- Due to your trauma, your mood can range from hyperaffecfionate to standoffish. Despite Tenna's own trauma and paranoia, he tries his best to be understanding of when you may be more closed off or less touchy than usual, even if he was more paranoid about it at first. He may still ask for reassurance, but he doesn't have a meltdown like he used to. Its a journey for both of you.
- You tend to fall asleep with the television on a lot due to feeling uncomfortable with silence, you have the tv on almost 24/7 for that matter. That's how you and Tenna first bonded, he remembered those late nights with you sat in front of the tv trying to sleep. He treasured those moments alone, finding them romantic...
- He didn't mind playing cartoons for you to help you unwind from a triggering moment. You always felt comforted by things from your childhood, things that reminded you of happy times in your life. Even now, he is still more than happy to watch cartoons with you. He even takes notes for his own show, ideas both of you bounce back and forth between each other.
- He doesn't mind when you wear headphones around the studio, he knows it can get loud and overstimulating for you. He even makes sure to have several pairs laying around if you happen to lose one. He makes sure to find the proper noise cancelling ones as well, nothing less. He will go above and beyond.
- Realizing that you also struggle with abandonment and feeling lonely made Tenna connect with you quick, the moment he realized this he made sure you felt pampered and paid attention to you the most out of all the other contestants during the courting stage. Even if you were a confused by this and didn't understand why he was behaving this way, he was still more than happy to treat you like royalty.
- Tenna pays attention to all of your special interests and hyperfixations, making both mental and physical notes of them as ideas for gifts. He makes his employees help him find and brainstorm gifts for you as well. You now have a cardboard cut out of one of your favorite fictional characters in your room because of him... Even if he gets jealous of the character, he will still try to go above and beyond.
- He buys clothes for you that both match your style and are comfortable enough not to trigger your sensory issues, even if you have an elaborate style that is thought to be overstimulating, he will find ways to make it comfortable for you. This includes finding out the textures that you feel most comfortable with when it comes to clothes, makeup that feels lightweight enough (if you wear makeup), jewelry that won't make you feel sweaty under it, etc. He enjoys spoiling you. Don't worry about the budget.
- If you ever have a meltdown and/or panic attack around him, Tenna may panic at first, but will also lock in and try his best to help you. Its clear he gets worried (he can be quite theatrical about it, so its easy to notice), but he will always reassure you that you are never 'too much' for him to handle, and that no matter what he will always be there for you. You are never an inconvenience to him.
- You enjoy how theatrical he is, both because it is funny but also its easier to read his tone and mood compared to other people. You don't have to guess or try to mind read anything, especially since Tenna is very upfront. The only thing you don't realize is when he is trying to flirt with you.
Sorry if this was ooc, I haven't written headcanons like this in YEAAARS so I may be rusty. Hope you enjoyed! I decided to write something a bit self indulgent.
yandere! batfamily x neglected! demigod child of hecate reader. (inspired by percy jackson) - masterpost
Version:
they/them (you are here) - she/her - he/him
A/N: Oho, what's this an author's note before the chapter. I'm only here to do this. *puts down a box of tissues*. I'm sorry, have fun reading this chapter that made me cry several times!!
The summer sun had made an attempt to poke out of the normal gray skies of Gotham over Wayne Manor, casting long shadows across the gravel drive as Koriand’r stepped out of the sleek blue car. Her emerald eyes scanned the stately home with open curiosity, taking in every gothic arch and ivy-covered stone. The Manor was beautiful in a brooding sort of way, very much like its owner.
It had been some time since Kori had visited; it had been during one of the strange Earthen holidays that her friends had said she needed to experience. Dick had invited the entirety of the Teen Titans to Wayne Manor for the Giving of Thanks Festival. Only three of their friends had declined: Wally and Roy had plans with their own families while Donna was away to Themyscira. The Manor had been just as beautiful back then, lightly decorated with a fall aesthetic. Bruce had greeted the group of teens while holding his youngest child; a toddler Y/N who looked at their big brother’s strange-looking friends with big, curious eyes. But the small child was quick to warm up to everyone: giggling at Garfield’s funny faces and jokes, listening in rapt attention to Victor’s stories, having a pretend tea-party with Kori and Tara, and even begging Raven to read them a book. Kori could still remember the fond smile she had seen on Dick’s face when he saw his little sibling getting along with his friends and then a stutter in her heartbeat when she watched Dick and Y/N’s goodbye ritual: forehead-to-forehead and rubbing their noses together. When she saw this soft side of Dick, Kori knew she truly had feelings for her best friend.
Dick walked around the car and wrapped an arm around Kori’s waist. She could tell that her love was tired in a way she could not help. The dark bags under his eyes and the heaviness on his shoulders were reminiscent of the time Deathstroke tormented the former Boy Wonder. She knew that the smile on Dick’s face was merely a mask; it was feeble and trembling, threatening to turn into a frown. Kori leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her love’s cheek; the reaction was instantaneous, his smile softened just a little, making it more natural. If it were not for the fact that Dick and Kori were here for a specific reason, she would have told her love to just get back into the car and they could leave. But she wanted to see Y/N, wanting to hear all about their adventures during the summer.
Kori had read the letters that Alfred had forwarded to Titans Tower. Dick had read a couple but every time he did, it was clear that he felt guilty; he knew he should have been there for some of those moments. But Kori knew that the fights Dick kept having with his father-figure was causing fractures in that big heart of his, making her love dread coming home. She knew that Dick had been relieved that Y/N had not been home all summer and felt horrible for feeling that way.
“Come, my love, let us see your little sibling. I am sure they will be glad to see you,” Dick’s smile softened a little more as he pressed a kiss to Kori’s forehead. He let go of her waist to take her hand as they walked forward. As they climbed the stoop stairs, one of the Manor’s large front doors opened to reveal Alfred.
“Master Dick, it’s good to see you are well. And Princess Koriand’r, it is an honor to have you grace our humble home with your presence once more,” Kori giggled as she pulled the butler into a warm hug. Alfred chuckled in good humor, giving the alien princess a squeeze of the arms. Kori let go so Dick could greet his grandfather-figure. Alfred soon stepped out of the way of the door to let the couple inside and then was quick to take at least Kori’s light jacket to reveal the purple summer dress Dick got her as one of his gifts for the anniversary of her Earth arrival.
“Have you been well, Alfred?” Kori quickly took off her shoes to place them at the nearby shoe rack as Dick did the same and Alfred was putting away the princess’s coat.
“I have. It had actually been a quiet summer with the Young Master away at their camp. Apart from Doctor Isley taking up residence at the local farmers market for a tense two days last month,” It had actually been a funny sight to see Poison Ivy standing in the middle of Bristol’s highly acclaimed Lilian Market, hosted by the Hartwell family farm; it was only a few years old and named in honor of one of the family’s grandchildren who had unfortunately passed during a Rogue attack. It had been clear that the villain was there looking for a simple reason to wreck mayhem, probably something about the local rich families using their wealth to inflate prices of their products, but Esme Hartwell, the matriarch of the family, came strolling out of her farm stall. The former doctor had been clearly confused by a woman her grandmother’s age in dirt-covered blue jeans and an oversized straw hat walking right up to the villain without a trace of fear on her aged face. Esme had then given Pamela a guided tour of the Hartwell farmland, showing off how her family had been handling their farm for generations, barely changing how things were done and how well they treated their produce and livestock. The former doctor was later seen the next day working alongside Esme at the farm stall, dressed in some of the farmer’s daughters’ clothes. When Oracle finally sent Batman towards the farmers market, the villain went willingly, but Pamela had actually gotten misty-eyed when Esme promised to come visit her at the asylum with some fresh jam and homemade baked goods for the villain and her friends; Alfred was fairly sure that Esme had just made her farmers market into a neutral zone for heroes, villains and those in between, considering he saw some of Harvey Dent’s men as well a disguised Edward Nygma browsing the wares and actually paying for their goods.
“Babs told me about that. Is it true that Ivy was actually helping at the market?” Dick looked amused, but he honestly did not mind Pamela. She wasn’t big on hurting kids so the most she would do when Robin was out on the field was tangle the Boy Wonder up in a bunch of vines while focusing on Batman. Even when Dick changed to Nightwing, it was clear that the former doctor was torn between having to fight him or just reverting back to her usual Robin tactics.
“Master Dick, if I had not witnessed it myself, I would not have believed it either,” Alfred closed the coat closet door and started to lead the couple toward the solarium where he knew Y/N was taking their afternoon tea. The butler pretended to not notice Dick glancing towards Bruce’s rooms. Kori took the younger man’s hand once more, giving it a squeeze, before she turned back to Alfred.
“May I ask how the Titans have been doing?” Alfred watched Dick’s gaze lingering on the door to Bruce’s study before he turned back to the butler to answer the older man’s question.
“They’re doing well. Virgil and Jaime stepped up to help Kaldur lead while Brion and Artemis took up the tactician role since…” Dick trailed off, unable to speak Jason’s name out loud. The teen had not taken up the leader role like the former Robin had done, instead choosing to help with tactics and fighting techniques, which was one of Jason’s strong suits.
“What about Y/N? How are they handling…” Kori stopped, glancing over at Dick; it appeared to Alfred that the younger man had cautioned his girlfriend about saying Jason’s name aloud at the Manor. The butler did not like that the name of a boy they had all loved had become taboo. Only one person was allowed to say it and it was merely because Y/N said their nickname for Jason instead. Alfred paused, the solarium’s glass panel doors were opened just a little a few feet away from the group.
“...The young master still sometimes waits at the front door. They asked me when they returned from their camp if…if he had come home yet…” Alfred took a moment to calm his emotions, feeling the wave of sadness once more. He had been caught off guard by Y/N’s question but he had handled it with his usual tact. All the butler could say was ‘not yet’, which the child had accepted before returning to their meal; Alfred was not ashamed of the tears he let himself weep later that evening. Dick took a quick breath as if he had been punched in the gut while Kori rubbed his arm in comfort.
“...Alfred, I hate to say this but we can’t keep this lie going…It’s only going to break Y/N’s heart even worse once they realize…” Alfred glanced back at the glass panel doors.
“I know, Master Dick. It breaks my own heart when I have to lie to the Young Master, but I cannot say the words I need to say out loud. I cannot bring myself to be the one who breaks their heart,” Alfred looked back at Dick and the younger man could see that the butler was torn with his emotions.
“So what do we do?” Dick had only been a little older than Y/N when he lost his parents, but he had sort of understood the concept of death by that age. A contourist and one of the strongmen for Haly’s Circus had passed away when Dick was 6 and his parents sat him down and explained why his Zia Ylenia and Ujak Kazimir were not coming back to the circus; Kazimir’s heart finally gave out and Ylenia just never got over the heartbreak of losing the love of her life. He had been mostly devastated by the fact that death was permanent, but comforted by his parents’ faith in that death was merely another form of life; that maybe somewhere out in the universe that Ylenia and Kazimir were together once more. He felt the same about his own parents’ death after he finally accepted Bruce’s help; he hoped that his parents were still together, maybe watching him grow and find family and even love of his own.
“Given Gotham’s track record for doctors and psychiatrists, I have reached out to a contact in Metropolis to help me find a trusted child therapist. She is doing research at the moment and will get back to me shortly. She and I believe that we should wait for the new school year to start before we introduce therapy to the Young Master’s schedule,” Lois Lane had been surprised when Alfred had called but after hearing what was happening with Y/N, she agreed to help. The reporter was after all the reason why the Justice League now had a few trusted therapists added to their medical department; she had seen Clark struggle with losing civilians and Kara still dealing with the fact that she witnessed her entire planet be destroyed and put her foot down. If only Alfred had enough fire in himself to force Bruce into therapy as well, but he had found out just the other day that his access to the BatCave entrance had been revoked with his entry code no longer working.
“That…that’s a good idea…” Dick looked thoughtful, and Alfred could see where the younger man’s thoughts were going.
“If we find a reputable child psychiatrist, I will make sure their name is sent your way. I’m sure your friends and their proteges would appreciate it,” Dick let a soft smile spread across his face.
“Thanks Alfred,” The butler reached forward and gave Dick’s shoulder a squeeze.
“No matter how old you’ve gotten or how far away you move, it is still within my duty to provide you help, even if you do not ask for it. You know how much I’ve disliked how Master Bruce has been treating you lately and I understand the need to be away from him. But you are still family, Master Dick, always,” Alfred could see a shine start to appear in the younger man’s eyes and gave his shoulder another squeeze. Kori hugged Dick’s arm to her chest. The two gave the former Boy Wonder a few moments to collect himself.
“Now, let us join Young Master Y/N in the solarium. I find every moment with them brightens the day just a little more,” Dick wiped at his eyes and sniffed.
“Yeah, yeah. That sounds great,”
XX
Y/N was seated at the same table where their life had changed only a few months ago when they heard voices coming down the hallway. One of the sketchbooks Alfred had placed in their tower was open in front of the child with a couple of bottles of different colored ink. Nearby was a tea tray with Y/N’s favorite mug sitting next to a half-full teapot and a small arrangement of sweets Alfred had set out for afternoon tea. It had only been a few days since the child had returned from their camp. They had spent these past couple days either catching up with the Manor’s ghosts or trying to readjust to their civilian life that did not have as much activity that camp life had. Alfred had promised a visit to one of Gotham’s skateparks in a day or two after they went shopping for school supplies; the butler needed to see for himself that Y/N could handle themself on a skateboard before he thought about getting them one of their own.
Y/N capped their fountain pen, putting it away in the pen case Alfred had gotten them with one of their favorite cartoon characters embroidered on it as they heard voices get closer to the tea room. They quickly closed the ink bottles as well, remembering the small lecture Alfred had given them about the proper care of their new art supplies. Y/N looked over their hands taking in the sight of the ink stains adorning their skin -dark red with gold flakes, brilliant blue and electric green-, but they knew they would not have the time to properly wash their hands before the guests arrived. For a moment, the child wondered who was visiting, but then the familiar sound of Dick’s voice made Y/N’s head snap over to the doorway.
“Dickie!” Y/N closed their sketchbook before they scrambled out of their seat and raced over to the doorway. Dick kneeled down as he crossed into the solarium and held out his arms. It took a lot of his training to make sure the two siblings did not fall backwards as Y/N slammed into their big brother with a hug. Dick squeezed the child for a long moment, before picking Y/N up as he stood; neither sibling wanted to let go of the hug just yet.
“Oof, Little Wing, what did they feed you at that camp of yours? I swear you’ve gotten a little heavier than the last time I saw you,” Y/N leaned back a little in Dick’s arms, their ink-stained hands clutching onto the collar of their brother’s jacket. The vigilante could practically see stars in their eyes.
“S’mores! They’re so good. Have you had one before?” Dick could not help but laugh.
“Yeah, I’ve had some. Can’t believe you haven’t had one this whole time. I’ve failed at being a big brother,” Y/N patted Dick’s cheek as if to reassure the man.
“That’s okay, Dickie. Alfred probably wouldn’t let you give me one anyway,” Dick chuckled, knowing that Y/N was right and the butler definitely would not have let the younger man give his sibling a s’more; way too much sugar and barely anyone could keep up with a hyperactive Y/N so it was best that their sugar rushes were handled by that camp of theirs. A bell-like laugh sounded behind Dick, making Y/N lean over to look behind their big brother.
“Miss Kori!” Dick turned a little so they could see Kori and Alfred looking at the siblings fondly. Y/N began to wiggle in their brother’s arms, holding out their hands towards the alien princess. Kori let out another laugh before stepping forward to take Y/N away from Dick.
“Little One, it is so good to see you. It has been far too long. You have grown so much,” Dick smiled fondly at two of the people he loved most in the world. Y/N looked up at Kori’s emerald eyes with adoration.
“You did too, Miss Kori. Your hair is longer and fluffier!” Kori could not help the giggle at Y/N’s words; she liked those terms for her hairstyle and would definitely be using them herself.
“Now, come, Little One, you must tell me all about this camp of yours,” Y/N nodded eagerly, but then thought about something. They turned their head toward Alfred, who was picking up the tea tray to go refill the teapot.
“Wait, Alfred, the pictures! We gotta show Dickie and Miss Kori!” Y/N wiggled excitedly in Kori’s arms which tightened just a little so she would not accidentally lose her grip on the wiggling, small child.
“What photos?” Alfred’s tone sounded confused but Y/N could see the twinkle in the butler’s eye that told the child the man absolutely knew what they meant; he was merely teasing. Alfred tapped a gloved finger to his chin as he pretended to think.
“Alfred! The ones Poppy gave you,”
“Ah yes, those photos. Let me put the kettle on and collect the album I have been making,”
XX
Kori settled into the chair with Y/N seated upon her lap while Dick took the seat right next to them. The man grabbed one of the cookies on the plate that Alfred had left behind and munched on it as he took in the art supplies on the table. He furrowed his brow slightly at the ink bottles and then glanced back at Y/N’s hands that were stained.
“Did you pick up another hobby while you were away?” Y/N looked over at their big brother. They started to nod, but then remembered what Lou Ellen had told the child to say if they were asked about their supplies.
“Lou Ellen and Ramzi said calligraphy could help with getting the words to stop moving. I haven’t started on words yet, just getting used to the way the pen works. Alfred got me a bunch of pretty colors,” Dick had never heard of that method being used to help with dyslexia, but Alfred had said that the camp Y/N went to was specialized in helping kids with ADHD and other learning disabilities.
“That’s good. I hope it does help,” Y/N grinned at Dick before looking back to Kori to tell her all about Lullaby; though they referred to the Pegasus as a regular horse as per Alfred’s careful instructions. The butler reappeared with a new teapot on his tray and a photo album under his arm. Alfred set the album down in front of Dick before going about pouring everyone a new cup of tea.
“I’m still in the process of transcripting the captions the other campers had made, but I have most of the photos placed,” Dick looked at the album that had a clear title stating ‘Summer One’ in Alfred’s delicate script. He opened it to the first two photos: Y/N in what looked to be a before and after. In one photo they were wearing a too-large bright orange shirt that had a Pegasus on it, the shirt was basically a dress on the child and Y/N was holding up the excess fabric with a confused look. The next photo was Y/N in the same orange shirt but this time it was the proper size; the child was smiling while their hair was a mess with a hand still resting on the top of the child’s head. The caption read ‘There was a mix up at the camp store. They sent the largest size shirt instead of the smallest. Connor snuck in and stole the right size - Julia’.
“So who’s Connor and Julia? They’re the ones who wrote some of your letters, right?” Y/N nodded at Dick’s question as they set the tea cup back down.
“They were my cabin counsels. They were in charge,” Y/N most likely meant counselors, but Dick gave his sibling a smile as he turned the next page. They slowly went through the available photos while Y/N described what was going on and Kori and Dick asked questions. But then the former Boy Wonder froze as he stared at one photo. There was a tall black-haired boy kneeling in front of Y/N with paint in his hands; the boy was very carefully painting a neon green domino mask onto Y/N’s face with some streaks of yellow and dots of red along the mask. Dick felt like his heart had frozen over, because for a moment, he did not see a stranger, instead he thought he could see Jason being the one to paint Robin’s domino mask onto Y/N. The vigilante could hear his little sibling saying something next to him, but he was not registering the words.
“My love?” Kori placed a warm hand on Dick’s forearm, making him jolt and the whole table looked at him with concern. The man blinked rapidly in an attempt to dislodge the false memory and then took a deep breath before looking toward his girlfriend and his little sibling. He forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
“I’m fine…I’m fine…” It was clear that Dick was trying to reassure himself instead of his loved ones. But his eyes drifted back to the photo; he still could not shake away the fake image of Jason. The boy in the photo had a scar down his face and across his nose that was almost too familiar; Dick had seen what the Joker had done while he was torturing Robin, the jagged ‘J’ had been cut across Jason’s face and forced them to have a closed-casket funeral since no one could handle staring at that mark. Dick could feel tears welling up in his eyes so he stood up from his chair.
“Sorry…I need a moment,”
XX
Kori watched Dick leave the solarium as she glanced back at the photo that had clearly rattled him. Under the photo was another caption in Alfred’s handwriting: ‘Sherman couldn’t say no to Y/N’s little face. I’m going to weaponize this - Connor’. The alien princess wondered what exactly about the photo had sent Dick into a near panic attack, but then she herself could see a similarity to Jason Todd in the teen in the photo; the main difference was that this ‘Sherman’ was a little lighter in color than Jason and it was clear he had brown eyes. Y/N looked up at Kori with worried eyes, one of their small hands reaching up to gently touch the alien princess’s cheek.
“Is Dickie okay? Is he sad?” Kori’s heart clenched at the question. She brought up one of her hands to cover Y/N’s.
“He will be alright, Little One. He simply needs a moment to feel his feelings,” Y/N nodded, not entirely understanding but accepting the explanation. The child took their hand away from Kori’s face and leaned against her chest in an attempt for some comfort. The alien princess wrapped Y/N in a gentle hug.
“Maybe when Jay comes back, everyone can feel better again,” Kori could feel her heart breaking at Y/N’s words. She did not know what to say to the child so she simply gave them another squeeze. Alfred was sat across from Kori and she could see that what Y/N had said had devastated the older man.
XX
Dick had not meant to walk to Bruce’s study. His feet had simply carried him there while his mind was still trapped in the false memory of Jason painting a Robin mask onto Y/N’s face. The study was empty with stacks of paperwork and even a tray of covered food left abandoned on the desk. Dick walked over to the grandfather clock, shivering at the usual cold spot in front of it. He pulled the secret lever that revealed the keypad and typed in his access code. The wall behind the grandfather clock pushed away, revealing the elevator door for the BatCave.
Dick could barely recognize the man looking back at him in the reflection of metal doors. His tanned skin was pale with dark bags under his eyes. There were a couple of stress pimples peeking out that he knew that Kori was eventually going to force a facemask on him to take care of it. His hair is shaggy and overgrown, covering his eyes and neck, but he could not for the life of him bring himself to ask Alfred or even Gar or Victor to trim it for him. These were just the consequences of his own guilt so he forced himself to bear with them. Dick had known he had been an asshole to Jason while the younger boy was Robin. He had known that all Jason wanted was for them to be like brothers, to be close, but Dick just needed to find who he wanted to be on his own. So he pushed away everyone, even Kori and Y/N, and by the time he felt like he was finally comfortable in his name and skin again, it was too late. Jason was taken by the Joker, Bruce became a man consumed by vengeance, and Y/N was just a reminder that Dick had failed as an older brother.
After what felt like hours, but was only mere minutes, the elevator doors opened to reveal the extensive BatCave. The dinosaur animatonic was the first thing to greet Dick before the symphony of bat screeches above him started up. The former Boy Wonder could see that the BatMobile was still here so he made his way over to the BatComputer console. It was there that Dick found Bruce; he had his suit on but his cowl was still off.
Bruce’s head was bowed over the keyboard, his fingers flying across the keys with a speed that spoke of desperation rather than efficiency. The glow of multiple monitors cast harsh shadows across the man’s face, illuminating the gaunt hollows of his cheeks and the tension in his jaw. On one of the screens, Dick could make out several different maps layered over each other as if they were trying to find the same variable. Another held a list of people with many of the names already crossed out.
