to check in on her as well.
Two birds, one stone.
********************************************************************
I crouch down on the roof across from her building, using my binoculars to get a view on the situation in her apartment.
She's bundled up in blankets in her room, a lump on the bed. She seems to be asleep, the window slightly ajar to let in the night breeze.
Good. This'll be easier than I thought.
I grapple to Cotello's windowsill, softly landing on it. Slipping into her dim room, I take a slight look around.
It's a bit of a mess, but it's better than what I was expecting. A desk, a bookshelf full of novels and trinkets, a closet to one end and a small chaise to another, a piece of brightly colored abstract art accenting the soft orange walls.
The bed was pushed up near the window, the curtains matching the warm rug and contrasting in a good way with the color scheme of her room, which was rather...nice. There were two throw blankets over the small chaise, each adorned with traditional Brazilian patterns. There was a small pile of clothes on her desk chair, and books were strewn everywhere. A pile by the chaise, one behind the bookshelf, one next to the nightstand.
I didn't know Cotello could read.
Her uranium green fern-patterned backpack was by the closet, her metallic red headphones were on her nightstand, and her infamous neon blue rollerskates hung from their peg on the wall.
I'd expecting someone like Cotello to not have a good eye for the overall style one may apply to a room, but consider me surprised. This room was stylish in its own, Cotello-esque way.
I look around a bit more, until I hear someone speak up behind me.
"You again."
I whip around, finding Hazel propping herself up on her elbows, looking over at me curiously. "I think you've got the wrong house."
I clear my throat, deepening my voice a bit. "No, actually. I'm here to, uh, ask you a few things. I heard you're new here, and that you got into a fight at school."
She sighed, running her fingers through her hair, untangling it. "If a talk is all you're here for, then I'm fine with it. Nothing else."
Her brown eyes seem to reflect the sliver of moonlight that spill into her room, and I find myself staring into them for a second too long. Quickly turning away, I'm glad that the dim light hides my red face. "Where did you learn to fight? Any teachers?"
"Oh. Well, I got my fight in L.A. My friend taught me some things, but other than that, the rest was all me."
"Friend?"
"Forgot her name." Cotello huffs. "She wasn't exactly the sharing type. Hated talking about anything related to herself." She sends me a pointed glare, and I gulp.
Red flag? I think to myself, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. "Okay. Um, how'd you win that fight at the Academy?"
"Used the big guy's moves against him. Easy. I'm faster and smarter. I'll always win in fights like that."
"Your injury?" I ask, unsure of what else to say. She looks at me with such an intensity, I don't know what I'm feeling. Something strange churns up in my chest.
She looks away. " Mostly healed. My mom was a nurse in her past life, probably." She looks at me, something behind her eyes. "Why are you here anyways? It's got to be more of a reason than playing 20 questions."
"No reason."
"I don't suppose you visit every kid who got into a fist fight at 4 in the morning."
"No- wait, I'm the interrogator here."
She chuckles, putting her hands up. "Alright, alright, big deal." She teases, sticking her tongue out at me.
I ignore the spike in my heartbeat and continue. "Were you ever kidnapped before, in L.A.? What sorts of dangers were you in?"
"Only the dangers a lone kid can face in the big bad city of L.A. What about you?"
I know I shouldn't open up to her. I know that, no matter how tempting it is, I should keep quiet.
But something about her just makes me want to tell her everything. Every moment, every word, every thing that's ever happened to me. And something in her eyes tells me she wants to do the same, that she's just waiting for the right time.
No matter what happened, I realize something.
I trust her.
I trust her so much, even though she's given me valid reasons not to.
She was the first person that didn't see me as Damian Wayne, son of the billionaire. She was the first person who made me laugh, who didn't want me for my money or my status or anything related to herself. She wanted to be my friend just for the companionship. She put up with my arrogance, with my detestable rudeness, with everything that nobody else liked or could put up with, and she liked doing so.
She was herself, never fake. She never changed herself to be more compatible with me. She didn't care about what others thought of her. She truly gave me everything she was and let me decide if I wanted to be her friend. She gave me that freedom. She, strangely, understood exactly what I needed, even if she was nothing like me.
And I trust her. Even if she might one day turn that against me.
