Compassion (Oswald Cobblepot x reader oneshot)

“Fucking hell” was the only thought dancing through your mind as you parked the car behind the cover of a few trees. You took a deep breath before opening your door and stepping out. You walked around to the trunk and opened it slowly, revealing a timid man shaking with fear. Little did he know, you were more scared than he was. You grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet roughly, heart racing as you began to push him down the forested path ahead of you. You walked for maybe ten minutes before deviating from the path and instructing the man to kneel. He did. You could barely hear yourself think over his pleas for mercy.

You grabbed your gun from its place tucked into the back of your waistband and, your hands shaking, pointed it at the back of the man’s head. You stood there for what felt like an eternity before letting your hands fall to your sides. “For god’s sake, please just shut up!” you exclaimed, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. The man fell silent and you began sobbing. You really did not want to do this.

You had worked for Sal Maroni since you were seventeen years old. Living on the streets throughout your entire childhood, you learned to fight to get what you needed, even though you absolutely hated being cruel. Maroni had taken you in after you saved one of his men from getting murdered in an alley. He called you his secret weapon, because you looked like an innocent little girl but could kick ass like no other. Your only vice, as he called it, was your empathy. You had learned to deal with hurting people, but whenever there was death involved, you couldn’t do it. You had never killed anyone in the six years you'd worked for Maroni. In an attempt to cure you once and for all, he put you in charge of exterminating a small-time offender. All you would have to do was shoot him execution-style; you didn’t even need to look at his face. It seemed easy enough on the surface, but you simply couldn’t handle the pressure of taking a life.

“Listen to me,” you choked out, “You are going to leave, and if you ever come back to Gotham, for any reason, you will not be shown nearly as much mercy as I am granting you now. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” the man stuttered.

“Good,” you replied, “Go.” He immediately sprang up and ran back in the direction you had come. You stayed in place for a moment, sighing and replacing your gun to its previous location, before you made your way back to the path and ventured the opposite way from your car. You needed a relaxing walk to calm your nerves.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, you spotted a body on the ground just off the path. After taking a closer look, you determined that the pale, black-haired man was only sleeping. However, you did find it peculiar that he was soaking wet and bleeding slightly. You took pity on him, he was shivering and probably in pain as well, but knew you had to be careful in situations like this. You grabbed your gun and pointed it at the man, using the barrel to nudge his shoulder. He blinked groggily before scrambling backward upon realizing you were pointing a gun at him.

“Calm down,” you said, “I won’t hurt you as long as you promise not to hurt me.”

“I-I won’t,” he stuttered.

“Promise,” you ordered.

“I promise,” he replied.

You lowered the gun and asked, “Are you okay?”

“A little shaken up,” he said, “but mostly fine.”

“What happened?” you followed up.

“You’re not working for Falcone, are you?” he asked warily.

I shook my head. “Maroni,” I replied.

“Okay,” he said, “I was supposed to be killed by someone under orders from Falcone, but they let me live.”

“I’m in a similar situation,” you replied, “I was supposed to kill someone for Maroni but I let them go.” He grinned slightly. “Come on, I’ll take you home,” you said, getting up.

“It’s not safe for me to go back there yet,” he replied.

“There’s no way I’m going to just leave you here,” you said, “Why don’t you come to my place, just to get cleaned up?”

“Okay,” he replied, following you back to the path, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you said, “Hey, what’s your name anyway?”

“Oswald,” he replied, “What’s yours?”

You grinned and said, “_____.”

Back at your apartment in Gotham, you gave Oswald a towel so he could dry off and said, “I’ll go find you something else to wear.”

“I doubt you’d have anything that would fit me,” he replied. Even though you knew he was probably right, you went to look anyway. You managed to find a baggy t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that had always been big on you. Oswald changed into them and gave you his clothes to put in the dryer. He was waiting for you in the living room when you got back, standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. You noticed that the shirt was a little tight on him, revealing the slight outline of lean muscle underneath. You tried not to grin.

“Sit down,” you said, gesturing toward the couch, “I’ll make some tea.” He did as you said and you ventured off to the kitchen, soon returning with two mugs of hot water with tea bags floating on top.

“So,” Oswald said as you handed him one of the mugs, “Why didn’t you kill the guy like Maroni told you to?”

“I’m too empathetic. I’ve never been able to kill anyone before because even the thought of it makes me feel really bad,” you replied, blushing with embarrassment.

“I can see you’re compassionate; that’s not a bad thing,” he replied, grinning and placing his hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “But what are you going to tell Maroni?”

“I haven’t even thought about that yet,” you answered honestly.

He chuckled before replying, “It’s okay, I’ll help you brainstorm.”