“Dick,” Bruce’s voice was flat, devoid of the warmth that used to fill it when Dick was just a boy learning to be Robin. He did not turn from the screen, his eyes fixed on the report he had been typing.
“Bruce,” Dick’s voice was equally flat, a mirror of the man who raised him. The two vigilantes stood in silence for a long moment, the only sounds being the distant dripping of water and bat screeches.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” Bruce still did not turn around. He instead closed the report he was typing to open up a new file filled with photos of various hide-outs. His father’s words start to fan the flames of anger in Dick’s chest. The guilt that he felt earlier helped fester that anger into something uglier.
“Really? That’s all you have to say to me? I come home after months away, and you won’t even look at me before you send me away?” Dick stepped closer, his hands clenching at his sides.
“I’m busy,”
“Busy,” Dick laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“Busy doing what? Chasing another lead that goes nowhere? Running yourself into the ground while the rest of us are left to pick up the pieces?” Bruce finally turned, and Dick felt his breath catch. His father’s face was gaunt, his eyes sunken and ringed with dark circles, and stubble on his chin was almost a beard.
“What do you want, Dick?”
“I want you to stop this. I want you to come upstairs and have dinner with your family. I want you to spend time with Y/N before they forget what you look like,” Dick’s voice cracked slightly.
“Bruce, they still think Jason is coming back. They wait for him at the front door. They keep asking Alfred when their brother is going to come home,” Something flickered in Bruce’s eyes -pain, grief, guilt- before it was quickly smothered by the mask he wore when the cowl came on.
“That’s not my problem,” Dick felt something in his chest snap.
“Not your problem? Y/N is your child! How can you say that? How can you hear that they don’t understand what’s going on and think it’s not your problem?!” Dick’s voice rose.
“Because I can’t fix it!” Bruce slammed his hand against the console, making one of the nearby screens flicker.
“I can’t bring him back! I can’t make this better! The only thing I can do is make sure the monster who did this pays for what he took from us!”
“And what about Y/N?! What about what the Joker took from them?!” Dick was shouting now, his composure finally shattering.
“Jason was their life! He was the one who walked them to their first day of kindergarten. He was the one who read to them every night. He was their everything while they were his! Y/N is seven, Bruce. Seven! And they don’t even know that their life will never be the same again,” The words hung in the cavernous space of the BatCave, echoing off the stone walls. Bruce’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek, but he said nothing. He just stood there, still as a statue, and his blue eyes glittering with something that might have been pain or might have been anger.
“You want to know what the worst part is?” Dick’s voice dropped to something quieter, but more dangerous.
“I was just upstairs, looking at photos from Y/N’s summer. They were so happy, Bruce. They were laughing, making friends, learning new things. And I realized that I haven’t seen them that happy in almost a year. Not since Jason was still here. Then, they come home and they have nothing. No brothers, no father, none of the warmth that filled this house since they were left on our doorstep. And what hurts the most is that they know. Y/N knows that something is wrong, but no one has the guts to tell them. We’re nothing but a bunch of cowards,” The silence that followed Dick’s words were deafening. Bruce’s face had gone completely still, but his eyes were raging. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, dangerous growl; the same voice he would use as Batman.
“How dare you,”
“How dare I what, Bruce? Tell you the truth? How dare I remind you that you have a child upstairs who still believes in you? That’s the real tragedy here. Not that Jason died, but that you’re letting his death destroy the family he loved,” Bruce moved so fast Dick barely had time to register it. One moment he was standing several feet away, the next he had Dick by the collar of his jacket, slamming him against the cold stone wall of the Cave. Dick’s head cracked against the rock and he saw stars for a moment.
“You don’t get to lecture me about family,” Bruce’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was filled with a venom Dick had never heard from the man before.
“You left. You walked out. You could not stand to be in the same house as me, so you ran off to Blüdhaven and pretended that was enough. And you want to talk to me about abandonment?” Dick shoved back, breaking out of Bruce’s grip with a speed that surprised them both. He rubbed the back of his head where a lump was already forming, but his eyes never left Bruce’s.
“Because you pushed me away! You pushed everyone away! That’s what you do when things get hard, isn’t it? You isolate yourself, you bury yourself in the work, and you refuse to let anyone in. I learned it from the best,” Dick knew his words weren’t hitting Bruce as well as the younger man wanted. So when he caught sight of Jason’s Robin uniform encased in a glass display box, he knew what he wanted to say next.
“I left because you made me feel like I wasn’t enough. You took Robin away from me. So I tried to become someone you’d be proud of. Jason left because he struggled to be the perfect little soldier you wanted him to be. We will never be good enough for you!” Bruce’s fist connected with Dick’s jaw before either of them could think. Dick stumbled back, more stunned than hurt. The former Boy Wonder pressed a hand where his father-figure just hit. Bruce looked stunned at himself, but he did not apologize.
“Get out,” Bruce’s voice was a low, trembling thing, barely controlled. Dick could feel the warmth of blood trickling from his split lip and he knew he and Bruce both had gone too far. But he could not leave, not without saying one more thing.
“Fine. I’ll go. But you should know,” Dick wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving Bruce’s.
“You’re not just losing me. You’re losing Y/N too. And one day, when you finally come back for air, they may not be there waiting for you. They may stop believing in you and who you think you are when you wear the cowl,” Dick turned and walked toward the elevator, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. He paused at the entrance, not looking back at Bruce.
“I hope the Joker is worth it, Bruce. You’re not the man who raised me, I don’t think I even know you anymore,” The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off whatever Bruce might have said in response.
XX
Bruce stared at the closed elevator doors for a long moment, before he looked down at his own hands. On the BatComputer, Oracle’s icon popped up before her voice came over the comm piece in the hero’s ear.
“B? I’m sending you a location on a lead now. It’s an abandoned fun-house on Amusement Mile. A few sources say Joker’s been spotted nearby,” Bruce reached for the comm to answer.
“Copy. I’m on my way out,” Bruce pulled on his cowl, the familiar weight settling over his head like a shroud. As he walked over to the BatMobile, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny surface of the vehicle. For a moment, Bruce did not recognize the man staring back at him.
“They still think Jason is coming back. They wait for him at the front door. They keep asking Alfred when their brother is going to come home,” Bruce closed his eyes and tried to not let that image of his youngest child haunt him. Y/N will understand when they’re older why Bruce did this, why he went to such great lengths to hunt down the monster that took Jason away from them. Dick was wrong, Bruce tried to make himself believe, but he did not think he could lie to himself either.
XX
Kori was waiting for Dick in the foyer when the grandfather clock closed its secret door behind him. The look on her face told the man she had known he had argued with Bruce again. She did not say anything, just walked forward and wrapped her arms around him. Dick tucked his face against her neck as he wrapped his own arms around his girlfriend, taking the amber-vanilla scent of her shampoo and the warmth of her golden skin. He did everything he could to not focus on the overwhelming wave of sadness threatening to consume him. Kori said nothing about the fact that her shoulder was getting wet.
“I love you,” Dick hugged Kori tighter at her whisper.
“I love you too,” The couple held onto each other for another moment longer, before Dick finally pulled away. He rubbed at his eyes, before he looked at his girlfriend guiltily.
“I can’t stay here. I can’t be in this house,” Kori placed a gentle hand on Dick’s bruised cheek, her emerald eyes searching his face.
“What about Y/N?” Dick’s heart clenched. He shook his head.
“I can’t say goodbye to them. If I see their face, I’ll stay. But I can’t stay. I can’t be here anymore, Kori,” The alien princess studied her love for a long moment, and then nodded.
“I understand. Go to the car. I will say goodbye to Y/N and Alfred. I will explain that we have an emergency with the Titans. I will be quick,” Dick wanted to argue, wanted to tell Kori that he really should be the one to say goodbye, but he couldn’t. If the vigilante went back into the solarium, if he saw Y/N’s trusting little face staring at him with love in those beautiful eyes, Dick would break. So he nodded, pressed a kiss to Kori’s cheek, and walked out the front door. The alien princess watched him go, her heart heavy. Then she turned, squared her shoulders, and walked back down the hallway leading to the solarium.
Y/N was sitting at the table again, their sketchbook open in front of them and their ink-stained fingers carefully drawing a symbol that looked like a spiral. Alfred was nearby, clearing away the tea things, but Kori could see the worry etched into the old butler’s face.
“Little One,” Kori’s voice was soft as she kneeled beside the child. Y/N looked up, their big eyes searching the princess’s face. The child tilted their head at her as if they could see Kori’s conflicted emotions.
“Where’s Dickie?” Kori reached forward, and caressed Y/N’s cheek, smiling softly as they leaned into her touch.
“Your brother and I need to go. There is an emergency with our team. He asked me to tell you that he loves you very much, and that he will call you soon,” Kori hated the lie, but it was a mercy compared to the truth. Y/N’s face fell for a moment, then brightened again.
“Like a superhero emergency?” Y/N’s eyes lit up in excitement.
“Are you going to save someone? Is Miss Raven going to use her magic? Is Mister Gar gonna turn into a tiger again?” Kori could not help but smile at the child’s excitement.
“I am sure there will be many heroic deeds tonight. Now, I promise you that I will make sure your brother calls you sometime soon. But if you do need him, Alfred does know the numbers for Dick, myself and the Tower,” Both Kori and Y/N glanced over at the butler, who gave them a nod. The child looked back at the alien princess.
“Miss Kori?”
“Yes, Little One?”
“Could you give Dickie a hug for me?” Kori felt her heart melt at Y/N’s words.
“Of course I will,” Y/N leaned forward to wrap their arms around Kori’s neck, who immediately wrapped her own arms around the child. And then Kori felt it.
It was subtle, barely there; a faint hum beneath the surface of the child’s skin, like a distant melody playing just out of reach. Kori’s breath caught in her throat. She had felt something similar only once before, in the presence of her dearest friend. Raven’s soul had always sung with a dark, ancient harmony; a byproduct of the demonic power that flowed through her veins. But this was different with Y/N; it was softer, younger, more tentative, like a song that was still searching for its notes, still learning what it wanted to become.
But it was magic. Undeniably, unmistakably magic. Kori had spent enough time on Earth to recognize the signs. She had fought alongside sorcerers and mystics, and had witnessed the way magic coiled beneath the skin of those who wielded it. Y/N’s song was barely a whisper, fragile as thread, but it was there; a melody woven into the very fabric of Y/N’s soul, waiting to be sung. The alien princess held the child for a moment longer than she had intended, her arms tightening almost imperceptibly. She could feel the faint thrum of potential beneath her fingertips, a power that was only just beginning to stir. Whatever Y/N was becoming, whatever magic was awakening within them, it would change everything. It would change them.
Kori did not know what it meant. She did not know if it was a blessing or a curse, if it was something to be nurtured or feared. But she knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that Y/N was no ordinary child; they never had been. The loneliness that clung to them, the way they saw things others could not, the strange summer camp, the ink-stained fingers, the quiet intensity in their gaze; it all made a terrible, beautiful kind of sense.
Y/N Wayne was magic. And one day that magic would reshape their family in ways none of them could predict. Kori pulled back slowly, her emerald eyes searching Y/N’s face. The child looked up at her with innocent curiosity, utterly unaware of what they carried within them. Kori’s heart ached with a fierce, protective love.
“Little One,” Kori’s voice was softer now, almost reverent. Y/N tilted their head, waiting.
“Yes, Miss Kori?” Kori opened her mouth, then closed it. What could she say? I felt the magic sleeping inside you? I know you are more than you appear? I am afraid for you and I am afraid for everyone who loves you? None of it would help. None of it would make sense to a child who was still discovering who they were. Instead, Kori leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, letting her lips linger for just a moment longer than usual. She could still feel the faint hum of power against her skin, a warmth that had nothing to do with body heat.
“You are loved, Y/N Wayne. Never forget that,”
XX
The car ride back to Blüdhaven was silent. Dick stared out the window at the passing Gotham skyline, his jaw clenched. Kori drove, her gaze occasionally flickering to her love’s face, but she said nothing. She knew better than to press when he was like this. The sun had fully set by the time they crossed the bridge into Blüdhaven. Dick finally spoke up when they stopped at a red light, his voice hoarse.
“He hit me, Kori,” The princess’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. She had seen the bruise starting to form on his jaw, had felt the tension radiating from him, but hearing him say it out loud made something cold settle in her chest.
“I know, my love,”
“He’s never…he’s never done that before. Not to me. Not to anyone he considered family,” Dick’s voice cracked a little.
“I don’t know who that man was down there. That wasn’t Bruce,” Kori reached over and took his hand, her thumb tracing soothing circles across his trembling knuckles.
“Grief can transform even the kindest souls into strangers. But that does not excuse what he did. You did not deserve that,” The light turned green, but Kori did not move. She turned to face Dick fully, her emerald eyes glowing softly in the dim light of the car.
“You are not responsible for his choices, my love. You cannot save someone who does not wish to be saved,” Dick laughed bitterly.
“Then what am I supposed to do? Just give up on him? Despite what he did, he’s still my dad,” Kori squeezed Dick’s hand.
“I know. But you are allowed to protect yourself. Give him space. Eventually he will see the light, but if he can’t, you have to protect Y/N. Because right now, you are the only one who can,” The words hung in the air between them. Dick’s stoic expression started to crumble, and his eyes began to shine with tears. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Kori’s, and let out a shuddering breath.
“I don’t know how to do this alone,”
“You are not alone, Richard Grayson. You have me. You have our friends. And you have Y/N, who loves you like you personally hung the moon for them. We will find a way through this. Together,” They sat there for a long moment, forehead to forehead, breathing in sync. Finally, Dick pulled back, his eyes red-rimmed but his expression steadier.
“Let’s go home,” Kori smiled softly and put the car back into drive.
XX
Y/N stood at the large windows by the front door, watching their brother’s car disappear down the long drive. They pressed their small hand against the glass, feeling the cool surface beneath their ink-stained fingers.
“Miss Kori said Dickie would call,” Y/N’s voice was just above a whisper. They could feel Alfred’s presence behind them, steady and warm as always.
“I have no doubt she will make sure of it, Young Master,” Alfred’s voice was gentle, the same tone he used when Y/N was sad and he did not want to push. Y/N finally turned away from the window, their expression thoughtful.
“Dickie was sad. Really sad. Even when he was smiling, his eyes were sad,” Y/N looked down at their hands.
“Do you think if I got really good at magic, I could make him feel better?” Alfred’s expression flickered with a mixture of something complicated: love, worry, and a deep, abiding sadness.
“Master Dick’s sadness is not something that can be fixed with magic, my dear. It is something he must work through on his own. But you being here, being you, does help. More than you know,” Y/N nodded slowly, accepting the answer even if they did not fully understand it.
“Now, I believe I am in need of some assistance with making dinner. Let us test your knowledge of the herbs that you learned over the summer, shall we?”
XX
Gotham Academy loomed before Y/N like a gothic cathedral made of dark stone and stained glass windows. The building was beautiful in a cold, imposing sort of way, its tall windows reflecting the gray sky above. Students milled about the front courtyard, catching up on others’ summers or bemoaning the fact that school is starting again. Y/N stepped out of the Bristol charter bus and immediately tried to blend into the crowd. They spotted their friend, Jenny Hickory, near the front steps, surrounded by a small group of other children. The red-haired girl waved enthusiastically when she saw the youngest Wayne, and Y/N waved back, a small smile tugging at their lips.
“Y/N! Over here!” The child of Hecate made their way through the crowd, weaving between older students with practiced ease. Jenny threw her arms around Y/N in a tight hug.
“I missed you over the summer! Did you have fun at your camp?” Y/N nodded, their smile growing.
“It was so fun. I learned how to ride a skateboard and make–”
“Hey, Jenny! Miss Noonan is already calling for our class!” One of the other girls tugged on Jenny’s sleeve, pulling her away. The red-haired girl gave Y/N an apologetic look.
“I’ll see you at lunch. We can sit together,” Y/N nodded, watching as Jenny was swept away by the crowd. For a moment, the child of Hecate stood alone in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by children who did not seem to notice them at all. It was strange, this invisibility. It was as if the other students were looking right through them. Y/N wondered if this was how the ghosts back at the Manor felt when someone living walked right through them.
XX
The second grade classroom at Gotham Academy was bright and welcoming, with posters of the solar system, a reading corner with colorful cushions, and a large world map taking up an entire wall that even had superhero logos next to the cities those heroes operated out of. Y/N stood in the doorway, their new backpack -one that Alfred had purchased during their school supplies trip with patches of an owl and a skateboard properly stitched on and straps for a skateboard attached- felt heavy against the child’s back.
Miss Luisa Guzmán was exactly as the note from Miss Dahl had described: warm, patient, and genuinely excited to meet her new students. She had dark curly hair pulled back in a low bun, kind brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. She wore a bright yellow cardigan that reminded Y/N of sunflowers over a light blue dress. When she spotted Y/N hovering in the doorway, she immediately crouched down to their level.
“Y/N Wayne! I’ve heard so much about you,” Miss Guzmán’s voice was soft and melodic.
“Miss Dahl told me about your special interest in Greek myths. I think you’re going to have a lot of fun with a segment of our lessons in history this year,” Y/N’s eyes went wide and they offered their new teacher a small smile.
“Thank you, Miss Guzmán,”
“Why don’t you find a seat? Any one you like. We’ll be starting our morning lessons in just a few minutes,” Y/N scanned the classroom. There were about twenty desks arranged in clusters of four. Most of them were already occupied by chattering children, some familiar faces from last year. Y/N found an empty desk near the windows, the cluster of desks it was a part of had only one other kid seated. The boy did not look up as Y/N sat down and began to put their school supplies on the desk.
XX
The first few weeks of second grade passed quickly for Y/N. Miss Guzmán was everything Miss Dahl had promised: patient, understanding, and always willing to make accommodations. She gave Y/N extra time on reading assignments, allowed them to use colored overlays to help the words stay still, and never made them feel bad for needing to move around during lessons. When the child started to feel overwhelmed, Miss Guzmán would simply nod toward the back of the classroom where there was a small sensory corner with fidget toys, noise-cancelling headphones, and cozy beanbag chairs. Y/N was grateful for their new teacher’s kindness, and was not the only student in the class to take comfort in the sensory corner.
But Jenny was no longer in Y/N’s class. The red-haired girl had been placed in Miss Noonan’s class across the hall, and while the two friends still saw each other at lunch and recess, it was not the same. Y/N could see Jenny making new friends, laughing with other children and even joined the school’s equestrian club. Y/N’s only friend had drifted away. The child of Hecate tried to not let it hurt, but it did. It felt like another person leaving, another connection slipping through their fingers.
The other students in Y/N’s class seemed to look right through them. It had to be the necklace, Y/N realized. Lou Ellen had explained that the notice-me-not spell would work on mortals as well, to make them not quite pay attention to Y/N, but this was different. It was like the other children did not even register Y/N’s existence. They would sit at their desk, raise their hand to answer a question, and the teacher would call on someone else. They would try to join a group activity, and the other children would simply forget to include them. At lunch, Y/N would sit at an empty table, watching the other kids laugh and play, feeling like a ghost in their own life.
It was lonely. So very lonely.
But there seemed to be another kid in the same shoes as Y/N. Tim Drake sat in the same cluster of desks as the child of Hecate. His black hair always fell into his eyes and cut in a straight fringe like the rest of his hair. His gray-blue eyes always seemed to be watching everything with a deep intensity that other kids called weird but Y/N found comfort in. Tim never spoke much in class -Y/N had heard Miss Guzmán try to gently encourage the boy to participate more- but when he did speak, it was always thoughtful, almost as if he had been carefully weighing every word before letting them leave his lips. Outside at recess, Tim did not play with the other kids either. Instead, he took photos with a camera that looked too expensive for a kid his age should have. Y/N would watch the boy from their lonely spot on the swings and wonder what Tim was taking pictures of.
Y/N remembered Tim being in Mister Landry’s class the previous year, and he had been one of the only kids to not laugh when the teacher decided to call the youngest Wayne stupid in front of the whole class. He was quiet and alone then too. Tim lived in Bristol, like Y/N. His family’s estate was just down the road from Wayne Manor. They saw each other on the charter bus most mornings. Y/N usually watched the world go by through the bus windows while Tim read books that looked far too advanced for his age. Sometimes though, the lonely children would say ‘good morning’ or even spare a smile to the other.
XX
The first week of October arrived with the typical Gotham dreariness: gray skies, persistent drizzle, and leaves that rotted on the ground rather than crunching underfoot. Y/N sat in the back of the town car Alfred was driving; he had picked them up from school instead of letting them take the charter bus home. But the butler did not take the usual streets Y/N knew led back to the Manor. Instead, the child of Hecate found Alfred had gotten on the bridge that would take them across the bay over to Metropolis.
“Where are we going, Alfred?” Y/N peered out at the dark waters of the bay. They have never been to Metropolis before, but did remember that Mister Clark and Miss Lois worked over there. They have not seen the couple in a long time and wondered how the two were doing.
“We are going to meet someone, Young Master. Her name is Doctor Shiloh Blackwood. She is a specialist who helps children navigate difficult emotions,” Alfred kept his voice carefully neutral. Y/N furrowed their brow.
“Difficult emotions? Like what?”
“Like sadness or confusion. Like the feeling of missing someone who isn’t there?” Y/N was quiet for a long moment, their small hand playing with the chain of the necklace their mother had given them.
“Is this about Jay?” Alfred’s grip on the steering wheel tightened while he chanced a glance of Y/N through the rearview mirror. He opened his mouth to speak, but found that no words came. It was apparent that his charge found that his silence was an answer itself since Alfred noticed the child nodding.
XX
Doctor Shiloh Blackwood’s office was in the quiet part of Metropolis, tucked away on a tree-lined street that felt almost peaceful compared to the chaos of Gotham. The brownstone Alfred parked in front of had a bright blue door and planters in almost every window. Y/N followed the butler into the first floor office and took in the details of the waiting room. The walls were painted a soft green with comfortable-looking armchairs. There was a bookshelf that had a mixture of children's and young adult fiction as well as local magazines and newspapers; Alfred took one of the Daily Planet’s before he sat on one of the armchairs. In one corner, there was a toy chest but a stuffed fox looked like it had fallen out. Y/N walked over to pick up the fox and stared into its button eyes.
“That’s a good choice,” A soft voice made Y/N look away from the fox. They found a woman standing by the previously closed glass doors. She was very tall with silver hair and hazel eyes. She wore a pale pink cardigan over a blouse and slacks. When the woman noticed Y/N’s surprise, she gave the child a soft smile.
“You must be Y/N Wayne,” The child nodded shyly, clutching the fox to their chest.
“Well then, hello Y/N. My name is Doctor Shiloh Blackwood, but you can call me Shiloh if you’d like. I’ve heard a lot about you from Alfred,” Y/N glanced over at their butler, who gave his young charge a nod. Shiloh stepped out of the way of the door, revealing her office behind her.
“Why don’t you come in and we can get to know each other? You can bring your new friend, if you wish,” Alfred gave Y/N another reassuring smile and the child walked into the office area. They tried not to panic as Shiloh closed the door behind them. The doctor pulled back the curtain that was covering the glass door to give Y/N the view of the waiting room.
