#start of cilla and baby batman’s friendship

[witchofinterest]

"why did you help me?"+ cilla

oh! Thank you! set in gotham s3 ep13 right after Jerome’s resurrection. basically, Cilla breaks up w Jerome and takes baby batman in the divorce! tw for some guy calling cilla a whore then immediately dying and jerome using staples to keep his face on. Also, I slightly changed the prompt by accident, my bad!

Contrary to popular opinion, it isn’t impossible to change fate. It’s not easy, it’s fate, but sometimes people make decisions that alter the course of the way their lives were supposed to go. Cilla was supposed to be in love with Jerome for the rest of her life, but looking at him now, reanimated, she didn’t see the boy she used to love so much.

Right after he died there was nothing she wouldn’t have done to bring him back, but now it was clear that dream was a nightmare. And Theo Galavan wasn’t going to pop out with a knife to end this one.

“Come on Silly, we’ve got a performance to catch!” Jerome said, grabbing her hand.

Cilla pulled her hand out of his. He turned to look at her, making her look at his stapled on face. It was like seeing him for the second time. Jerome was always that cruel boy who didn’t want to be alone in the forest. She didn’t have to be the naïve girl who stayed.

“You’re the star, I’ll watch,” she said, giving him a smile.

“You don’t wanna be the opening act?” he asked, stepping closer.

“You’ve never needed one,” she said, taking his hand to squeeze it. He appraised her, before letting go.

“Get her a front row seat,” he told one of his fanatics, who grabbed her arm. Jerome went off one way, while Cilla was lead to a stage.

The goon dropped her directly in front. As soon as he was gone, Cilla stood up. Tied to the stage was Bruce Wayne. She couldn’t fix what happened to Jerome, or to her, but she could right one wrong today.

Cilla pulled the curtain in front of the stage, partitioning off her and Bruce from the crowd. He lifted his head, sad clown make-up slightly smeared off with sweat. He was young, the same age she’d been when she met Jerome.

Cilla pulled out a knife, getting closer to Bruce.

“Why are you here?” Bruce asked, making her pause. Why was she at this circus? Why had she stayed? Why hadn’t she left when Dwight died? Why wasn’t she with her friends, with Tabitha and Butch, even Barbra.

“To do this,” she said, sawing quickly through his ropes. She dearly wished it was the only reason. They pooled limp on the ground, as Cilla grabbed his hand and darted out the back.

Hand-in-hand, she and Bruce slipped past a few of the stationed cult members. Cilla ducked behind a building to shed her jacket, wiping off some of Bruce’s distinct make-up.

“The entrance is this that way, we gotta get past a lot of goons,” she instructed, hands pushing down into the shoulders of Bruce’s sweater. He nodded, and she looked around the bend.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked, making her turn back to him.

“Because you don’t deserve to die. So let’s go, before that happens,” she said, grabbing his arm.

They made a sprint for the main gate, dashing easily past groups of entertained clowns. The main gate was almost in sight, she could hot wire a car once there. Or call someone. She should have done that already.

She was pushed from her thoughts by a pair of arms wrapping around her. Bruce was pulled away from her, even as she fought to grab his hand again.

“Gotta say, this is disappointing. On your side Prissy, I expected this from the boy billionaire,” Jerome strolled into view, wearing a ring leaders outfit. How many ridiculous costume changes did his cult have ready?

She didn’t say anything, as she struggled against the goons holding her. She hadn’t called, she really really should have.

“You know who Penguin is?” she asked, facing one of the men holding her. He had a red-dyed mohawk and a completely white face.

“Who?” he asked her, surprisingly shocked for a cult member.

“The mayor. My boss. I’m deputy mayor, you think people aren’t going to come looking for me? And if that’s not enough, everyone knows we’re mobsters. Is keeping him happy really worth the wrath of the GCPD and the Gotham underworld?” she asked, and she felt the grips loosen. Not enough to get free yet, but a start.

A low whistle brought the attention away from her and back to Jerome. He looked mad, way more than she’d ever seen.

“Looks like you’ve been busier than you said! Deputy mayor, how’d you swing that?” he asked, in a fake-cheerful tone.

“The whore used you as her platform! Said you lied to her and she deserved better, like she wanted to give to Gotham,” a guy called out from the crowd.

“I lied to you, is that right?” Jerome said, getting closer to her. She didn’t answer, keeping her eyes away from him.

“Come on! Have some spine for once in your life Silly!” he almost yelled at her, grabbing her face by her chin.

“Yes, yes you did lie to me. You didn’t tell me you killed your mom, or the GCPD massacre, or that you were planning on killing a kid,” she listed off, getting more upset as she did.

“Boo! We talked about the mom thing, and I didn’t get a chance to tell you about the other two. On account of dying,” he accentuated the last word, making her roll her eyes.

Cilla didn’t have anything else to say. She had to get back in his good graces to save Bruce. There was only one option left, and it was going to kill her.

“I’m, I’m sorry. You left me all alone and I just needed something,” she thought about her mom, Penguin, what it felt like to lose him, and started crying. It was not soft or pretty, but hopefully it was convincing.

“Oh come Prissy, stop crying. I’ll forgive you, just stop it,” he said, letting go of her chin and motioning for the thugs to let her go. She sniffled, wiping her drying eyes. So, she would be performing today.

“Alright, will the man who told me about Silly’s mayoral bid step forward, please?” Jerome asked, considerably calm.

The punk, dressed in a garish green smock with magenta tips, eagerly ran to the front of the mob. If Butch was here, he’d already be dead. Jerome clapped him on the shoulder.

“Now, normally I’d kill whoever disrespected my girlfriend myself, but since she’s so big time in the mob now, I think she should do it,” Jerome said, handing her a gun. She grabbed it, turning back to Bruce. He was watching her intently. She really didn’t like letting down kids.

Clicking off the safety, she aimed at the man. Boy, she realized. He probably wasn’t older than she was.

“I’ve never shot anyone, I’m psychic, they don’t make me,” she rambled, turning to Jerome. He wasn’t going to let it go, a voice in the back of her head reminded. He never lets anything go.

“Oh Silly, what did you do without me,” he sighed, taking her hand. Rather than take the gun from her, he put his fingers over hers, and shot the boy. Red leaked down the tips of his fair, dying it a new, final, color.

He let it drop, taking her other hand, and skipped along to the show. Cilla kept a tight grip on the gun, and an even tighter grip on his hand. Both, would hopefully secure her and Bruce Wayne a way out of this mess.