we both reached for the gun

[softpunks]

helena bertinelli-centric // 2k
> written for Gotham Unmasked Zine; Canon Compliant.

When Helena fished the arrow out of the man’s neck, it was less for the sake of depriving the police of a missing murder weapon, and more because she told herself she’d want the memento someday. It wasn’t every day you killed a man, and it wasn’t every day that it happened to be one of the people involved in the murder of your father.

Still, after double-checking that she’d left next to no traces of her presence, and slipping out of the house through the window, she thought she should’ve felt better about the situation: gratification for how her resolve had not faltered, that all her training had amounted to something, that she wasn’t lying to her uncle and aunt when she said she would do this, that she had to. It wasn’t like the people she was after were particularly good people either.

But she didn’t. She had a feeling that the cold seeping into her skin didn’t have much to do with the end of the year weather.

Her plan to return to her hotel room to rest and figure out who her next target should be no longer seemed like a sound idea. It wasn’t lingering naivety that plagued her; she knew what she was getting into, but this fog that she’d gained from tonight wasn’t something that could stay. She wasn’t guilty, nor did she think she regretted it, but she felt like she should have been. There was a sense of wrongness that she couldn’t shake.

The streets of Gotham were unfamiliar to her after so many years spent in Sicily. At the very least, the Christmas carols she could faintly make out—present in spite of how the event had already ended—hadn’t changed. The memory of her father taking her to listen to all the choirs that liked to sing in the streets filtered in her mind, and it only left behind a faint sense of warmth, but it felt good regardless.

Breaking up an ongoing fight in an alleyway she passed by somewhat helped, directing her focus elsewhere than the murder. No one had gotten hurt past a few bruises that left them dazed enough to stop riling up the other either, an impressive show of her strength and control; a jab to the stomach, a kick to the head, a punch to the face, and everything had backed away before they could get knocked down. Still, when she looked down at her hands, she thought she saw them stained with blood.

Not her target’s, but her father’s.

The sound of a police siren wailing briefly snapped her out of her thoughts. It was still far away, but it would be headed towards her soon, either making its usual nightly rounds or coming to this area because someone had called beforehand for assistance, but either way, Helena had to escape before she was spotted.

She climbed up the nearest building through the fire escape staircase, swinging her legs over to land safely on the rooftop. It was only when her feet touched the ground did she realize she wasn’t the only one there, and she recognized the bright colors of the uniform the boy standing by the edge of the building wore.

“Santo Alonzo,” Robin began. “22 Levee Street. Shot through the neck.”

Helena took a cautious step back, about to slip away before this went in a direction she didn’t want it to, but then he added, still not looking at her, “Guy was a bastard. Two kids, but they’re old enough to hate his guts and his fingerprints are all over a child trafficking deal that’s been going on for months.”

She stopped. Reminded herself that he was just a kid. And Batman may have been bad news, the last person she wanted to run into, but his partner was right here, by himself. Besides, he didn’t sound like he was in the mood to pick a fight.

“Don’t worry,” he said just then, as if reading her thoughts. “I didn’t come here to bust you.”

Trusting him was idiotic, so she didn’t, but she walked cautiously over to him anyway instead of turning and leaving like she probably should have. “I’m guessing you’re in the same boat,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. “Even kids shouldn’t be out here alone at night. The mask doesn’t change that.”

“Whatever,” Robin huffed. He was fiddling with a bat-shaped boomerang. She had a feeling it wasn’t something he acquired with permission. “I’ve been out here alone before. Not my fault adults keep on thinking I don’t know squat about looking out for myself. Anyway, I meant what I said.”

Helena crossed her arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Robin snorted. “Yeah, right. You covered your tracks for the police, but you were dawdling in the area for too long. I saw you. Rule number one in this city is that you shouldn’t be near the crime scene when it happens.”

“You were following me?”

“Lady, I’ve never met you before, so no. I was passing by—I’ve been eyeing Alonzo too—but it’s not hard to put two and two together when you were the only one stomping around the streets and moping dressed like that.”

She had to work on that. If some kid was able to figure that out, then what more—

“You’re lucky the Boogeyman ain’t here,” Robin said. “If he was, he would’ve showed up already. He already made his rounds, so he’s on the other side of the city. You lucked out.”

Helena frowned, annoyed that the worry was clear enough on her face for Robin to notice. “And you snuck out,” she pointed out. Robin only shrugged, and he shifted in a way that told Helena he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. She sighed. “Wanna tell me why the hell you’re really here?”

