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preyofolympus · 1 year

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Worried About Bernard (You know that I won't let you fall) chapter 3 by etpereatmundus

“The person you have dialed can’t take your call now. At the tone, please record your message. When you have finished recording, simply hang up...”

It doesn’t take a conspiracy theorist to conclude that a shitty magic cult goes about giving people shitty magic powers, or even more shitty hallucinations.

Though fuck it, Bernard Dowd thought, with my luckthe two events could just be completely unrelated and I’m just built like that. Which would objectively suck. A lot. Either way, the likelihood of something shit happening and it not being linked to the cult I left almost exactly a month ago wasn’t exactly low, objectively speaking. Oh, you left a cult run on mania and now you’re seeing monsters? Gee Willikers, causation over correlation would be the village idiot’s guess.

He put the phone down after the fifth time he rang Asher Kensington’s phone, and it went to the same monotone voice. So much for trying to call the only ex-cult member he had the phone number of.

The cult was where Bernard had formed some of his strongest relationships since… since the day at the school when… since his last day at school with Tim and… her. Her. He shook his head of the memories. At the cult, they’d been joined in their goals- their very lives, running from the parts of themselves and others that they couldn’t face. Despite the fear, the pain and the madness of it all, they did draw a kind of strength from each other Bernard had never felt before. So he hoped that he could reach out, call his old contacts for help, for that strength they once shared even if he did end up being the only one with his recent experiences. But… he couldn’t be, right?

The cult opened up their vulnerabilities, but Bernard and his fellow members were vulnerable together, and knew each other's truest selves as they endured the trials together.

Asher piercing him, Yekaterina tattooing Bernard’s skin when she hadn’t known him the day before, parting skin and tracing fingers through streams of blood- they all spurred each other on, kept each other alive even as they tore each other apart. Dissected each other.

Asher was the first person to dissect Bernard. On Bernard’s first day in the cult, he’d wandered the halls of the catacombs lost, unsure amongst the bustling crowds- until Asher grabbed his arm and pulled him to the wall. With a smile he took a knife and ran it down the back of each of his fingers. Gently held Bernard’s arm in place, allowing him to brace himself against the Asher’s thin frame. At first, Bernard tried his best to stay still. To not show the pain. However, he quickly learned that wasn’t the point- pain cults want to see the pain, they don’t want you to overcome it, but commit to it, experience it fully.

The rituals weren’t all physical, and all the physical things ended up being piercings and tattoos, or exerting the self through things like running until you collapse. Isolation; navigating the dark caverns after a frenzied party; the fear that made you jolt so hard at the slightest sound you’d pull a muscle; the hunger that left you curled up clutching your stomach to alleviate the rolling nausea that came stronger and stronger each time. You had to really stretch it, find new ways of embracing pain. The memories of why they ventured further in pursuit of pain eluded Bernard- some reasoned it was for higher elevation (whatever that meant), others to show determination, devotion. Maybe, above it all, it was a show- they wanted to all be noticed by the higher powers, to be told they were good, that their suffering meant something. ‘Look at me, I’m going to rise above you all by cutting myself down.’

Somehow, the pain was meant to help them find themselves. Find salvation.

Suffering is holy.

Asher believed that. He’d been there much longer than Bernard, and had stuck by his side, hoping to help him adjust to the new underground world he’d turned to to escape himself and his family. It had been months, and towards the end, Asher had begun to help other new recruits, as had…

Then Bernard saw Tim.

He almost felt like he’d betrayed Asher more than the cult. Bernard had walked away from the life Asher had spent almost half a year acclimating him to, snuck out without a word, like there was nothing easier than leaving the family he’d found in the catacombs of Gotham.

But Robin- Tim- had saved him, saved them all.

The Chaos Cult was no more, and they were all free.

Bernard never reached out to the others, after, never spoke to those he’d once called family. He remembered the feeling- the way they all belonged. The intentions of the Cult were never made clear to the followers, but as the confusion lifted over Bernard’s first few months, he felt lighter than ever. They’d all felt the same way, felt the relief as they began to settle into the life they all came to share. Some had for years. How could he look them in the eyes after taking all that away? Especially with what they were all running from?

