Chapter Text
A cold wind blows across the snowy grounds of St. Thomas Aquinas' School, carrying the smell of sea coming from the other side of Gotham. Edward stands on the school stairs with his body shaking like a leaf in the wind even though he’s dressed like he’s ready to explore Antarctica. He has lived in Gotham for his entire life, but can’t remember a December this snowy. On the stairs below him, a man is trying to light up lanterns to show the way to whoever might be arriving at the school on this dreadful evening. The man strikes his third match, trying to protect the flame with his hand, but the wind blows the fire out almost immediately.
“Eddie,” the man calls out to Edward over the sound of the wind. “Eddie, help me with these, will you?”
Edward does as told and walks down the steps, pulling a lighter from his pocket and crouching down to light the first lantern. This time, the fire doesn’t die out, and Edward closes the lantern so that the wind doesn’t get in. He does this to the rest of the lanterns and is ready in no time. The older man gives him a look of faux disapproval and shakes his head.
“I should take that thing away from you,” he says and nods towards the lighter in Edward’s hand, “but without it, we would be standing here until tomorrow, so let’s keep it a secret.”
“Of course, Mr. Myers,” Edwards says and hides his grin behind the collar of his jacket. Mr. Myers notices his amusement and chuckles.
“Now, go inside before you catch a cold before Sunday,” he says and gestures towards the door. Edward doesn’t need to be told twice.
St. Thomas Aquinas’ is a school where most politicians and high-ranking businessmen send their sons to study and become proper men, just like they and their father did before them. It is the oldest private school in Gotham and therefore the greatest, reserved only for the best – or at least for those expected to become the best. It’s like a club for rich boys with no one to disturb their delicate ecosystem. Or at least it used to be. If it still was, Edward wouldn’t be standing in the entrance hall, kicking snow off of his shoes.
Edward Nashton has been, to quote Jane Austen, with no money and no prospects for most of his life. Well, at least he doesn't need to worry about being a burden to his parents , since he has never met them. How does a boy with no known family, home, money, or any other worldly possessions, find his way into a school where all of the boys’ names were written into the student records the moment they were born? This question has been asked by Edward by students, parents, and teachers alike, and then later – after they haven’t gotten any answer from the boy – from the school principal, whose answer is always as disappointingly vague as it gets: Good connections. The boy has wealthy patrons.
And so Edward has remained in St. Thomas Aquinas' for almost four complete years. Yes, he fits into the school like a stranger’s tooth would fit into one’s mouth, but he has learned to not care about it. It is his last year there, and if people have a problem with him being there, they won’t have to worry about it in a couple of months. Also, having a one-sided feud with a 17-year-old orphan tells much more about those people than it does about Edward.
It’s the last Friday before the Christmas holidays and the school is much more lively than it’s been in a while, with students running up and down the hallways, trying to find teachers to ask them about their grades or just looking for their friends before the dinner. Edward doesn’t relate to their hurry. He’s staying at the school for the holidays, just like he’s been doing for the last three years. He has gotten permission for that, it’s not like the school officials can just throw him out on the street before the spring semester starts.
Edward makes his way down the stairs that take him to an underground corridor that connects the older school building to a newer (but still not very modern) dorm building where the students live during the semester. The corridor is as busy as the main building, with teenage boys laughing and yelling at each other while running or walking in opposite directions. Edward closes his ears from all of it and keeps on walking, dodging a group of first-year students who run past him like a hurricane.
“Hey, Nashton!” a senior from a group loitering by the corridor doorway yells after Edward when he passes them into the dorm building. Edward turns to look at him. “Roberts told that he found fag porn in your room, is that true?” The boy group laughs, and Edward clenches his gloved hand into a fist for a moment.
“Oh, no, your dad asked me to keep them safe for him, nothing more,” he says and keeps on walking, making his way up another stairwell.
The school is built onto a hill on the east side of Gotham, where it overlooks the city. The view is beautiful, yes, but the location is also the reason why the student dormitory building, which houses almost 450 of the school’s students, has been built upwards, rather than spread out on the school’s otherwise big grounds. Edward couldn't care less about the architecture of the place if his room wasn’t on the fifth floor. If he had any word on the matter, he would’ve taken any other room, but no one asked for his opinion three years ago, and so now he has to go through extreme physical pain every time he has to climb up five floors of steep and narrow stairs in order to get to his room. Neither the endless flow of other students nor Edward’s now way too warm winter jacket makes his climb any easier, and by the time he’s up on the fifth floor, he would like to push one of the yelling freshman-year students down the stairs. He certainly isn’t going to miss this during the holidays.