“I need to keep the door closed for your session. But I don’t mind keeping the curtain pulled back,” Y/N looked up at Shiloh before glancing back at Alfred. The child waved at him through the window and got one in return. Shiloh walked over to an egg-shaped chair and sat down, grabbing a notebook from the end table next to it. Y/N took in the details of this room as well. There were a few other seat options to choose from: another egg-shaped one, one that was almost like the armchair in front of the fireplace back at the Manor, and even a rainbow-colored beanbag chair. With their new fox friend in hand, Y/N sat down as neatly as they could on the beanbag. For a moment, the doctor and patient stared at each other.
“So did Alfred tell you why you’re here today?” Y/N shook their head as they looked down at the fox.
“He said you help kids who are sad,” Shiloh smiled.
“That’s one way to put it. I help children understand their feelings. Sometimes feelings can be big and confusing, even for us adults, and it’s nice to have someone to talk about them.”
XX
The therapy sessions became a regular part of Y/N’s routine. Every week, Alfred would drive them across the bay to Metropolis, and Y/N would sit in Shiloh’s office and talk. At first, the child of Hecate did not know what to say. They would clutch the fox, which they named Finnick after a character in one of the books Jay had read aloud, and stare at the colorful rug beneath their feet while Shiloh asked gentle questions about their week, their friends, their school, their family. Slowly, hesitantly, Y/N began to open up.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m invisible,” Y/N admitted during their third session. They were sitting cross-legged on the beanbag chair, Finnick in their lap, their small fingers tracing the stitching on his face.
“Invisible?” Shiloh’s voice was curious, not judgmental. Y/N nodded, but did not look away from Finnick.
“At school. The other kids don’t see me. They look right through me, like I’m not even there,” Y/N glanced up from Finnick to Shiloh, who was writing something down in her notebook.
“Jenny doesn’t sit with me anymore. She has new friends now. And when I try to play with the other kids, they forget I’m there. It’s like I’m a ghost,” Shiloh nodded, her expression thoughtful.
“That sounds very lonely,” Y/N nodded, their eyes stinging with tears they refused to let fall. They buried their face against Finnick’s felt body.
“It is. But it’s not like that at camp. At camp, everyone sees me. They talk to me and play with me and…and I’m not invisible there,” Y/N did not see Shiloh making another note.
“Tell me more about camp. What makes it different?” Y/N thought about it. They thought about Lou Ellen and Maeve, about Connor and Julia and Fitz, about Josie and Sienna and Clarisse. They thought about the campfire songs and the strawberry fields and the way the other campers made Y/N feel welcomed. They thought about the feeling of belonging, of being seen and being loved for who they were instead of what their last name meant.
“Everyone there is like me. Well, not exactly like me. But they understand. They don’t think I’m weird for having trouble with words or reading, or for needing to move around a lot. And they don’t look through me. They look at me,”
“Like your family?” Y/N’s expression flickered. They looked back down at Finnick.
“Sometimes. Alfred looks at me. Dickie used to, but he’s sad now. And Pa…” Y/N trailed off, their voice growing small.
“Pa doesn’t look at me anymore. Not really. He’s too busy looking for the monster,” Y/N did not mean to say that. The words had just slipped out. Shiloh’s pen paused over her notebook while Y/N glanced out the window doors toward the waiting room where Alfred was waiting, looking panicked.
“The monster?” Y/N bit their lip. They knew they had said too much and broken the rules that their family had almost cemented into the child’s mind. But Shiloh’s voice was soft and gentle, like Alfred’s when he was trying to coax them out of a bad mood.
“Y/N, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I want you to know that you can tell me anything. I won’t be upset. And I won’t tell anyone unless you’re in danger. This is a safe space,” Y/N looked back over at Shiloh. The doctor’s hazel eyes were warm and patient. Y/N wanted to trust her.
“I can’t tell you about the monster. It’s a secret,” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper. Shiloh nodded, making another note in her notebook.
“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. But if you ever want to, I’m here,” Y/N nodded, relief flooding through them as they hugged Finnick to their chest. For the rest of the session, they talked about camp, about the older kids at the local skatepark who were quick to take Y/N under their wing, about the new books Alfred had ordered for them from the demigod contact. By the time the child made it back to the butler in the waiting room, they felt lighter than they had before.
XX
As the weeks passed, Y/N found small moments of joy wherever they could. Skateboarding had become their escape. On the weekends, Alfred would drive the child to one of the local skateparks and watch as Y/N practiced the moves Fitz had taught them. The skatepark in Bristol was not well populated with only a few kids that Y/N recognized from galas, but there were a couple of older kids that seemed to look out for the younger ones. For the first couple of visits, the youngest Wayne had to rent a skateboard from the entrance hut.
Alfred had eventually kept his promise and bought Y/N their own skateboard: a beautiful piece of craftsmanship with a dark wood deck and custom paint job in their favorite color with a swarm of bats and birds flying right next to each other. Y/N had cried when they saw it, throwing their arms around the butler and holding tight. The older kids at the skate park had celebrated when the child came with their new board.
“You are most welcome, Young Master. Though I must insist on a full set of protective gear, no matter your demigod nature. Helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist guards. Non-negotiable,” Y/N had agreed enthusiastically, and Alfred had smiled that rare, warm smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.
XX
After the first couple of sessions, which Shiloh considered the getting-to-know-you visits, the therapist began to ask Y/N questions as a sort of homework; something for the child to think about until their next visit. Sometimes they felt simple, like ‘what do you do after you have a nightmare?’ or ‘what would you change at school if given the chance?’. Y/N knew the answers for those: Alfred would make the same warm honey milk that Camp Half-Blood had sent the recipe to the butler and the child would curl up in the library in one of Jason’s hoodies and no more mean teachers.
But it was the questions like ‘what does safe mean to you?’ or even ‘who in your life do you want to be most like when you grow up?’ left Y/N stumped for those two week periods between sessions. The child would go to Alfred to get a better idea on the word ‘safe’. To Y/N, safe meant Dickie’s warm hugs, Alfred’s rare smiles, and when they used to curl up against Jason as he read aloud. But it also meant looking out at the Gotham sky and seeing the bat signal since that meant Batman was out keeping their city safe.
In the middle of December, Shiloh asked a question that made Y/N feel frozen like the snow outside.
“What do you know about death?” Y/N looked up from Finnick in their lap at the therapist.
“Death?” Shiloh nodded, as she made a note in her notebook.
“Yes. That is your homework question for this session. When you come back, I want to know what you know about death and what it means,” Shiloh closed her notebook and stood from her egg chair. Y/N stood up too, still clinging to Finnick.
“Like always, you can ask Alfred and even your brother Dickie about the topic, but make sure you make your own conclusion on what you think death is. Alright?” Y/N nodded, and they held up Finnick for Shiloh to take back like they always did at the end of their sessions.
“How about you take Finnick home with you? Think of him as an early Christmas gift,” Y/N hugged the felt fox to their chest, smiling softly against his faux fur.
“Thank you, Miss Shiloh,” The therapist winked at Y/N before she opened the glass door to the waiting room, where Alfred was waiting.
“See you after the holidays,”
XX
Y/N thought over the word ‘death’ during the car trip home and even during dinner. It was during dessert that the child finally spoke up.
“Alfred, what is death?” The butler froze as he was placing a piece of strawberry cheesecake in front of Y/N. For a long moment, the only sound in the dining room was the soft ticking of a clock nearby. Alfred’s hand trembled almost imperceptibly before he steadied himself, setting the plate down with his usual precision.
“That is a very heavy question for a young mind, Young Master Y/N,” Alfred’s voice was carefully neutral, but Y/N could see the storm of emotions flickering behind his eyes. The child of Hecate looked down at their cheesecake, suddenly not hungry.
“Miss Shiloh said it was my homework. She said I could ask you and Dickie about it, but I had to come up with my own answer,” Alfred took the seat across from Y/N, folding his hands on the table. The gesture reminded the child of the way he sat when they first discussed their troubles at school.
“Death is…a transition,” Alfred began slowly, choosing his words with the same care he used when handling fine china.
“A transition from one state of being to another. For some, it is an ending. For others, it is merely a beginning,” Y/N tilted their head, their small fingers tracing the edge of their plate.
“Is it like when someone goes to sleep and doesn’t wake up?” Alfred’s expression flickered again with pain, which he quickly suppressed.
“In a way, yes. But sleep implies the possibility of waking. Death is…permanent. At least in this world,” Y/N thought about the ghosts that haunted Wayne Manor. They thought about Martha and Thomas, about John and Mary, about Catherine. They thought about the way those spirits lingered, unable to move on.
“But the ghosts, they’re still here. They’re not gone gone,” Alfred’s eyes widened slightly. He had known Y/N could see the spirits of the house, but hearing them speak so plainly about them still sent a chill down the butler’s spine.
“The dead can linger, my dear. Some more than others. But they are not truly living. They are echoes of the people they used to be, memories given form,” Y/N considered this, their brow furrowed in concentration.
“Then where do they go? When they stop being ghosts, I mean,” Alfred was silent as he considered what to say. He thought about the Wayne family crypt, about the bodies kept there. He thought about the souls that he knew linger in their home, about the ones that he wished he could have just one more moment with.
“The answer to that question, my dear, is one that scholars and philosophers have debated for centuries. Some believe in an afterlife, a realm of peace where the dead find rest. Others believe in reincarnation, in the cycle of rebirth, becoming someone new. And still others believe that when we die, we simply cease to be,” Y/N’s eyes went wide at the different possibilities after death.
“What do you believe, Alfred?” The butler reached across the table and took Y/N’s small hand in his own. His skin was warm and calloused from years of service.
“I believe that death is not something to be feared. It is a natural part of existence, as certain as the rising of the sun. But I also believe that it is the living who suffer the most from it. The dead feel no pain, no grief. They have moved beyond that. But we who are left behind must carry on,” Y/N glanced over Alfred’s shoulder where Martha appeared. One of her pale hands hovered over the butler’s shoulder and she looked like she wanted to cry.
XX
Christmas morning dawned gray and cold, the sky spitting out a mixture of sleet and snow that coated the Manor’s grounds in a thin layer of ice. Y/N had barely slept the night before, or ever since they had sent their letter to Santa a few weeks ago. They had asked for just one thing this year. The child had been dreaming of Jason, but last night was different. It was not like the normal dreams where he was alive and happy like before, but a new dream where he was standing in the Manor’s foyer, his back to Y/N. He was wearing his Robin uniform, the one with the long yellow cape that the child liked to hide under. But this time, Y/N could tell something was wrong.
“Jay?” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper. Jason had turned, but his face was a blur. He said something, but the words were garbled, like a radio tuned to the wrong station. Then the front door opened, and Jason had walked out into the gray morning, disappearing into the fog.
Y/N had woken in their bedroom, the breath knocked out of them, their small hands clutching at their blankets. They had lain there for a long moment, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars their brothers had once helped put up with their heart pounding in their chest. Then Y/N had gotten up, wrapped themself in one of Jason’s hoodies, and made their way down to the Manor’s foyer. They stood by the front door, just like they had been doing for the past year, waiting for a brother who would never come through it.
XX
Dick had not intended to come to the Manor on Christmas morning. He had made a promise to himself after that fight in the BatCave, a promise to keep his distance, to protect his heart from the pain of watching Bruce destroy himself. But Kori and his friends had come together to get gifts for Y/N and Dick could not bring himself to be another person to neglect his sibling on this day. Alfred had met the former Boy Wonder in the foyer and took the large box of gifts with a fond smile.
“Where’s Little Wing?” Alfred closed the coat closet door after putting away Dick’s jacket. The butler kept his back toward the vigilante for a moment. When the older man turned around, there was a heartbroken look on his face.
“The library,”
“What’s wrong, Alfred?” The butler glanced away with a sigh.
“The doctor I have sent the Young Master to had broached the topic of death recently…” Dick felt something snap in his chest.
“Do they…?” Alfred shook his head.
“No. They asked what I knew about death and what I thought happened afterwards. But Master Jason’s name has not come up yet,” Dick still felt unsteady.
“Then, what happened?”
“They’ve been lost in thought since that night. And this morning, I awoke to the young master waiting by the front door again,” Dick knew that Alfred had gotten up at four in the morning to get started on his day. If the butler woke up to find Y/N already up, who knew when the child woke up themself or if they went to sleep at all.
“There’s also this,” Alfred pulled an envelope out of his inside suit pocket, handing it over to Dick. The mailing address was to Santa Claus in the North Pole, and it was from Y/N. The vigilante pulled the letter out and felt his heart break even more when he saw the one thing his sibling asked for this Christmas.
‘Please send Jay home’
XX
Dick stared at Y/N from the entrance of the library. They were still in their pajamas and looking out at the snow falling onto the grounds of Wayne Manor. There was a stuffed fox on the child’s lap, where they were absentmindedly playing with one of its ears. As he stepped closer, he realized that his little sibling had dark shadows under their eyes like they had not been sleeping. Dick sat down next to his sibling on the couch. He could see that they were biting their lip in thought so the vigilante waited. It was not a long wait before Y/N turned their head to their big brother.
“Dickie?”
“Yeah, Little Wing?” Y/N bit their lip again and looked down at their hands. With a heavy heart, Dick realized that his little sibling was wearing one of Jason’s old hoodies
“Jay’s not coming home, is he?” The question hit Dick like a physical blow. He had known this day would come, had even dreaded it, and had prayed he would not be the one to answer it. But here they were, and Y/N was looking at him with those big eyes, fighting back tears, and just hoping Dick would say what Alfred would always say.
Not yet.
Dick opened his mouth, but the lie would not come. He could not do it. Not anymore.
“...No. I’m sorry. Jay…Jay can’t come home…” Y/N’s face crumpled, but they fought to keep their composure.
“Is he lost like Odysseus?” Dick blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. Odysseus? Where would an eight-year-old even learn about some mythical character even he hadn’t even learned about until high school? But he shook the thought away, focusing on what to say next.
“Little Wing, what did Alfred say about death?”
“Alfred said when someone dies, they are no longer here with us…That death was permanent and no one could come back,” Y/N glanced through the room as if they were looking for or at something before they turned back to Dick.
“But…Jay’s just lost, right, Dickie? He said he’d be back soon. He promised. Dickie. Please, you have to find a way to bring him back,” Dick could feel his heart breaking at his little sibling on the verge of a breakdown.
“You and Pa are heroes. You save people. You can save Jay. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll be so good. I’ll never complain about anything ever again. I’ll do all my homework, and eat all my vegetables. I’ll help Alfred with chores. I’ll never, ever ask for anything ever again. Just bring Jay back,”
“Y/N…” Y/N’s tears finally began to slip down their face as they shook their head. They knew Dick only used their name when he was being serious. The child reached forward with shaky hands, grabbing onto Dick’s shirt.
“No, no. Bring me Jay. I want my Jay. Where is Jay? Dickie, please. He promised,” Dick pulled Y/N against his chest into a tight hug. He let his own tears stream down his face as his little sibling kept saying ‘he promised’ over and over again.
“I know, sweetheart, I know. But Jay’s gone. He’s dead, baby,” Y/N let out a sound that was half-sob, half-scream, burying their face in Dick’s chest. The man held them tightly, rocking them back and forth as if they were a baby again.
XX
The hours blurred together. Y/N’s sobs slowly quieted into hiccups, then into exhausted whimpers. Dick held them through all of it, his own tears drying on his cheeks that he could not bother to wipe away. The snow outside had begun to fall harder, making it hard to see anything. Y/N’s cries had finally exhausted them, their small body going limp against Dick’s chest. The vigilante looked down at his little sibling, their face tear-streaked and swollen, their breathing shallow and uneven. He knew he should move them, should get them up to their bed, but Dick was still an older brother who had just broken his youngest sibling’s heart. So sue him, if he wanted to hold onto Y/N for just a little longer.
Dick ran his hand up and down Y/N’s little back. He paused when he felt some sort of metal and cord around their tiny neck. The older man looked down, following the metal and cord around Y/N’s neck and found two very different necklaces. One was a delicate silver with a strange three moon charm with different gemstones; it was beautiful and Dick wondered where Y/N got it. He would have to ask Alfred where his sibling had gotten it; maybe he could get one for his Star. The other necklace was a leather cord with a simple-looking bead; it was a silvery blue color with what looked like a twisting green snake painted onto it. That had to be from the camp Y/N went to over the summer. Dick had heard that Alfred had already confirmed the youngest Wayne’s attendance in the upcoming summer; they must have really liked it there.
“Little Wing?” Dick’s voice was barely above a whisper. Y/N stirred slightly, their small hand fisting in his sweater.
“Don’t go, Dickie. Please, not you too,” The words were so quiet, so broken, that Dick felt his heart shatter all over again.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ves’tacha. I’ve got you,” The nickname Dick’s mother once called him just slipped out, but he knew he meant it with his whole heart. Y/N was truly his ‘Beloved’ sibling. He pressed a kiss against the top of their head, before he carefully cradled them against his chest as he stood up. The child’s head lolled against his shoulder, their eyes already fluttering closed, but they still let out a small whimper.
Dick made his way through the Manor’s halls, not knowing that those that haunted said halls walked alongside him. His parents were at his side, their sad gazes for once not turned toward their son, but to the small one he claimed as family. Martha had kissed her husband’s cheek before leaving him to his constant vigil over the Cave’s entrance as she followed after her grandchildren. Catherine, still weeping since her own son had disappeared from this realm, could only let more tears fall at the sight of the brokenhearted family. Even the ones that Y/N had yet to learn their names, but have been looking after the youngest Wayne since their ghostly sight had been discovered, bowed their heads in solidarity as the two walked past.
Y/N’s room was exactly as the child had left it earlier that morning, but it felt like a lifetime since Dick had been here. Gone was the crib he made with Alfred; the butler had let the boy choose the colors, a dark green to match Robin’s uniform and a purple so dark it was almost black to match Bruce. In place of the crib was a four-poster bed with drapes in Y/N’s favorite colors, a quilt that Alfred claimed belonged to Martha Wayne’s mother and too many stuffed toys that he knew were from his family and friends. Dick eyed the neon green tiger that he knew Gar had sent the first year he met Y/N as he gently laid the child on their bed. He began to pull the covers up to their chin, but a small hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
“Stay, Dickie. Please,” Y/N’s voice was thick with exhaustion. Dick looked down at the child and saw the desperation in their eyes, and he knew he could not refuse them. Not today. Probably not ever.
“Okay, Ves’tacha. Scoot over,” Dick pulled his damp sweater over his head, leaving him in his BPD t-shirt. He climbed into the bed and immediately the child curled right up against him, their small body fitting against his side like they were always meant to be there. Dick wrapped his arms around them again, tucking them against his chest.
“Love you, Dickie,” Y/N went limp once more against his body, finally resting after who knows how long.
“I love you too, Y/N. More than anything,” Dick pressed another kiss to the top of Y/N’s head, feeling their breathing even out. He closed his own eyes, not moving for some time and just listening to the wind howl outside. For the first time in months, Dick did not feel the need to run.
XX
Dick did not leave Y/N’s side for the next couple of days. He told himself it was because his sibling needed him, because they were still grieving, because they were too young to be left alone with their pain. But the truth was simpler and more painful: Dick needed Y/N too. The grief that had been festering inside his chest for months had finally broken open, and being near Y/N was the only thing that made it bearable. They spent the days in a quiet haze, opening gifts by the tree and menorah, eating Alfred’s cooking, and talking about everything and nothing.
But Dick could not ignore the elephant in the room. Bruce had not been home. The man’s bedroom and study were empty. The younger man had seen and heard the news reports on the television and radio. The Batman was out there doing what he always did: hunting for the Joker, losing himself to the darkness, and drowning in his grief. Dick wanted to confront Bruce, wanted to scream at him to make him see what he was doing to his family. But when Dick was about to try to do just that, he discovered something that left the former Boy Wonder filled with ice and dread.
Dick had slipped away at the end of dinner one night as Alfred prepared coffee, hot chocolate and dessert. The grandfather clock loomed before him. He pulled the secret lever to reveal the keypad. He entered his access code and waited, but then the screen flashed red, leaving behind one message.
ACCESS DENIED
Dick had stared at the screen, his blood running cold. He tried again, more carefully and slowly this time, making sure each digit was absolutely correct.
ACCESS DENIED
Dick typed in Alfred’s code, the butler had let the younger man know just in case of an emergency.
ACCESS DENIED
“Maybe Jason’s?” Dick put in Jason’s code; he had helped the younger boy figure out his own when he took over as Robin.
ACCESS DENIED
Dick felt a chill run down his spine. He had one more code he could try. The one Bruce made for a worldwide disaster.
ACCESS DENIED
The screen went black, then displayed a single line of text:
THIS ACCESS POINT HAS BEEN PERMANENTLY DISABLED BY THE SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR
Dick felt something inside him break. Bruce had locked him out. Not just him, but the rest of his family, even the memory of Jason. There was no coming back from this. Dick pulled out his phone and called Barbara. For half a moment, he felt bad, but then his friend picked up on the second ring.
“Dick? What’s wrong?” Barbara’s voice was sharp with concern. Dick could hear someone in the background singing badly while someone was cheering them on. Barbara was probably with her father at the Gotham PD holiday party. That bad feeling filled the man’s chest again.
“Sorry, Babs…I just…” There was a muffled conversation on the other side of the phone call before the singing slowly began to disappear.
“Dick, take a breath and then tell me what’s going on,” Dick took a steadying breath as he leaned against Bruce’s desk.
“He locked me out…”
“Who did?”
“Bruce. I’m at the Manor, and I tried to get into the Cave, and he locked me out. He shut off the access point. None of the codes work. Mine, Alfred’s, Jason’s, even the emergency one,” Barbara gasped as Dick hung his head, closing his eyes. He felt like clinging to the bare threads that were barely holding his family together and he did not know what to do. Barbara was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, more careful.
“When Bruce started this crusade, I thought I understood. The Joker ruined my life. He needed to be stopped before he ruined more lives. But…Bruce is no longer the Batman I looked up to anymore. He’s more violent and he’s even started to hesitate listening to my advice,” So Bruce was even shutting out Barbara too.
“But the worst was the other day. Bruce almost killed a man. He may have been a henchman, but he is likely going to be in the hospital for months,” Dick bit his lip as a wave of nausea washed over him.
“I don’t know what to do, Babs,”
“Same,” For a moment, the former Robin and Batgirl let the silence linger. The man who saw the best in them was drowning what he thought was justice, but could it even be called justice anymore.
“I hate to say it, Dick, but you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” Dick sighed.
“I know. But I have to try. He’s still my dad. He’s still Bruce, even if he’s forgotten how to be. We need him…Y/N still needs him,” Dick glanced over towards the door of the study, down the hallway that would lead back to his sibling.
“How is my favorite munchkin?” Dick let himself smile at Barbara’s nickname for Y/N. It was rare that his friend would interact with the child, rarer now due to how inaccessible the Manor was for Barbara’s wheelchair. But he remembered the one time that the former Batgirl had helped Dick watch over Y/N when Bruce was at a gala and Alfred was away for vacation. The toddler had been chaotic and had been running circles around the teenagers, but Barbara had scooped up Y/N and the trio made their way down to the home theater. The rest of that night passed quickly with children’s cartoons and movies and way too much popcorn.
