Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfamily x Neglected! Poison Ivy's Daughter! Reader)
Chapter 10.2
Well I am going to edit both parts now. Don’t mind any mistakes oops.
She didn’t hear the window in the other room slide open.
She didn’t feel the shift in the air until it was too late.
“Enjoy your field trip?”
The voice came from the dark like a blade sliding from its sheath.
She shrieked.
The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor as she spun around, heart slamming violently against her ribs. Her eyes struggled to adjust, and then she saw him. A silhouette leaning against the far wall near the fire escape window, posture familiar, rigid, unmistakable.
“Damian.”
Her voice cracked around his name.
He stepped forward slowly, and the faint streetlight spilling through the window caught the sharp lines of his face. He was not in full uniform, but he might as well have been. His presence filled the room like a storm front.
“What,” he asked coolly, “did you think would happen?”
Her lungs felt too small. “How did you—”
“You used your real name,” he cut in sharply. “At Arkham. Did you truly believe no one would notice?”
Her blood ran cold.
Arkham.
Tim.
Of course.
She stepped back instinctively, bumping into the counter. “I just went to visit—”
“I know who you went to visit.” His jaw tightened. “Are you insane?”
She flinched. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then stop acting like it.” His voice rose despite himself. “Arkham is not a park. It is not a school field trip. It is a containment facility for the worst minds in Gotham.”
“She’s my mother.”
The words burst out of her before she could swallow them.
He went still.
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Something sharper. Something complicated.
“And?” he demanded, but the edge had dulled slightly. “That gives you immunity?”
“She understands,” Y/N snapped back, fear turning quickly into defensiveness. “She understands what I am.”
“What you are?” His brows drew together. “You are our sister.”
She laughed weakly. “That didn’t stop you from treating me like a liability.”
The accusation landed harder than she meant it to.
His hands curled at his sides.
“You disappeared for months,” he said, voice dropping lower, rougher. “You vanished. We thought you were dead. And now you walk into Arkham alone.”
“I’m not dead.”
“Not for lack of trying.”
Her breath hitched. “You don’t get to—”
He moved suddenly.
Not to strike. Not to hurt. Just to close the distance.
His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
She gasped.
He was stronger. Infinitely stronger. She knew that. She had always known that. Even when they were children and he had been all sharp elbows and fury, he had been stronger.
“You are coming home,” he said tightly. “Now.”
“No.”
Her panic surged like a live wire.
“I am not asking.”
“I’m not going back.”
He pulled her a step closer.
She saw it then, not just anger. Not just frustration. Something frantic underneath. Something that looked too much like frantic fear.
“You think you can survive out here?” he demanded. “In this hole? In this city? Alone?”
“I was doing fine!”
“Working in a nightclub?” His voice sharpened dangerously. “Do you take me for a fool?”
Her stomach dropped.
“You followed me?”
“We have been searching for you every day,” he snapped. “You are not difficult to trace when you insist on using your real identity in high-security facilities.”
She yanked against his grip. “Let me go!”
“No.”
The word was iron.
Her heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy.
“I don’t belong there,” she said desperately. “You suffocate me.”
His grip tightened reflexively.
“You would rather suffocate out here?”
She felt it building under her skin — that familiar, uncontrollable swell of emotion and power mixing in her bloodstream.
“Let go,” she warned softly.
“Stop fighting.”
The plant on the windowsill shuddered violently.
Damian’s eyes flicked toward it just as the soil cracked.
Green erupted upward in a sudden burst, vines snapping toward the ceiling, curling instinctively between them. They did not strike him. They did not harm him. But they rose like a barrier, thick and alive, separating them in an instant of startled silence.
He released her wrist.
For a fraction of a second, both of them stared.
She hadn’t meant to. God, what did she do?
“I told you,” she whispered, backing toward the window. “I can’t control it.”
His expression shifted from anger to shock to something almost wounded.
She didn’t wait for it to settle.
She shoved the window open, scrambling onto the fire escape as the vines tangled briefly around the metal frame.
“Y/N—”
But she was already climbing.
Cold air hit her face as she moved upward, heart racing, breath ragged. She didn’t look back.
⸻
Back at the Manor, Tim’s fingers froze over the keyboard when the apartment feed went dark.
“Damian moved,” he said sharply.
Bruce looked up.
“He left ten minutes ago.”
Jason swore. „Damn brat.“.
They had agreed. One of them only. Careful. Slow. Controlled.
Not Damian.
Not first.
Bruce’s jaw hardened.
“Location,” he ordered.
Tim pulled it up.
Narrows.
Of course.
Jason was already reaching for his helmet.
“Before he ruins this.”
Dick exhaled sharply. “If she panics—”
“She already has,” Tim muttered, watching the security feed glitch with sudden bursts of green across the frame.
Plants.
Bruce’s eyes darkened.