If there is something good about Edward’s room, though, it’s that it is located at the end of one of the fifth floor’s corridors, making it one of the most isolated rooms in the building. He also gets to have it all to himself, since his roommate of three years – a banker's son named Joseph, who had an annoying habit of talking to his swiftly changing girlfriends on the phone until the wee hours of the morning – got sent into rehab during summer and never came back. Edward doesn’t feel sorry for the guy, he really can’t bother to care about rich people’s drug problems, since most of them can always trust that their parents will send them somewhere to recover, if not for their well-being, then for the family’s reputation. Edward has seen worse, much worse. He has seen those, who don’t get sent to fancy facilities and who only have the streets to live on, so, no, he doesn’t really care what happened to Joseph. They weren’t even friends, and now Edward gets to have the room all to himself. It’s a win for him.
Edward closes the door to his room, shutting out all the noise coming from the hallway, and takes off his coat, hanging it on the door. He’s been told to leave Joseph’s side of the room empty, just in case someone new moves in with him, but since the school year is already halfway done and it’s very unlikely that Edward is going to get a new roommate, he has taken it as his liberty to spread his territory onto the right side of the room, using the empty bed as a storage space for his clothes and books. He throws his book bag from his bed onto the other one and lays down, trying to find something to do before dinner. He attempts to read a book that his old and dry English teacher had assigned for the class before the Christman break, but the sounds of other students’ joy bleeding through his door make it impossible for him to concentrate.
As much as Edward takes pride in having never needed anyone other than himself to take care of him, and as much as he loathes the other boys at the school, he isn’t above feeling left out during moments like this. When Edward had left the orphanage to move to St. Thomas Aquinas’ at the ripe age of 14, he had cried like a baby in the arms of one of the nuns, Sister Carol, who had always been nice to him. It hadn’t been because he wanted to stay at the orphanage, no, it was the last place he wanted to be in, but because he was scared to be so completely alone for the first time ever.
“Don’t cry,” Sister Carol had told him while he had sobbed against her shoulder with his packed bag at his feet. “You are so lucky you get to go there. You couldn’t stay here, anyway. You will get so many new friends, of course you will. God’s with you, Edward, he always is.”
She was right about one thing, that being Edward being lucky. If he hadn’t gotten into St. Aquinas’, he would’ve been transferred to “The Lobby”, officially named St. Jude’s Boys’ Home, which has gotten its name because it’s the place where most boys get thrown on the street the moment they turn 18. When it comes to her promise of Edward getting friends, however… Well, let’s just say that she wasn’t a prophet.
Maybe it’s partly Edward’s fault that he never got any real friends at the school. He could’ve tried harder, but it would’ve meant abandoning his pride and admitting that he’d never be like the rest of the boys. Yes, Edward knows that he doesn’t come from money and that he wouldn’t be there if he hadn’t caught the eye of a rich, old man – Daniel Waters, or Mr. Waters, as Edward called him – who just had lost his son in Iraq and decided to give some poor orphan a future, so yeah, he guesses that he owes his position to the rich, after all, but he refuses to feel inferior to his peers because of that. If he wasn’t good, he wouldn’t be here. That is what seems to infuriate the other students at the school, his unwillingness to know his place. At the same time, they seem to be slightly scared of him, as if he’s a wild dog that might bite anyone who gets too close. Sure, Edward could’ve proved that presumption wrong by maybe not glaring at the other boys so venomously during his first year at the school and if he hadn’t once claimed to have stabbed a mugger with the fucker’s knife when he was only 12 years old, but whenever being feared is lonely, it’s million times better than being included but constantly being looked down upon.
Just six more months of this , Edward tells himself and pretends to read his book until the dinner bell rings.
The dining hall is noisier than usual, and Edward tries to focus on his food instead of listening to a group of boys next to him talk about whenever their families are taking them to Norway or the Swiss Alps for the holidays. He is almost finished with his plate when he feels someone tap him on the shoulder. He turns his head and sees Mr. Myers standing behind him. An unintentional smile breaks onto Edward’s face but he’s quick to conceal it. He’s always liked Mr. Myers, so much, actually, that he became interested in math because of him.
“Hello, Edward,” Mr. Myers says with a pleasant smile. “Can you meet me in the hall after you’ve finished eating? Nothing serious, I just want to discuss some details considering the Sunday service. No hurry.”
“Yeah, of course,” Edward says. Mr. Myers nods and leaves, and Edward hurries – against his orders – to finish his plate. Maybe it’s the lack of parents or anyone even resembling a parental figure in Edward’s life, that has made Edward latch onto his math teacher so shamelessly, but he can’t bother to feel ashamed for it when it’s the first time any adult – apart from maybe Sister Carol and to some degree, Mr. Waters – has shown any compassion towards him. Academic success isn’t something Edward craves just to feel accepted, it’s something he needs in order to have a future outside the stone walls of St. Aquinas’, but with Mr. Myers, he can feel that the man is actually proud of him. Like a father would , Edward thinks but whisks the thought away before it grows into something embarrassingly real in his mind.
