Saving Grace: a Batman fanfiction

Chapter 7

Grace had absolutely no intention of getting locked in that room ever again. So Bruce wanted to take her on? Fine, she’d fight him. For my own good, my ass, she scoffed. Panic attacks every night were certainly not for her own good.

Bruce didn’t know who he was messing with. 

She hated that her eyes and nose were still red-rimmed when she woke up in the morning. Nothing some concealer wouldn’t fix, though, so she went about her business happily applying her makeup in her bathroom. Then she saw him.

The demon brat.

“What’s that?” Damian snapped, wandering into her bathroom.

“Get out of my room,” she said heatedly, but he paid her no mind. “It’s makeup,” she relented. 

“Tt,” he scoffed. “Like any product could make you look good. And that?”

“Nail polish. Why,” she said mockingly, “wanna paint nails and braid each other’s hair?” Damian scowled (kid did that a lot, apparently) and left with his nose in the air, stopping only to say, bitingly,

“The next time you’d like to cry like a baby in a feeble attempt to get my father’s attention, please recall that there are others in the house trying to sleep.” And Grace wasn’t going to let him get away with that, she couldn’t, so she chased him down the stairs, eyes flashing, until Damian smacked into Bruce.

“You snotty little bitch,” she snarled, taking advantage of him being momentarily stunned on impact.

“He’s twelve, don’t talk to him that way,” Bruce snapped, and she redirected her anger at him.

“Why, embarrassed because you know he gets it from you?”

Bruce swelled with anger, but Grace held her ground.

“It’s too early to be fighting,” Tim said exasperatedly, making his way down the stairs. “I mean, really. Damian, shut up. Grace, don’t provoke Bruce like that. Bruce--” Tim shrugged and navigated around them all. “Good morning, I guess.”

Damian tutted angrily and turned to go into the kitchen after Tim. Bruce just sighed tiredly and followed (was he always tired, Grace wondered?) with Grace taking up the rear.

Alfred had made bacon and eggs. And this was a problem-- not for Tim, or Damian, or Bruce, who were eagerly consuming the meal, but for Grace, who just pushed her food around her plate with her fork.

“Great, thanks for breakfast Alfred, see you later,” she said quickly, hopping up from her seat and making for the stairs.

“Miss Grace, you haven’t eaten anything,” said Alfred sternly.

“Oh? Uh…” 

    “Was the food not to your liking?”

    “Umm… it’s okay,” she said a little uncertainly. “It’s just, I don’t really eat meat. I’ll just--” she reached over to the counter and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, flashing Alfred a thumbs up.

    “You’re vegetarian?” Bruce questioned skeptically from his seat at the table. Grace squared her shoulders and nodded.

    “I guess, yeah.”

    “Why?” Tim asked curiously.

    “It’s just-- it’s-- I don’t like eating. The animals. I don’t like hurting the animals.” Grace responded, flushing a little. 

    Damian laughed harshly, and then kept laughing, Grace thought she saw a flicker of a smile playing around Bruce’s lips. She rolled her eyes and retreated to her room with the banana still in hand, hearing Damian chortle behind her,

    “Are all girls so ridiculous? Thank god Barbara and Fat-girl are sane.” Fat-girl? Grace wondered in disbelief. The kid was a misogynist at 12.

    She passed the time during the day by hiding in her room. Surprisingly, Bruce popped in at around seven in the evening.

    “So, uh, I just wanted to check in about locking the--”

    “Yes, sure, whatever, please leave,” Grace said, barely sparing him a glance. Bruce shrugged, hesitating at the mouth of her room.

    “You’ll be--?”

    “I’ll be fine,” she said forcefully, “now that I know you’re not trying to kidnap me to sell to some child trafficking ring, thanks a lot for telling me last time.”

    Bruce nodded and turned to leave.

    “Okay, Alfred will be here if you need anything.” 

    Grace saluted him mockingly and then Bruce really did leave. An hour later, Grace stuffed a row of pillows under her covers, turned off her light switch, and slipped out of her room. She had to be careful to be sure she wasn’t seen by Tim or Damian; the room she was going to was past their rooms at the end of the hall.

    She’d snuck in there once before. It looked like it belonged to one of Bruce’s older sons, who didn’t live at the manor anymore. There were pictures of him on a trapeze on the wall when he was younger, and lots of weird decorations hung up on the wall. Like strings of beads and silks and stuff. And most importantly, there was a platform bed, and most most importantly, there was a space under said platform bed. The smaller the space the better for sleeping, was Grace’s motto (unless she was stuck there, of course,) and she slid under the bed. 

    The space was tight, and the mattress hung a precarious inch above her, but it was perfect to Grace. 

Mostly because the door would remain unlocked. 

So she settled in, rested her head on her forearms, and for the first time, fell asleep quickly.