He called Asher. He needed the reassurance, the short, thin frame to lean on as he adjusted to his new life. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t do it alone. He couldn’t be the only one. So, he concluded that if they’d all felt the same way before the cult, felt the same way on their journeys as members, then surely there’d be someone out there who felt the same as they left. Wondering if they were going mad, or if they were something other than human after their experience.

Finally, he gave in, and opened his phone to try the next ex-member. Esen.

Esen Polat had been a Turkish influencer before the cult. They’d run away because, like Bernard, their family made them scared of who they really were. They were the only other one Bernard had seen change like him after the cult- changing the he/ him in their bio to they/them- so he figured if he couldn’t rely on a person he looked up to, why not rely on someone he saw himself in?

So there he sat, Instagram open on his phone, eyes flicking over the keyboard as he hoped some letter or other would prompt him to think of the right way to open his message.

He typed.

Backspaced.

Typed.

Backspaced, then re-typed, then backspaced.

Turned off his phone.

What was to say they’d even answer? Maybe they also resented him for taking away the cult. Maybe they’d never see the DM because he wasn’t a friend. Maybe they just didn’t care about him.

Then Bernard thought back to the Things; the fear as a Thing turned the corner before a person; trying to figure out whether he should tell someone or if it would get back to the wrong people; the itch to go back to the catacombs, to do what he didn’t know.

He sighed, and typed.

‘Hi Esen, it’s Bernard. I know we haven’t talked since we last saw each other, but I think something’s wrong. I need to know if I’m the only one.’

<<<<<>>>>>

Twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed.

From Esen Polat-

‘Thank fuck, I was wanting to find someone else too. Can we meet at my place? I’m kind of scared to leave the house with my… new condition.’

Bernard held his breath.

From Bernard-

‘Does today work?’

Three dots popped up.

From Esen Polat-

‘How quick can you get to mine? I can’t wait a second longer than I have to.’

<<<<<>>>>>

The apartment Bernard was directed to rose high above the trees of Gotham park, a red brick wall crumbling with old vines from Poison Ivy’s last attack. Each balcony had its own personality, adorned with flags, plants and Knick knacks that all came together into a single tapestry of colour that wrestled out a small feeling of hope that warmed Bernard’s chest. It was a pretty typical Gotham scene- the dandelions growing in the cracks. Pretty to those that noticed. Refusing to be stamped down.

He pressed the buzzer for flat five, and the door opened with a crack of the hinges.

Esen Polat entered the door in a lilac silk dressing gown, an almost empty, incredibly large wine glass clutched in their grip. Their eyes scanned Bernard up and down, bloodshot. A smile broke across their face.

“God it’s been so long since I’ve seen a familiar figure. Come in, come in! Just be careful where you stand.”

Following his host’s frantic gesturing, as the goosebumps rose on his arms, Bernard stepped inside.

No Things inhabited the space. He tried to convince himself that was a good sign, even though he was too early into the whole seeing Things issue to know that for certain.

“So, there is no point in me pretending I don’t know why you’re here. Bernard, have you been blessed too? Do you… have you got the snakes too?” Esen’s voice dropped to a whisper on the last line, even though they were the only two in the room.

“The… snakes? I mean, cursed sounds more fitting than blessed if you ask me, and I haven’t seen any snakes since I left-“

“Not seen them, dear- spit them out.”

Bernard blanched. “You- you spit snakes? Well shit, I see weird monster Things attached to people, and I think I can touch them and affect the people they’re attached to. I mean… at least we’re both able to be more open minded to each others’, um, situations? When did you start spitting up reptiles?”

“It happened a week after the cult was disbanded. What about you? Your… monster Things? When did they start?”

“Three weeks after leaving,” Bernard said. “It’s been almost two weeks now, and until literally just now, I couldn’t tell if I was going mad or if it was some Metahuman shit manifesting. I guess at least I know I’m not mad, but being a Meta in Gotham isn’t great. Do you… have any snakes you kept?”

Emphatically, Esen nodded. “Five from this week. I drop them off at various shelters just before they open. I was almost drowning in them until I realised I could get rid of them in a more discreet manner. Follow me, just down this hall. The first few were so small, I thought I had some dreadful case of worms, but quickly they grew in size, now I’m coughing up snakes almost as long as I am tall. Truly terrible business.” They shook their head, ushering Bernard inside a room at the end of the hall.