Mr. Myers is standing in the entrance hall and talking to someone with his back turned, when Edward steps out of the dining hall. He seems to hear Edward approaching, because he turns around, revealing the person he’s talking with.
Edward feels like someone has opened the front door and let all the cold air in.
“Edward, I was wondering if you could manage the preparations for the service together with Bruce?” Mr. Myers asks, but Edward doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy staring at the boy standing next to Mr. Myers. Bruce Wayne. Sometimes Edward is convinced that God hates him. Bruce just stands there with his arms crossed and eyes glued to his shoes. Finally, Edward looks at Mr. Myers, feeling utterly betrayed.
“Sorry?” he asks “I thought… I can do it all fine by myself.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Mr. Myers says with a warm smile, clearly not catching the begging tone of Edward’s voice. “However, it would be much easier together, and since Bruce’s father was such a munificent patron of our school, I think he should take part in the service, too. I discussed it with Mr. Awlyn, and he thought that it was a good idea.”
Edward curses Mr. Awlyn – the school’s theology teacher – in his mind and looks back at Bruce. This time he meets the boy’s eyes – gray and sad. Even though Bruce is (to Edward’s displease) standing right there, the look in his eyes is absent like he isn’t actually there. Edward has seen the same look in the eyes of the kids in the orphanage, but seeing it in Bruce’s eyes fills him with anger. What do you know about being left alone? he wants to ask. Instead, he turns back to Mr. Myers and tries to fit an accepting look onto his face.
“Okay, then,” he says and gives Bruce the slightest glance. “Tomorrow, at the chapel after lunch. Clear?”
“Okay, yeah,” Bruce says and nods at his feet. Mr. Myers clasps his hands together, visibly pleased, and gives Edward a pat on the shoulder before leaving to yell at first-year students for running in the hall. Edward is left standing with Bruce, who gives him an awkward, close-mouthed almost-a-smile, like saying “it is what it is”, before turning and walking away, leaving Edward standing in the middle of a wave of students who have just emerged from the dining hall.
It’s an understatement to say that Edward is angry. He’s fucking furious. Of course, he had to be paired up with Bruce Wayne. O f course . Edward has a lot of bad blood between the other students, but that’s nothing he can’t manage. He would even rather do the Sunday service with Roberts, who locked him into a closet with a real human skeleton from biology class during his first year at St. Aquinas’, than with Bruce Wayne.
Edward’s normally quite chilly room feels at least five degrees warmer from the anger boiling inside of him, as he lies in his bed, staring at the cracks on the slanting wall above him. Bruce hasn’t necessarily done anything to him, Edward can’t even recall if the boy has ever talked to him, but Edward’s hatred towards him runs deeper than some singular incident. It’s not what Bruce has done as much as it is what he stands for.
Edward remembers the night when Thomas and Martha Wayne were killed. Or rather than that he remembers the next day, and week, and month, and year when no one talked about anything other than poor little Bruce Wayne who had become an orphan in one night. Even in the orphanage, the nuns had made them remember Bruce in their prayers since he was now one of them. The difference, however, was that Bruce would never have to step foot into the orphanage, he would never have to sleep in a room with a dozen sick kids on a winter night or wake up with rats biting on his feet. And still, he was all everyone was talking about. It didn’t take Edward long to realize that this was how things would always be. It didn’t matter if there were forty orphans almost freezing to death every winter, because the public would only pay attention to the one who gets to live in a tower above the city with enough money to buy himself new parents if he so pleased. After that, Edward had always crossed his fingers while praying.
He can also remember two years later when Bruce arrived at St. Aquinas’ along with Edward and the other new students. Edward had seen him standing a few rows before him on the first day when all the new students had to stand at the front of the whole school, tall, quiet, and with an air of profound sadness around him. Edward had almost felt bad for him.
And here Edward is now, having to prepare a church service with the said rich boy. The more he thinks about it, the worse he feels. This was supposed to be his thing. It’s not like he’s the only student there who was raised Catholic – St. Aquinas’ used to be a Catholic boys’ school, after all – but it’s the one thing he feels entitled to more than the others. He’s been there, wearing the choir boy’s outfit every Sunday for years, pouring wine as an altar boy for years after that, standing on his knees on a cold floor with his hands crossed and eyes closed every night, praying for someone to take him away from the life he doesn’t deserve. It’s his place, it’s the only thing he has, and even though he doesn’t believe in God anymore, not like he used to – the world has carved his faith out of his chest – he sometimes still gets down onto his knees and crosses his hands out of habit, just to feel the peace it still brings to him.
And now Bruce Wayne is trying to push himself into that small space as if he doesn’t have the entire world in the palm of his hand. Edward hates him. He hates him, he hates him, he hates him.