“It’s been a rough couple of days,” Every time Dick tried to tell himself that he should head back to Blüdhaven, he would look at Y/N and feel haunted by their breakdown from the other day. Kori had texted him and told him to keep staying with his sibling; the Titans would be fine for a little while without him.
“But now they can start healing,”
“Yeah,”
“Look. I’ll keep an eye on Bruce. I’ll track his patterns, make sure he doesn’t go too far. I can’t stop him, but I can still watch over him,”
“Thanks, Babs. I don’t know what else to do,” Barbara sighed.
“You’re doing what you can, Dick. That’s all any of us can do. Now go take care of Y/N, give them a hug for me,” Dick smiled weakly.
“Thanks, Babs, really for everything,”
“Always,” Dick hung up and stood in the empty study for a moment. He glanced at the clock, trembling at the chill in the air. He knew he should feel angry, should feel betrayed, but all Dick felt was a deep, hollow sadness that echoed in the halls of the Manor.
XX
After almost a week of staying at the Manor, Dick finally had to leave. His boss at BPD had messaged him about covering a shift. The vigilante agreed to come back after one last night. He had to break the news to Y/N and Alfred over dinner, but surprisingly the child was understanding. All they asked of Dick was to read them a bedside story. So after dinner and Y/N’s nightly routine was almost done, the vigilante found himself back in the child’s bedroom. As Y/N was brushing their teeth, Dick looked around their room for a book. There was a couple on the nightstand. A small smile appeared on his face when he picked up the first one to find Alice in Wonderland. There was a red and green bookmark with a yellow tassel sticking out towards the end. Dick turned when he heard Y/N’s footsteps coming over.
“Hey, I haven’t read this one in a while. How about this one tonight?” Dick held up the book in his hands. But instead of looking excited, Y/N looked like they were about to cry. The child quickly snatched the book away from their big brother, hugging it to their chest.
“Whoa…hey, Little Wing, what’s wrong? We don’t snatch things like that,” Y/N wiped at their eyes.
“Sorry, Dickie,” Dick kneeled down, putting a hand on Y/N’s shoulder.
“It’s okay. Just tell me what’s going on, okay?” Y/N nodded, before looking down at their book.
“It’s just…Jay was reading this before he…” For a second, Dick did not understand but he glanced back down at the book, catching sight of the bookmark once more, at its Robin uniform colors. Then, it clicked in his brain, remembering all the times he had found his siblings reading together and Jason holding that exact bookmark that Dick knew Y/N had made for their big brother.
“Oh…oh, sweetheart. I understand,” Y/N shook their head.
“I know you said Jay is gone, but if I finish the story, then he really is gone. This way, Jay is just in Wonderland with Alice…and I can visit him,” Dick felt his heart breaking all over again. He gave his little sibling a gentle smile.
“I get it, Little Wing. I like that idea. How about this? I won’t finish the story for you, but how about we start it over? We can send Jay onto his trip through Wonderland together,” Y/N thought for a moment over Dick’s words before nodding. Dick motioned towards the bed. He waited for Y/N to climb up before he settled in right next to them. The child tucked themself against the older man’s side as he wrapped his arm around them and then opened the book to the first page.
“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank…”
XX
The rest of the school year passed in a blur of gray skies and quiet moments. Y/N found a rhythm to their days: school with Miss Guzmán, therapy sessions with Miss Shiloh, skateboarding on weekends, and letters to Lou Ellen and their camp friends. The grief over Jason still lingered like a shadow, but it was no longer the all-consuming darkness that it had been that winter holiday.
In March, Y/N received a letter from Connor Stoll. He was settling into New Rome College, specializing in languages, particularly lost ones. He wrote that he missed Camp Half-Blood but was excited for the future. He also included a photo of himself, his older brother Travis next to a girl and a boy. The girl was apparently Travis’s girlfriend, Ava Delaney, daughter of Pomona while the other boy was Agustín Pérez, son of the Norse god Bragi. Connor had met the son of Bragi at orientation and were supposedly ‘just friends’ but he also called the boy Auggie and had left a small heart by his name on the back of the photo.
In April, Y/N got a letter from Josie. The daughter of Aphrodite graduated high school early so she could travel Europe with her father as he filmed a new movie over there. She sent photos of ancient ruins and seashores and told the child to keep practicing their cooking skills with the new instructor at camp. She also mentioned meeting a girl while in Rome named Caterina and that she was too pretty for words. Josie lovingly called her Cat and said her father really approved of the Italian girl. Y/N did not know much about romance, that was for bigger kids, but if their friends, Connor and Josie, were happy, then maybe love was something to look forward to when the child of Hecate was older.
Julia sent updates from the Hermes Cabin. She was doing well as the new counselor, though Fitz was taking up Connor’s former role as the camp troublemaker. She had hoped that Alphonse would temper the child of Hermes’s mischief, but lately the two have been working together on pranks. Julia, also, has a new year-round camper by the name of Jubilee; the new camper was only a couple years older than Y/N and had a talent for theatrics. There were several bets being made about Jubilee’s parentage, but Julia was hoping the kid would be claimed by summer just so she did not have to deal with the younger girl’s chaos anymore.
And Lou Ellen wrote about her preparation for the coming summer, about the new spells she had been practicing and the books she had been collecting for Y/N’s education. She mentioned that she had been in contact with a daughter of Pluto named Hazel Levesque who was also a student of Hecate, but she mainly used the Mist as a weapon other than to use spells. Lou Ellen said Mist training would have to wait until Y/N is older, since it could be really tricky at first. That she was just asking Hazel for some advice and what sort of spells the daughter of Hecate could begin to teach her younger sibling.
XX
By the time summer arrived, Y/N had grown in ways both visible and invisible. They were a little taller, a little leaner from all the time spent on their skateboard. Their hair had grown longer, falling into their eyes if they did not push it back, but they had waved away Alfred’s attempts to trim it. And there was a quietness to them now, their grief and loneliness clinging to them. But there was also a spark of something new: a determination that flickered behind their eyes like a candle flame.
The day Poppy pulled up to Wayne Manor in his beat-up station wagon, Y/N was waiting by the front door with their trunk packed and Jason’s backpack slung over their shoulders once more. Alfred stood behind them, his hand resting gently on the child’s shoulder.
“Ready for another summer, kiddo?” Poppy grinned as he hopped out of the car. Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at their lips.
“Ready,” Poppy grinned as he popped open the trunk of his car. Alfred knelt down to adjust Y/N’s collar, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.
“You have the emergency numbers?”
“Yes, Alfred,”
“And the drachmas?”
“Yes, Alfred,”
“And the rules?”
“Eat my vegetables. Listen to my counselors. Write home every week. And have fun,” Alfred nodded, his eyes suspiciously bright.
“Good. Then off you go, Young Master Y/N,” Y/N leaned forward and wrapped their arms around Alfred’s neck. The butler held them tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of their head as he pulled away.
“I’ll miss you,” Y/N’s voice was a whisper, only for Alfred’s ears to hear.
“And I you, my dear. But you will have a wonderful summer. I am sure of it,” Y/N wiped at their eyes, giving Alfred another smile. Then they turned, grabbed Poppy’s outstretched hand, and climbed into the station wagon. As the car pulled away from the Manor, Y/N looked back through the rear window. Alfred stood in the doorway, a small figure against the grand stone facade. They watched until he disappeared from view, then turned to face the road ahead.
XX
Camp Half-Blood was just as Y/N remembered it: the strawberry fields, cabins that were every color of the rainbow, the sound of laughter and clashing swords. Y/N stepped out of the station wagon and breathed in the familiar scent of pine and salt water. For a moment, the weight that had been pressing on their chest for months seemed to lift just a little. A blur of movement caught their eye, and before Y/N could react, two figures were barreling toward them.
“BABY BAT!!!” Fitz’s voice was unmistakable, carrying across the parking lot like a battle cry. They skidded to a stop in front of Y/N, their green hair messy and now a little longer, a braid framed the right side of their face with an orange-red round stone at the end of it.
“Fitz–” Y/N started, but they were cut off as the child of Hermes scooped them up in a crushing hug. The child melted into the embrace before Fitz pulled away. The child of Hecate reached up and fixed Fitz’s askew glasses, getting a cheeky grin in thanks.
“You grew! How much? You were a mere gremlin when you left!” Fitz held Y/N at arm’s length, examining them with exaggerated scrutiny.
“You’ve lost your color! Gotham really does not get any sun, does it? And—oh, oh no. You’ve got that look,” Y/N tilted their head.
“What look?”
“That look,” Fitz repeated, pointing at Y/N’s face. The child pouted in confusion, not totally understanding the child of Hermes’s words.
“The one that says you’ve been through some stuff. The one that says you need a skateboard, a half-pipe and someone to tell you everything’s going to be okay and fed you a bunch of cookies,” Y/N felt their eyes sting, but they blinked rapidly and tried to give Fitz a small smile to placate the child of Hermes.
“I don’t have a look,” Fitz did not look convinced, nor did Julia as she crouched down next to her sibling and Y/N. The daughter of Hermes soothed away some of the child of Hecate’s wild hair.
“You absolutely have a look. But Fitz is right. We’ve got you now, kid. Whatever happened back in Gotham, you’re here now,” Y/N allowed themself to be pulled into another hug by Julia, this one gentler than Fitz’s enthusiastic tackle, but just as warm. The daughter of Hermes held Y/N for a long moment, her hand rubbing small circles on their back.
“Lou’s been preparing for weeks. She’s even got a whole curriculum planned,” Julia pulled away as she spoke. She looked amused about Lou Ellen’s preparations.
“Come on. Let’s help Poppy get you to your Cabin,”
XX
The Hecate Cabin looked exactly as Y/N remembered it: dark wood, inlaid stones, and carved runes. The door swung open before the child could get up the stairs, and Lou Ellen stood in the doorway, her white-blonde hair pulled back in its usual twisted bun. There was a familiar screech of an owl further into the cabin, which made the siblings smile.
“Hey hon,” Lou Ellen’s voice was warm as she pulled Y/N into a hug. The child melted into their sister’s embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and old books. Y/N felt some of the tension they had not even realized they’d been carrying finally begin to ease.
“I missed you,” Y/N’s voice was muffled against the fabric of Lou Ellen’s overalls.
“I missed you too, little sibling. Come on, let’s get you settled. I’ve got so much to show you,” Lou Ellen pulled back, her neon green eyes searching Y/N’s face for a moment. Whatever she saw there made her expression soften.
“You’ve been through it, haven’t you?” Y/N nodded, not trusting their voice. Lou Ellen squeezed their shoulder.
“It’s okay. We’ve got all summer. Plenty of time to talk, or not talk, whichever you need. Heck, I’d bet Clarisse will give you something to hit if that’s what you want,” Lou Ellen picked up Y/N’s trunk that Poppy had left before he went to go meet up with some other Satyrs. The child giggled a little at their sister’s suggestion about Clarisse as they followed her inside their cabin. Maeve waved her wings at the sight of the Gothamite, screeching in her usual eerie way.
“Hi, Maeve!” Y/N ran over to the barn owl and Maeve leaned down to preen the child’s hair. Lou Ellen walked over as well after leaving the child’s trunk by their bed. The daughter of Hecate had a soft smile on her face as she looked at her familiar and little sibling.
“She says her owlet looks tired. Have you been sleeping well?” Y/N tilted their head.
“Owlet?’ Lou Ellen let out a small laugh, before taking her seat at the table at the center of the cabin.
“Baby owl. She used to call you Pup at first because of Fitz’s nickname for you, but recently changed it up to Owlet. Now stop ignoring my question,” Y/N bit their lip as they took their own seat across from Lou Ellen. The child shook their head. Their strange dreams had continued since Christmas. It was often about Jason, about forgetting his face and voice, but then it transformed into the same dreams about their father. Y/N could not remember the last time they had seen their father in person. Only fragments of him were scattered around the house: Mister Lucius often came by with paperwork that was left stacked in the study, Alfred had complained about the coffee mugs disappearing from the kitchen cabinets, sometimes a hint of his cologne lingering near his rooms, and even Grandpa Thomas had started to leave the study to roam the Manor with his wife, which he never did.
“Bad dreams,” Lou Ellen frowned at Y/N’s words, but she knew that demigods often had dreams that were considered strange or unusual.
“Did your Alfred make the recipe Will sent him for the honey milk?” The drink was not a cure, just something a camper had seen in a movie and had made one night a young camper had a nightmare. The recipe spread quickly through the camp and it was often made to comfort those who struggled with sleep. Y/N nodded; Alfred had made the honey milk for the bad nights, but those bad nights just kept happening.
“Hmm, maybe we should add lavender or catnip to help. I’ll talk to Will,” Y/N nodded along, but it was clear that Lou Ellen was speaking her thoughts aloud to organize them. The child of Hecate looked around the Cabin. It had changed a little since the previous summer. The bookshelves were even more packed, with new scrolls and leather-bound tomes, but the shelf by Y/N’s bed had regular books as well that were suited to the child’s tastes. The table the siblings were seated at was no longer covered in books, though Lou Ellen’s side had a stack of notebooks and sketchbooks, ink bottles and a few books. Maeve was preening herself on her branch attached to the table.
“Okay. So I’ve been working on a system,” Lou Ellen’s voice made Y/N turn back to their sister. The daughter of Hecate practically vibrated with excitement as she gestured to the table.
“A way to teach you the glyphs that will actually make sense. Mother threw me in without making sure I could float. And while it worked out in the end, I don’t want that for you,” Lou Ellen had been in her early teens when she was finally claimed by Hecate, but she had struggled with her powers even before that. Just like Alabaster had, which was why Luke had gotten his claws in her older brother. Thankfully, it was Julia and then Hazel Levesque who helped the struggling Lou Ellen.
“So I thought about it over these past couple months and then it hit me when I was reading. Glyphs in their own way are their own language. When I make a spell, especially a combined spell, I am making words. Watch,” Lou Ellen grabbed her battle sketchbook; it was circular with easily tearable paper. Julia had commissioned Alphonse to make it for her, as well as several additional ones to replace the old ones. Lou Ellen grabbed one of her pens and flipped open the notebook. She began to draw the spiral glyph for wind, making it the center of the spell. Then she made six teardrop shapes along the spiral outer rim. Lastly to complete the spell and with practiced ease, Lou Ellen drew the spell circle around the entire spell but stopped just before closing the circle. The daughter of Hecate looked up at Y/N, who had watched her do this in a matter of seconds with wide eyes.
“Ready?” Y/N nodded eagerly to Lou Ellen’s question, which the older girl answered with a wink and closed the circle. The daughter of Hecate pressed ink-stained fingers to the center of the spell and let her intent flow through her.
The ink on the paper began to glow first an eerie white gleam for its wind element that began to twinge with blue for the added water. Fog began to bellow upward off of the paper to drift up into the room. Y/N looked around, fascinated by the soupy mist. Lou Ellen often used this spell as a cover; though she mainly used it for Capture the Flag. Sometimes she could change the color of the fog with different colored inks and her intent; Percy Jackson had been fond of the bright blue fog Lou Ellen had used the one time he was at camp for a visit and got to play the game.
“That’s amazing!” Y/N’s voice was filled with wonder as they watched the fog swirl around them. Lou Ellen grinned, clearly pleased with her little sibling’s reaction.
“That’s only just the beginning. Watch this,” Lou Ellen circled her finger against the spell circle, continuing to flow her intent into her work. Around the siblings, the fog began to swirl in the same direction the witch was moving her finger. Y/N whipped their head around to follow the fog, stars in their eyes.
“Can you make shapes?” Lou Ellen grinned at Y/N’s question.
“I can. But it takes a bigger spell circle,” Lou Ellen finally took her finger away from the paper to release the spell. The fog slowly began to dissipate, leaving the room slightly chilled.
“The real magic is in the intention. The glyphs are your words, the spell is the sentence, and your intent is the meaning. Without intent, the glyphs are just shapes. Without the glyphs, the intent has no form. Do you understand?” Y/N thought over Lou Ellen’s words, trying to understand their meaning, before they nodded.
“I think so. The glyphs are like letters, and I put them together to make words. And the words have to mean something, or they don’t work, right?” Lou Ellen’s grin widened.
“Exactly! Do you want to try your first spell?” Y/N nodded eagerly. Lou Ellen tore out the fog spell from her battle notebook as the child across from her sat up on their knees to watch their sister.
“The ‘Light’ spell is the easiest, but it’s also one of the most versatile. You can use it to illuminate a room, to create a small flame, or even to blind an opponent if you’re clever enough,” Lou Ellen began to draw the new spell. A dot in the middle of the page was then surrounded by a small circle and then eight short lines like rays of sun wrapped around the middle circle and then finished it off with the final circle. Lou Ellen pressed her finger to the center of her spell to imbue her intent. A small flame came up from the paper. Lou Ellen pulled her finger away from the paper, but did not let go of her intent as she cupped the flame, forcing her focus towards the fire instead. She moved her hand around and the flame moved with her as if tethered to her palm. Lou Ellen then closed her hand, willing away her intent to extinguish the flame. The daughter of Hecate looked over at Y/N, whose mouth was agape. Lou Ellen could not help her chuckling at her little sibling.
“Ready?” Y/N nodded again excitedly. Lou Ellen grabbed one of the empty sketchbooks she had available and slid it across the table. The younger child took off their backpack and pulled out the calligraphy set Alfred had given them. Lou Ellen held up the spell she had just drawn so Y/N could copy it. The child of Hecate drew as carefully as they could with painstaking precision. It was not perfect, but it was close.
“Now, do as I did. Place a finger onto the glyph and focus. Focus on your intent. Think about what you want it to do. What sort of light you want it to become,” Y/N closed their eyes, concentrating. They could have thought about all sorts of light that was in their life that they wanted their light spell to become: about the light that filled their tower at sunset, about the warm glow of the fireplace in the library, even about the way Alfred would turn on the small lamp by Y/N’s bed before saying goodnight. But the light that they thought they wanted was from a memory with Jason, about the nights they would watch fireflies fly all around the gardens. That was what Y/N wanted. Lou Ellen watched a small will-o’-wisp of light pop up from Y/N’s spell, but then it was followed by several others forming as well, exactly like fireflies.
“Y/N, open your eyes,” Y/N did as they were told and they found themself surrounded by the will-o’-wisps. Some were even blinking like a firefly would, but they stayed floating around their creator. With excited breath, Y/N grinned widely as they looked around at their spell. Lou Ellen could not help but smile as well.
“Okay, release your spell. Let go of what you felt, will them away,” Y/N lifted their finger away from their spell circle. They remembered Jason telling them to say good night to the fireflies so the child could go to bed. So in their mind, Y/N said good night to their will-o’-wisps and the tiny balls of light faded away. The child beamed over at Lou Ellen, who returned it with a wide smile.
“That was amazing for a first attempt,” For the first time in months, Y/N felt like they had control over something, that they could do something to make a difference in their own life.
“So, about your schedule,” Y/N looked up at Lou Ellen at the sound of her voice. They tilted their head curiously.
“What about my schedule?”
“I would like to include magic lessons during the week, not just the weekend like last summer. So are there any activities you would not mind dropping to do so?” Y/N thought over their usual camp schedule. They liked all of the activities they did, but there were some they were willing to drop.
“Swimming, Archery and Pegasi Riding,” Lou Ellen nodded.
“Sorry, but Archery is nonnegotiable. It’s a required activity for all demigods. Chiron wants us to always be prepared for battle even if we’re in a time of peace,” Y/N pouted a little, but then shrugged. The other activities they dropped could still happen during weekends, since those days were usually free time for the child of Hecate.
“Am I going to be able to do Capture the Flag this year?” Lou Ellen shook her head.
“No. Chiron wants you to progress a little more with your weapons training before he lets you loose in that game. I also want you to have a few magic tricks up your sleeve before you do that too,” Y/N nodded, accepting the answer. They would just have to annoy Clarisse a little more so the daughter of Ares will let the child do more than just swing a wooden sword. A conch horn could be heard outside in the distance, making the children of Hecate look at each other.
“Dinner time. Come on, I heard from the harpies that there’s going to be a special dessert tonight,” Y/N grinned as they jumped off their chair. The child of Hecate took their backpack over to their bed before they waited by the front door for their sister. Lou Ellen gave Maeve a scratch under the owl’s chin before joining her sibling. She held out her hand for Y/N to take.
“Hey, Y/N?” The child looked up at their sister’s voice. Lou Ellen had a soft smile on her face as she opened the Cabin door.
“I’m proud of you, you know. For today, for everything. You’re going to do great things, I just know it,” Y/N felt their eyes sting, but this time it was not from sadness. They nodded, leaning against their big sister with a small smile on their little face.
“Thanks, Lou,”
“Any time, hon,”
XX
The days at Camp Half-Blood fell back into a comfortable rhythm. They still had the same lessons and activities like the previous summer. There were many familiar faces around the camp, but some people were missing. Josie and Connor were two people Y/N missed the most, but Sherman from Ares Cabin and Sabrine from the Aphrodite Cabin were also gone as well. There were also new people the child of Hecate met; Minho Hwa, a son of Aphrodite who took over the cooking lessons from Josie and Jubilee Radcliffe, the girl Julia had written about in her letters, who was actually Mr. D’s daughter. She was 10, had warm olive skin with freckles all over, hazel eyes and honey-blonde hair that curled wildly. When the daughter of Dionysus wasn’t following after her older brother, Pollux, she still kept to the Hermes Cabin schedule, which meant she was often in the same lessons as Y/N. After a few days of being in the same classes, Jubilee followed the child of Hecate to the half-pipe after dinner.
“So why does Fitz call you Baby Bat?” Y/N looked at Jubilee as they held onto their skateboard.
“I’m from Gotham,” Y/N noticed a pair of bright pink roller skates strung together and thrown over Jubilee’s shoulders.
“Oh that’s cool! I’m from DC. I’ve seen Wonder Woman a couple of times. Have you ever seen Batman?” Y/N bit their lip, wanting more than anything to nod their head, but they shook it instead.
“No. I live in the Bristol neighborhood. We don’t get a lot of villains out there so Batman isn’t seen there much,” Jubilee pouted, but she quickly recovered.
“That’s a shame. But I bet you’ve seen some of the cool stuff anyway. Your city is supposedly haunted or something,” Y/N giggled at Jubilee’s comment about their hometown.
“Or something. I did see the aftermath of Miss Poison Ivy taking over Robinson Park. She made a bunch of huge flowers that reminded me of Wonderland,” Jubilee’s eyes sparkled with excitement as the two children got closer to the half-pipe.
“Tell me everything!”
XX
Y/N and Jubilee quickly became inseparable. The daughter of Dionysus was loud, enthusiastic, and had a dramatic flair that fit perfectly with her divine parentage, but also apparently her mortal parent as well. Her mother was Nimona Radcliffe, a semi-famous stage actress, and Jubilee eventually wanted to be like her mother. The daughter of Dionysus was going to be a year-round camper, due to her mother’s heavy schedule, so to some degree she knew almost exactly what Y/N went through with their own father. Jubilee was also fiercely loyal, and she took one look at Y/N’s quiet loneliness and decided that they needed a friend and that friend was going to be her. It was the kind of friendship that happened quickly and easily, the way friendships did when you were young and the world was still full of possibilities. They spent their free time together: skateboarding and roller-skating, exploring the edges of the forest, trading stories about their families, and making up elaborate games that only they understood the rules to. The camp soon found that if you went looking for one kid, the other was always going to be nearby. For the first time since Jenny had drifted away at school, Y/N had a friend who actually saw them.