A small cage, sat in one corner, covered haphazardly in chicken wire and emitting an ominous low hiss from within. Shadows obscured whatever was inside, but a dark shadow rose and fell, silhouetted against the white walls.

Esen crouched down, opening the hatch, and Bernard panicked.

“Don’t just let them out! What if they bite?”

Esen laughed. “They do what I will them to. I believe my power lies as much in their control as it does in their creation. Quite like a god of snakes.”

A shiver worked its way up Bernard’s spine. “Do you really think it’s like that? Like you’re some god?”

“I think therefore I am, right? I quite believe the cult left us with some left over gifts, as a thank you for our servitude. Why, you almost gave your life for the cult. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d been on that table…” they looked away wistfully, an expression that invoked both revulsion and rage in Bernard.

“What would have happened is you’d have been torn to fucking bits, tortured, and ended up nothing more than a dead body,” Bernard hissed. “Don’t be so naïve.”

“But we all wanted that, didn’t we? The pain, the conclusion?” Esen asked, tilting their head.

“I wanted to run away because I realized I was gay, for fucks sake. That’s all it really was, and they took advantage of that. They took advantage of all of us, and tortured us for months because we were all stupid.” Bernard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, at the end of the day, I don’t care if we think differently of the cult. Can we at least both agree that being Metas in Gotham is a bad idea?”

“Of course it is, no one stays a Meta in Gotham for long before the Bat comes. I may call myself a god, but the Bat and his clan are a whole different breed of entity. Something else entirely. I don’t want to go against that.”

“At least we agree on that, sort of.”

Tim was certainly something else entirely.

“I don’t want to see the Things anymore, and I want to find out where exactly these powers come from. So, there are two things we need to agree on; we need to keep this as much of a secret as we can, and we need to see if there’s a way we can get rid of the powers. Even if you don’t want to lose your powers, I do, and you might need to just in case.”

Esen nodded, placing their hand inside the cage. A Copperhead slithered out, winding around their arm, tongue flicking out as it surveyed the room. Yellow eyes trained themselves on Bernard. He shuffled away, back against the wall.

“Of course,” Esen agreed. “But if I get even a slight feeling that you’re taking this away from me, I’ll stop you.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” Bernard sighed. “Just don’t get too paranoid.”

Esen waved a hand. “You can never be too paranoid, Bernard dear.”

“Once again, agree to disagree.”

A high pitched noise rose up outside the door, and Bernard jumped, crouching low with his hands ready to strike. He really needed to remember the actual defensive positions he’d been taught in Krav Maga classes.

Behind him, Esen laughed. “That’s just Kadri, my lovely little boy. He’s just a bit timid around my snakes.”

Bernard craned his neck around the corner, locking eyes with a dog that could hardly be considered ‘little’. A lanky, golden furred creature with a long nose and twig thin legs peered up at the newcomer, head cocked to the side. It’s tail tucked between its legs, as it danced back and forth on the fresh hold of the room, clearly nervous as Bernard felt around the snakes.

“He’s a Borzoi, truly a lovely creature,” Esen crooned, stoking a finger under the snake’s chin. “Now, as much as I love small talk and company, I have a feeling you would like to be sorted and far away from my snakes as soon as possible. Do you have any proposals for how we go about figuring out the root of our new powers? Whilst I am more than happy to return to the catacombs, I’m sure you are less than eager.”

Bernard huffed. “You can say that again. Look, I haven’t kept in contact with anyone since I left, Asher never answers my calls, and I only found you out through social media. If we’re going to find the origin, we need to find out if all of us have powers too, or if it’s a select few. If it’s the latter, it might even help us figure out more about the way we got our powers.”

“I have a few contacts. Most fled Gotham though, going back to their hometowns, going into hiding, some seemingly disappearing off the map. Not to mention the deaths.”

A breath hitched in Bernard’s throat. “How many?”

“Five that I know of. Likely more. I know some were accidents, in a sense, just people trying to carry out the rituals and going too far. Others were not so accidental. Didn’t you see Geoff on the news, getting pulled out of Gotham harbor? Dreadful news. If we were still together, we could make sure we all were ok.”