If he was any more petty, Edward would walk down to the teachers’ rooms and tell Mr. Myers that he doesn’t want to do the service with Bruce. But as his anger starts to wear out, he finds himself too tired to do anything. Maybe Bruce won’t even show up, who knows? It’s not like he seemed very keen about the whole arrangement in the first place.
Edward turns onto his side on his bed and watches as snow falls slowly behind the window. The school fields lay below, covered in white. The snow here is completely different from the gray slush from Edward’s childhood that used to get his shoes and pants all wet when he and the other orphans walked to school during winter. For a moment he feels weirdly nostalgic for a time he hated with passion. The idea of spending Christmas alone once again makes him feel wistful, but instead of wallowing in it, he closes his eyes and drifts to sleep, listening to the muffled whispers coming from neighboring rooms.
**
Saturday noon is cold and bright as Edward tries his best not to slip and fall while walking (or mostly sliding) down the hill that leads to the school chapel. Despite the Catholic history of the school, the chapel isn’t used much at all anymore and has been left standing at the edge of the school grounds, where it waits silently to be used twice a year – for the Easter service during spring and Christmas service during winter. That’s about all that’s left of the school’s religious past, apart from its name.
Edward manages to reach the chapel without falling but almost suffers a heart attack when he sees Bruce standing in the niche of the door in his long, black winter coat, like some kind of a wannabe Dracula cosplayer.
“Great, you’re already here,” Edward says and pretends that he isn’t bitter over the fact that Bruce was there before him. Bruce just nods behind his scarf and watches as Edward fishes the chapel key from his pocket. He needed special permission to get it from the janitor, and while being responsible for the Christmas service isn’t the most important duty there is, it makes Edward feel at least some kind of authority, which he enjoys. Especially if it’s over Bruce Wayne.
The door opens with a creak, and the musty smell of dust and wood floods Edward’s nose. The chapel isn’t big, at least considering how important it used to be. It’s not warm, either. Edward’s breath is visible in the air as he steps in, the stone walls around him emitting coldness like he’s in a walk-in freezer. Bruce follows him, looking around like he’s never seen the place before. Pale winter sun shines in from the stained glass windows, painting the floor in reds, greens and yellows.
“Right, you can sweep the floors, I’ll get all the other stuff ready,” Edward says and glances at Bruce, who doesn’t protest. With that, he takes a broom that has been leaning against the doorframe for probably months, and hands it to Bruce, before walking up to the altar and disappearing into the sacristy to look for the chalices and altar pall. Maybe Mr. Myers did Edward a favor by assigning Bruce to do the preparations with him because at least now Edward doesn’t have to do the cleaning.
They work in silence, the only noises being the sound of the broom sweeping against the floor, and the jingling of the chalices as Edward puts them on the place. To Edward’s surprise, Bruce doesn’t seem too bothered about having to do the boring job. He’s not sighing or dragging his feet or complaining. Edward paces between the sacristy and the altar, moving stuff from room to room, and when he occasionally looks at Bruce, who is sweeping between the pews, the other boy looks almost content. Well, he’s doing the bare minimum , Edward thinks, not wanting his anger to die out.
They’re almost done with the preparations, and Edward is putting up numbers on a hymn board when Bruce suddenly speaks.
“I heard that you’re staying at the school for the holidays,” he says. Edward’s hand stops in the air, still holding a number in his hand.
“Yeah,” he says dryly and puts the number in its place. Bruce is standing in the middle of the nave and leaning on his broom, probably trying to look cool but failing miserably.
“What is it like?” he asks. If Edward wasn’t so annoyed by Bruce’s entire presence, he would probably feel flattered by the sound of genuine interest in the boy’s voice. Instead, he just scoffs.
“What is it like to spend Christmas in the Tower, hm?” he asks, mocking Bruce’s tone.
“Kinda lonely, actually,” Bruce says quietly, and Edward can’t help but feel a little bad for him. Oh, come on, says a voice in his head. He is Bruce fucking Wayne. He could spend Christmas with anyone on Earth if he wanted to. He doesn’t answer, but Bruce doesn’t seem to catch the hint, because he keeps on talking.
“I heard that you might get a scholarship for college,” he says. This time, Edward almost drops all the numbers he’s holding.
“Where did you hear that from?” he asks. It’s not that it isn’t true. He’s talked about it with his teachers, but the question is: why does Bruce know about it?