“Move.”
⸻
On the fire escape, Y/N’s hands shook as she climbed higher, tears blurring her vision. She had tried to build something different. Something small and hers. And now they were here. Again. Always.
Below her, Damian stepped into the alley, gaze tracking upward.
He had not come to drag her back in chains.
But he had come to take her home.
And he was not leaving without her.
She was not built for rooftops.
That was the first thing her body told her as her shoes slipped against gravel and loose tar, as the wind clawed at her skirt and tried to pull her backward. Gotham’s skyline stretched jagged and unforgiving around her, all sharp edges and empty spaces waiting to swallow her whole.
Behind her, a window banged open.
“Y/N!”
His voice cracked across the alley like a gunshot.
She didn’t turn around.
If she turned around, she would stop.
If she stopped, he would reach her.
And if he reached her—
She didn’t let herself finish the thought.
She ran.
Her lungs burned almost immediately. She was not trained for this. She was not Robin. She had never been taught how to distribute her weight across unstable surfaces, how to measure distance with a glance, how to fall without breaking bones.
She was just a girl.
A girl with shaking hands and borrowed courage.
“Stop!” Damian’s voice cut through the night again, closer this time. Too close. “Do not take another step!”
She reached the edge of the building.
The gap between this rooftop and the next was wider than she had anticipated. Too wide. Her breath stuttered in her throat as she stared at the empty space yawning between concrete and concrete.
Below, the alley looked like a throat.
“You will fall,” Damian warned, voice low now, dangerous. “You are not equipped for this.”
“I don’t want to go back!” she shot back, turning just enough to look at him.
He stood several meters away, balanced perfectly on the roof’s edge as if it were solid ground. His chest rose and fell too quickly, eyes bright with something feral and frantic.
“You think I am asking?” he demanded.
There it was.
That edge.
That possessive sharpness that made her stomach twist.
“You’re not my jailer!” she cried.
His expression hardened. “If that is what keeps you alive, then I will be.”
The words struck her harder than the wind.
Monster.
The thought bloomed again in her mind, ugly and familiar. A monster with vines in her veins and a villain for a mother. A liability. A weakness. Something to be contained.
“I’m not a thing to lock up!” she shouted, and before fear could swallow her resolve, she ran forward and jumped.
For a heartbeat, she was suspended in nothing.
The world dropped away beneath her.
Her foot barely caught the ledge of the next building. Gravel slid. Her body pitched forward violently, hands scraping raw against concrete as she slammed down hard. Pain exploded in her palms.
She nearly slipped.
For one sickening second, her shoe dangled over open air.
But she dragged herself up, knees shaking, chest heaving. She had made it.
She pushed to her feet, dizzy but upright, and took two staggering steps back—
Too long.
She had waited too long.
When she looked up again, Damian was already landing on the same rooftop with effortless precision.
He didn’t even look winded.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
She spun, searching for another escape route, but the next building was too far. There was no fire escape. No adjacent ledge. Only the city stretching out in impossible distances.
She backed toward the opposite edge without realizing it.
“Do not,” Damian warned, voice dropping into something almost unrecognizable, “take another step.”
She did.
Her heel scraped empty air.
She gasped and flung her arms out to balance, barely catching herself before gravity claimed her.
“Y/N.”
This time her name sounded different.
Not barked. Not ordered.
Pleading.
She hated that it made her hesitate.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, and her voice trembled so badly it almost fractured. “I don’t want to be this.”
“You can’t hurt me. You are not hurting me,” he snapped. “You are hurting yourself.”
“I can’t control it!” she cried. “I can’t control any of it!”
The wind shifted.
And suddenly, they were not alone.
A dark shape landed on the far side of the rooftop.
Then another.
And another.
She froze.
Batman stepped forward first, cape swallowing light, presence swallowing air.
Nightwing followed, quieter but no less tense, blue emblem catching the faint glow of the city.
Red Hood landed last, helmet reflecting her small, trembling silhouette back at her.
The world felt smaller.
Boxed in.
Her breathing turned shallow.
“Kid,” Jason muttered, voice filtered through modulator, rough and strained, “this is getting old.”
She took another step back instinctively.
“Don’t,” Dick said quickly, hands lifting slightly, palms open. “Hey— hey, look at me. Just breathe, okay? We’re not here to hurt you.”
“That’s not what it feels like,” she whispered.
Bruce’s voice cut through the night, controlled but tight around the edges. “You went to Arkham.”
It wasn’t a question.
She swallowed. “She’s my mother.”
“And we are your family,” he replied immediately.
The words landed heavy.
“Family doesn’t cage you,” she shot back, tears finally spilling over. “Family doesn’t neglect you. Family doesn’t—”
“Family doesn’t survive losing you twice,” Jason snapped.
Silence fell like a blade.
Her eyes flicked to him.