"I... was made to be the danger. Before I got taken under Batman's wing, I was born to some...very bad people. They forced me to do things I didn't want to do, forced me to become someone I didn't wanna be." I slowly say, not looking at her.
"That's a bummer."
I chuckle a bit. "Yeah. It is."
I ignore her getting up to sit next to me on the chaise, ignore her presence growing stronger, as something inside me snaps. I find myself wanting to lean into her touch, lean into her.
Instead I just.... tell her. In the most vague way possible. "I'm a bad person. But I'm trying to change."
"You're never a bad person if someone forced you to be someone you didn't wanna be."
"Yeah, but I...took lives. I did the most awful thing someone could do to someone else. I was going to be the king of the bad people where I came from, and some part of me is still ready for that. I hate it.
I look down at my fists, clenching and unclenching. I shouldn't be doing this, but it feels so...right.
"These hands have done a lot of bad things. I shouldn't even be here. I shouldn't doubt you. If you were gonna hurt someone, you'd have done it by now. I'm the one that's bad here." I get up. I've done enough, and I turn to the window. "I should go. Sorry for the bother."
She looks a little surprised, but she suddenly grabs my hands, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn and stare over at her, confused.
"Well, Robin, these hands have saved hundreds of people. They've taken care of your family. They've brought justice to this city. " She starts, her chocolate brown eyes looking up into my masked ones.
"These hands," She pulls them up, lacing her fingers into mine, bringing them into view. "Are the hands that've danced with someone, that've drawn pretty things, that've done incredible feats and have done so many selfless things. These are the hands of a hero."
My voice leaves me, as Hazel genuinely smiles up at me, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. She pulls me into a hug, and I freeze.
"They're the hands of my best friend. And I don't care who you were forced to be before, Dames. I don't care who you're gonna be next. You'll always be my Grinch."
I stumble backwards. "How'd you-"
She laughs, waving my shock off, not letting go of me. "Oh please. You must be a different level of stupid if you think green tights and a domino mask will stop me from recognizing my best friend."
"How long-"
"I've had my suspicions, but I'd confirmed it after the visit to the Manor." She pulls away. "I gotta say, you do look good in primary colors."
"Are you gonna-"
"Dude. If I was, I'd have told everyone by now."
I don't say anything, mostly because I have no idea what to say.
She grins, dusting off my suit. "So-"
"So?"
"You care about me too, you asshole." She waggles her eyebrows.
I scoff, hiding a chuckle. "Not that much."
"Oh, I think you care plenty. It's kinda cute." She punches my shoulder playfully, before her voice gets deathly serious. "Also, tell nobody about how sappy we both got. We'll never hear the end of it from Jon."
"Agreed."
I pat her awkwardly, unsure of what to do, before turning to the window.
"Wait!" She says.
"What?"
"Can you take me on a joyride? Please?"
"Aren't you supposed to be concussed?" I snap, getting up on the windowsill.
"Next time then?"
"No."
She wants a next time, a part of me rejoices, and I tamp it down. Her idiocy is probably rubbing off on me.
I look at her one last time, and I stare in shock, jaw agape.
She's doing the infamous Kent puppy-dog eyes.
Immediately I shield my face. "NO! Stop that!"
"Pleaseeee?"
"Shut up! Stop looking at me like that!"
"Come on, Dames! I love ya, Grinchy, come on, take me on a joyride!"
"Stop it! When did Kent even teach you that?"
"Last Friday. Now please take me on a joyride, or just gimme your grappling hook for an hour! I'll give it back, promise!"
I curse Kent as I unwillingly look into her eyes again. My will falters.
"Fine. But I'll take you."
She pumps her fist in the hair in victory. "Yes!"
"Another thing. If you do the puppy-dog eyes on me again, I will tie you to the wall."
"Ooh. Kinky."
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Ack. I'm procrastinating by adding to this. God, I hate myself.
Nowadays, most of my chapters are written in one sitting, like this one. 2619 ish words. Unedited. One and a half hours, not including my 30 minute break to go watch some Buzzfeed unsolved.
Anyways, the crazy ex is coming soon <3
Hope you somehow liked it
Stay Tuned!
-Jumpy