“Mr. Myers mentioned it,” Bruce says and looks down at his shoes. “I guess he thought that I could do something on the Wayne Foundation’s part, but I’m not the one who makes the decisions on that… or anything else, really, so…”
“Listen, I don’t need a sponsor, okay? If I get a scholarship, it will be because I deserve it. Some people can’t pay their way everywhere nor do they want to,” Edward cuts him off, feeling the familiar irritation starting to stir up inside of him again.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Bruce mutters, sounding embarrassed. Edward would like to drag him a little more, just to see how much it would take to either make Bruce snap or to shut down completely, but his hands are getting cold and the stale chapel air is making his head hurt, so he decides not to. He finishes his job and makes sure that everything is in the right place for tomorrow, all the while Bruce just stands there like an angsty, 17-year-old personification of the grim Reaper.
When they’re both standing outside and Edward is locking the chapel up, Bruce speaks again, seemingly thinking that it’ll make things any better.
“I didn’t mean that you aren’t smart enough to get a scholarship on your own, I meant… I do think you’re smart,” he says, and Edward would like to sink the chapel key into his neck just to shut him up. Not letting himself feel flattered, Edward starts walking up the hill back to the school, with Bruce on his heels. The climb is windy and slippery, and Edward almost starts sliding down backward at one point. That’s when he feels Bruce’s hand on his back, pushing him forward. Blood rushes to Edward’s face and he struggles to find a footing on the icy path, almost falling again. When he finally can take a step without either sliding backward or falling onto his face, he dashes forward to get away from Bruce’s touch.
“Get off of me,” he hisses over his shoulder at Bruce, who is now struggling in the same spot as Edward just moments ago. Bruce looks up at him, looking somehow ever sadder than usual.
“I’m just trying to help,” he tries to protest, but Edward has already continued walking at a speed that is closer to running.
“Maybe just leave me alone,” he yells into the wind, leaving Bruce standing on the path, surrounded by an ocean of white.
**
Sunday afternoon is when the parents arrive at the school. If Edward could, he would just stay in his room with the door closed, but that doesn’t work, because he quickly gets tired of other students’ parents knocking on his door every other minute because they can’t remember their son’s room number.
And so Edward takes shelter in the library, which is also full of students and parents, but at least they know to be quiet. He ignores the weirded-out stares he gets from some parents who are probably wondering who he is, as they haven’t seen him in any rich people events. He pretends to read and imagines how it would feel to show his parents around the school, to tell them about his friends and studies. Well, if he had parents, he wouldn’t go to a school this fancy. He would go to some public institute where tired and underpaid teachers would try to have at least some authority over reckless problem children and where he would probably get shoved into lockers every day. He has spent his time at a public school and knows that much.
If Mr. Waters – his sponsor – was still alive, would he come visit him? Edward doubts that. Waters died a month after Edward had started studying in St. Aquinas’ and hadn’t even been there to let him off on the first day. Not that it was his duty in the first place. He had paid for Edward’s studies in the best school in Gotham, which was more than enough.
Edward knew that he would never get adopted, and even though he had secretly wished that Mr. Waters would have decided to become his legal guardian, he was – and still is – more than grateful about the fact that he got a chance that all the other children could only dream of. Still, he can’t help but feel envy uncoil inside of him like a snake when he watches other students with their parents.
He had once asked Mr. Waters why he had chosen him. It had been during one of their few and formal meetings that had felt more like talking to a CEO of a big company who he needed to impress. “Because you’re smart,” Mr. Waters had answered in a dry and distant voice that always kept Edward from feeling any emotional connection to him. “A smart child like you shouldn’t have to live in a place like this.” That had been it. Edward had deserved his place because he had worked for it. That’s the thing he’s the proudest of, but sometimes, just sometimes, he thinks what it would be like to get things even if he didn’t work for them with his blood, sweat, and tears. What it would be like to have someone love him unconditionally.
“Eddie.”
Edward’s head snaps up and he turns to look at the person who has appeared next to the reading chair he’s sitting in.
“Did I startle you? Sorry,” Mr. Myers smiles down at him, and Edward relaxes.
“No, it’s okay,” Edward assures. Mr. Myers is dressed up a little more formally than usual, wearing a tweed jacket and all. Edward suddenly feels very underdressed wearing only a worn-out sweater. Mr. Myers, however, doesn't pay attention to that. He looks at the book Edward is reading ( Flatterland by Ian Stewart) and hums approvingly before clearing his throat quietly enough for the library.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you,” he says, and Edward feels the familiar anxiety starting to build up inside of him. Mr. Myers seems to notice it because he smiles and shakes his head. “It’s nothing serious, I just want to give you something.”
“Oh,” is all Edward can say to that, the anxiety turning into something like excitement. Mr. Myers nods and gestures to Edward to stand up and follow him out of the library. They push past groups of people, and Mr. Myers greets almost everyone by their names. Edward keeps his eyes on his shoes just so that he doesn’t trip and fall down the stairs.
“Today isn’t probably the easiest day for you,” Mr. Myers says as they walk through the entrance hall towards the corridor to the teachers’ dorm building.
