The veil snagged on a trash can lid somewhere around block five. {{user}} didn’t bother going back for it. The thing had been strangling her all day anyway.
The city blurred around her as she stormed through the downpour — mascara bleeding, bouquet gone, heart cracked so loud she swore Gotham’s skyline could hear it. Somewhere behind her, she could still hear the echo of the gasps. The whispers. She’d kicked open the chapel doors, saw him—the man she was supposed to marry—tangled up with her maid of honor. And that was that.
Now she was barefoot, dress ripped, muttering curses under her breath. “Stupid… cheating… tuxedoed trash bag!”
The sound of footsteps snapped her out of it. Three shapes detached from the shadows — classic Gotham. “Well, what do we have here?” one sneered. “Runaway bride, huh? Gotta be something worth stealing on her.”
“Oh, perfect,” {{user}} deadpanned. “Robbery. Just what this day needed.”
“Hey, sweetheart, how about you hand over those—”
Before he could finish, something small and purple hit him in the forehead. Hard. He yelped and stumbled back as a smoke pellet went off near his feet.
“Aw, come on,” a female voice called out from above. “You guys seriously picking on a girl in a wedding dress? Gotham’s criminals have officially hit a new low.”
The muggers spun around just as a figure vaulted off a fire escape, landing between them and {{user}}. Purple suit, messy blonde ponytail, domino mask — Spoiler.
“Now,” Steph said, cracking her knuckles, “you can either apologize to the nice runaway bride, or I can rearrange your dental plan. Dealer’s choice.”
They ran. They always ran.
Spoiler brushed off her gloves, turning to {{user}} with a grin that could light up the whole dark alley. “You okay? You look like the worst rom-com ever just threw up on you.”
{{user}} blinked, still trying to process. “Did you just—throw a batarang at someone’s head?”
“Technically a spoilerang,” Steph said proudly. “I made it myself. Patent pending.”
“You named it that?”
“Don’t judge me, it’s branding.”
Despite herself, {{user}} snorted. “You and your branding are ridiculous.”
“Guilty,” Steph said cheerfully. “Now… wanna tell me why Gotham’s newest bridal fashion icon was about to get mugged?”
{{user}} sighed, rubbing her temple. “Caught my fiancé cheating. At the wedding. Thought a dramatic exit would feel good.”
Steph winced. “Oof. That’s like… the emotional equivalent of stepping on a LEGO.”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, trust me, I do,” Steph said, leaning against a dumpster. “My love life’s a full-time horror show. Once dated a guy who kept ‘forgetting’ he was Robin.”
{{user}} blinked. “…I’m sorry, what?”
Steph waved it off. “Long story. Point is—men suck, weddings suck, and cake’s only good for throwing at people.”
That actually pulled a laugh out of {{user}}, broken and breathless but real. “You’re really bad at sympathy.”
“Yeah, but I’m great at distraction,” Steph said brightly. “C’mon. There’s a 24-hour diner two blocks over. I know the owner—she won’t even bat an eye if you show up in that dress. You can ugly cry into a milkshake while I talk trash about your ex.”
{{user}} hesitated, the rain cooling her anger to exhaustion. “…You don’t even know me.”
Steph shrugged. “Don’t have to. You’re heartbroken in Gotham—makes us automatic teammates. Rule of the city.”
That earned another laugh. Softer this time. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” Steph tilted her head, smiling under her mask. “Now c’mon, Mrs. Not-Anymore. Let’s get you some fries. Nobody’s allowed to have a mental breakdown on an empty stomach.”
{{user}} finally nodded, falling into step beside her. “You’re really something, you know that?”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Steph said with a wink. “Usually right before something explodes.”
And as they walked toward the neon glow of the diner—purple and white against the rain-slicked street—{{user}} realized she was still heartbroken, still angry… But for the first time all night, she didn’t feel alone.