But Y/N’s true focus that summer was on magic. Lou Ellen was a patient teacher, encouraging the younger child of Hecate’s imagination for spells. Every day, Y/N had to try a new spell, whether it turned out right like their will-o’-wisps or really wrong like the time they first attempted a water spell and it shot off the page like a high-powered water gun and sprayed Lou Ellen completely. The daughter of Hecate had laughed that off and immediately hugged her sibling to get them wet as well before showing where the younger had gotten wrong with their spell.
XX
The summer passed in a blur of growth and discovery. Y/N’s magical abilities expanded rapidly under Lou Ellen’s patient tutelage. They learned to form shields, to manipulate small objects, to create minor illusions, and even handle various elements to a novice degree. But their favorite spell was their first, their will-o’-wisp fireflies. Just like Lou Ellen could change the color of her spells with different inks, Y/N could do the same with their tiny lights. The child often fell asleep reading as their will-o’-wisps hovered over them.
But it was not just the magic that Y/N grew in ability. Their combat skills had improved somewhat under Clarisse’s watchful eye. The daughter of Ares had finally relented and allowed Y/N to progress from a wooden sword to a blunted bronze blade. Y/N was still clumsy, still too small to properly wield the weapon, but they were determined. They practiced every day, even on the days that they did not have the sword and shield practice, with their small hands developing calluses that Alfred would definitely notice and worry over when Y/N returned home.The child was not sure if the sword was the weapon they wanted to be their primary weapon, but Clarisse had said that figuring that out could happen when the child of Hecate was older. Lou Ellen had her battle notebook, but she also preferred her bow and even had arrows that had spells carved into their wood; she merely had to focus her magical intent into the arrow and let the arrow loose.
XX
But even as Y/N grew stronger, even as they made friends and learned new skills, the grief still lingered. It was a quiet companion, always present, always waiting. Sometimes, in the dead of night, Y/N would wake from a dream of Jason and lie in their bed, staring at the ceiling and wonder if they would ever feel whole again, if the hole in their heart would ever heal. These thoughts were often accompanied with tears.
Lou Ellen noticed; she always did. She would wake from her own sleep as if she knew that her sibling had another bad dream and would pad over to Y/N’s bed with quiet footsteps. Her little sibling always made room for their big sister, just like she would if the child came over to her bed. The daughter of Hecate would lay down with Y/N and run her hand through the child’s hair, humming softly until Y/N’s tears finally stopped.
“I miss him too,” Lou Ellen had whispered one night as Y/N wiped away their tears. The child looked curiously at their sister.
“I never met him, but I miss him. Because he was important to you, and he made you happy. And I wish I could have known him,” Y/N sniffled, tears welling up in their eyes once more.
“I think he would have liked it here. He would have gotten along with all you big kids really good,” Y/N’s voice was wobbly as the tears threatened to fall once more. Lou Ellen smiled as she pulled Y/N’s blanket over herself and got more comfortable.
“Really? What Cabin do you think would suit him most?” Y/N thought it over as they wiped at their eyes some more.
“Maybe Hermes. Though I think he used to read more than all the Athena kids do,” Lou Ellen chuckled.
“I think we both know that Fitz would have probably driven him up the wall,” Y/N giggled, but then shook their head.
“No. Jay’s favorite book was Pride and Prejudice. He would have liked the fact that Fitz named themself after Mister Darcy. I think he would have also liked the pranks they come up with and would try to use them on Dickie,” Lou Ellen laughed again, bumping her forehead against Y/N’s. The siblings were quiet for a couple of moments, before the child spoke up again.
“Lou? Will it get better? The sadness?” Lou Ellen was quiet for a long moment, her fingers still carding through Y/N’s hair. The only sounds in the Cabin were Maeve’s soft hoot-like snores and the distant chirping of crickets outside.
“I think…” Lou Ellen began slowly, her voice thoughtful.
“I think it gets different. Not easier, exactly, but different. You learn to carry it with you instead of letting it carry you,” Lou Ellen shifted to look down at Y/N’s face, her neon green eyes soft in the darkness.
“Some days, it will feel like the sadness is too heavy, like you can’t breathe around it. And on those days, you have to let yourself feel it. You cry, you scream, you break things if you have to. You don’t have to be strong all the time. That’s what I’m here for, and Alfred, and even Fitz and your other friends,” Y/N pressed their face against Lou Ellen’s shoulder, their fingers curling into the fabric of the older girl’s sleep shirt.
“But other days, you’ll wake up and the sadness will be quieter. It’ll still be there, like a shadow that follows you around, but it won’t be so loud. And those are the days you hold onto, because they mean you’re healing, even if it doesn’t feel like it,” Y/N was quiet for a moment, absorbing Lou Ellen’s words. Then, in a voice so small it was almost inaudible, they whispered.
“Do you think Jay knows I still love him? Even though he’s gone?” Lou Ellen felt her heart crack a little at the question. She hugged Y/N tighter, putting her chin atop their head.
“Hon, I don’t know much about what happens after death. I think it’s different for everyone, mortal or not. But I do know that love doesn’t just disappear when someone dies. It’s still there, and I think…I think they can feel it. Wherever they are,” Y/N sniffled again, burying their face in Lou Ellen’s chest. They missed their Jay, they missed his voice and warm hugs, they missed that he was their hero inside and out of the cape.
“I hope so too,” The siblings lay there in comfortable silence for a long while, the weight of the conversation settling around them like a heavy blanket. After some time, Lou Ellen heard Y/N’s breathing even out into the slow rhythm of sleep. She pressed a kiss to the top of their head, before she whispered into the darkness of their Cabin.
“Sleep well, little one. I’ve got you,”
XX
The summer ended too quickly, as summers always did. On the last full day of camp, Y/N sat on the dock with their feet dangling over the water, watching the sun set over the Long Island Sound. Jubilee sat beside them, her honey-blonde hair a wild mess of tangles from a day of running around the camp. The two children had spent their last day together trying to do everything they had not gotten around to doing: a water balloon fight that soon turned into a whole camp escapade, trying each other’s skating equipment that only ended up in a trip to the Apollo Medic Tent and all other sort of things children were supposed to do at their ages. The older demigods just let the two kids be, letting them have this day to themselves, since they knew that Y/N would be headed home the next day and Jubilee would be staying at camp.
“I’m going to miss you,” Jubilee’s voice was surprisingly quiet. Y/N looked over at their friend, feeling a lump form in their throat.
“I’m going to miss you too,” It was true. After the school year of basically being alone, Y/N had someone who understood them and they understood Jubilee too.
“Promise you’ll write?” Jubilee held out her pinky. Y/N linked their pinky with hers.
“Promise,”
“You’ll come back next summer?”
“Try and stop me,” Jubilee grinned, her usual brightness returning.
“Good. Because I’ve got so many plans for us. The big half-pipe, joining Capture the Flag finally and I even want to try the rope obstacle course with you,” Jubilee was terrified of heights so the obstacle course and Pegasi riding were the only activities from the schedule she did not do. But she had seen how much fun Y/N had up there and thought maybe it would not be so bad if she was up there with her friend. Y/N laughed, the sound surprising them. It felt good to laugh, to feel light, even if the weight of the coming school year loomed over the child like a storm cloud.
“Deal!”
XX
The drive back to Gotham was long and quiet. Y/N watched the familiar landscapes give way to the familiar gray of their city, their heart heavy with the weight of leaving camp behind. Poppy kept the radio volume low, letting the child process in silence. When the station wagon finally pulled through the gates of Wayne Manor, Y/N felt a strange mix of emotions: relief at seeing home, sadness at leaving camp, and anxiety at whatever awaited them inside. Alfred was waiting on the front steps, just as he had been the year before. Y/N had barely waited for the car to stop before they launched themself out of the car and to the butler. They threw their arms around his waist, pressing their face against his chest.
“Alfred,” Y/N’s voice was muffled against his shirt.
“Welcome home, Young Master,” Alfred’s voice was warm, his hand coming up to rest on the back of Y/N’s head.
“I trust you had a good summer?” Y/N nodded, their eyes stinging with tears. They had learned so much, grown so much, but there was still so much they did not understand. So much that they were still waiting for.
For now, though, Y/N was home. And that was enough.
XX
A few miles away from Wayne Manor, in a mansion that was just as grand but infinitely emptier, Tim Drake sat in his room surrounded by photographs, newspaper clippings, and a conspiracy board that would have made any seasoned detective proud. His computer hummed softly in the corner, its screen displaying a paused frame from a blurry video that had been circulating the hero forums for a few months.
At the center of Tim’s board was a single photograph: Bruce Wayne, standing outside Wayne Enterprises, his face half-turned away from the camera. But Tim knew what was underneath that expensive suit and that billionaire’s smile. He knew the truth that no one else seemed to know.
Bruce Wayne was Batman.
It had taken Tim months to piece it all together. Years, really, if he counted the time he’d spent obsessing over the Caped Crusader. He even risked nights out alone in Gotham just to take photos from afar of Batman and Robin. But soon that obsession led to analyzing every detail of the heroes. The way Batman moved, the way he fought, the way he carried himself; it all soon pointed toward one man. And once Tim had that thread, everything else began to unravel.
The Evidence Board:
Center: Bruce Wayne = Batman
Photo 1: Bruce Wayne at a Wayne Enterprises charity gala, 3 years ago. A large bruise on his jaw that matched the one Batman had received during a confrontation with Killer Croc the night before.
Photo 2: Batman and the first Robin, Dick Grayson, leaping across a Gotham rooftop. The acrobatic style of this Robin matched the exact performances of the former circus performer who Bruce Wayne had adopted.
Photo 3: Batman and the second Robin, Jason Todd, standing next to the BatMobile. Tim had analyzed the angle of the photo and determined that the second Robin was approximately the same height and build as the boy Bruce Wayne had adopted after Dick Grayson moved out. The boy that died several years later at the hands of the worst of Batman’s villains.
Photo 4: Batman all alone. There was no new Robin after Jason Todd’s death. That was a problem. Tim had been monitoring Batman’s activities for over a year, and he had seen the way the vigilante had changed since losing Jason. Batman was more brutal now, more violent. His movements were sharper, less controlled and he was making mistakes.
Photo 5: Y/N Wayne, standing in the schoolyard at Gotham Academy, looking lonely. Underneath this photo was a post-it note with a question mark.
Why are they not Robin?
This was the question that haunted Tim. Bruce Wayne had a biological child. They were the right age to be trained from the beginning. They had been in the Wayne household since infancy, that was long enough to be shaped into a Robin. They had been there for years, growing up alongside Dick Grayson and Jason Todd. They would have known the secrets, should have known the truth of their family.
But Y/N was not Robin.
Tim had watched them at school, had observed them on the bus, had even done a few nights of surveillance on the Wayne Manor grounds. Y/N was just a kid; a lonely kid who skated at the local park, who seemed to like Greek mythology, who always seemed to be reading or drawing or just staring out at the Gotham skyline as if waiting for something. Y/N did not have the build of a warrior or soldier. They did not have the scars or the bruises that came from nightly patrol. They did not have the intensity in their eyes that Tim saw in Dick Grayson’s photographs or the determined set of the jaw that Batman wore under his cowl.
Y.N was just a child who was alone, who was clearly grieving the loss of their brother, who had been forgotten by the father who now spent all his time hunting the monster that had stolen his son.
Why were they not Robin?
Tim did not have an answer for that. Not yet. But he had other pieces of the puzzle that he was fitting together.
Photo 6: A strange station wagon driving up Wayne Manor’s drive. Tim had taken this photo through his telescope. The driver had been a man with an uneven gait. He had been dressed in cargo shorts and a bright pink t-shirt, something utterly out of place in Bristol.
Photo 7: Y/N Wayne getting into that same station wagon, a trunk in the back. Alfred Pennyworth had been standing at the front door, his hand raised in a wave. He had not seemed alarmed nor called for security. He had watched his charge drive away with a stranger without a trace of concern.
Where did Y/N go during the summers?
The question had actually been answered during the school year when Miss Guzmán had the class talk about their summers. Y/N had mentioned going to a summer camp, one that was specialized for kids with ADHD. The youngest Wayne had called it Camp Delphi and Tim had written it down because he had thought it was a strange name for a camp. When he had gotten home later that day, he had gone looking for Camp Delphi.
It was supposedly in Long Island, New York. Its website boasted about its way of handling kids with ADHD and other learning disabilities. But what Tim found strange was the photos seemed staged, like there was something hiding along the edges. There was no social media presence; in fact the camp seemed to pride itself in being a technology-free camp. There were no reviews from parents or former campers, nor did there seem to be a way to sign up for the camp.
Just an address and a phone number. When Tim put the address onto a map online, he found a large valley of what looked to be strawberry fields but at the center was a blurred out plot of land that looked like it had several smudges for buildings. When Tim attempted to call the number, he got a voicemail: “Thank you for calling Camp Delphi. The camp director is currently unavailable at the moment. If you have the extension for the activities director, please type that in the keypad and we shall direct your call,”.
Tim stared at his conspiracy board, his eyes tracing the connections between Bruce Wayne and Batman, between the Robins and their civilian identities, between the mysterious summer camp and the youngest Wayne. The pieces were there, but they were not fitting together.
Why are you not Robin?
Tim looked at Y/N’s photograph again, at the loneliness in their eyes, at the way they held themself like someone who had been waiting for a rescue that never came. At times, it felt like Tim was looking at a mirror instead of looking at a different kid. He thought about the way Bruce Wayne had become more and more recluse while Batman had become more violent, more ruthless, more desperate since Jason’s death.
Batman needed a Robin.
Not just as a partner, but as something more fundamental. Jason had been Robin, Dick had been Robin. They had been the anchor that kept Batman grounded, that kept him from falling into the darkness. Without a Robin, Batman was nothing but a man consumed by his own vengeance. Bruce Wayne was spiraling; he was close to losing himself entirely.
And Tim knew that if someone did not step up soon, Batman was going to do something that he could not take back. He was either going to kill the Joker or he was going to get himself killed trying. Either way, Tim could not let that happen.
Tim’s parents were never home. They were archaeologists, always traveling to remote dig sites and always leaving their son alone in the Drake Mansion with only the nanny, who showed up once a week to check on him and make sure he had not starved or burned the house down. Tim had no one looking over his shoulder. No one to tell him that what he was about to do was reckless, dangerous, and probably impossible.
Tim could train. He had access to gym equipment, to knowledge, to the resources he needed to shape himself into what was necessary. He had watched Batman and Robin for years, and had studied their movements and techniques. Tim knew he was not ready to be Robin; not yet. But he could learn. No, he would have to learn.
Tim turned back to his computer, pulling up the files he had created for his plans. It was detailed, almost obsessive in its thoroughness: training schedules, exercise regimens, nutrition plans, detective techniques, even notes on the kinds of mental conditioning he would need to survive Gotham’s streets. Tim had a long way to go. He was only nine years old, and he was not a fighter. But he was smart and determined. He was not going to let Batman destroy himself if Tim could do something about it.
Tim glanced at Y/N’s photograph one more time. He wondered if Y/N had ever felt this way: alone, desperate, willing to do whatever it took to save someone they loved. Maybe they had. Maybe they were still feeling this way as they waited for a father who would not come and grieving a brother who was never coming back. That was the tragedy of it all. Y/N had the potential to be Robin; they could have had the training with the access and their bloodline. But for some reason, they were not.
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Tim’s voice was barely a whisper, even though he did not need to be quiet in his museum of a home.
“I don’t know why you’re not the one doing this. But if you can’t, then I will,” Tim stood up, squaring his shoulders. He had a long road ahead of him, one that would require sacrifice, pain and countless hours of training. But Tim will do it; for Batman, for Gotham, for the family he had been watching from afar, the family that did not even know he existed. He was going to prove that he was not just another neglected kid in Gotham, just another forgotten kid who had been left behind.
Tim Drake was going to become something more.
A/N: Soooo, how was it? When I started writing this chapter, I was originally like 'I wonder if it's obvious that one of my first ever ship was DicKori' before shrugging to continue. Also, I tried to be respectful towards Romani culture and language in this story since Dick is Rom and when I was going through a Romani language book, I found the term 'Ves'tacha'; I really hope I used it right, because the book said the term was for someone beloved (of great affection), but did not specify if it was familial or romantic. So if someone does know, please tell me if I need to correct it. Thanks for reading! I hope to update you on the next chapter soon!!!!!
Yandere!batfam x neglected!spider-punk!fem!reader x yandere!spidersonas
"So, Chameleon, what did you learn?" you asked, when you visited their apartment.
"So much, honey," they purred. "They sang like canaries for me."
"Great. But what did the canaries actually sing to you?"
"They're working for Dr Connors and he wants a sample of your DNA. He suspects that you're Girl N."
"Which is true," you admit.
"And now that you're running from them, it just confirms their belief."
"Oh. Oh, no."
"And now they really want a sample of Glow Spider's DNA so they can compare it to Dr Connors' other DNA samples."
"Damn it to fuck." You massaged your face with the palms of your hands. "Wait . . . what other samples? Where did he get them from?"
"I don't know. I never asked them." You weren't exactly sure what your face was doing, but it was enough to make Chameleon recoil in horror. "Shit, I wish I'd asked them."
"I should have told you. But now I need a new plan." You retreated into a cocoon of nanobots as you thought. "Chameleon, how would you like to get a tour of Ursa Labs?"
"Oh, that's way more my speed. What's the plan?"
*_*_*_*_*_
"You can't be serious." Indigo looked at you like you were insane. "Bruce Wayne is coming to Ursa Labs? I thought you disowned him."
"It's not the real Bruce Wayne," you insisted. "Chameleon impersonating Bruce Wayne. The real Bruce Wayne is attending a wedding recital today and can't be reached."
"You really got him out of the way, didn't you?"
"Yep. Now smile and play nice with your father-in-law. Chameleon's been prepped on what to say and do, you just need to accompany him."
"Oh. That's . . . surprisingly easy. When will I be seeing Bruce?"
"He's waiting at the front of the lab. Which reminds me, we need to be out of this house."
"When?"
"Ten minutes ago."
"Oh, right. Shit!"
You arrived ten minutes later, looking messily put together. 'Bruce' greeted you with a smile. "Hello, daughter of mine." 'He' picked you up and twirled you. "Hello, boyfriend that I'm apparently supposed to be hostile to."
"Hello, Bruce," Indigo greeted. "I take it you've heard about the esteemed Dr Connors?"
"I certainly have. As someone who basically inherited Gotham as a child, I would like to personally inspect every inch of this fine laboratory," 'Bruce' said.
"Too hammy. Refine yourself," you whispered.
"Just getting it out of my system," 'Bruce' whispered back.
Dr Chang ran out, almost stumbling to get to Bruce faster. "Welcome, Bruce Wayne! Oh, it is an honour to meet you!" He grabbed 'his' hand and shook vigorously.
"Oh, she's told me a lot." 'Bruce' flashed a winning smile at Dr Chang. "You're Dr Chang, aren't you?"
"Yes!" Dr Chang visibly suppressed his desire to scream like a little girl. "Oh, Y/N did tell you about me! Come in, come in!"
Yo, Indigo, and 'Bruce' travelled through the lab with Dr Chang, starting first with the mechanical engineering department where you and Indigo worked. "Street lights, the Ice Socker, Frog-Man's hero suit, and the DNA tracker. You must be so proud, Mr Wayne."
"I certainly am," 'Bruce' agreed. "My daughter and her boyfriend are such strong, intelligent, and brave people. They deserve every good thing that comes their way."
"Absolutely." Dr Chang nodded so fast that his face became a blur. "They're such gems."
You continued walking until you saw Dr Connors' laboratory, still in use. The shadows passing in front of the frosted glass window betrayed his presence. "What's in there?" 'Bruce' asked.
"Oh, that's Dr Connors. He's . . . very focused on his work." Dr Chang winced while smiling. "I'm not sure if we'll be able to unearth him from his work."
"Is this the same Dr Connors that had an interview with Clark Kent?" 'Bruce' pointed at Dr Connors' lab with a mega-watt smile. "I would really like to talk to him! Dr Connors!" He leaned against the door to listen and . . . fell through it.
"Father!" You rushed to pick 'him' up before Dr Chang noticed that 'he' wasn't Bruce Wayne. "Dr Connors, so sorry, but . . . oh, goodness."
Dr Connors laboratory was more like a butcher shop. Pieces of meat everywhere, along with random samples of questionable origin. You gagged at the sight of a poster of Killer Croc's anatomy, and the vials of blood neatly stored in a cooling cabinet and labelled. Waylon Jones. Mary Dahl. Drury Walker. Dr Connors froze as he stared at you, the only movement being from his hand as he dropped his notepad. It hit the ground with an inappropriately loud clatter.
"What . . . is this?" Indigo murmured.
"I also want an answer to that question." Dr Chang stood in front of you, hands on his hips as if he was Superman. "What is this, Dr Connors? Why do all these DNA samples have names?"
"They were voluntarily given by members of the public," Dr Connors lied.
"You're not supposed to be taking from human samples. You're only supposed to be using DNA samples collected from animals. You said you were using different types of lizard DNA to uncover the secrets of cell regeneration."
"I am doing that." Dr Connors pointed at a dissected ambiguous lizard on a table. You swallowed down the vomit that was hiking up his throat.
Dr Chang glared at the one-armed man. "Dr Connors, you promised that you wouldn't use human samples without permission from the board. I'll have to report this, you know."
"So . . . he's not supposed to be doing this?" 'Bruce' said.
"No, he's not. I'm so sorry you had to see this, Mr Wayne. Come with me."
"Of course, right." 'Bruce' nodded quickly. "Y/N, Indigo, please stay with me. If anything else happens, I want you there."
"Of course, Father," you said. You didn't look back at Dr Connors as you led your 'father' away and towards the cafeteria. Your work here was done, and when something is done properly, it's like nothing was done at all.
My Baby Brother is the Strongest Character MASTERLIST
Featuring:
isekaid!older sister!Reader & younger brother!Gun Park
reverse harem: core five
Goo Kim, James Lee/DG, Samuel Seo, Gitae Kim, Jake Kim
reverse harem: other love interests
Jinrang (Lang Jin), Seongji Yuk, Jichang Kwak
Synopsis:
If God is real, then He has one hell of a sense of humor.
Life hasn’t been perfect. There were ups and downs, times where you wished you were born as someone else, someone prettier or richer or more talented, but you had reached a point where you were content. Happy, even. A promotion abroad, a new apartment with no roommates, delicious paychecks and what does the Big Guy do? He kills you. What’s more pathetic is that you died choking on chicken skin while celebrating your new life of independence.
Just when you were an official, proper, working adult of society, the universe spat in your face and now you were back to square one.
No, scratch that, you didn’t regress—you reincarnated as the only known daughter of a yakuza boss. Sounds fancy, you know, but this is no romance manga. Actually, it’s somehow worse, because your baby brother is the infamous Gun Park.
