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“Wayne Manor is impenetrable.”
“Wayne Manor is the safest place in Gotham.”
“No one can get to you if you’re in Wayne Manor.”
They had never been the most accurate statements, but right now they were the furthest thing from the truth.
First came the blackout. It was always a blackout first, but you were never prepared. Always hopeful that it was just a power-cut. And it never was.
Then you heard the laughter. A crowd of people, laughing and cackling and joking as they began to move towards the study where you, Bruce and Alfred stood panicked. But one stood out from the rest. You couldn’t see them yet, but that laugh couldn’t belong to anyone else. Jerome Valeska. You start to shake. He’s here for you. You know he is.
“The two of you, split up and run. Get out of here.” There’s a gun in Alfred’s hand. Bruce looks at you and gives you a nod.
“It’s going to be alright, (Y/N).” No, it’s not.
You take off through the side door, away from the voices, but you start to realise that they must have had a similar idea; they’re ahead of you and to your right. You turn in fear, trying to figure out where to go now that you’re seemingly surrounded. Hide. You open the first door you see and quickly slide into one of the guest bedrooms just as torchlight appears in the corner of your vision. The lock clicks shut, too loud for your liking, and you pray that nobody heard. Running to the window you consider opening it, but there’s no chance you would survive the fall without hurting yourself. So you have to wait. A door slams outside and you jump. You can’t just stand here waiting for them to find you. The only place in the room is the bed, so you fall to the ground and crawl into the small gap between the floor and the mattress. Your heart is racing as you lie there waiting, listening to the sounds outside. Hopefully, Bruce and Alfred got out. Hopefully, they’re not trapped like you. Somebody tries the handle of the door. You hold your breath. When it bangs open along with a gunshot you jump, hand flying to your mouth to silence the yelp of fear.
“(Y/N)?” It’s him. You can see his shoes – black boots, stained with mud. His voice is sing-song, as though the two of you are playing a twisted game of hide-and-seek. More like he’s the hunter, and you’re the prey, cowering and waiting for your inevitable fate. “Come on. I know you’re in here. How else would the door be locked?” It’s so obvious when he says it. You curse yourself internally, but you can’t move. Can’t give up any chance that you might survive this. “Don’t make this more difficult on yourself.” He’s moving around the room, opening the closet, looking out of the window, drawing this out. You’re shaking. “You know how this is going to end.” I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Please just leave. Please let me go.
Silence.
And more.
Is he gone?
You open your eyes and turn your head to the right.
Jerome is bent down and staring right at you.
“Gotcha.”
You scream and try to escape from under the bed, but Jerome’s hand is quick to tighten around your ankle and drag you towards him. You kick at him, claw at the floor, anything to get away, but he ignores your attacks and succeeds in pulling you towards him. His hands grip your waist and pull you up, not even letting you stand before he’s heaving you onto his shoulder. You hit at him, trying to make him drop you or to at least give him as much grief as possible as he carries you out of your home against your will.
“Bruce! Alfred!” The only thing you can think of that might be able to save you.
“They’re not coming, sweetcheeks,” Jerome chuckles. “They’re having a lovely nap. You’ll be long gone before they wake up.” You yell in anger and start struggling even more. It doesn’t seem to bother him as he practically dumps you into the back of a black van, closing the doors and trapping you in darkness.
*
It’s impossible to tell how long you’re driving for, or where; there’s no way you can find your way home. Now all you can do is wait and hope for rescue. The movement stops suddenly, throwing you to the ground. That’s definitely going to leave bruises. Light fills the space as the door slides open and Jerome appears. You push yourself into the furthest corner but you know you’re only delaying the inevitable.
“Come on, (Y/N).” He grins, hand outstretched. You don’t have a choice. Struggling onto shaky legs, you cross to the door and take his hand, letting him help you down. You can’t fight. You’ll just get hurt and end up worse off. He holds your hand tight in his and pulls you into the warehouse. It’s cold, empty, and dark. You shudder, and you know Jerome feels it.
“Why am I here?” The words are little more than a whisper but they make Jerome stop and turn around. He looks you up and down, his eyes burning into your soul.
“You know why you’re here.” He pulls you close, holding your arms tight, trapping you in front of him. His hand lifts to stroke your hair. It’s like you’re a pet to him. “You’re here so I can protect you.”
You try to pull back, your fear only growing as he gets closer to you until his body is practically engulfing yours. “You’re not protecting me.” His grip tightens. “You’re hurting me.”
“I’m doing what I need to do.” His voice is a growl. “You’re mine, (Y/N). Only mine. The rest of the world doesn’t deserve you.”
“You don’t deserve me!” You wrench yourself away, ignoring the pain, and make a run for the door. Maybe, just maybe you can be faster than him.
Idiot.
You barely make it five meters before Jerome’s arms are wrapping around you, lifting you off the ground and making you scream.
“Quiet!” He holds tighter until you can barely breathe; you still, otherwise you’re not sure if you would survive. You feel him lower you slightly, so your toes are just barely brushing the concrete, and one arm rises to your throat. He doesn’t tighten his grip – but you know he could if he wanted to. “No one deserves you; I know that. But I love you more than anyone else in Gotham.” The words sicken you. “You are mine. And I’m not letting anyone take you away.”