Even through the helmet, she could feel it. The rawness. The fury. The fear.
“You think this is about control?” Dick asked softly. “You think we’re doing this because it’s fun?”
Bruce stepped forward one measured step.
She stepped back one frantic one.
Her heel slid.
“Stop!” Damian barked, panic finally breaking through his composure.
She wobbled violently.
Strong arms caught her from behind.
She didn’t even see who moved first.
One second she was teetering over empty air. The next, she was yanked backward into solid, unyielding muscle.
She screamed and struggled instantly, panic surging like wildfire. “No— let me go— let me go!”
Jason’s helmet was inches from her face as he pinned her arms to her sides with ease. “Enough.”
She twisted, kicked, fought uselessly. She was nothing compared to them. Nothing against this strength, this training, this coordinated precision.
“I hate this!” she cried. “I hate you! Why can’t you leave me alone like you did all my life?”
Her powers flared again under her skin, but there was no soil here. No roots to answer her. Just cold rooftop and iron grips.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she sobbed.
“You won’t,” Dick said hoarsely, stepping closer, hand hovering uncertainly near her shoulder. “You won’t hurt us.”
Her breaths came too fast.
Too sharp.
Her vision blurred.
“Bruce,” Tim’s voice crackled faintly over comms from somewhere below, tight with calculation, “her heart rate’s spiking.”
“I know,” Bruce muttered.
Jason felt it too — the way she was spiraling, not fighting strategically, but unraveling.
“She’s going to pass out anyway,” he growled quietly.
Bruce hesitated.
For a fraction of a second.
Then he nodded once.
Jason’s grip shifted just enough for Damian to step forward.
She didn’t even register the small device in his hand until she felt the prick at her neck.
Her body jerked.
“Damian—” Dick started sharply.
“She will not survive another fall,” Damian snapped back, though his voice shook.
Warmth flooded her bloodstream almost instantly.
Her limbs turned heavy.
“No,” she whispered weakly. “Please don’t…”
The city blurred.
Her knees gave out completely this time.
Jason caught her fully against his chest as her body went limp, her fingers clutching weakly at his jacket before sliding away.
Darkness swallowed her.
For a long moment, none of them moved.
They just stood there, wind whipping around them, holding the fragile, unconscious weight of the girl who had nearly slipped through their fingers again.
Jason exhaled slowly. “Got her.”
Damian stared down at her face, jaw tight, eyes dark with something that looked dangerously close to guilt.
Bruce stepped forward and brushed dirt gently from her cheek, his gloved hand trembling just slightly.
“She will never run like this again,” Damian said quietly.
Bruce’s gaze did not leave his daughter’s face.
“No,” he agreed.
But whether that was promise or warning, none of them clarified.
Jason adjusted his hold, cradling her more securely.
She looked smaller like this.
Smaller than rooftops.
Smaller than Gotham.
Smaller than the fear they all carried.
And as they disappeared into the night with her in their arms, each of them understood the same twisted truth:
They would rather sedate her.
Chain her.
Track her.
Overwhelm her.
Than ever stand on a rooftop again and watch her almost fall.
_____
When she wakes, she will not recognize the ceiling.
For now, she does not wake at all.
She lies still in a bed that is too soft for the Narrows and too bright for the life she tried to build. The room is not the one she left behind months ago — not the too-clean, museum-like space that felt more like a guest room than a daughter’s sanctuary. This one is warmer. Lighter. The curtains are pale cream instead of sterile white. The shelves hold books she actually likes. There are plants by the window — carefully chosen, harmless ones. A thick rug softens the floor. There are framed sketches on the wall. Her old elephant plush sits carefully propped against her pillow, stitched ear slightly crooked, waiting like it never stopped.
She does not see any of it.
She is pale against the sheets, lashes resting too heavily against hollowed cheeks.
Alfred stands at her bedside with a glass of water and a physician’s report in hand, his expression composed but carved from something much older than calm.
“She is underweight,” he says quietly. “Vitamin deficiencies. Iron low. Dehydration markers present.”
Jason swears under his breath from the doorway.
Dick looks like he might be sick.
Damian says nothing.
Bruce stands at the foot of the bed, still in half-armor, gloves removed but gauntlets unstrapped. His eyes do not leave her face.
“She was starving,” Tim mutters, scanning through the lab readouts on the tablet. “Not intentionally. Just… not enough.”
“She was working in a nightclub,” Jason snaps bitterly. “What did you expect?”
“She should never have needed to,” Dick fires back, voice tight.
“That is not the point,” Bruce cuts in sharply.
Silence falls.
It is heavier now. Different. Not panic — something more deliberate.
Alfred clears his throat gently. “Master Bruce.”
Bruce nods once.
Tim’s fingers hover over another file. “If we’re going to do it,” he says quietly, “this is the safest window.”
