seen this film before. didn’t like the ending (part 2)
pairing | platonic batfam x bat!sis!reader
summary | damian and you are trapped by the joker. so will batman be able to catch up on time this time..?
warnings | angst, injury, about death, ptsd, y/n is mentioned as a female
authors note | a second episode that isn't too long. i still hope you like it
also votes and reblogs appreciate
Your eyes were closed, your breathing steady but weak. At that moment, you were unaware of anything happening in the world. But someone was watching you from just beyond the glass: Damian.
The others stayed further back in the clinic hallway, yet they too could see your body sleeping, marked by bruises, through the glass.
Finally, Damian broke the deadly silence of the corridor.
“What are you going to do with Joker next?” Before Bruce could respond, he added, “You’re not just going to lock him up in Arkham and leave him there again, are you?” His eyes left you for the first time as he spoke.
He glanced at his father for a moment. Bruce said nothing, but Damian had already received enough of an answer from the silence.
“So you’re just going to lock him in Arkham. Fantastic.”
His sarcastic tone prompted Dick to intervene before he said something he shouldn’t. Straightening up from the wall he leaned against, he tried to sound like a small child:
“D, don’t think about this now—”
Damian cut him off.
“Don’t think about what, Grayson? That man, despite everything he’s done, still walks around unpunished. For years.”
“Our job isn’t to punish them, Damian, it’s to hand them over to justice.” When Bruce finally spoke, Damian rolled his eyes.
“Believe me, justice doesn’t work on Joker. We’ve seen that already.”
When Damian noticed Bruce was about to intervene, he raised his hand, stopping him quickly:
“He killed Todd, and you did nothing. You just locked him in Arkham. He escaped, killed again. You caught him again and ‘handed him over to justice,’ guess what happened?”
“He escaped again. This time he almost killed my sister. And you didn’t even take a single step forward. That man can still threaten her with ease, and you do nothing.”
By the end of his words, Damian was unconsciously stepping toward his father, while Bruce stayed silent, letting him release his anger. No one except Dick even tried to intervene.
Jason thought the boy had a valid point. Even if he hadn’t said it aloud to Bruce in a long time, his anger toward Joker still burned inside him. And he knew it would never truly fade.
Tim, on the other hand, was exhausted. He didn’t have the energy to step between father and son. These arguments happened often, and he had anticipated today’s explosion, so he just continued watching you from where he was.
“Damian, I know you’re angry, but this isn’t the time. Do you think Bruce wanted this?” Dick asked. Damian rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t say that, Grayson. Don’t twist my words. I’m just saying Joker shouldn’t be let free.”
Finally, Bruce rose from his chair and approached his son:
“We’ll talk about this again when you’re calmer, Damian.” His hand lightly brushed Damian’s shoulder.
Damian didn’t pull away from the touch but nodded.
“My feelings about Joker won’t change. No matter what.”
The hospital room lights were dim, and the soft beeps from the monitors punctuated the silence. Damian sat with his arms crossed, shoulders tense.
His gaze was locked on your face. Occasionally, it drifted to the monitor, as if checking your breathing.
Even though your vital signs were stable, the fact that you still hadn’t woken up scared him—though he wouldn’t admit it. Damian Wayne Al Ghul, was afraid for the first time.
As a child, he had never run into his mother’s arms fearing monsters under the bed, but now, he wanted to.
But unsurprisingly, his mother wasn’t here.
Only his father, whose presence they had learned about years later, was.
His thoughts were pounding. Or maybe it was just exhaustion. The hospital room door creaked open slightly, and without waiting for a response, Alfred’s head appeared through the gap.
“Master Damian, you should rest and go home. Gotham isn’t waiting for you to catch up.”
‘This is my home,’ Damian thought. Then, without raising his head, he replied with a single word:
“I’m not leaving.”
Alfred took a deep breath, approaching him cautiously, hesitant to touch him.
“Even father went on patrol, right?”
“Yes, but this—”
“He goes, I don’t.”
The determination in his eyes made Alfred realize it was pointless to argue further. Still, in a gentle voice, he continued:
“If anything happens, I’ll let you know. But you need to close your eyes and rest properly, sir. You’re exhausted to the point of collapse.”
Damian murmured in a low voice:
“What if she wake up and don’t see me by her side? I’m staying here.”
Alfred paused for a moment before nodding slightly and leaving the room, closing the door silently.
That night, Damian stayed upright in his chair, resisting sleep. He leaned toward you occasionally to check your breathing. His fingers brushed yours lightly, and when he felt your warmth still there, he relaxed slightly.