Your Character Settings: AFAB, older half-sister of Gun Park, civilian, medical professional
Content/Trigger Warnings: swearing, typical Lookism violence, sexual themes, mind the warnings for individual chapters
Other Tags: slice of life, isekai, reincarnation/rebirth, sister complex, reverse harem/why choose, fluff, comedy, humor
💋 : smut (from mild to explicit)
Author's Note: There is no deep plot to this. This is just fluffy family stuff with Gun Park being protective of you, his older sister and a magnet for hot weirdos. There is some occasional smut. NO BROTHER-SISTER INCEST. Also, some ages have been lifted.
IMPORTANT: I started this AU during the early chapters of the Incheon arc. Don't think. Just enjoy the ride.
Episodes:
First Meeting
You've been reincarnated and now you have a weirdo younger brother.
Games
Gun has a special place in his heart for toys and puzzles.
Birthday
Goo shows up unannounced after Gun missed a work meeting.
Angel of J High (featuring: the J High first years)
You've grown accustomed to your life as the school nurse for J High.
It's a Promise (featuring: James Lee/DG)
A forgotten promise comes back to haunt you.
Swift Waters Parted
It's the day of the festival, but why do you feel like you're forgetting something?
Morning Sun (featuring: Samuel Seo) 💋
You meet up with a friend for drinks.
Safe and Sound
You and Gun finally share a meal again.
Weirdo (featuring: Goo Kim)
Gun Park has been acting weird and Goo will get to the bottom of it!
Like Water for Chocolate (featuring: Gitae Kim)💋
Once upon a time in Mexico...
Paper Snow, Glittering Fish
Gun reminisces about his two very different experiences with Mother's Day.
Scammers and Strange Fellows (featuring: Goo Kim)
You have a word with the man who tries to scam your students.
Like Tears in the Rain (featuring: Jake Kim)
A near chicken skin fatality leads to a fateful encounter.
Kryptonite (featuring: James Lee/DG)
You struggle to find a gift for your brother so you rope in a "former" admirer for help.
Bert and Ernie (featuring: Goo Kim)
The tension in Goo and Gun's friendship reaches its boiling point.
Morning After (featuring: Samuel Seo, Goo Kim)
Samuel doesn't do breakfast buffets, but then the elevator greets him with an unexpected surprise.
Trip to Busan (featuring: Goo Kim, Busan Gang and Lang Jin/Jinrang)
Gun accompanies you to Busan for a medical mission, and where Archie goes Jughead follows.
Noah's Ark (Gun-focused but with minor Goo Kim x Reader)
One fishing trip changes the course of history.
Anchor
The bad days come and go like the tide, but luckily, you found your anchor.
Fish Out of Water (featuring: Seongji Yuk and his students, Samuel Seo)
Seongji Yuk and his students visit Seoul for the first time.
Fire! (featuring: Samuel Seo)
Your house catches fire, forcing you to relocate.
Alibi in Ashes (featuring: Samuel Seo, James Lee/DG, Goo Kim)
(Direct continuation of "Fire!")
Life goes on after your house is set ablaze, but the culprit maybe closer than you think.
Out of the Frying Pan (featuring: Samuel Seo, James Lee/DG, Goo Kim)
(Direct continuation of "Alibi in Ashes")
You confront the so-called arsonist.
Stupid Piece Of (featuring: Samuel Seo)
A glimpse into Samuel Seo's devotion.
If I Love You, Beware (featuring: Gitae Kim, James Lee/DG) 💋
Gitae Kim's hunger remains unsatiated and he doesn't understand why.
So This Is Love (featuring: Gun Park, Jake Kim, James Lee/DG, Gitae Kim) 💋
You encounter an old acquaintance while doing a favor for your senior.
Lovefool (featuring: Gitae Kim, James Lee/DG) 💋
(Direct continuation of "So This Is Love")
You finally get a whole day to yourself. No boys, no drama. Or so you thought.
Haunted (featuring: Gitae Kim, James Lee/DG) 💋
(Direct continuation of "Lovefool")
What's worse than one persistent freak?
Second Puberty (featuring: James Lee/DG, Gitae Kim, Gun Park, Goo Kim)
(Direct continuation of "Haunted")
DG forces you to stop looking away, Gitae Kim is a surprisingly decent conversation partner and Goo Kim realizes something.
Tempting Fate (feauturing: Jake Kim, Samuel Seo)
Jake Kim invites you for a drink.
Better Than Candy (featuring: James Lee/DG) 💋
You're right, he can't keep sucking on lollipops forever.
The One That Got Away (featuring: Jichang Kwak) 💋
The girls ask you for relationship advice.
The Lost Lenore (featuring: Samuel Seo, Jake Kim, Big Deal)
You reunite with your childhood friends.
Manwhore, Maneater (featuring: Gitae Kim) 💋
Gitae Kim shows up with an offer you can't refuse.
My Best Friend's Sister (featuring: Gun Park, Goo Kim)
Goo is practically family.
Bonus Content:
Timeline explanation
smut scenarios with the men of the harem (James Lee/Diego Kang, Samuel Seo, Jake Kim, Gitae Kim, Goo Kim) 💋
NSFW Alphabet: Gitae Kim💋
“Uh, I like noses. I like big noses because well, because you can kind of like, you can like sit on them.” – Doja Cat, 2021
These headcanons are specific to MBBITSC! Gitae Kim and references his first time with AFAB!Reader, which occurs in the episode "Like Water For Chocolate."
NSFW Alphabet: James Lee/DG💋
NSFW Alphabet: Samuel Seo 💋
These headcanons are specific to MBBITSC! Samuel Seo, who is way softer than canon!Samuel.
Love Languages with Younger Brother! Gun Park
A fluff-filled exploration on how Gun Park communicates his affection for you, his older sister.
What if...
MBBITSC! Gun Park switched consciousness with canon!Gun
You're reborn in the Pre-Generation (masterlist)
You ended up in Korea at age 8. (ask/discussion)
You had a son with Gitae Kim (masterlist)
Twins
You were in a sorta love triangle with Gap Kim and Minseon Kang
My art:
Gun, did you miss me?
Goo and you dancing
Disclaimer: The image used does not belong to me. It is a screencapture from Ep. 505 - Lookism, Webtoon.
Yandere!batfam x neglected!spider-punk!fem!reader x yandere!spidersonas
You, Frog-Man, and Voltage were in Frog-Man's (now debugged) apartment. "Thank you so much about the heads-up, Glow Spider," Frog-Man said. "So, what did you want to tell us?"
"I learned something big about why Bane was going to those circled spots," you said. "He's not distributing or keeping drugs there. He's searching for who attacked Killer Croc!"
"Somebody attacked Killer Croc?" You couldn't see Eugene's face, but you knew he was wincing at the thought. "Who would tangle with the world's most aggressive handbag?"
Voltage rolled her eyes. "That's what we all want to know, Capitan Croaky."
You leaned in like you were getting ready to drop hot gossip. "Here's the crazy part: Bane moved Killer Croc to a safehouse, and when he checked on Killer Croc, he got the news that he was kidnapped! Bane had to call for multiple ambulances!"
"Oh, damn!" Frog-Man gasped.
You look at Frog-Man and Voltage with conviction. "Nobody in the Gotham supervillain scene would call the cops, and I'm fairly certain half of the Gotham police force would celebrate something taking a supervillain off the scene. So this has to be us."
"What did he tell you?" Frog-Man got out his notepad so he could take notes.
You explained what Bane said about it requiring multiple normal (armed) people attacking Killer Croc, and Frog-Man whistled. "Who would want to attack Killer Croc?"
"Everyone," Voltage supplied. Her relaxed posture clashed with the way Frog-Man was hunched over taking notes.
"Great answer, you living battery," Frog-Man snarked.
Voltage tsked and let a lightning bolt twitch on her index finger. "Let's see if all your notes are helping you, then!"
"Shut up, shut up!" You facepalm; they were both older than you and still so childish. "Let's narrow this search down: who in Gotham has goons without gimmicks that are loyal enough to them that they'd attack Killer Croc knowing that they didn't have powers to back them up?"
Voltage's lax look vanished. She sat up straight. "Now that's a question worth answering. Without gimmicks and loyal?" She fell into thought before emerging like she needed air. "Lex Luthor?"
Frog-Man shot her down. "He's not in Gotham. Also, he hates Superman way more than he hates anybody else. Granted, you have to admit that Glow Spider's asked us an impossible question. Basically every supervillain in Gotham has a gimmick that their goons have to follow."
"I wonder if they're paid more for the dumb outfits," you snarked. "They remind me of frat bros doing dare pledges or whatever it's called."
Frog-Man lapsed into thought. "I wonder if other supervillain's goons get jealous of Penguin's goons. They're the only ones that don't have to do anything for the sake of their boss' theme."
"That's not true!" Voltage denied. "He has girls that wear suits because he makes them."
"Those girls are waitresses over at The Iceberg Lounge. That's basically a work uniform. We're talking about goons that fight when he snaps his fingers." Frog-Man groaned. "That place is super exclusive. They're certainly not letting me in."
"Because you're a hero, right?" Voltage asked.
"Because I live paycheck to paycheck."
"I'm basically banned, too," you groaned. "It's Penguin's establishment and I doubt I'd be let in after the way I blasted my way through him, Killer Croc, and his goons. If anyone's going to get in, it's going to be someone who has money and no name for themselves."
"Bestie, that's literally me." Voltage shifted. "I have money and no famous name. I'll go to the Iceberg Lounge and pay their entry fee. What is it, $200?"
Oh, right. Maya Ortega was loaded. Wildly loaded. You'd almost forgotten about that. "You're so right! Why didn't I think of that?"
"You guys are so out of touch," Frog-Man said.
You shrugged. "I'll admit to being out of touch, but I'll never be out of ideas."
*_*_*_*_*_
"I can't believe you're sending me into a nightclub wearing a wire," Maya said.
"That's because you're not wearing a wire. A wire would go underneath the clothes." You affixed the 'hair clip' to her head. "Think of it as an accessory."
"An accessory made in a lab," Eugene interjected. "But seriously, looking good."
Maya wore an emerald green sequinned dress. It was long-sleeved and tight at the chest, flowering out after the chest and collecting in ripples of fabric that stopped just below the knee. The sequins' diamond shape and the way they reflected light made Maya look like she had incredibly shiny scales. "Really? I don't look desperate?" she asked.
"No, you don't," you reassured her. "You look great."
Eugene rattled off the list of what Maya needed to know. "Remember, we can see what you see and hear what you hear, but we can't communicate with you, so improv is all on you. Do not mention Glow Spider and Frog-Man, and deny being Voltage if you are accused. If you can, find Mary Dahl and express your condolences about Killer Croc."
Maya twitched at the mention of the new name. "Who's Mary Dahl?"
"She's going to be the one that looks like a little Shirley Temple, in the little girl dress and blonde curls," Eugene described. "She suffers from systemic hypoplasia, making her an adult trapped in a toddler's body. Used to be in a really cheesy TV show called Love That Baby, then she quit and started committing crime with the alias Baby-Doll. Killer Croc dated her on and off. They did a couple of heists together, bonded over how irrevocably different they are from everybody else."
"How did you get that information so fast?" you asked.
"I have a file on Killer Croc for my podcast. Mary came up during research."
Maya rolled her eyes. "Of course it did, Eugene."
"Hey!"
*_*_*_*_*_
The Iceberg Lounge vibrated with luxury and people. Waitresses swanning around the pale blue carpeted floor with trays of drinks, freshly ironed shirts and bow ties clashing with the tights they wore on their lower halves. At the bleach-white tables, criminal celebrities lounged carelessly and exchanged stories, like a who's who of who had just broken out of Arkham. On the walls, a logo of a penguin in a red bowtie and black top hat waved at the patrons. Or maybe it was waving at the seals in the pool. Live seals that circled the artificial lake so beautifully.
Maya tore her eyes away from the adorable seals and looked for anything relating to Killer Croc. A memorial was erected in his honour, where drinks and flowers were piled up. "NOOOOOO!" a little girl wailed. "WHY HIM?"
"Mary, you're cut off for tonight," a waitress said. "You've had too much to drink and you're frightening the other patrons."
"Don't call me that!" She lashed out so sharply that the poor waitress almost fell rushing to step back from her. "I'm his Baby Doll! Was . . . his baby doll."
That's Mary Dahl. Baby-Doll in all her grief. She looked like if you dressed a toddler in a widow's mourning clothes. "Madam, who hurt you?" Maya asked.
This inspired a fresh wave of tears. "The universe!" Baby Doll sobbed. "The universe dealt me a fatal blow when it took Croc away from me!"
Maya's hand flew to her heart. "Madam, I don't mean to intrude, but . . . were you his lover?"
"Yes!" Baby Doll gasped was the gasp of someone coming up for air after being underwater. "How could you tell?"
"It was from the way you sobbed at his shrine," Maya answered. "You have the tears of a heartbroken love interest. I can tell."
"You're very attentive." Mary Dahl wiped her eyes, then glared at the waitress, who was still there. "What are you doing here?"
Maya beckoned the waitress over. "Miss, my friend here is distraught. Could you find us a quiet place, please?"
She nodded eagerly, looking rather glad that she would be spending less time with them. "Yes, definitely. There's a booth away from the other diners. Let me show you to it."
Maya and Mary were escorted to a cosy pale blue booth with a privacy screen. From the placement of the vase of white roses, it seemed to be a spot for lovers. Maya thanked the waitress before she aimed her attention towards Mary. "So, who was Killer Croc for you?" She had come armed with packs of tissues; Eugene had assured her that the subject of Killer Croc was going to be very emotional for her.
"Troubled perfection. He told me everything about himself, you know. All the times he was thrown into jail, the horrific child abuse, life in the circus." Mary paused to let her nose trumpet into a tissue. "It was tragic, the way he was treated by the world simply for being different. It reminded me of my own genetic differences, and I felt a kinship."
"That is so sweet." Maya held Mary's hands in hers. "When did you hear about this tragedy?"
"The day after it happened. Bane told me personally, which was super sweet of him. He's been so helpful. I just don't know who found his safehouse."
"The cops, perhaps?" Maya suggested.
Mary shook her head. "Cops have rules and handcuffs. They identify themselves. These people just took my p-precious from me!" Mary burst into new tears. "Baby-Doll needs her Precious! What am I going to do without him?"
Maya knew it was a bad idea, but it felt like the only thing that could possibly help her new friend. "How about I get us both some drinks?"
Two hours later, Maya and Baby-Doll left the Iceberg Lounge as giggly drunks. "We really should hang out more often," Baby-Doll said. "Where's my phone?"
Maya was watching Baby-Doll fish through her purse for her phone when the hit came from the side of her face. She was struck the the ground, looking up just in time to see a group of masked men dressed all in black grab Baby-Doll and take off.
"No!" Maya got up and started running, although it was hard to run in heels. Her ankle twisted and she fell, throwing her to the ground.
"Move, move, move!" the leader insisted, and Maya could only watch as her new friend was thrown into the back of a creepy black windowless van with no plates that drove away into the night.
"No," Maya groaned, reaching for the van with a hopelessly manicured finger.
Maya wasn't the only witness. You and Eugene watched with horror from his apartment as Baby-Doll was kidnapped, staring at each other from the safety of his apartment.
Yandere!batfam x neglected!spider-punk!fem!reader x yandere!spidersonas
The next morning did not entail work (the two of you had a week off for the trauma of previous events), so you and Indigo decided to stay home. How hard could it possibly be to stay home? As it turned out, very hard.
You spent the morning answering calls from Indigo's parents, sister, and cousins, along with the hero group chat you had with Frog-Man, Voltage, and Chameleon. (Yes, you had a group chat on your other phone. You also had a Vibecheck account as Glow Spider. Do something about it.)
fabulous_frog_man: You got kidnapped by Penguin and blasted your way out?
mindthevoltage: Why didn't you tell me?
glowspider: They took our phones. I couldn't call anyone about it.
youdontknowme: So you resorted to BLASTING?!
glowspider: Why not? We were there to make them a blaster.
fabulous_frog_man: This is why I basically worship you. You are literally the coolest.
glowspider: I know.
*_*_*_*_*_
You weren't just going to be answering to your loved ones, however. Fugitive hissed and hid when you heard clicks and shouting from outside your house early the next morning. "What is up with the front of our house?" Indigo asked. "Where's the headline?"
"Babe, I think the headline's us," you said, as your ears sharpened. You could make out people shouting your name and banging on the door. "It's for me, I'll get it."
You dressed in old clothes and brushed your teeth while Fugitive hissed in the direction of the door. "I don't like the sounds, either," you groaned.
You opened the door to questions trampling over other questions to be heard. "Y/N Wayne, Y/N Wayne! Any thoughts on the Green Goblin documentary?" Summer Gleeson asked. A horde of other reporters circled around you, waiting for your answer.
Your head spun. You didn't know whether it was because of the headache, your general sleepiness, or shock. You were expecting to be interrogated on your kidnapping, not a Green Goblin documentary. "There's a what?"
"A new documentary dropped on Viewspot about Hazel Poinsettia's descent into villainy and transformation into the villain we all know as Green Goblin. We want to know what you think about it."
"Why is my opinion so important now? Nobody informed me about this documentary while it was being made, although I am a pretty consistent part of it. I'm only hearing about it now, after it was made."
"Well, you were her best friend turned most hated person. Don't you have any thoughts on it?"
"I think I expressed all my thoughts during the trial that sentenced her to thirty years in jail." You stared down Summer Gleeson. "Can't you talk to anyone else about this?"
"Well, your childhood friend Felicity Thompson-Pennington has been very forthcoming," Summer mused.
A record scratch ripped through your brain. "Felicity Thompson? My . . . childhood friend Felicity Thompson?"
"Yes." Summer looked at you like you were an amnesiac. "She was best friends with you and Hazel during your time at Fortuna Prep before she was attacked by a masked man."
Your eye twitched erratically. "Oh, no no no no no. You've gotten things horribly wrong." You took a deep breath. "Felicity Thompson was never my childhood friend, and she certainly wasn't Hazel's friend. She was our bully."
The colour left Summer's face. "Pardon?"
"You heard me. Felicity Thompson bullied us both while we were in school. The very first encounter I had with Felicity was when she walked past Hazel and I, looked at Hazel, and went 'look, the bedwetter has a friend', referring to Hazel. She bullied Hazel for being dumb, for being useless, for being a crybaby, for being ugly, anything she could get her hands on. She threw food at us, tripped us in the corridor, poured drinks into our bags, anything she could to make us miserable. She bullied me for having no mom on Mother's Day by drawing a tombstone and writing the words 'Y/N'S MOM' on the drawing of the tombstone. We were 11 or 12 at the time."
"Oh, my," Summer gasped softly.
"Felicity only stopped bullying me because after the tombstone incident, Hazel's mother told her parents to get their daughter to leave me alone. She only stopped bullying Hazel about three years later when Hazel snapped and punched her so hard in the nose that her nose was dented inwards ever since. That is not our old school friend, and you need to get your facts straight before you take it to me."
"Oh, right. I'm so sorry about this, Y/N," Summer said. "By any chance, could you talk to me about the kidnap-"
"Bye-bye." You slammed the door shut and went back inside.
"Are they going to leave our property, or can we release Fugitive and tell him to attack people?" Indigo asked.
"They're leaving, Indy," you said. "Let's just let them leave."
Yandere!batfam x neglected!spider-punk!fem!reader x yandere!spidersonas
After Clark Kent's appearance at Ursa Labs, Dr Connors' appearance began changing. His hair stuck at wild angles as if every lock of hair was having a horrible row with all the other locks of hair. His previously neat clothes were now rumpled and stained with something akin to vomit, but with no chunks. (You were just glad that it wasn't the glow of globulin green.) He had gained a new habit of scratching at the back of his hands constantly; it left his skin red and inflamed.
His behaviour was changing, too. The happy-go-lucky substitute science teacher vibes were gone. He snapped at people like a hungry alligator, when he wasn't groaning and drowning himself in coffee. "Not now!" he growled at an unfortunate assistant.
"OK, this dude is losing it," Indigo said.
Something itched at you. "I don't think it's that. Maybe he's just upset about his creations turning on him."
Indigo snorted. "He should have thought of that before he decided to revive the Cretaceous period."
"Dr Connors, how are you feeling?" a young man asked. Biker gear gleamed.
This made the 'good' doctor stir from his stupor. "Thank you, Eddie," he said.
Well, at least he has one supporter, you thought to yourself. Maybe I ought to keep an eye on him, too.
*_*_*_*_*_
The clock was making fun of you. It was making fun of everyone, but especially you. It moved its hands tauntingly slow, knowing you were counting down the seconds until you and Indigo could get your after work smoothies.
"About time! We can finally go home from the job we love!" you cheered. Indigo held your hand tight.
"I know you can take care of yourself, but you shouldn't have to," Indigo said.
"Aww!"
You were being watched over pretty well by a pair of eyes in the sky. "We have the target, boss," Killer Croc said, peering out through a pair of cracked binoculars. "Y/N Wayne and her boyfriend. Do we need both?"
"Both," Penguin answered decisively. "We can ask for a higher ransom if we take both of them. Also, if we leave one behind, that's a witness."
"What the fuck?" you asked, as hands grabbed you and shoved you into the back of a van. Indigo was shoved in with you, seconds later. Your phones were taken, and the van lurched forward.
In the dark, you watched Indigo roll his eyes. "We're being kidnapped, aren't we?" he asked.
"Seems like it," you said. "Hey, that's Killer Moth driving us! Hi, dude! Haven't seen you since you broke into my old apartment."
"Not another word out of you two! Save your brains for important stuff!" Penguin ordered.
"Darn," you groaned.
You were taken to a dilapidated lab. "We heard of your prowess regarding Frog-Man's suit. Now we want to see what else you can do."
"How many people heard of that?" Indigo asked you.
"I don't know, I wasn't telling people! It sounds like something that little twerp Percival would gossip about."
"Oh my god, you're right!"
Penguin glared at both of you. "I don't care about your stupid Percival!" he shrieked. "We need weapons strong enough to blast through walls, and you're going to make them for us. And if you don't-" he gestured towards Killer Croc, who smirked- "Killer Croc eats you."
"Mr Penguin, do you think we're making stuff out of thin air? We need resources in order to work. What are we working with?"
Penguin's yellow smirk curled around and across his face. "I was hoping you'd say that." Two masked men dragged boxes of stuff into the makeshift lab. "This should be up to your standards."
"Damn, he thought of everything," you whispered.
Indigo's terrified eyes met yours. "What do we even do?"
"We do what we're told before we get eaten by the gentleman."
Killer Croc smirked and bared his rows of teeth as a warning. "Listen to your lady, little man. I'm feeling rather peckish."
You worked cheerily on your new assignment. "This is going to be so much easier if you just follow orders," you said to a horrified Indigo. Your real thoughts were written down on a napkin. Let's blast these fools.
"Uh . . . yeah, of course," Indigo said, hurriedly eating the napkin.
"Did you just eat a napkin?" Killer Croc spluttered. "Did that boy just eat that napkin?"