Jason’s gaze flicks to him. “You’re sure?”
Tim’s jaw tightens. “If she vanishes again, we might not get a second rooftop.”
No one argues with that.
Bruce moves closer to the bed and gently brushes a strand of hair away from her forehead. She doesn’t stir.
“Minimal,” he says. “No more than necessary.”
Alfred nods.
The procedure is small. Clinical. Controlled.
A micro-tracker — smaller than a grain of rice — is inserted beneath the skin near her shoulder blade while she remains unconscious. It is done cleanly, efficiently, without ceremony.
She does not know.
She will not know.
When it is finished, Tim syncs the signal to the cave’s network. A blinking dot appears on the map of Gotham.
Stable.
Alive.
Here.
Damian watches the screen longer than anyone else.
Bruce finally turns to him.
“You disobeyed a direct agreement,” he says flatly.
Damian does not look away from the monitor. “She would have run regardless.”
“That was not the point.”
“She is my responsibility as well.”
Bruce’s eyes harden. “You do not get to decide that unilaterally.”
Damian finally looks at him. There is no arrogance in his expression now. Only something bruised and defensive.
“She was at Arkham,” he says quietly. “Alone.”
“And you believed confronting her by yourself would improve that?”
A flicker of frustration flashes through Damian’s eyes. “I could have handled it.”
Jason scoffs from the doorway. “Yeah. You handled it straight off a roof.”
Dick shoots him a look, but he doesn’t deny it.
Damian’s hands curl at his sides. “She panicked because all of you arrived.”
“She panicked because she doesn’t trust us,” Tim corrects, voice subdued.
That one lands.
Bruce exhales slowly, exhaustion bleeding through the edges of his control. “We will not repeat that mistake.”
Damian’s jaw tightens, but he inclines his head slightly.
It is as close to an apology as he ever offers.
Alfred adjusts the blanket around her shoulders, movements careful, tender. “She is not your prisoner,” he says gently, without looking at any of them. “She is frightened.”
Bruce’s gaze softens — only barely — as it returns to his daughter.
“I know.”
Do you?
The question hangs unspoken.
She shifts faintly in her sleep, brow furrowing as if caught in a dream. Her fingers twitch toward the elephant plush beside her pillow. Damian notices first and steps forward instinctively, but stops himself.
Jason moves instead, slower than usual, and carefully places the plush into her hand.
Her fingers curl weakly around it.
The room stills.
“She will wake confused,” Dick murmurs.
Bruce nods. “Then we will explain.”
“Not everything,” Tim says quietly.
Bruce doesn’t respond.
On the screen in the cave below, the blinking dot continues its steady rhythm.
Here.
Jason crosses his arms. “She’s not leaving again.”
It isn’t a question.
Bruce’s eyes remain fixed on her fragile form.
“No,” he says softly.
This time, it sounds less like a promise to control her.
And more like a vow to the universe.
Outside her window, the night deepens over Gotham.
Inside, the family keeps watch.
And for the first time since she ran, she is sleeping under their roof again — pale, fragile, and surrounded.
Not free.
But home.
_______
taglist:
@justwannabecat
@c4xcocoa
@cosmicyuk1
@galaxypurplerose
@nisarelle
@exactlynumberonekryptonite
@holderoflostmemories
@runaaclou
@noclue-0
@devils-blackrose
@runaaclou
@delias-stuff
@wizzerreblogs
@charlenexoxo1
@staarflowerr
@sleep-7372
@unearthlykara
@oliviaewl
@cupid73
@rikkimorris16
@randomlyappearingartist
@fightmebissh
@prettyliciousgal
@plsfckmedxddy
@misdollface
@eissaaaa
@melday0105
@sulleha
@time-shardz
@lovelyflames
@asahi20789
@teabutnerdy
@the-classroom-doodles
@livy111
@omgfangirlland
@shqyou
@rrhhyyaa
@1-800-crazy
@astraeasworld
@edlothia-baby
@the-historical-biscuit2468
@cloudishmagma
@andriuu29
@sincerely-yuna
@ridlike
@littledollete
@pearlyribbons
@lilyalone
@cashmiersworld
@justafank
@mfnqueen1
@candystarlight
@wendee-go
@a-heavenly-hell
@abyssalspark
@sundema18
@bronermalls
@momimissedthebus
@odetothemaiden
@makixamytoda
@abyssalspark
@kore-of-the-underworld
@justannie18
@welpthisisboring
@serendippindots
@cantfindmelol
@bookscentedcandles
@jax-i
@purplelady22
@tw-om-gi-hs-56387
@ihavenomuse
@sleepdeprivedcrappywriter
@vikkus-main
@serendippindots
@welpthisisboring
@ghostlyworld
YOU ARE COOKING AND I AM EATINGGGGG ♡♡♡♡ \(♡0♡)/☆☆☆☆