He wouldn’t rest until he saw you awake.
By early morning, Bruce had returned from patrol and was dressed in regular clothes. He found himself in Dr. Leslie’s clinic. Sitting in the chair by the window, the two shared a moment of silence.
Father and son had sworn a silence together. Damian’s eyes were only on your sickbed, though Bruce’s fleeting glances occasionally found him.
Bruce Wayne, known for his confidence, felt unsure even to start a conversation with his youngest son. He knew Damian was only acting out of tension and anger, and wasn’t taking it out on anyone else—but still wondered if there was a shred of rightness in the boy’s feelings.
Your eyelids resisted opening as if weighed down. The first thing that reached your ears was the slow, rhythmic beeping of the monitors through a loud ringing. Your throat was dry, and even breathing caused slight pain in your chest.
Slowly, as you opened your eyes, the harsh white lights of the ceiling hurt them. You blinked several times until your surroundings gradually became clear.
Beside you, Bruce sat. His dark suit wrinkled, his tie loosened. Elbow on the armrest, chin resting in his hands. Lines etched deep into his face—traces of sleeplessness and worry.
Next to him, Damian sat in a chair, neck slightly forward, arms crossed. Trying to stay stiff, but his eyelids drooped from exhaustion.
Noticing your movement, Damian’s head shot up, eyes fixed on you. “(Y/N)…” he whispered, his voice softer and lower than usual.
With that sound, Bruce’s gaze also found yours. He rose immediately and approached, expression stern as ever:
“You scared me.” His voice low, serious.
Damian stepped forward toward you. His expression seemed to want to say something, yet every time he opened his mouth, it closed again. He swallowed, turning his head. Words weren’t his strength, emotions even less so.
When your lips parted, the only word you could manage was:
“Water…” Your voice raspy.
Bruce wasted no time, bringing a sip from the bedside cup to your lips. His hands, careful and tentative as if handling a fragile porcelain doll, kept your head upright. His gaze never left yours.
“No patrols until you’re fully healed,” Bruce said, putting the glass back and folding his arms, showing he didn’t want this to be an argument later.
“And even when you are healed, you won’t go anywhere alone for a while. Understood?”
Before you could protest, Damian interjected:
“Father is right.”
It was as if he wasn’t the same boy who had argued with his father days ago. He added shortly after:
“You are my family. I won’t let this happen again.”
His voice was soft, barely audible, but both of you heard it. A slight tremor at the end was noticeable.
The room fell silent. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor, the drip of the IV…
No one wanted to break the silence. But Bruce’s large, calloused hand reached out and carefully ruffled your hair.
As if silently thanking you for being alive, proud of you.
Soon, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. Seconds later, the door opened. First in was Dick, holding a large cup of coffee. His dark shirt was plain, hair messy, as if he’d rushed here.
Seeing you, he froze for a few seconds, then a small smile tugged at his lips. He quickly reached your side.
“You’re awake…” His warm older-brother tone filled the room. He set the coffee on the table and leaned slightly toward you.
“Don’t ever scare me like this again, okay, little bird?” He tried to make it sound like a warning, but it only came off as gentle.
You wanted to laugh, but you weren’t sure you could. So you just smiled faintly.
“Can’t promise,” you whispered.
Not long after, Tim entered. He had files in his hand and, unsurprisingly, a coffee as well. Seeing you, he set everything down on the table near the door.
“I spoke to the doctor about your condition. He said you should wake soon,” he said, lowering his voice, “Also, if you even think about putting yourself in danger like this again, I’ll chain you. Same goes for you, Damian. I’m not joking.”
“Try it, Drake,” Damian said, his challenging voice narrowing his eyes at Tim.
You felt the need to intervene.
“Actually, Dad planned this. Also, can you ease up on the overprotection a bit? If you push too hard, I’m afraid it’ll be impossible to go on patrol again.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Jason, who had entered last.
He paused in the doorway, eyes scanning you head to toe. Hidden anger lay beneath his eyes, but also a glint of relief.
Normally, Jason couldn’t stay serious for long, but now he was almost silent. His expression was graver than usual.
“You fit the bed… just this once,” he said, walking slowly to stand behind Damian. “Next time, no one will find you like this. I won’t allow it.”
You remained silent. You didn’t even need to speak; just their presence and the fact that you were still here was enough.
A week later, when you were discharged, returning to the manor was relatively quiet. Bruce made no public statement, and Alfred escorted you straight to your room.
