Chapter Text
Fuck.
He’s an asshole. A complete and utter dickhead.
Nothing shows you what a misogynistic, homophobic, bigot you’ve been better than gaining memories of being an autistic, female born, non-binary, asexual person, living on disability payments. And now he’s your average rich white man–wait--still asexual and bi, thank fuck. Hope isn’t completely lost. As for gender? He looks down at his body–he has a fucking six pack! What the fuck?!--well, he could do without the dick, but otherwise he’ll probably stick with he/they like he did before. Like he did in these new memories, that is, his parents–who had recently passed away in an accident leaving him a company and a fortune–would have disowned him for ‘having pronouns’ like everyone doesn’t have pronouns already! Okay, he's just pissing himself off now, maybe they would have accepted him? He thinks back to when his father threw slurs at a gay homeless man as his mother watched with a sneer. Yeah, probably not.
Moving on!
So, he's now some rich kid everyone believes is a complete twat. And he has that stupid gala tonight, which he'd normally use to hit on poor innocent women who want nothing to do with him, but he has to go! He can’t turn down an invite from Bruce Wayne! From the fricking Batman!
Wait.
…
Batman?
Fuck.
Guess these memories didn’t just help with the homophobia.
***
Theo leaves his awesome penthouse–nice–in a completely empty apartment building–what a waste–in a black suit jacket and matching trousers over a red button up, to the car waiting out front. He gives a nod to–seriously? This is his personal driver and he doesn’t even know his name?
“Hi, sorry, what's your name?” he asks as he buckles himself into the backseat of the ridiculously nice car.
“Boyd, sir,” the man, Boyd, replies, giving him a weird look.
God, he's a horrible boss isn't he?
“Right, Boyd, you’ve been a great driver to me,” he hurries to finish when the man starts to look panicked. “And that deserves rewarding! I can take care of myself tomorrow, so you take the day off, paid of course!”
“Ah, thank you?”
“Right, good, let's go then.”
Boyd drives without another word and Theo falls back against the seat with a silent groan. Shit, of all the things to gain from these memories, he got social anxiety?! And he's on the way to a huge party where all the women hate him and the only men who don’t are probably assholes. And the
Waynes–the bats will be there! He’s going to make a fool of himself isn’t he? Well, this is his first public appearance since his parents died–daamn he barely had a relationship with either of them, did he?--people probably wouldn’t question it if he went and cowered in a corner, right?
Right.
***
Wrong. So very wrong.
He’s barely stepped through the door before someone's on him, barely giving condolences before asking his plans for Frost Medical–his company–and some older woman puts her hand on his shoulder to start cooing at him, and he has to tell the man he’s still discussing things with his COO–he is not–through a grimace while he tries to awkwardly shuffle away from the woman as a few more people approach. He does not like to be touched, another thing he gained from the memories.
He’s about to give up into a pile of overstimulated misery when a voice calls, “Theodore Frost! It’s good to see you again, I’m glad you accepted my invite!”
Oh god. It’s Bruce Wayne.
He plasters on a smile and turns to face the man, relieved when everyone else backs off a little.
“Bruce! Of course, I couldn't miss one of your galas, now could I?”
And, he doesn’t quite know what happens then, it’s like the ghost of Theo past possesses him–the socially raised rich one, not the complete asshole–and he talks, he smiles, he shakes hands and laughs at jokes that aren’t even a little funny, until he finally reaches a wall to lean against and just breathe.
He spends the rest of the night like that, half small talk, half cowering by a wall and quickly looking away from anyone black haired and blue eyed, until it’s finally socially acceptable to leave. He quickly texts Boyd to come around as he steps out the front. There's a small group of women there who quickly hurry inside at the sight of him, one scowling at him as he avoids eye contact.
He may have been a pain, but one thing he is infinitely grateful for is that he never touched anyone without their consent. He would never be able to forgive himself if he had. He sighs as Boyd pulls up, he just wants to sleep for a week.
***
He wakes at 7am the next day, wide awake.
The fuck? He’d called off everything and turned off his alarm! But here he is, awake and energised. Why do the assholes get all the healthy bodies dang it!
Whatever. It’s his now, he should make the most of it. He can go for a walk!
Yeah. A walk sounds nice, and there's that little cafe filled with plants down the road he always scoffed at! He quickly hops up and runs to his, way too big, wardrobe. Hm, why does he own so many suits? He has tank tops and sweats too, but he’s guessing those were for the gym and aha! A pair of jeans! Right, a black tank with blue jeans and a suit jacket? It’ll have to do until he can go shopping, which he should probably do with Boyd, maybe tomorrow?
He’ll think about that later, for now, cafe! He grabs a book bag, his phone, wallet and laptop and heads out.
***
‘Right! This is Gotham!’ he thinks as a man points a kitchen knife at him, demanding his bag. ‘But a mugging at 7am? seriously?’