Ethan woke to fists pounding his door, the wood shaking under the blows.
His parents’ voices cut through the thin walls of their cluttered apartment, hoarse and sharp.
“Get us some fucking money, you worthless piece of shit!” his dad shouted, slamming his hand against the door.
“You’re living here free, Ethan—pay up!” his mom yelled, her words slurred, thick with last night’s drugs.
Ethan pulled a faded hoodie over his head, his face blank, and grabbed his backpack, its straps frayed and patched with tape.
He slipped out of his room, dodging an ashtray his dad threw, which smashed against the wall, scattering glass across the sticky floor.
The hallway smelled of mildew and burnt plastic, the stairs creaking as he descended.
Outside, the air was cold, the streets wet with rain, puddles reflecting neon signs from pawn shops and bars.
Cigarette smoke hung heavy, mixing with the damp asphalt’s sharp tang.
Ethan walked, hands in his pockets, wondering why his parents kept yelling, why they cared about money when it just went to needles.
A few blocks from Gotham Academy, a voice called out.
“Ethan, hey!” Barbara Gordon jogged up, her red hair tied back in a loose knot, her smile wide.
She wore a fitted jacket and jeans, her shape catching looks from drivers slowing at a stoplight.
“Can we walk together?” she asked, stepping beside him without waiting.
Ethan shrugged.
“Sure.” Saying no felt like more work than walking.
Barbara started talking about school—a math test she’d done well on, a teacher who talked too slow and also about something he wished she didn’t mention.
“I read your nanotech paper,” she said.
“It’s honestly amazing, Ethan.
Like, scientist-level stuff.
Why don’t you join any clubs or do extracurriculars?
It’d look good for college.”
“Not going to college,” he said, kicking a pebble across the wet sidewalk, watching it skip into a gutter.
She stopped, hands on her hips.
“Seriously?
Why?
Someone like you could get a full ride anywhere—Harvard, MIT, Princeton.”
“Not interested,” he said.
College was just more classes, more people talking, more things he didn’t care about.
Barbara kept talking, listing scholarships, programs, jobs she’d heard about, her words piling up like clutter.
Ethan looked at the cracked pavement, the lines jagged under his boots.
Why did she care?
Most people saw him as the poor kid, the one who didn’t fit, and walked away.
He didn’t get why she didn’t, what made her keep trying when he gave her nothing back.
She stopped walking, turning to him.
“Just try science club once, okay?
One meeting.
If you hate it, I’ll leave you alone.
Please?” she said.
Ethan sighed, rubbing his neck.
“If I say yes, will you stop talking about it?”
“Yes!” she replied, bouncing on her feet.
“You’re gonna love it, I swear!”
He nodded, already wishing he hadn’t.
They reached the school’s iron gates, the campus a spread of gray stone buildings and trimmed lawns that looked too neat against Gotham’s dirty streets.
Barbara waved, heading to her locker, and Ethan walked inside, his stomach tight, another long day stretching out.
…
School dragged, the same as always.
Ethan sat in the back of his classes, sketching gears and wires in a battered notebook, the pages creased and torn.
Teachers talked about things he’d read years ago, their voices fading into a hum.
The boredom pressed on him, heavy, making every minute crawl.
At lunch, he sat alone in the cafeteria, the tables loud with kids laughing, shouting, trays clattering.
He picked at a sandwich, the bread dry, the meat gray, and ate it, he couldn’t taste it, it just felt dry in his mouth.
While he ate Ms.
Carter, his English teacher, a thin woman with gray hair, walked up and sat across from him, her chair scraping the floor.
“Ethan, I wanted to talk about your essay,” she said.
“Your analysis of 1984 was brilliant, better than most college work.
Have you thought about the literary magazine?
We could use someone like you.”
“Nah, I’m good,” he said, not looking up, taking a bite of the sandwich, the taste still stale in his mouth.
He didn’t care about essays or magazines, didn’t know why she thought he would.
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know,” she said, standing.
“You’ve got talent.” She walked away, her heels clicking, and Ethan kept eating, the noise around him a blur.
The day got worse.
Three girls pulled him aside, one by one, in empty hallways or behind lockers, their voices soft, their smiles nervous.
They were pretty, with long hair and tight shirts, but they only talked to him where no one could see, like he was a secret they didn’t want to get out.
“Pass,” he said to the first two, walking away as they muttered, their faces red.
The third, Kayla, a brunette in a short skirt, caught him behind the library, her hand brushing his arm.
“Hey, Ethan,” she said.
“You, me, Friday night.
My parents aren’t home.”
Ethan leaned close, his lips near hers, his hand on her waist.
“Sounds fun,” he said.
She leaned in, her breath quick, eyes half-shut.
He stepped back, smirking.
“On second thought, nah.” He turned and walked away.
“Fuck you, Kane!” she shouted.
Ethan kept walking, her voice fading.
It was something to do, a way to break the monotony.
The bullies were worse.
Justin Blake and his football friends followed him, shoving him in the halls, whispering “trash” as he passed.
In gym, two of them, Derek and Nate, blocked him by the bleachers, the air smelling of sweat and rubber mats.
Derek, a short kid with a buzzcut, grinned.
“What’s it like, Kane?
Your parents selling your bed for dope yet?” Nate, laughed, throwing a basketball at Ethan’s chest.
Ethan caught it, tossed it back.