During the first few nights, Damian would go to his room, but in the early hours you’d notice the door creak open. Silent footsteps moved across the room, settling at the edge of your bed, waiting a few seconds before curling silently under the blankets.
This used to happen occasionally. Sleeping together wasn’t unfamiliar. But this time it became a routine.
A routine neither of you voiced aloud. The other family members had noticed Damian was often absent from his room, but no one cared.
Sometimes he murmured in his sleep—his usually furrowed brows remained knitted even in slumber. He unconsciously held you tightly.
A few times, you saw him wake in sweat—clearly from a nightmare. But he never spoke of them, about what or who. When asked, he would simply say, “Keep sleeping, it’s fine.”
One night, well past midnight, you awoke with aches. You must have forgotten your last painkiller. Looking at the nightstand, you met an empty cup, frowning as you propped yourself up.
At the far end of the large bed, Damian slept, wrapped in the blankets like a life preserver. He was in a deep sleep, his face finally appearing relaxed after days.
His furrowed brows softened; his face bore the innocence of a child. You gave him a small smile. Finally, he could rest.
Even if he never spoke of his nightmares, you could tell from his murmurs—and you hated seeing him blame himself.
He was your brother; he didn’t have to be your guardian. Being your brother was enough.
Exhaling silently, you carefully got out of bed, your feet moving softly across the cold floor. The chill was momentarily jarring, but still pleasant.
When you went downstairs to the kitchen, you saw a large figure at the counter, back turned. Jason was pouring a glass of milk. Black T-shirt, hair slightly messy. He turned when he heard your footsteps.
Seeing you, he raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Getting milk at three in the morning, little bat?” You leaned on the counter with a faint smile. “Just getting water. What are you doing here?”
Without asking, he retrieved a glass from the cupboard and poured water from the bottle.
“Can’t sleep. My mind… a little busy,” he said, handing you the glass.
After murmuring a quiet thanks, a silence settled. The only sound in the kitchen was the rhythm of Jason’s fingers tapping the counter.
Finally, you broke the silence.
“You thinking about him? About what happened?” Even after knowing Jason for years, your voice was cautious on this subject.
Even if you knew what Joker did to Jason, you’d never heard him speak of it directly—only overheard from Dick. You’d never dared to ask.
Jason glanced at you, his eyes lingering on the bruises on your face before looking away.
“If I said no, you wouldn’t believe me, right?”
You nodded. “Yes.”
He exhaled and set the half-full glass down.
“This isn’t a topic I enjoy discussing. What happened, happened. I died, came back. I’ve moved on.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’ve really moved on.” You added after a pause. “And you don’t have to move on, you don’t have to be strong.”
Jason glanced at you.
“Is that why, when you wake from nightmares, you throw yourself onto the balcony to hide? You’re playing the tough, fearless kid. Trust me, we notice.”
You stayed silent for a few seconds. Once again, you hated being in a house surrounded by outlaws. They always knew the little things you thought went unnoticed. You included.
Apparently, nothing could be hidden in this family.
“You got me. But you can’t escape by pointing arrows at me.”
“Alright, little detective, let me go now. Does it still hurt?” Jason had evaded the subject, but you didn’t press. If he wasn’t ready, you wouldn’t upset him over his trauma.
So you adapted.
“A little. But it’ll pass.”
Jason tilted his head slightly, looking at you. “Sometimes you annoy me, but I’m glad to see you okay, little devil.”
For a brief moment, you frowned.
“How many more names are you going to give me?” He shrugged before taking another sip of milk.
“I don’t think any of them are wrong.”
“You’re annoying, Todd. Goodnight.” You started to leave when Jason put a hand on your shoulder to stop you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to his chest. You froze.
It was sudden. And embraces, apart from the occasional ones with Damian, weren’t something you were used to—except for Dick’s random stickiness, which you mostly didn’t consider real hugs.
But it was less uncomfortable than you expected; even comforting. Short but tight—not too long, but warm.
Finally, you pulled away without meeting his eyes. Jason, without speaking, tilted his head slightly.
“Go upstairs. If Damian wakes and doesn’t find you beside him, he’ll wake the entire manor.”
You gave a tiny, almost imperceptible smile and nodded. As you returned, you saw Jason still leaning on the counter, finishing his milk.
When you went upstairs, Damian was still in deep sleep, one arm stretched toward the side of the bed where you should be, unknowingly seeking your warmth. When you you curled up beside him, his arm instinctively wrapped around your waist, seeking the warmth he had been missing.
Your last thoughts before sleep took you were simple but profound: none of you would ever be alone again.
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