"He eats things that aren't food when he's stressed," you hurriedly lied. Indigo eating a napkin was not part of any plan. "Haven't you heard of PICA?!"
Killer Croc grumbled and winced. "Fine. But it's damn weird." Like he had any room to talk.
The two of you worked in silence, creating under pressure and spite. In two hours, you were finally finished with a blaster. "Hey, this thing might actually work!" Indigo said loudly, as you 'struggled' to hold your contraption.
"Oh, great! 'Bout time we got us some brainboxes!" Killer Croc threw his head back and laughed. "Let me have it, kids!"
"Sure. Just let me - oh no!" You 'accidentally' pulled the trigger and blasted Killer Croc through a wall. "Oh, shit, guess it does work."
"What did you do?" A group of henchmen rushed onto the scene, staring at you both.
"Well, we made the blaster y'all wanted, but it's a little strong and it went off on your boy," Indigo explained. "Since we made it for you, can we go? We didn't mean to blast him."
"Ugh . . ." The metahuman groaned from the floor. "G . . . get 'em."
The henchmen adopted fighting poses. You started blasting and running forward, Indigo right behind you. Grunts went flying and you kept running, right past Penguin.
"Hey! What do you think-" Penguin was cut off by Indigo punching him in the face.
BAM.
"That's for kidnapping us," he said. "And that's for letting Killer Croc threaten us with becoming food."
WHAM.
"OK, babe, let's go. Once we get our phones, we can call the cops," you said. "But there's probably not much chance of that happening. It's not like Penguin's goons stole our phones and just kept them. Why would a kidnapper do that?"
"What's the password on this phone?" Killer Moth mumbled, trying to unlock Indigo's phone. Your phone was on his lap, smeared with the grease of his takeout. Ew.
"Those are ours, and we're leaving," Indigo said, snatching your phones off him.
Killer Moth looked at the two of you and helplessly grabbed at your now out of reach phones. "Y-you can't leave yet! We need you to do more work!"
"Indigo, can you hold the blaster?" you asked. Indigo took it, buckling under its weight. "Listen closely, Killer Moth. Your boss is knocked out, the other goons are knocked out, Killer Croc is knocked out. Take us on if you dare."
Killer Moth stared at you. Really stared at you. The longer he stared, the more he saw Fugitive, and the more vivid Killer Moth's memory of Fugitive's attack came in his mind. "You can leave," he said.
"Thank you."
You called the police while Indigo held the blaster, pointing it at the exit. You stayed where you were until red and blue disco lights flashed. "What is going on here?" Officer L/N snapped, gun already drawn. "Weapons down, hands where I can see them!"
Indigo complied immediately, but you took some time. "We got kidnapped and they're in there," you said.
Her gun remained steady. "You're the one that called?"
"Yeah! Penguin kidnapped us to make gear for him and we had to blast our way out! They're all in there right now!" you yelled. "We did this in self-defence, I swear!"
Officer L/N scoffed. "A likely story, Y/N Wayne, but what makes you think that I'm going to believe you?"
"You're going to pay for escaping with our stuff!" Killer Moth yelled. His timing could not have been more perfect for you.
"Finally!" Red Robin somersaulted in, a smirk on his face. "After lots of work and some handy intel, I found the kidnapped engineers!"
"Shut the fuck up, Red Robin!" you and Indigo yelled.
Red Robin took a few awkward steps back. "Pardon?"
"Shut the fuck up, Red Robin!" you repeated, louder and angrier. You obscured his face using a middle finger. "You took so long getting here that Indigo and I rescued ourselves!"
"Fuck you, dude!" Indigo added.
Penguin and Killer Moth were escorted out first. "You know what your problem is? You make everything your business!" Penguin snarled.
It took five officers to escort Killer Croc out of the makeshift lab. "I should have eaten 'em when I had the chance," he grumbled. "See you little sneaks around."
Once the nameless grunts were loaded into the van, Officer L/N turned to you. "I know you've had a horrible night, but could you come in and make a statement? This . . . is a lot."
"Sure. Not got much else to do tonight," Indigo said. "And I don't want to be alone."
Red Robin piped up. "Of course, if you want an escort home after you make your statements, I could totally do that-"
Part one - Part two – Part three – Part four – Part five – Part six - Part seven – Part eight
summary: You haven’t had a mother in a long time.
pairings: platonic!batfam x neglected!gn!reader
cw: mild descriptions of injuries, slight medical inaccuracies (I am still not a doctor gang, let that be known), much sadness, some joy!
word count: 2.6K
a/n: I’m super happy about being on break right now. Life is truly beautiful :D I also got my nails done!! So I feel like a real person again, huzzah. The idea for this chapter came to me while watching angsty tiktoks and missing my mom while away for uni, so you better saddle up cowboys because you’re in for a good one!! I hope you all enjoy this, much love <3
Masterlist
You no longer remembered your mother’s face, you remarked on a casual Monday morning.
It has been four years since her death, four years since you moved in with your father, four years since what you later dubbed the accident.
Your mother, [Mother] [Last Name], had been a doctor. A great one at that. She had dedicated years of study and her life to her craft, rebelling against her parents’ legacy of law in order to dive into the art of medicine. “I wanted to make a difference” you recall her saying on a quiet morning after another night shift, still awake to make you breakfast and take you to school.
She was one of the best rehabilitators in the country, daughter of a respected businessman and a renowned lawyer. She was also… sick.
You were seven when she had been diagnosed. “Terminal rheumatoid arthritis” they said. It was in her right hip, spreading to her knee, her ankle. The doctor who diagnosed her told her she only had ten years to live. You hadn’t been in the room with her – no, she had refused vehemently, urging you to go buy a drink at the cafeteria while she spoke with the doctor. And with your ear pressed against the door, you deeply regretted not doing so.
The diagnosis was a nightmare come true, and the fact that even your mother was prone to being affected by her own immune system seemed appalling to you at first. She was your idol first; she wasn’t supposed to be ill. To you, she was above that. But she wasn’t, nobody was.
The months of treatment after were a blur. They were months of medicine, more visits to the hospital, tears in the middle of the night when she thought you were sleeping. For a while, you settled into this new, tense routine, until you no longer flinched when she had to inject steroids into her stomach to handle the pain and the rapid evolution of her illness.
You helped where you could. You picked up bags of medicine from the pharmacy after school, paid careful mind to the schedule that had been carefully conceived to keep her in the best state possible. You faced chores like a soldier facing war, a necessary sacrifice, your time for your mother’s comfort. She was a cause you didn’t mind dedicating yourself to as long as you could keep her in your life a little longer.
She was ill, but you were nothing if not determined. And slowly, her condition began stabilizing until she could finally wake up some morning with feeling in her legs.
Then, in an unexpected turn six years after her diagnosis, just when life was starting to get better again, when you were starting to imagine a life where your mother would stay by your side a little longer, she died and you took up residency in Wayne manor.
The contrast from your cozy apartment was daunting. No longer could you wake up to the smell of breakfast on the weekends and trudge a few meters to reach your mother, nor could you sneak onto the emergency escape to try and decipher the faint smudges of the stars in the blurry Gotham sky. You couldn’t crawl into your mom’s bed after a hard day or a scary night, couldn’t watch her dance tensely in your living room, couldn’t listen to her music without the songs squeezing your heart, couldn’t listen to her rambling and gossip, couldn’t taste her recipes anymore.
Your mother was dead just as you had started to dream, your world ending before it even began.
You moved in with the Waynes like a puppet on strings, the life you had built in your mind crumbling before your eyes. The room they had introduced as yours was too different, too big, too wrong. At first, you coped with pretending this was a field trip, that your mother was just waiting for you at home with her wonderful homemade soup and a forehead kiss. She would follow you into your dreams. Some of them were nice, memories that you had taken for granted, fantasies of what could’ve been. Others, she died, again and again. You stopped sleeping for a while, until the guilt consumed you and the mourning pushed you into bed again. Because even if it brought you pain, at least you saw your mother at night, no matter the circumstance. Perhaps you deserved it after failing her.
When the grief settled into something more manageable, you tried to cling onto every piece of her you had left. Extracts of news articles mentioning her stuck up on your walls, pictures of her as a child, a teen, sprinkled around your room, awards and diplomas carefully polished and taken care of on your desk. And yet, despite her face and achievements looking down on you every morning, every night, all you could remember was the life bleeding from her eyes in her final moments.
It had all happened in a flash. One second, you were both sitting in companiable silence in the warm, cozy living room. The next, she was…
The worst part of it is that it could’ve been avoided. It was so typical it felt stupid. A robbery gone wrong, because wasn’t that the pinnacle of your bloodline? You are your father’s child after all. Your mother hadn’t even had anything valuable in her bag; the most valuable thing had been the bottles of medication. And yet, in a moment of stubbornness – the same stubbornness that led to her success in the medical world – she refused to let go of her bag, becoming her downfall.
Your mother died after being dragged across the hard Gotham pavement, slammed against the ground then kicked in the head hard enough to dent her skull. Or more, you don’t remember all the details, only the dread, the terror. You remember screaming loud, voice cracking with the heartbreak and fear of it, but she still died. The police found her bag, nearly intact with everything it had had in it six hours later, the suspects – who were never found – didn’t even take the meds, just the measly ten dollar bill she had in her purse. But she had already been declared dead due to a hemorrhage in her head by then, and your closest relative, your estranged father, had been contacted.
Your mother died just as she was born; forgotten and overlooked – and you probably would as well.
The funeral was small, her sister and mother coming, but there was no sign of her three brothers. A week later, after your grandmother had been deemed unfit to take you in, your aunt and uncles too uncaring or busy to even consider taking care of you, and so your own father ‘welcomed’ you into his mausoleum of orphans and misery.
If she hadn’t been killed, maybe she’d still be alive. Maybe she would have made it long enough to witness the creation of a cure for her illness, maybe she would’ve gotten a hip prothesis to counter the slow degradation of her own body from the inside. Or maybe she would have died either way, her last moments spent attached to IV cables and life support. Perhaps you could’ve saved her, had you fought against the robbers instead of screaming, had you tried to stop the bleeding, or known how to treat head wounds. Anything and everything you could’ve done, but didn’t, haunted you. You didn’t know, didn’t like to think about it either.
You would forever wonder about every possible outcome, but most of all, you mourned the loss of the only love you had ever known. You mourned the unwitnessed middle school graduations, the plays, the projects and parent-teacher conferences. Most of all, you mourned your mom, who would never kiss your forehead again, nor would she brush your hair, nor bake for you in the middle of the night, nor tell you case studies instead of bedtime stories.
[Mother] [Last Name] would forever be an unfinished tragedy, a plot point that would never come to a close. And no matter how much you tried to imagine a possible different ending, she was still dead. No matter how much you wondered, she would always be your first failure.
Leslie Thompkins was in and over her head.
When Alfred had first contacted her to inquire about an apprentice for her, she had been curious and willing to give them a chance. That was until she realized that said apprentice was a fifteen-year-old with a sad furrow in their brows and a fire in their eyes.
Leslie was in and over her head, because she had no experience teaching another the workings of medicine, no experience guiding hands to follow the same motions, no experience with soft praise and careful redirection. Leslie had no experience being a mother mentor.
Still, you were an easy child, and an easier student.
You were attentive, learned quickly from your experience, your mistakes. Your curiosity and cleverness led to interesting conversations and hope for the future generations of doctors. Leslie had taken you under her wing reluctantly at first, but after getting to know you, she couldn’t imagine a life without your presence.
Which is why she noticed your change in behavior, your hesitation, your anxiety.
It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, with few patients and little severity in the cases you faced. A break taken early under the guise of enjoying the summer sun led you both to a bakery on a corner on the edge of the Narrows, then to a park bench. You were quieter, more doubtful of your abilities. Your hands would tremble when you thought no one was looking, and your face went paler with certain cases.
Leslie was first and foremost your mentor, but she could also be a friend a mother figure, so she nudged you softly “[Name], how have you felt about your training so far? I’ve informed both you and Alfred about your progress, but I am also open to feedback” she began, words casual – an opening, an opportunity to open up if you wanted to.
A hum, a tilt in your head “It’s been… a dream. I think I’ve always wanted to help people, to be a doctor” you answered, looking off towards the playground wistfully, a mother pushing her child on a swing.
“The training isn’t easy. You can tell me if you want to take more breaks, or if you want to learn something specific” she turned towards you, then followed your line of sight.
A pause “You’re allowed to take breaks, [Name]. You shouldn’t push yourself to the point of burning out” the mother picked her child up, swinging them around in the air. You didn’t answer – you were of course aware of what pushing yourself too far could do, both physically and mentally.
You sighed “I know. I just want- need to do better. What’s the point of even trying if I don’t go all the way” your words were coated in bitterness, a dream too big, a child too small. Leslie hummed “The point is doing your best. Some days that best is better than other days. Doesn’t mean you should let that weigh you down. We are all human, not machines. We mess up, it’s normal”
The answer both soothed and annoyed you. Of course you were human, you were flawed, limited – that didn’t mean you couldn’t want to be more. Your mentor broke the silence after a few seconds of pondering.
“She was great, you know. One of the best in her field”
Your throat felt dry all of the sudden, but you couldn’t look Leslie in the eye, nor could you look away from the sight “Yeah. She was” you said simply, because of course she was great. She was your idol, your teacher, your friend, your mother. She was everything and more. She was supposed to be eternal, but now she only lived through memories, studies in her name, word of mouth.
Leslie took a bite of her croissant, looked back towards you. Under the gentle rays of the late summer sun, you looked so much like her. Same temper, same skin tone, same hair color and ears. You had that characteristic [Last Name] stubbornness, and that will to help, to make a difference.
“She would be proud of you. Of how far you’ve come and how well you’re doing” her words were soft, a kind offering, a way out of the conversation.
“You think so? Sometimes I think she’d be disappointed by what I’ve become” ‘I know I am’ went unsaid – a coward, insomniac and insane and so lonely. Leslie didn’t see all your ghosts, but she had seen her fair share of loss and tragedy. She offered you a pain au chocolat “I know so. You’re wonderful” you looked at her offering “If it’s of any reassurance, I’m proud of you, [Name]. I’m happy to be teaching you”.
The birds’ chirps, the leaves rustled by the touch of the wind, the distant laugh of a child on a swing were the only noises for a moment, those of the city faraway while you took in her words. You took the pain au chocolat like an apology and a confession in one, held it in your hands, the sun warming it slightly. You hadn’t felt like smiling for a while, can’t even remember when the last time you smiled a real smile was, but in that moment, you could feel your lips twitch upwards, and a warmth unexplainable by the sun settling in your chest.
You took a bite, savored the dough and the warm, creamy chocolate filling – and when you finished you wiped your hands on your pants, feeling so much like the child you were, earning a treat for good work. Your gaze finally slid to Leslie’s, and the fondness and pride in her face made your cheeks heat up, and your tentative smile widen “We ought to get back to the clinic. Shouldn’t leave it without supervision” was what you said back. Maybe one day you’d be able to thank her, be able to accept the seeming appreciation that you had manage to incite in her. One day, you would allow yourself the privilege of letting someone in again, maybe it would even be your mentor. But for now, you would accept her treats and let her compliments soothe the ache that you weren’t even aware that had been growing in you.
You returned to the clinic, worked in companiable silence, with the implicit trust of your mentor as she allowed you to treat patients on your own and use her material as you deemed necessary. And whenever you had questions, she’d listen, consider it, then guide you to the correct answers. Whenever you had doubts, she’d wait for you to trust yourself again, no matter how apprehensive you felt. You had not felt guidance so sweet since you were twelve, but maybe you deserved it, to feel the warmth, and the softness, and the kindness.
That night you ate dinner alone then slept soundly, no bloodied Tim haunting your dreams, no ghosts of the mother you’d lost reminding you of what could’ve been. Instead, you dreamt of kind touches, warm sun, fuzzy blankets and sweet pastries. That night you dreamt of love instead of pain, of happiness instead of fear. That night you remembered motherly love.
a/n: This goes out to my mom, who I love so very much and who has been with me through thick and thin. I honestly can’t imagine where I would be without her. Te amo mami <3
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember that things get worse before they get better!
summary: Your life collapses like a volleyball hitting the ground. With no one to help you, you must attempt to bounce back and keep fighting to win the set.
pairings: platonic!Batfam x gn!neglected!reader; Haikyu x reader
word count: 2.8K
cw: as always in these neglected fics, mother dies and life is awful! Tragic backstory ahead, so beware!!
a/n: yum a new series!! I’m sick as hell, genuinely dying, so it’s clearly the perfect time to take up a new series!! This is a Haikyu crossover because I freaking love Haikyu and this idea hit me in the middle of the night so yippee. Also, I began my internship (holy moly I’m an unpaid intern) and it is trying to murder me. Fuck bureaucracy. I hope you guys enjoy this lovely crossover, though!
Masterlist
The ball is something unattainable, yet in most dreams, you reach for it nonetheless, the tips of your fingers barely grazing the surface before gravity drags both of you back down. You always wake up in a cold sweat and grief on your tongue afterwords, the rubber of the ball a faint ghost of what was and never will be again. Innocence lost to time, mourning tainting the best of memories.
The great [Mother] [Last Name], rising lawyer and single mother of two – including yourself – died in an instant in a car crash. The driver hadn’t even been drunk, just distracted enough to slam into the driver’s side of your mother’s car while she had been driving back from work. An inevitable tragedy, or an unfortunate accident – it didn’t matter to you, your guardian was dead either way.
You moved in with your grandfather soon after.
Your older sister despised it; the isolated nature of nature of his home in the countryside – the bugs, the nature, the morning dew. However, you adored it, and most of all, you adored your grandpa. He taught you patience, routine, how to enjoy the silence. He gave you your love for volleyball – afternoons spent in the overgrown yard with his voice guiding you on how to properly manipulate the ball. Your grandpa taught you that the best things come from hard work and consistency, and that just because gravity applies its strength on you and the ball, it didn’t mean you had to let either fall.
With no deep relationship formed with your grandfather, your sister moved out soon enough. “Onto better things and back to civilization,” she had claimed, but you had grown fond of the slow nature of the countryside, of the cicadas, the warmth of the sun on the back of your neck and the weight of a volleyball in your hands. Everything was perfect – until your grandpa got sick.
For a while, your life consisted of a carefully crafted routine you had prepared to take care of your elderly grandfather. Tea in the morning before school, a calendar of medicine to take with the corresponding times, calls with medical specialists speaking in jargon you didn’t understand, alarms, reminders, tables covered with prescriptions and half-full pill bottles.
At first, your sister took up the responsibility of taking the calls, dropping the prescribed medication off at your grandfather’s house in the countryside. She would pay for it, in spite of her little fondness for his home – he was still your grandpa, still family, even if she tried to deny it. Then, she got busy, and it was back to grandpa and you.
Your life had become a cycle of confusing medical terms and bike rides to the pharmacy at the nearest town which was thirty minutes away. You were the sole caretaker of a sick man, no longer a child capable of claiming to be free of stress and responsibilities.
Therefore, it wasn’t out of the norm that your only respite became volleyball – the sport your grandfather had passed onto you. As his illness progressed, you also became stricter, harsher – not only on your teammates, but on yourself as well, and it wasn’t long before you began to be called “Monarch of the court” instead of your name.
You had become a legend amongst volleyball circles, a rumor of a kid flying to close to the sun, too ambitious for their own good. You ran your team like a dictatorship, a conductor of an orchestra, a general of an army, with a finger in too many pies. You could do anything, play any role – something you abused whenever your teammates weren’t on the level you expected, taking over their roles on the team until it was no longer seen as an attempt to help, but an attempt to show off or stifle, despite this not being your intention.
You pushed, hard enough to verge on burning out, because it was all you had left. Your grades were taking a collective fall in front of you, the first casualties of the war you were living in, and your friendships had simply been collateral damage in the background – tragic, but inevitable nonetheless. Whenever the doubt began to settle in your bones, you would simply tell yourself that you could keep going as long as nothing changed. The fight is never over until the final point.
Then one day, you came home to the scent of rot and the heavy weight of dread in your stomach. Your grandpa was dead, and once more you lacked a guardian, only this time it had been you behind the wheel, not some random driver. He was dead, in the home you had grown to love, where he taught you to live again when you had felt like the car crash had executed you that day as well. The match was over; you had nothing left.
Everything changed again.
The funeral was a quiet thing in the nearby town’s church, only your nearest neighbors, a kind, elderly couple who had taken care of you two summers ago when your grandfather was at the hospital, your sister and you present to witness him being lowered into the dirt. The priest gave a speech, something about heaven and eternal life and forgiveness, but that all faded to nought in face of a cemetery filled with corpses that had received the same, generic speech. You didn’t cry – how could you, when you had been taking care of the man three days prior? Perhaps it was your fault, it certainly felt like it, like you had been the one to forcibly stop his heart, but who even expected a thirteen-year-old to be good at taking care of a dying old man?
Nothing mattered anymore, because you were alone again with your sister back in her corporate cage and your remaining family buried six feet under.
You were taken in by Bruce Wayne a week after the funeral.
The blood tests and child services’ visits barely registered in your brain, your conscience fading into the background, life continuing around you like a movie. Maybe you had been buried along your family, and this was all an illusion you had made up to cope with death. You didn’t know, and none of it phased you either while your mind was drowning in molasses. Was this how your mother and grandfather’s thought felt in their last moments? Like they were watching the Earth spin from space?
You were pretty sure you spent a week in an emergency foster home, small glimpses of a concerned smile, pitying eyes and a honeyed voice sometimes sneaking past the barrier you had unconsciously built in your brain.
Then you were living with your biological father.
The change was brisk for you – you hadn’t even truly accepted the death of your grandfather nor your mother a few years back. Adaptation was nowhere on your mind when you were drowning in the murky waters of grief with no end in sight. How could you, when the floor had disappeared beneath you and with it every foundation for stability. When cognition eventually blessed you, you would wonder why your sister even wanted to move back to the hellhole that was a city, especially a big one.
So, like any cornered person, you fought back, protesting against any discomfort.
You snapped at people – anyone who was too close, who prodded too much. “Volatile” your siblings would whisper amongst themselves behind your back, sometimes even in your face, as if you were a wild animal instead of a child in mourning. You weren’t even violent or aggressive by nature, you didn’t know why you bit. All you wanted was normalcy in such an unsure time, habit in a world where everything was moving too quickly.
This treatment from your siblings wasn’t out of the norm for you – your sister had made her dislike for you clear as well. To you, siblings were people whom you were legally bound to, but had no real relationship with, just a prison that trapped you from the inside, inevitable responsibility.
What you didn’t expect, however, was the indifference from your father.
You had been able to tolerate years of your older sister’s coldness and distance, yes, but you had had wonderful guardians by your side. Your mother, who despite her busy workload, had always taken the time to brush your hair and tuck you into bed and read you bedtime stories. Your grandfather, who had been elderly and sick, had blessed you with volleyball – an outlet and coping mechanism in one, a gift.
Bruce Wayne didn’t hold your mother’s softness, nor did he share your grandfather’s warmth. The man didn’t even greet you when you walked through his doors the first time, didn’t even take fifteen minutes to introduce himself and show you to your room.