“I wanna know why you killed him.”

“He wasn’t a good person,” Helena said shortly. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

“There are plenty of people who aren’t ‘good’, and you only went after one.”

She didn’t have to explain herself to him, and they both knew it. But the way he spoke to her, like there was always the hint of a question in everything he said, told her that he was searching for something in her answer, something more for him, and she reminded herself once more that she was talking to a boy. He wasn’t a normal kid if he was out here fighting crime in shorts like those, but that didn’t change much. As much as she appreciated everything her aunt and uncle had done for her after the death of her family, they weren’t there for her in the way she wanted them to be. They didn’t understand. Maybe that was what Robin wanted.

“It was personal,” Helena answered. “He was involved in the murder of my family. One of many, actually.”

Instead of recoiling in horror or looking grossly sympathetic, Robin only nodded, like it made sense. “So revenge,” he said. “I get that. I used to think I’d kill the guys who gave my mom the drugs she needed to O.D.”

They were strangers; Helena had no idea why Robin was telling her this. “Used to?’

Robin shrugged. “I mean, I still think about it sometimes. It’s always something else when it’s family, you know—parents,” For a moment, he seemed to shrink in on himself, like the memory stuck him. “But Batman’s big on his no-killing rule. So—don’t tell, I guess.”

“I won’t,” Helena replied, mouth slightly curving. Cautiously, she began to close the distance between them, anticipating that Robin would leave at any second. He didn’t. Eventually, she found a place beside him on the ledge. She wasn’t good with kids; she barely knew how to interact with other people, but he talked to her first. And she figured she couldn’t do anything to scar him for life when he seemed pretty fucked up as it was. “Batman doesn’t kill, huh?” Once, she would’ve only cared about this information to give her more incentive to avoid him. Now, she wondered why; if it was because he thought he was above committing those acts, if he just didn’t care. “Has he ever stopped to think that not killing only gives the murderers more chances to continue?”

“That would mean he’d have to kill you,” Robin pointed out, though he didn’t sound serious. “But probably. He’s big on doing the ‘right’ thing though.”

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m doing the wrong thing?”

That made Robin laugh. “Hell no. Batman will never let me do anything about it, but I still think some people deserve what’s coming to them. Though if you ask me, I think the right thing to do is whatever helps you. So you should just do that. ‘S not my business what that is unless you make it.”

Helena paused. Sound advice, kid, she wanted to say, because it was a mature thing to hear from someone she barely knew, from someone so young. Instead, she asked, “How about you? Is it helping you—the mask, the ass-kicking?”

“The ass-kicking is awesome.” Robin grinned at her, standing up. “But I’ll be honest, lady, I’m still trying to find out.”

He jumped off the edge and shot a grappling hook towards the nearest building, leaving without looking back. She didn’t mind the lack of goodbye.

But the conservation seemed to ease a weight off her chest she didn’t even know was pulling her down, and still, she found that her resolve remained. It was nice to hear that someone else related to her, even if it was a kid she barely knew, even if he seemed to choose differently.

She didn’t exactly know if what she was choosing would ultimately help, nor did she know if vengeance could be the only thing in her mind she’d bother to care about. Doing the right thing did matter. She remembered how it was important to her father. Santo Alonzo’s kids may have hated their old man’s guts, but he was still their old man. She couldn’t bring him back from the dead though, couldn’t take back what she’d done, and she didn’t want to.

It may have been a faulty mindset—she still didn’t feel guilty, nor disgusted with herself—but she internally told herself that afterwards, at the very least. She'd do her best to do the right thing. She’d try and do some good, to make up for all the bad that had been done to her, and all the bad she had done and would do.

Right as she stood, she felt another presence on the roof, though when she turned, the person who emerged from the shadows wasn’t Batman’s massive figure, but a man whose face was warped and unrecognizable. If she were still nine and afraid of things she didn’t understand, she would’ve flinched, but this was Gotham. There were stranger things.

“Helena Bertinelli,” he said, and that made her tense, immediately raising her crossbow. He wasn’t supposed to know her name. But he held up his hand, signaling that he meant no harm. She didn’t lower her arm. “With what you’re capable of, how do you feel about doing some good for a change?”

The words rang in her ears, but Helena frowned. “Who’s asking?”

“The UN.” The man took a step forward, now stretching his hand like a peace offering. There was a card on his palm. “You can call us Spyral.”