“Oh, the church service isn’t really that much work,” Edward begins, but Mr. Myers looks at him, and he realizes that he’s not talking about the service but about the students and their parents. “Oh. No, I’m fine, thanks. I mean, it’s hard to miss something you’ve never had.”
Mr. Myers looks like he wants to say something, but right then someone walks up to them and grabs his attention.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Pennyworth, good to see you here,” he says. Edward looks up and sees a classily dressed older man and with him – you guessed it – Bruce, who rubs the bottom of his shoe against the floor to avoid eye contact with Edward.
“Of course,” the older man says and shakes Mr. Myers’ hand before turning to look at Edward with an open expression. Mr. Myers pats Edward’s shoulder and introduces him.
“This is Edward Nashton, he’s actually been preparing the Christmas service with Bruce,” he says. Both Mr. Myers and Pennyworth look at Bruce who for one looks at Edward.
“Is that so?” Mr. Pennyworth asks and shakes Edward’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Edward.”
“You too,” Edward says, trying to figure out what exactly is the relationship between Bruce and the man. Is he a relative or just Bruce’s legal guardian? It’s probably common knowledge in the circles where everyone else in the school goes, but Edward can’t bring himself to care that much.
“I guess we’ll meet later in the evening,” Mr. Myers says to Mr. Pennyworth and Bruce, and after brief goodbyes, Edward and he keep on walking to the corridor that connects the old school building to a newer dorm building for teachers. It’s much emptier and calmer than the rest of the school, and Edward feels like he can finally breathe in peace.
Mr. Myers stops in front of one of the doors, which all look identical to the ones in the students’ dorm building, and takes his keys from his pocket, letting Edward in. Edward hasn’t been in a teacher’s room before and is surprised how small it is. It’s barely bigger than his own, with a bed, desk, and a big bookshelf not leaving much room to move. He stands back against the bookshelf as Mr. Myers steps past him to look for something from the drawers of his desk. There’s a framed photo standing on the desk. In it Mr. Myers smiles at the camera, younger with less gray in his hair, and next to him stands a woman in a white wedding dress, also smiling.
“Found it,” Mr. Myers says, straightening his back and handing Edward something. It's a box wrapped in brown paper, small enough for him to hold it in one hand. Edward looks at it, then at Mr. Myers, and isn’t sure what to do. Mr. Myers chuckles. “It’s a gift.”
“But why?” Edward asks, well aware of how stupid he sounds.
“Well, Christmas is right around the corner, isn’t it?” Mr. Myers says, still holding out the gift. Edward just stares at the brown package before finally taking it. He’s never gotten any gifts before, at least not ones given just for him. No one has even gotten him anything that they had personally picked out for him.
“You can open it,” Mr. Myers says. Edward unfolds the paper gently, careful not to rip it. Inside is a box, and in the box he finds a beautiful, silver lighter. He takes it into his hand, flicking it open and watching the flame for a moment before putting it out. Onto the surface of the lighter, there is a carving of a snake that wraps itself around the piece of metal. It’s beautiful and classy, nothing like Edward’s old, green lighter with a scratched-up plastic cover, which he picked up from a train floor last summer and which is seconds away from leaking lighter fluid all over his hands every time he uses it.
“Thank you,” he manages to say, looking at Mr. Myers who is half-sitting on his desk. “But I thought you were the one who said that I’m not allowed to keep one of these at the school.”
“Well, don’t use it here and no one has to know,” Mr. Myers says with a shrug and an easy smile. “Maybe I should have given it as a graduation gift.”
“No, it’s perfect, thank you,” Edward says quickly and pockets the lighter, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.
“I also wanted to ask you about one thing,” Mr. Myers says. Edward nods, feeling the cool surface of the lighter in his pocket anxiously. “As you know, I’m going home for the holidays. Well, I was just wondering, if you would like to come visit on Christmas Day? Anne would really love to meet you.”
Edward doesn’t know what to say. For the last three Christmases, he has been alone at the school, his only company having occasionally been the janitor and the kitchen lady, and now he has the opportunity to spend it with someone who actually cares about him? Edward pinches himself a little, just to make sure that he’s not dreaming. Yup, he’s definitely awake.
“I… Yeah, I would really like to,” he says, a smile breaking onto his face. Mr. Myers looks also pleased, and Edward really wants to hug him but doesn’t act on the feeling. He doesn’t want to do anything that could make Mr. Myers see him as annoying or needy or just outright weird and could make him take back the invitation.
“Let’s talk about it after the service, okay?” Mr. Myers asks, and Edward nods, his heart so light that it could float out of his throat.