“You mean we could supervise each other while we tore ourselves apart? Fucking hell, Esen.” Bernard shook his head, expression creasing into a scowl. “Whatever. Call everyone you can, arrange to meet them on the weekend. There’s an old dive bar nearby that is loud enough for us all to have a conversation without being heard. Just dress discreetly, ok? No fancy gowns or designer brands, just put in a hoodie and jeans or something.”

“You do push me, but fine. I have no interest in being noticed in Crime Alley.”

Bernard thanked Esen for agreeing to help, deciding to ignore their somewhat classist sounding remark, and said his goodbyes.

Kadri the Borzoi nudged his nose into Bernard’s hand, and he petted him as he passed, almost certain the dog was the nicest part of the visit. He resolved to bring treats if he ever came back.

<<<<<>>>>>

Dusk had begun to settle on Gotham, the neon lights of Robinson Square illuminating the lush plant life of Robinson Park.

Bernard sat on some old bench dedicated to some old dead guy, watching as people passed.

Now he knew he wasn’t going mad, he’d decided that he might as well get used to his powers while he had them- and that meant practice.

The Things weren’t always noticeable, sometimes because of their size, sometimes because of their appearance- but they were almost always there. Esen had actually been the first person Bernard had seen since he first saw the Things to not have one. Bernard had been looking for his own Thing, some little monster attached to himself, but hadn’t had any luck. Maybe their lack of Things had something to do with the cult- whatever them not having their own Things meant, a creeping feeling that that wasn’t a good thing had begun to grow on Bernard’s consciousness.

An old woman passed, her Thing bounding on ahead, its odd shape vaguely resembling a small dog- at least, a small dog with three necks and a dozen legs. She smiled as she looked at the passing flowers, and Bernard turned his attention to the next passerby.

A young couple walked in the opposite direction, holding hands and leaning on each other. Their things took on bird-like forms, one chasing the other in a never ending circle. The young man pulled out his phone, and as the woman angled her head to look, he moved it out of her line of sight.

The night sky above revealed no stars, and the smog caught the lights from Robinson square, turning the edges of the park into a red and purple setting that resembled some lost good dream. Bernard allowed himself to appreciate it for a minute before deciding to set off, not trusting anything beautiful in Gotham.

He left the park fifteen minutes later. The north-east end of the city was only ten minutes away from his apartment, and in the southern distance, the Bat-signal lit up the sky, visible from the clutches of the entire city

The East End wasn’t a far cry from The Bowery- slightly better kept, but still clearly abandoned by the council, covered in old graffiti tags, with trash cans overflowing and glass bottles turning the ground into a hazard to simply exist around. He’d already pulled glass from his shoes on three separate occasions since moving down.

It was on one of these streets that he heard a scream.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and Bernard spun around in the direction it came from, seemingly out of some alley to his left. It was certainly a man’s scream, and Bernard froze as he realized something.

The scream was one he’d heard many times before: one of pain.

Trying to shake the feeling of claustrophobia that rose whenever he thought of his time in the cult, Bernard sprang forward, sprinting in the direction of the scream before he’d even thought about what he was doing.

The further down he ventured, the darker it became as the lights from the Main Street slinked out of view.

He came to a stop, Blood rushing in his veins. The alley came to a dead end.

Had he missed the person who screamed?

Alarms sounded in his mind, to get the fuck out as soon as possible. Instantly, his mind went to it either being a trap or something much bigger than what he could handle. What was he even thinking? What idiot ran towards danger? What if he-?

“You lost?”

Bernard jumped, turning around to see a tall man rise up from behind a dumpster.

He wore a baby blue tracksuit, two swords strapped to his sides, his face shrouded in the darkness. Light hair, possibly blonde, possibly white, hung in strands around his shoulders. He stood about two heads taller than Bernard, and seemed to be doing his best to use that to his advantage, towering over Bernard to try intimidate him.

It didn’t work.

“Were you just… hiding behind a bin?” Bernard asked.

“Umm… yeah, I, uh- shut up, I asked first.”

Bernard sighed. “Clearly not. What’s your gig? You gonna rob me? Are you one of the local traffickers? Maybe a shitty wannabe villain?”

“I’m not a shitty wannabe! I’m a villain. A super villain. See?” The shitty wannabe supervillain unsheathed two glowing swords, a menacing grin growing on his underlit face, long shadows leaving his eyes covered.