“Move,” he said, stepping forward.
Derek grabbed his shoulder.
“You don’t talk to us like that, junkie,” he said, pushing Ethan into the bleachers, the metal banging against his back.
Ethan brushed off his shirt.
“You done?” he said.
He didn’t want to fight, not here, but his hands twitched, ready if they pushed him further.
Nate spit on the ground.
“You’re nothing, Kane.
Go back to your crackhouse,” he said.
They laughed, walking away as the coach’s whistle blew.
Ethan stood still, his fists tight, watching them go.
Why did they care who he was, why he was here?
He didn’t get it, didn’t know why they kept coming back when it changed nothing.
After school, Justin and his group—five guys, all big, in letterman jackets—cornered him behind the gym, the pavement cracked, the fence rusted and bent.
Justin stepped close, sweat on his shaved head.
“Time to learn your place, street rat,” he said, cracking his knuckles.
Ethan dropped his bag.
“Let’s make this quick,” he said.
Justin swung a fist at his face.
Ethan ducked, slamming an elbow into Justin’s jaw, blood spraying as Justin stumbled.
Another guy, wide with a crooked nose, rushed him.
Ethan spun, kicking his ribs, the crack loud, the guy dropping with a gasp.
A third grabbed Ethan’s arm.
Ethan twisted, locking the guy’s elbow, then pulled hard, the joint popping.
The guy screamed, falling.
The last two came at once, fists raised.
Ethan dodged one, kneeing his stomach, the guy folding over.
The other hit Ethan’s shoulder, a dull ache spreading, but Ethan turned, landing an uppercut to his chin, the guy’s head snapping back.
They lay on the ground, groaning, blood pooling.
Ethan picked up his bag.
“Stay down,” he said, walking away, their curses faint behind him.
His knuckles hurt, his shoulder bruised, but he didn’t care.
Fighting was easy, something he’d done forever, but it didn’t change anything, didn’t make the day less boring, less pointless.
Ethan then met Barbara outside the science lab, a clean room with glass walls and smooth floors, smelling of metal and bleach.
Computers and machines lined the walls, lights flashing, a printer humming in the corner.
“Where’s everyone else?” he said, hands in his pockets.
Barbara laughed, pushing her hair back.
“Just me right now.
It’s a small club,” she replied, her cheeks pink.
Ethan stared, his face blank.
One person?
Why bother?
He followed her inside, the air cold on his skin.
“Nice gear for a club with one member,” he said, looking at a microscope that looked new, expensive, out of place in Gotham.
“Bruce Wayne’s into science,” she replied, smiling.
“He gave a lot of money to set this up, wants to help kids like us.” She walked to a table covered with tools and wires, talking faster.
“Any project you want to do, the club pays for it.
Since it’s just us, we’ve got a huge budget.
You could build anything, Ethan.”
The words hit him.
A budget could finish his drone, no more digging through trash for parts.
He could work on something bigger, maybe the engine he’d drawn.
He kept his face blank, but the idea stuck.
Barbara pointed to her project, metal boots wired to a heavy battery, their surface scratched.
“I’m working on dynamic propulsion devices,” she said.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine, rocket boots,” she said, her face red.
“But they don’t work.
The thrust stops after a few seconds, and I can’t fix it.”
Ethan looked at the boots and his mind instantly picked it apart, all the separate pieces, the tangled wires and a blackened chip.
He saw the problem, clear as day.
“Your power cell’s too strong,” he said, pointing at the chip.
“It’s burning out the regulator.
Use a weaker cell and fix the circuit.”
Barbara’s mouth opened.
“Holy crap, you’re right!” she said, grabbing a notebook.
“That makes so much sense.
Want to help me fix it?
Please?”
Ethan shrugged.
“Sure,” he said.
They started working, pulling wires, swapping parts, testing connections.
Barbara took off her jacket, her tank top tight, her arms strong as she turned a screwdriver, sweat on her neck, hair sticking to her skin.
Ethan noticed, but didn’t care, his hands steady on the tools.
They talked as they worked, Barbara’s voice filling the room.
“I’ve loved tech since I was a kid,” she said, soldering a wire.
“My dad wants me to do law, but I’d rather build stuff.
You got any projects you’re working on?”
“Just a drone,” he said, not looking up.
“Been putting it together.”
“That’s awesome!” she said, leaning closer.
“What’s it for?
Like, spying, deliveries, what?”
“Nothing yet,” he said.
“Still building it.” He didn’t tell her about the junk parts, about his parents selling anything he left out.
Why would she care?
They worked for hours, fixing circuits, running tests.
Barbara laughed when a test sparked and failed, the sound loud in the quiet lab.
Finally, the boots hummed, lifting an inch off the table, lights glowing.
Barbara shouted, hugging him.
“We did it!” she said, her arms tight, her hair brushing his face.
Ethan stood still, waiting for her to let go.
“Gotta go,” he said, grabbing his bag.
“Wait, will you come back?” she said.
“Please, Ethan?
It’s better with you here.”
He sighed, scratching his neck.
“Fine, I’ll come back,” he said.
“Don’t know when.”
“Yes!” she replied, clapping.
“You’re the best!”
He waved her off and left the room with no more words said.
(AN: Ethan is a smart guy and he’s into science so him and Barbara might be getting to know each other a little more.
Anyway support if you can.
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