The Christmas service is held in the evening after dinner. For Edward, it all passes in a haze. He’s floating somewhere above everything that is happening, not caring about all the small mistakes Bruce makes while serving the communion. Edward has never felt the so-called “Christmas spirit”, but as he’s standing in the small chapel filled with students and their parents, listening to Mr. Alwyn – who is also a licensed priest – read the gospel, he feels something almost like it.
The service isn’t long, and afterwards, Bruce is the one who greets the parents and students on their way out. Edward cleans the chalices in the sacristy and changes out of the cassock he’s wearing, before hurrying out of the chapel through the back door. The weather is getting close to a full-blown blizzard, and Edward struggles to keep himself upright while wading through the snow where other people’s steps have been almost covered already. By the time he reaches the school stairs, his glasses are covered in snow and he has to take them off in order to see anything.
Most of the students and parents have already left but some of them are still standing in the entrance hall with their coats on, chatting while students run to get the last of their stuff from their rooms. Edward spots Bruce standing amongst a big group of people and looking extremely uncomfortable. As he walks past them, Edward hears Bruce call after him but doesn’t bother to turn and hear what the boy has to say. He only wants to talk to Mr. Myers again.
The teachers’ building is empty, as everyone is still saying their goodbyes in the main building. Edward knocks on Mr. Myers’ door and waits. No answer. Okay, he’s not there. Edward sighs. Just the idea of having to go back to the crowd to look for the man makes him exhausted. Still, he pulls himself together and walks back to the main building. He’s barely stepped through the doors to the entrance hall when Bruce appears out of nowhere to talk to him.
“Edward, hi, I just… well, I didn't blow out the candles before I left, because… I just got pulled out with some people, so, um, I was wondering if you remembered to do it?” He speaks quickly, and Edward has difficulties grasping what he’s saying.
“No, I didn’t blow out the candles, it was your job,” Edward says when Bruce is finally done. “I left through the backdoor, I didn’t know whether you put out the fucking candles or not.”
“Yeah, I know it was my job, it’s just that everyone was talking to me and –” Bruce begins, but then shakes his head and looks out of the window where snow swirls in the wind. “Whatever, I’m going back to check. Can I have the key?”
“No, you would probably drop it in the snow and I would get the blame for that,” Edward snaps and wraps his scarf around his neck again. Having to interact with Bruce Wayne is eating away the little joy he’s been feeling tonight. “Let’s go, then.”
Bruce gives him a tired look but doesn’t protest, and so they walk to the door and step out into the horrible weather. If the visibility was bad the last time Edward was outside, it has somehow gotten even worse. He and Bruce push through the wind towards the chapel, slipping and sliding in the dark, the distance feeling ten times bigger than usual. Finally, they reach the building, and Edward struggles with the key because he can barely see his hands. It’s not needed, though, because the door has been left unlocked. They push on it and stumble into the chapel.
It’s dark inside, so either someone else put the candles out or they just went out by themselves. Edward and Bruce stand inside catching their breaths, ready to start arguing about how useless the whole trip was and whose fault it is, when they both notice a weird smell in the air. It’s thick and metallic, and Edward sees that Bruce recognizes it too. It’s the smell of blood.
And that’s when they see it. Against the back wall, where the altarpiece is hanging, stands a shadow of a person. At least that’s what it looks like in the dark. For a moment both Edward and Bruce stand frozen in place, staring at the person, whose hands have been lifted up horizontally, like Jesus up on the cross.
It takes a moment for Edward’s eyes to get used to the dark, but once they do, he realizes that the man isn’t actually standing. He is upright because he’s suspended up on the wall from his hands. Hanging. The front of his shirt is dark with blood.
Edward’s body goes completely cold, and he hears Bruce breathe out a shuddering "Oh no" .
For a moment nothing moves, no one says anything. It’s quieter than in a grave. Then, Edward takes a step towards the altar, eyes glued onto the man on the wall. Who is he?
"Don’t–" Bruce chokes out behind him, trying to grab his sleeve, but Edward doesn’t stop. He takes a slow step forward, then another, only hearing his own heartbeat and shallow breathing.
Ten feet away from the altar he can see the man in the slightest light illuminating from the windows on his sides. That’s also where he can hear the quiet and steady sound of blood dripping onto the floor, almost like the ticking of a clock. He takes another step. Two knives have been struck through the man’s wrists, binding him onto the altarpiece, his hands hanging limp, blood dripping down the sleeves of his jacket. His head is hanging low, his chin against his chest. Edward only has to look at the gore on the front of his shirt to know that his throat has been cut.
That’s when Edward really looks at him. His eyes go from the stained white shirt to the ruined tweed jacket the man is wearing, before focusing on the mess of his hair. There are some gray strands in it. And that’s when Edward knows.
“Oh no,” he breathes out, his world blurring around the corners. “Oh no.”
**
“Why did you and Bruce Wayne go back to the chapel?”
“To… to check the candles.”