Then, one sword stopped moving, and he tugged at it a bit. After a moment's struggle, the sword came free, something ripping as the lights went out.

“Oh my god,” Bernard groaned. “Tell me you didn’t add LED strips to your swords to make them seem magical. Please.”

“I didn’t do it to make them seem magical, I just-“

Bernard cut the man’s defense short. “Actually, I don’t care. I’m not being involved in your embarrassing ass origin story, so I’m leaving. If you try to stop me, I’ll give you a real tragic backstory, capeesh?” A shiver of secondhand embarrassment ran laps up and down Bernard’s spine, before finishing his sentiment. “Just… sort whatever this is out before you try again.”

“I am the Blue Hood, also known as the Blue Death, and I’m going to kill the Red Hood.” The idiot straightened up, puffing out his chest. He tried to cross his arms, but couldn’t with the swords in his hands, so ended up just trying to pose with them on his hips, his wrists bent awkwardly. “You won’t be leaving, and I’m going to hold you hostage to lure in the Red Hood.”

“Wait, is that why you screamed? To lure in the Hood?” Bernard threw his hands in the air, frustration rising. “Do you even know how ridiculously fucking stupid that plan is? Let me guess, you have no clue when his patrol times are. What’s your genius plan, just hide behind that dumpster for the whole night, occasionally screaming on the off chance he turns up? I genuinely think I’m starting to hate you just for how dumb you are. I actually feel insulted that you’re trying to… what is this? Kidnap me?”

He sidestepped the idiot, holding a finger up as he began to move his swords. As he made his way down the street, he caught a glimpse of something glowing nearby, and turned to see a Thing stalking him. Shit.

The Blue Hood (stupid, stupid name) lunged forward, swords raised at Bernard’s chest. Because of course, a dead hostage was a great idea.

Bernard dodged under the strike, ploughing his fist into Blue Hood’s groin.

Bernard’s attempted kidnapper fell, cursing at the pain, as his swords clattered away from him. The light of the one unbroken sword illuminated the alley, and Bernard pulled the hood of his jacket low over his face, not wanting to be seen on the off chance the Red Hood had actually been drawn in.

“Please,” Bernard begged, “just fuck off.”

“Never!”

The Blue Hood scrambled towards his swords, blue light illuminating his pale skin. He grabbed one, rolling around and waving it wildly in the air, only to realise Bernard had simply stepped out of his reach in his attempt to regain his weapons.

“Come at me if you think you can take me,” he snarled.

“No. Fuck off.”

As Bernard watched the Blue Hood roll around on the trash strewn ground, he didn’t notice the Thing behind him gradually growing closer. It leapt, landing on his back and knocking him to his hands and knee with a yell.

He reached behind himself, grabbing the weird glowing blue and black substance of the Blue Hood’s Thing. He pulled, and slammed it into the ground with all the force he could manage.

The Blue Hood screamed, back arching as the Thing flattened itself against the ground. He gasped, grasping his head, his feet kicking out.

Had Bernard managed to hurt him through his Thing?

Bernard drove his fist into the center of the squished Thing, and another scream made its way to his ears. Definitely related then.

Bernard stood, brushing off the dirt on his hoodie and jeans, making sure his hood had stayed low.

“You ok?” He whispered.

The Blue Hood whimpered.

“Well, I would help you, but you did attack me, so…”

Tim would help the idiot. Fuck.

He sighed. “I’m too tired for this shit. There’s a clinic nearby, I’ll take you there, and if this shit ever happens again, I will leave you.”

The Blue Hood just groaned in response.

“Good. Also, seriously consider changing your name. Blue Hood will just get you laughed at. I’m literally dying of second hand embarrassment. Maybe that could be your schtick, killing people by being yourself.”

Maybe he was being mean, but as Bernard scraped the Thing off the floor and slung it over his shoulder, and threw the Blue Hood over the other, he realised he really couldn't care less. He’d earnt the bitchiness.

<<<<<>>>>>

Thompkins’ clinic was one of the places Bernard had first learnt of when he moved to the Bowery. He’s heard in passing that some locals could go there and get free, confidential treatment, no matter their issue.

