Real-ish

Preparing

Cora~

"Alright, alright, alright." Tim waves away the remaining celebrations. "I still need to build the thing, and then get it to work with the correct coordinates. I know the right universe, but who knows how accurate I'll get with these coordinates."

The energy in the boys seems to simmer down, but I'm finding myself just as excited.

It's actually happening. The concept is real. I'm gonna kinda sorta move to Gotham. As in, Batman's turf, New York City's emo phase, DC Comics, Gotham. Later came soon and I need to talk with Betty Boop now.

"What do you need? I have some basic tools leftover from some home renovations." I offer. Tim looks at me with utmost seriousness.

"I can find most of the parts in the junkyard or maybe a thrift shop of this town has one. I'll also need something small that can heat and weld metal if you have it." He orders. I nod.

"There's a thrift shop just off of Main Street, but it's really small. And the junkyard is roughly 2 miles that way." I gesture from the direction of the door. He nods, writing it down.

"How do you know that? Another hobby?" Damian questions. I shake my head, debating my answer.

"No, uh, my old babysitter used to live by that area, so I've been a few times," I say almost hesitantly. I haven't forgotten why Richy came down here.

"You had a babysitter?" Damian asks, curiosity in his voice. It's not as if it's a marvel, but maybe to him, it is.

"Yeah. She'd come over and get me ready for school, back when I still went in person, and then she'd be here to pick me up and I guess make sure I got fed. I think she was the one to first teach me how to find recipes online." I recount. I liked her, she was always super nice and she smelled like vanilla.

"I might regret asking, but how long has it been since she's been here?" Dick asks heavily. I can hear his unasked question. How long have I been alone?

"Well, I'm 13 now. And I was 11 when I started online schooling. And at that point, my parents had started leaving more so... Uh, roughly 3 years." I do the math aloud. Judging from the pin-drop silence in the room, that was the wrong thing to say.

"3 years..." Jasey trails off.

"That explains so much," Tim mutters.

I can feel my shoulders curling in as I wrap my arms around myself. I feel like I'm being judged. Harshly. Kinda like that dream where you show up to school naked, but it's my history laid bare instead.

"I'm going to get you some bags and stuff. For, um, your parts." I say quietly.

"We can help you grab those-" I cut Richy off with a hand, but I can see it shake.

"I got it," I say, trying not to sprint away when I turn.

I round a corner in even steps and breathe out deeply. I will not let them see me break down. Telling them is one thing, being gawked at is another. I get enough pitying glances from everyone in town. When I go out and face the world, that is.

I stride to the basement door, needing to do something, unable to stand still. I need to move and I need to move on. I grab some unfolded boxes from when I first moved here. It's surprising to see that they held up over that long.

I try to pick ones that don't have writing on them like 'Cora's room' or 'Business papers'. I eventually find two, and I know I have several shopping bags in the kitchen. Now I just need to return to the kitchen.

Each step feels heavy, but I shake myself off and take a few deep breaths. I face them with my shoulders back and a resting happy face.

It seems they got the memo, or perhaps read me like they read each other. They don't show any traces of pity, and I don't hear a single muttered word.