“And that is where you found Robert Myers’ body?”
“Mhm.”
“Someone get the boy some water.”
The principal’s office has been turned into an interrogation room. Edward sits on the other side of a big desk, pressing an ice pack against his forehead where he first hit his head on the edge of the altar and then on the floor when he fainted. On the other side of the table sits the DI of GPD, looking at him with so much pity that Edward would feel annoyed if he wasn’t too shocked to feel anything.
He can’t remember what happened between him finding Mr. Myers’ body and talking to the DI. He can’t remember how Bruce managed to get him back to the school from the chapel or when the police arrived. He does remember waking up on a couch in the common room and then being asked to talk to at least five different police officers. He doesn’t know where Bruce is.
“Did you see anyone by the chapel when you left it earlier this evening or when you went back?” the DI asks. Edward just stares at the nametag on his shirt. Ramos , it reads. He is brought back to the moment when the man clears his throat.
“No, I didn't. I didn’t check the chapel when I left and when I– when me and Bruce came back, it was so dark and snowing so hard that we couldn’t see anything,” Edward says. There’s a knock on the door, and soon a younger police officer, with a name tag saying ‘Gordon’, steps in with a glass of water for Edward. Edward takes it but his shaking hands can’t bring it up to his lips. DI Ramos gives him an apologetic look.
“I heard that you’re staying here for the holidays,” he says. Edward nods. “I just want you to know that we will be conducting a thorough investigation of the whole school area. If you have any other place to go, it would be probably for the best –”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Edward interrupts. If couldn’t stay at the school, he would have to go to St. Jude’s, which would be the same as nothing. He has spent his last two summers there, as the school can’t let him stay there for the summer, and those couple of months had been the worst he’s had in a while. Ramos looks at him with a pitiful look and nods. Edward wonders if he would be as sympathetic if Edward was just a normal orphan who had seen a man get killed on a street instead of going to the best school in Gotham.
“Were you and Mr. Myers close?” Ramos asks. Edward feels like his throat is going to close up.
“He, um, he was very nice to me. I guess, yeah,” he manages to get out. Ramos seems to notice his struggle and nods at the younger police officer Gordon.
“Okay, I think this is all for tonight, Edward. Thank you,” he says. “We’ll need you to come to the station tomorrow to give an official testimony.”
Edward nods and mutters something between “good night” and “thanks” that gets stuck into his throat and comes out completely incomprehensible. Officer Gordon escorts him out of the office into the hallway, and that’s where Edward sees Bruce. He’s sitting on a chair next to the door with the older man – Pennyworth. Edward looks at him, trying to meet his eyes, but the boy’s look is distant, and Edward knows that he’s not really there. Edward glances at Mr. Pennyworth who looks at him with the eyes of someone who has seen all of this before.
Gordon walks Edward through the common room, where all of the teachers ( not all of them, not anymore , Edward thinks absently) sit in silence. Edward can’t bring himself to look at them. He and Gordon walk in silence all the way through the main building and the underground corridor to the dorm building which is empty and cold. Edward’s head is pounding after climbing up the stairs, and he’s glad when he finally gets his door open.
“Get some sleep,” Gordon says. Edward closes the door to his face.
For a while he just stands in the dark room, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. Then, slowly, he moves to his wardrobe and starts pulling his shirts down from the shelf before finding a pack of cigarettes he’s hidden under them. Then he pushes his desk aside so that he can get the dorm window open. He struggles with the latch of the window for a while before finally getting it open, a bunch of snow and ice scattering onto the floor. The cold wind makes his eyes water, but he doesn’t care about it. He takes a cigarette, puts it between his lips, and sticks his hand into his pocket. The smooth metal surface of the lighter meets his fingers and for a moment he feels like he’s going to throw up. With shaking hands he pulls the lighter out, doing his best not to look at it. He flicks it open and brings the flame to the tip of the cigarette and breathes in when the paper finally catches on fire. Below him stands the chapel, now lit up by the lights the police have set up. Edward breathes out smoke, his fingers going numb.
“Good things happen to good people,” sister Carol had said to him when they had first heard that he would be getting into the school. Edward had never believed that.
The neverending sound of police and ambulance sirens is distant somewhere in the city. Edward feels completely empty. Bad things happen to good people , he thinks, a picture of Mr. Myres’ body flashing before his eyes when he blinks. He looks at himself in the warped reflection on his lighter. Bad things happen to bad people .
His cigarette has almost burned to the filter. Edward looks at the glowing tip of it and holds his breath. Then he pulls the sleeve of his shirt up and presses the tip of the cigarette on his wrist, right next to an almost healed burn. He keeps it there until the pain becomes too much and he finally has to drop the cigarette out of the window. He covers the burn with his hand, the pain radiating up his arm into his entire body, and then he cries and cries and cries.