In the many turf wars and conflicts of Gotham, Leslie Thompkins’ clinics were always steadfast in their neutrality, treating anyone who stepped in, on the condition they never caused problems once inside. Rumor had it that the Red Hood even used it, not to mention the many local villains, and it had some level of protection from any power that had found help in her walls.

Bernard knocked on the front door, nerves coursing through him as he waited for a reply. What time was it? Ten pm? Eleven? Would there even be anyone in?

No lights were on, bar the glow of a fish tank in the office window.

Next to him, the Blue hood whimpered, rubbing his head. Turns out, he only wore a cheap face mask from some corner store, and his outfit had no reinforcement except for skater pads on his knees and elbows. Bernard held no hope for him improving.

Then, a miracle. Warm lights flickered on in an upstairs window, and the curtains flickered.

Bernard thought about Leslie Thompkins’ clientele- if Red Hood, an associate of the bats, was known to come here, what if the bats did? What if Red Robin did?

He looked to the still half-conscious Blue Hood, in his stupid trackies, and decided he was happy to bet on Thompkins’ confidentiality on behalf of the president wannabe villain, ripping off the shitty mask and putting it over his own face. He prayed the Blue Hood wasn’t sick.

The door opened, and a white haired old woman appeared, a young, brunette boy at her side. She was dressed in a casual linen shirt, white baggy trousers stopping at her calves. The boy wore a massive red hoodie, his wide blue eyes peering up at Bernard.

“Does your friend need help?” She inquired. “I don’t tend to get unfamiliar clients at this time of night.”

“He has… a migraine, I think. Also I might have broken his dick. By punching it.”

“Oh.” She straightened up. “Alright then, I can try my best. Follow me.”

“There’s no one else inside, is there?”

Bernard tried to peer around the door, suddenly paranoid that Tim would turn around the corner as Esen’s words came back to him; ‘Can’t be too paranoid.’

Bernard still had his doubts, but not in this instance.

He stepped inside.

<<<<<>>>>>

Three hours later, Doctor Thompkins had patched up the Blue Hood, who lay sulking on the cot. Lucky for him, his dick wasn’t broken, but a few other body parts were, and his splitting headache had only just begun to subside,

“Somehow, I have a feeling I’ll be having this Blue Hood guy in my clinic again.” Doctor Thompkins turned towards Bernard. “What about you, Mr. hidden-in-the-shadows? You’ve been trying your best to not be seen by me, so I’m assuming that means you’re some vigilante type who got caught out with your mask.”

Bernard shrugged. “Not really. Just don’t want to be known around here. I guess I'm… hiding?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said, shrugging. “You’re new to the Bowery then?”

She could be trusted. Neutral grounds. Right?

“Yeah I'm new, but I know the area well. You work with vigilantes a lot though, don’t you?”

“Put up with them is more like it, but yeah. It’s kind of why I asked if you were one- Vigilantes always get mysterious airs about them, just like you have- and you’re definitely in your lone wolf stage, something I hope you get over soon.”

“My lone wolf stage..?” Bernard shook his head. “I’m not even a vigilante, so stop… whatever it is you’re talking about. I’m just a guy that got jumped.”

“Oh yes, a guy who got jumped and managed to give the guy an awful head injury with no physical marks?”

“The guy got a migraine,” he grunted.

She laughed, turning towards her computer. The blue light lit up the small room, and Bernard let his gaze fall on the illuminated equipment laid out on a nearby table. The warmth of the small orange lamp on the desk clashed with the cool lighting, and his gaze followed the dark neutral line between the two lights, trailing the path up the wall, across the ceiling, returning down the cross over the half-asleep Blue Hood.

“You know,” Doctor Thompkins said softly, “I’ve lived over half my life working with vigilantes, so I know a thing or two about them. But I’ve also worked with the civilians of Gotham too. You can come here, vigilante or not, and I’d be happy to help you if ever you need it.”

He hmphed, tilting his head. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m serious. I don’t take kindly to scooping people off the pavement. Come to me, I am not asking. I opened this clinic to keep the streets clean, and I won’t be happy if you mess them up with your insides.” Her tone was serious, but the smile in Doctor Thompkins’ eyes settled Bernard’s nerves.

“I’ll keep you in mind if I get a papercut.”

