girl wonder | dick grayson ✓

one.

girl wonder.
chapter one

GROWING up, every little kid is told the same thing. Well, they're told quite a lot of things, but among those things, they're told that they should always stand out from the crowd, that they shouldn't be afraid to not fit in.

I was one of those kids. I grew up with my father and my teachers and characters on TV telling me that I don't have to follow trends, and that it's okay if I have different hobbies to everyone around me, and that I should be unique.

Key word — unique. No one told me it was okay to be different.

See, there's a difference. Unique and different are a lot less synonymous than you realise. If you're unique, you still fit in, in one way or another. But if you're different, you simply don't belong.

I learned this on the first day of kindergarten. One kid fell and scraped his knees. He cried and bled and then got candy for soldiering on. When I fell and scraped my knees, I didn't feel a thing and when I looked at my legs, there was not a single scratch. I always won Tag because I was the fastest, and arm wrestles because I was the strongest out of all the other kids.

It was all fun and games in elementary school, but by middle school, the other kids started to realise that I was weird, not badass like Batman. I was beginning to drift away from the already distant friends that I had. By high school, I was completely alone.

I tried to join clubs: volleyball, soccer, cheerleading, mathletes, science, foreign languages, even arts clubs, but that was before I figured out that the arts weren't for me and I dropped out because I didn't want to waste my time watching paint dry and pretending to be someone else on a stage.

As for the rest of the clubs, they ended in disaster, too. When I played sports, I was a "freak" because I was too fast. My teammates were always pissed that I never passed the ball to anyone else and scored all the goals myself, even though they were all too slow. There were also times where I accidentally tackled the opposition to the ground.

In cheerleading, I insisted on doing jumps that were way too high and, quite frankly, dangerous. I always seemed to know the answer before everyone else in mathletes and science and never gave anyone else a chance to contribute. In foreign languages, I was somehow able to speak over fifteen languages, though I had no recollection of ever learning them. None of it was on purpose.

In some cases, I would have been a "child prodigy", if those are even a thing outside of movies, but after a few weeks of being in each club, I dropped out and isolated myself from everyone. After that I graduated high school at sixteen, got into my dream college, earned my degree three years later, and even went on to complete a PhD.

As I got older, though, I began to realise that being alone isn't so bad. Well, I'm not entirely alone, per se — I live with my dad in my childhood home; a cosy townhouse just outside the city of Washington D.C.

It's only thirty minutes or so away from where I work at the National Museum of Natural History in the heart of the city. I happen to be the last one here tonight, so I make sure all of the lab equipment is where it's supposed to be and scurry towards the exit without wasting any more time. I wave goodbye to Kevin, the security guard who's on his shift, on the way out.

My evenings usually consist of the same routine: I come home from work, make dinner, do some more work, go to bed. On good days I go to the gym, too.

Around the corner from my house, there's a convenience store that I visit every morning before work for my supply of coffee. It's also convenient for late night runs when the house is out of food or when I'm craving some junk, just like right now.

"Dad, I'm running to Bill's. I'll be back in five minutes," I yell through the house as I grab my keys and wallet from the table by the door. I wait until I hear his faint reply, then I'm on my way.

The walk to the store is always the same: my pace is swift, my head is down, but I keep my shoulders back and square. It only takes two minutes, but I don't want to make myself seem vulnerable. Around here, you never know who's watching you.

Once I reach the store, I greet Bill, the owner. He's a sweet man, a little older than my dad. He's never shocked to see me so late; he knows I'm the only one that's dumb enough to risk being out when the streets are pitch black. Every time I show up he shakes a fist at me and I always laughingly insist it's an emergency. He shakes his head, though he can't help but grin.

I wander to the refrigerators in the back in search of some chocolate milk, but my deliberating what size to get is interrupted when heavy footsteps enter the store. They're not hard to hear: the only other thing that fills the air is the collective humming of the refrigerators.

"And what the hell are you supposed to be?" I hear Bill question. My eyebrows furrow with confusion.

Next of all I hear a gun click.

"That's none of your business," a gruff voice says. "Empty the cash register and hand everything to me."

"Not today," I mumble, before I tug my hood over my head and begin to tip toe through the aisles and to the front once again. I don't have much time, so I briefly peak out from behind an aisle to observe what's happening. There are only four of them, and they're all wearing Batman masks. I almost scoff.

Only one of them is pointing a gun at Bill, who's fumbling through the cash register already.

I tilt my head and sigh. Next of all, I'm charging towards the leader. Before anything else, I swipe the handgun out of his hand and smash it against his nose. He staggers backwards, giving me time to take the other three. I toss the gun over the counter so none of them can reach for it.

One of them grabs my neck and locks his arms around it and, while the other one charges towards me, I throw my leg up until it collides with his face. I swing my arm back into the other one's crotch, pull his arm away from my neck and twist around so I can launch my foot into his abdomen.

The last one one throws his right fist at me. I dodge it smoothly, then he throws his left at me, however I catch it and send him flying backwards through the store. He lands on a shelf and food clatters all over the floor.

The leader's back up again, with blood pouring like a stream from his nose and down his chin. He swings a fist at me, but I duck easily and hook my foot behind his leg, knocking him to the floor.

There's silence in the air again as the four robbers clutter the floor. I stand there for a moment and let out a sharp breath, before I realise my hood had fallen down while I was fighting.

"Bill," I say, pulling the hood back over my head. He stands up from under the counter slowly. His eyes are impossibly wide. "Did you call the police?"

He nods his head.

"They'll arrive any minute, but you need to do me a favour. You cannot tell anyone that was me, okay? You don't know who I am, Bill. Okay?"

He nods his head again: it's all he can do when the shock has taken over his body.

Sirens are getting louder outside and I take that as my cue to leave. I don't say anything else to Bill, only head out the door as two police cars pulls up.

There are cops yelling after me. I ignore them and take off sprinting.