Bernard headed towards the door, head turned under his hood to avoid the light of the hallways showing his face under the shadows. He stopped, just as he reached the door frame.

“Thank you… I appreciate your help with the Blue Hood. He’s clearly too stupid to survive on his own. Maybe you should give him the talk you gave me. I can’t deny it’s got me thinking.”

“I think I’ll give him a modified version of the talk,” she laughed. “Maybe suggest that he retires the- supervillain gig, was it?”

“Hard agree doc. Thanks again, but hopefully I won’t be seeing you again.”

“I hope the same for you. Goodbye, Mr. Hidden-in-the-Shadows.”

“I really need a better name than that.”

“I thought you weren’t a vigilante?” she called after him.

“Bye, Doctor Thompkins!”

Bernard rounded the corner, making his way down the tight staircase towards the front door. The walls were lined with medical degrees, group photos of patients and medical practitioners alike, and even a few kids’ drawings to brighten up the atmosphere.

He reached the door, but just as he went to turn the lock, a small voice piped up from the doorway leading to a reception area.

“The man you brought in called himself the Blue Hood. Why?”

Bernard turned, to see the young boy from before peering around the doorway.

“He called himself the Blue Hood because he’s unoriginal and not very bright. You don’t need to be scared of him.”

“I know he’s unoriginal, because I’m the Blue Hood.” Indignation lit up the kid’s voice. “Well, I’m actually called Tyler, but the Red Hood told me I could be the Blue Hood for my superhero name.”

The kid knew the Hood? Bernard was reminded of how close the clinic was to the vigilantes that roamed Gotham- including one elder vigilante, who would definitely dislike his newly-Meta-human presence in the city. Definitely time to disappear.

“Well, in which case, I’m sure the idiot upstairs will soon learn to change his name. You seem like a tough kid. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be caught stealing the name of someone as fearful as the Red Hood’s left hand man. Look, I’ve got to go home, so goodnight-”

“Tyler? I have Batburger for you!”

From the back, a gruff voice called out, as a door opened and slammed shut. Heavy footsteps grew closer, and Bernard stepped back as a familiar figure loomed up behind Tyler.

The Red Hood.

A grey armored shirt and red, sleeveless jacket stretched over six feet of pure muscle. A red face mask combined with a grey domino glared down at Bernard, red eyes directed at his face. His face, which was only covered by his low hood. If they were making eye contact, that meant the Hood had seen him. Shit fuck shit.

Bernard ducked his head as low as he could. No way was he letting the Hood recognize him from the other night.

“Uh, hello?” The Hood muttered, seemingly taken aback by a stranger in the clinic. “You here on business or somethin’?”

“No,” Bernard whispered, willing whatever luck he had to manifest in the Hood not to recognize his voice. “Just dropping off some idiot. I’m on my way, so you two have a good evening.”

“Bye-bye,” Tyler called, waving Bernard off, a gesture which he returned.

“Yeah, see you around,” The Red Hood muttered, a farewell that set Bernard on edge.

Would he follow Bernard? ‘See you around’ implies that the Hood was expecting them to cross paths again, something Bernard really hoped against.

He shrugged off the feeling of the Red Hood's eyes following his back, and sprinted down the dark street the second he knew he was out of the sight of the clinic’s windows.

It was only as he walked away that he realized something- The Red Hood had no Thing attached to him either.

<<<<<>>>>>

Five minutes later, Bernard had finally reached his street. Only one streetlamp worked, and even that flickered as he passed underneath. With his apartment only a few more meters away, and the street so quiet even the local dealers had vacated their corners, Bernard was finally able to stop enough to appreciate just how goddamn tired he was. His joints almost ached, and his head definitely ached. He sucked in a deep breath, counting to ten before letting it slowly escape.

Just two doors away from his apartment building, Bernard stopped.

A small party shop, full of masks and costumes caught his eye.

The bright colors, the light up decorations, the shiny glitter that coated every surface- none of that caught his eye.

But in the corner, a thin black mask, covered in matching black roses, with two curled horns on either side caught his eye. The piece sat nestled against a wall display, a small white tag attached, reading sale- $10.

‘Vigilantes always get mysterious airs about them, just like you have’

Bernard smiled, and decided to come back the next day.

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