‘Perhaps I had been spoiled’ you tried to reason, ignoring the pang of hurt. Ignoring a child didn’t seem like something the great Bruce Wayne would do – you had read enough newspaper articles and gossip columns to know that he loved his children, at least in public. And you wondered whether he possibly needed some time to adapt to you as well – you would also be uncomfortable if it was suddenly revealed that you had a hidden relative. Or perhaps he was only kind in public.
It was nighttime the first time you met your father, two days after your arrival in this luxurious prison.
He came into your room dressed in a suit, the first button undone and his tie loose, though despite the air of aloofness, his polished shoes, cared for hands and ironed pants. Sure, the man calling himself the manor’s butler could have done it as he had attempted to do for you since you crash landed there, but your dad seemed too taken care of for it to be purely external.
However, your analysis faded into the background of your mind when you embraced the man suddenly. His sudden tenseness, a sort of fight or flight that was forcibly relaxed quickly after it appeared, didn’t go unnoticed. It made your heart sink to your stomach, but you wouldn’t let that hinder you. He had not been in your life, but he was now. Bruce Wayne was no mom, no grandpa, but he could be your dad if he let himself.
He patted you awkwardly on the back before parting, your arms fell beside you like lead “Hello, [Name].” Your name sounded clumsy on his tongue, as if he barely found it in the back of his mind and was still doubtful if his guess was correct. You swallowed, taking a step back – perhaps he was not tactile and you had made him uncomfortable? You would have to ask the butler later.
Though you didn’t get to ruminate on it for long, “I wanted to speak to you about something,” he began, and already you didn’t like where the conversation was heading. It reminded you of when your teachers would separate you from your peers to try to breach uncomfortable discussions with feigned softness. You frowned, hands instinctively moving to fold behind your back like a scolded child. His eyes followed your movements; you shrunk under his gaze.
“Your siblings have told me you haven’t been the most open with them since your arrival.” He finally said, and the words landed like a guillotine, a knife in the back. You straightened, frown deepening “I’ve treated them normally. Am I supposed to treat them in a different way?” You asked hesitantly, he pursed his lips in disapproval, the first expressed emotion, “You’re cold to them. They have brought up how you answer shortly and avoid spending time with them even when invited.”
The words spilled out like the first drops of blood dripping from the initial wound he had just inflicted, “They haven’t though. Invited me. And it’s not as if we can be friends.” You answer innocently enough – your sister had never been your friend and most likely never would be. Siblings didn’t exist for that purpose. And you thought you were being better than her by simply ignoring them and not being hostile, though perhaps there were some unsaid sibling rules you didn’t know of. You would have to ask the butler of those as well.
He seemed to tense, expression that of a teacher dealing with a particularly hard and insolent student, and it felt weird to have it directed at you, especially from a guardian. “That is certainly not the attitude to take with your siblings. There is no valid reason to treat any of my children badly, [Name]. They are busy, and they are doing their best. Your siblings have had particularly hard lives – have gone through experiences you could never imagine. You should at least put in the effort to be friendly with them.”
You flinched, his words hitting harder than any stray volleyball could. “But-” You started, but his rising hand in a stopping motion cut you short. The words caught in your throat so suddenly, it felt like they were going to spill out your eyes, your nose, your ears. For the first time in your life, you felt like a plant cut too short, a fruit eaten too soon. How were you supposed to say that you had no clue how to act around other people? That you had gone through something hard as well? Your new siblings at least had your father’s support, as you had had with your previous guardians, and apparently each other’s. You had nothing. A half sister cities away, new siblings that looked at you with dismay, a butler who kept you at a professional distance and a father that already had a bad impression of you.
Dread filled your lungs, a newfound panic founded on the possibility of no longer having anyone on your side. Were you supposed to spend the rest of your life like this? Was this the punishment fate had set for failing to keep your grandpa alive?
You tried to search for the fear that made you snap whenever these strangers would get too close, a wall to push up in a last attempt to keep yourself safe. But Bruce Wayne’s eyes were deadly – you had no chance against his disdain, no hope against his prejudice. It just then settled that for the first time in your life, and perhaps for the rest of it, you were truly and fully alone.
After the realization, the rest of the conversation flew by – when asked gently by Alfred later, you couldn’t even recall what had been said afterwards, just that the world had gone a bit more silent. Eventually, you ended up in your room, stomach rolling after the measly meal you probably ate. You wish you could have enjoyed it more, especially since you had been sustaining your grandpa and yourself these past few months, and while he fortunately didn’t have to suffer through your novice abilities since he had a set diet that was easy to prepare, your meals didn’t have that same luck.
You laid in bed, holding the volleyball you had taken from home close. You hadn’t hugged your plushies since your grandpa got sick – only little kids still slept with plushies – but you needed the comfort of something familiar. The volleyball didn’t smell like your grandpa – it barely even smelt like the backyard anymore, the scent of the dirt and grassy terrain slowly fading. Soon, one wouldn’t be able to differentiate it from a random used volleyball. Soon, maybe you wouldn’t be able to differentiate it either.
You attempted reminiscing on playing volleyball in the backyard, your grandpa’s kind voice guiding you through sets and practices, but you couldn’t make it through the grief that had tainted these memories; all you could remember was a desolate funeral and a casket holding a man who was no longer there.
You sank further into the bed, burying your face into the pillow – not yours, this wasn’t your lumpy pillow that smelled like the detergent your mother had used, nor was it the floppy pillow you had back at your grandpa’s place that he had probably owned since he was a kid himself. The silk pillowcase felt cold against your face; not comforting in the slightest. In that moment, you would’ve given anything for a hug. Even a squeeze of your shoulder by your big sister – anything to keep the creeping loneliness away.
But you were alone in a manor with people tied to you legally who wanted nothing to do with you. You would not find an ounce of warmth aimed towards you, much less right that instant. Nobody was going to rub your back until your guard went down enough that the grief didn’t contaminate your sleep; nobody was going to console you. You were alone.
A few miles away on the outskirts of Gotham, a volleyball team prepares emotionally for the new season after a devastating loss.
This is for all my interns who don’t get paid enough... If you’ve been done wrong, this is your fic so turn it up!!!
Anyways, I’ve been living the life of an unpaid intern – yes, this is end of chapter note is music references galore, but I’m exploited and tired so let me have this. Sorry for the big sadness, I’m in a big sadness mood. You might have noticed the similarities to Kageyama’s backstory! That was my main inspiration, but he will still be a character here! Once I’m a bit happier, I’ll get the actual part of the plot out – the plan is to have more of a slice of life/found family with the Haikyu cast, but for now we get misery. However, my birthday's on Saturday, so I'm excited about that.
Oooh I also finally read the Poppy War. It was genuinely one of the most impactful books I’ve ever read so I’m back in my reading era.
I hope you’ll like this new fic! I’ve been working on it since I started my internship, but I am in fact on the verge of burnout so it’s taken me longer than I would’ve liked. For updates, I unfortunately think that it will take a long time (sigh), so I hope you can hang on!
This is the last chapter. It is ridiculous how I’ve taken so long to write this. I know it won’t be that good either because I don’t have as much motivation for this, but I’m sorry. I’ve been busy lately.
Chapter Ten: The Reveal
“Get your hands off her!” Bruce’s houseguest/vampirehunter friend shrieked. The man’s steps were heavy as he barreled down the hallway, headed towards you. Bruce was a step behind him, looking bewildered.
What the fuck.
You let go of Maya immediately, the other teen letting out a slight yelp when she suddenly fell back onto the floor. Shit, this was already scary enough in a dream— but this was real life! If he shot you with one of his freaky wooden bullets, you’d be vampire toast. Immediately you let your gift wash over once more. In your arsenal of things you could switch yourself with, you only  had stuff from your room.
Your eyes caught on the hunters hands slipping under his coat. The very faint clicking of metal made your only option very clear.
At least in your room, you’d be directly out of his sight for a couple moments.
You let yourself switch with a mug on your nightstand, ignoring the surprised noises of your family members. You immediately darted to the window but, of course, of-fucking-course another person grabbed your wrist to stop you. What the hell was it with people doing that all the time?
You looked back to see Cassie. As for Damian, he was still perched on the ladder. Both were looking at you confused. You pulled your hand out of her grasp just as the damn hunter skid to a slow in your doorway, gun out and drawn. Damn i—
Bruce tackled him.
Oh. Well.
That was the last thing you expected.
Another thing you certainly didn’t expect was to be sitting in one of the foyers surrounded by your entire family. Aside from Jason. At least you knew he was doing good work getting rid of that body.
In an armchair, sat the hunter tied up with… silver rope? Huh. Maya was standing beside him with a guilty expression.
Meanwhile, Bruce was pacing. Back-and-forth and back-and-forth with a rather stern expression on his face. Why did he look so upset? Was being a vampire truly that bad? Was he trying to hold back from jumping at you with a stake? Was he even mad at you? Now he thought about it he might just be mad at his friend. After all, did Bruce even care about you enough to be mad? Causing such a ruckus in his house tsk tsk tsk.
Eventually, Bruce came to a stop in front of you. His face was set in something grim. The man was pissed. “…When were you turned into a vampire?” The man asked after a moment. You blinked at him a couple times.
“About two months ago?”
You watched the minute micro expression of the muscle in his jaw clenching before it relaxed. “And for what reason did you decide not to tell anyone?”
You shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered.” Because would it have really? If this were anything else then vampirism, would he have truly looked your way?
“Why wouldn’t it matter—” The man raised his voice before cutting himself off. A hand moved to pinch the bridge of his nose. Motion caught the corner of your eye. Cassandra was signing something.
“Well, yeah, of course, you only knew for about a day. I wasn’t trying to let anyone know. You and Damian were…” You trailed off waving a hand around. “Accidents.” You watched the boy in question’s expression tighten. As for Cassandra, her face went completely blank.
Bruce finally seemed to check back in reality. He leveled you with a complicated expression, one you couldn’t decipher. “Tell us everything. From the moment you were turned to now.”
Yeah… I said this was gonna be shitty and I meant it. That’s it. I’m sorry, again. I didn’t want to leave this off unfinished as I don’t like doing that, but you guys still got low quality crap.
I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.
Chapter One
The night you’d found the mask, had been a cold one. A bitter one. It was just an all around crappy-feelings-fest of a night.
You’d left home. The pressure in that house was too suffocating for you to stay in it any longer. The walls were too high, your room felt too isolated, the floors were too clean, the windows were being pelted by rain, and the sound of said rain felt like jackhammers in your skull. But worst of all? Damian was hogging the TV so you couldn’t watch the adult swim old cartoon reruns.
So you left.
It wasn’t like it was hard. No one was really home besides you, Alfred, and Damian so no one stopped you. Well, besides Ace. The dog padded over to you as you were about to leave. You gave him a few pats and told him you’d be back in a couple hours.
That was how you were here now. On Gotham’s Harbor, sat at the end of one of its shabby wooden piers, listening to the calming sound of harsh waves slamming into boats. You didn’t really mean to come here. You’d just picked a direction that seemed to draw you in and soon, you were leading (or were you being led?) yourself to the harbor. It was still raining. You were soaked head to toe and were sure to have a fever by tomorrow.
You found yourself not minding that fact.
Your eyes drifted to the few boats docked at the other piers. Barnacle-bottomed with chipped paint was the standard look for most of them. They looked worn, and if boats could have feelings, you’d guess they were probably tired.
You were tired too.
You were always tired. Since you were about fifteen, you’ve been in a bunch of clubs and stuff. It was exhausting, but you also didn’t want to go back to the manor, a place you don’t feel welcomed, immediately after school. Damian being there, while still scary, is something you could deal with.
But Jason?
The man pops in unannounced and randomly. Just the thought of him potentially being there makes you stay away from the manor extra late. You don’t ever want to be near him again. Not after that night. Not after he almost killed you. And speaking of the man, he was there. He’d been forced into staying for a family dinner. Something you wanted no part as long as he was there.
You pulled out your phone to check the time. The light nearly blinded you. You hunched over it so the harsh rain wouldn’t pelt it too.
9:37pm
Said family dinner should be in progress right about now. And would you look at that? Not a single call or text massage. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. It almost made you want to chuck your phone into the water, but… well, it’s your phone and it has all your doggy pictures of Ace in cute outfits. You couldn’t bear to part with it.
Instead, you turned it off, shoved it back into your pocket, and went back to staring at the waves.
Y’know, if you ignored the hammering rain and the fact these waves could topple a grown man, this was almost peaceful!
Your eyes drifted down to now watching the murky water as it swooshed and splashed back and forth. You were praying no bigger waves came. Gotham’s water was practically radioactive. You don’t want aids from getting Gotham water on you. Maybe you should’ve brought a jacket after all.
You brought your knees closer to your chest and hugged them tighter. You definitely should’ve. You’re not only soaked but extremely cold from all the wind sweeping around. Any gust felt like getting freezer burn, and you weren’t a long forgotten package of peas at the bottom of a freezer.
You should probably go home n—
What is that?
You squinted at the murky water. It’s dirtiness, plus all the motion from the waves was making it hard to tell but… was something glowing underneath the water?
James Gordon - Police Commissioner POV
Jim was not having a good night. The Joker had broken out of Arkham again. And was wreaking havoc again. Currently, Jim and other officers were crouched behind their vehicles and using them as cover to shoot at the bastards. Not only that, but it was raining cats and dogs all of a sudden. The storm had come out of nowhere in the middle of the shootout!
And to think the day had started off well too. Barbara had come to visit and even brought Jim those donuts he liked. Not only had he had to leave his donut at the precinct, which would probably be stolen by that food thief who thinks he’s slick, but now he was in a shootout!
To recap the situation, Joker had gathered his goons in Old Gotham to rob and steal like the no good crooks they are. As for any civilians caught outside and nearby? Well, not only were they robbed, but they were also held down and forcibly injected with a new strand of Joker Venom.
And… while all that was horrible, it also didn’t make sense. Joker doesn’t really do daylight robberies like this. If he’d needed money, he’d simply kidnap a class of school children and sell them off. So why would he do all of this?
Jim got his answer in the form of the formerly spasming victims of Joker Venom suddenly getting up to join the chaos. As usual, hair was tinged green, skin was bleached, and smiles were stretched from one ear to the other. But this was different. The Joker would point to a shop and they’d all follow. To a person and they’d run to tackle. To anything and they’d respond with tearing at it like piranhas and running to their leader to give him their spoils.
Are you fucking kidding him right now?
The Joker has finally gotten around to using mind control?
You might as well fuck Jim in the ass.
The commissioner paused his shooting at goons and henchmen and grabbed the walkie-talkie attached to his coat. He needed to radio the precinct and have them turn it on.
He needed the Bat-Signal.
It was dark out, so it should reflect on the sky, but the bats normally came out after eleven. He’d just have to hope one of them would see.
You continued staring at the water. The rain started falling harder unbeknownst to you. Your shoulders and back were both numb from the constant harshness of the rain and cold. The rain falling harder made the water rougher and stronger, waves slamming into the docks and piers with more force.
The glowing was getting brighter and brighter. So much so that you felt it start to illuminate your face. A flash of something green tore through your mind as a bolt of lighting could be heard nearby. A shadow slowly rose over you.
You slowly looked up.
Uh oh.
A gigantic wave was looming over you. Your eyes widened.
You really couldn’t catch a break, could you?
It slammed into you with what was probably the force of a bull. It shattered the shabby wooden pier you’d been sitting on. And when it started to recede, it dragged you under the water.
Oh God! AIDS water!
You struggled desperately as the water tugged and shoved you around like a ragdoll. Everytime you would just barely break the surface and get the tiniest gulp of air, another wave would come and slam you back down.
Was it your imagination, or were the waves getting stronger and stronger?
Another wave slammed into you and shoved your head back under the water. You felt your brain rattle from the force as it sent you deeper in the water. You had neither the chance to close your eyes nor mouth. You tried not to think about the fact you’d swallowed a little bit of it.
It burned your throat on the way down.
You didn’t think you’d be able to see anything underwater. Like you’d said multiple times, it was murky. Yet, below you could see the glowing object from before. It was still a blob due to the fact you were underwater but you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to it. Something was compelling you to.
Another harsh wave wracked the surface above, pushing you forward slightly towards the object. Then, it pulled you back when it receded. For some reason, you needed to see this object. You needed it. You needed to touch it. Hold it.
Put it on.
What? Put on what? The blob?
Your hand closed around a part of the blob. It seemed that despite your blurry vision, the blob, wasn’t in fact a blob. It felt wooden and thin. You hands turned it around as you moved it closer to face so you could just get a better look. Thats all.
If you tried really hard, you could ignore the—
Put it on.
Put it on.
Put it on.
—that keeps repeating in your head.
You brought it closer and closer. The shimmer that you once thought was green was now purplish on the side you’d turned the blob over to see. When it got close enough, you felt your skin start to pull itself towards the blob— the mask, now that you could see the eye and mouth holes better. At the sensation of the pulling, you tried to pull away but it was too strong.
It stuck itself to your face as you clawed at it, thrashing and struggling. Water left your lungs in a panic. You could feel it closing around your head, sinking into your skin, merging with your face. You began to spin, underneath the water, still desperately clawing.
From there, you blacked out.
James Gordon - Police Commissioner POV
Jim and the other officers were still in a shootout. Now though, the Joker had taken out a couple cars, and by extension people, with some rocket launchers he’d gotten when more of his goons came to help.
A shot whizzed past Jim’s head and took out one of his rearview mirrors. He peaked around his car once more and fired his gun a couple more times until he ran out of ammo before ducking behind his cover once more.
Shit, where are the bats?
He peaked around the car again, but ducked again when he heard a… “what in the world?” …from a female officer next to him. He looked to her and saw that she was looking up. When he also looked up, he saw a spinning something soaring through the sky.
What in the world indeed.
From what Jim could make out, it was green and white and had hints of either pink or red from what he could see. He and the officer next to him watched as it continued to spin through the air. It was about to land in the middle of the shootout. Just what was it? Something from the bats? No, they don’t use color, it must’ve been something from the Joker.
“Shit.” Jim cursed under his breath.
It eventually landed with a loud crash, body sticking up out of the ground, stiff as a board. Its head was buried into the road as its arms stood stiff at its side, seemingly unaffected by gravity. It showed no signs of struggle.
Was it knocked out? Dead? If it was from the Joker, Jim prayed it was dead.
The two sides ceased their shooting to stare at the person(?) sticking out of the ground still. Now that it wasn’t spinning nor high up in the air, Jim got a better look at it. It was wearing a white, three piece suit with a red polkadot pattern consistent on every single scrap of fabric the…
Gentleman? Gentlewoman? Gentleperson?
…it was hard to tell, wore. Though, Jim could just barely make out that their tie was black.
It suddenly fell over. It didn’t move for a minute longer until it suddenly shot up straight to it feet. It had a wide grin similar to the Joker’s as it adjusted its lapels. “It’s good to be back!” They exclaimed as it whirled around taking in the sights. When Jim blinked they were in a full tourist outfit. Flamingo printed shirt, khaki shorts, and a camera around its neck, taking pictures of everything. They even snapped a couple of the Joker, who it’d conveniently landed next to, saying, “Glad to know jesters are still around!”
Jim blinked again and they were back in the polkadots. They were also shaking hands with the Joker. Holy Cow, that person is tall! They were good head over the Joker and even then the Joker pretty tall himself. “Pleased to meet you, good sir. Could you direct me to the nearest bank? I’m running a little low on cash.”
Their grins were uncannily similar.
“Sorry to say, but I’ve already plundered all the nearby banks, my colorful friend.” The Joker’s eyes narrowed despite the grin. Judging by the man’s tone, he was annoyed by something.
But what is the question?
“Oh, that’s a shame.” The green-masked person sighed, hunching in on themself. They then grabbed the Joker and started dancing with him. Full blown tango. The unexpectedness seemed to make the Joker laugh and the man joined in. They danced around, Joker going back to shooting any of Jim’s colleagues that had let their guard down and stood up to watch the scene fully. Any bullets aimed back at them were swiftly tango-ed away from or crushed against the green-faced one. It seemed they were bulletproof.
The shoot out picked up from there. Soon, goons and officers were taken out one by one until only few were remaining. By then, the dancing slowed to a stop.
The Joker held a hand up, signaling for his boys to stop. The officers also stopped their fire too, taking the chance to go back to crouching behind their vehicles.
“Y’know, I must say, it’s been a very long time since I’ve run into a kindred spirit.” The Joker said, though his tone came off rather snarky.
The polka-dotted person actually laughed in the Joker’s face. “I hardly think we’re kindred.” They sounded smug, then again, from the very moment they started talking they’d sound smug.
“You don’t? Then there’s only room for one person with a twisted grin!” The clown said as he pulled out his revolver and aligned it with the polka-dotted individual’s mouth. “Besides, I should really knock your teeth in for stealing my gimmick!”
“Oh, how I agree!” The green-faced person’s jovial tone turned harsher and rougher. It had the same speech habit as the Joker. That same silliness until taking a darker tone.
Don’t tell Jim this is another Joker.
The Joker fired and the shot rang true, shooting them in the teeth. Everyone watched how instead of blood starting to spurt from both their mouth and the back of their neck, instead a perfectly shaped hole lied in the center of their pearly whites. The green-faced person then threw their head back and loud gulp followed, along with their neck having an oddly bullet shaped thing go down.
“Now then! Back to our dance!” They didn’t go back to that strange tango from before, instead everyone watched as they spun the Joker. And kept spinning him. Again. And again. And again.
Until the Joker caught on fire.
The green masked individual then let the clown go and keep spinning on his own, still flaming. “Somebody stop me!”
Was that provocation?!
Everyone watched as it— because it had long shown that it wasn’t a they— it couldn’t be human— pulled a massive mallet out of its pocket. “Batter up, boys!” A pocket that was way too small mind you.
Also, batter up?
It seemed to grow annoyed when no one moved. “I said, BATTER UP!” Every officer and henchman watched in awe as its head enlarged so it could yell at them before it shrunk back to normal size and got to waving its mallet around like a bat.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jim watched the officer next to him as she did a double take at something she saw and starting running towards it. Jim followed her sight and… about a couple meters away was a police van with many, many signs around it, mostly arrows lit up by fluorescent lights and connected to no visible power source. The officer Jim saw rush over, and another officer, wrenched open the van doors.
When Jim whipped his head back to the green faced feller, The Joker was still spinning and it had reared back the hammer and swung. The clown went flying, the speed suffocating the flames, straight into the van. The two officers quickly shut it just before the sound of a sickening slam from the Joker smacking into van’s wall could be heard.
“Scoreeeeee!” It drew out the word. Jim blinked and it was suddenly in full sports fan regalia with a jersey, styrofoam hand, and beer hat, jumping around like it was at a national game. When Jim caught the back of its jersey it read: Mask.
Could it be associated with Black Mask then?
Jim blinked again and it was back in its original suit and it was walking towards Jim.
“Ah! Jim, good to meet the extended family!” It shook Jim’s hand from where the commissioner was still squatted down, literally lifting Jim off the ground as it happened.
“Excuse me? Family? What are yo—” Jim was cut off by it giving him a “ta-ta!” It then dropped him and literally spun off. It reminded Jim of the Tasmanian devil from Loony Toons.
Who— no. What in the world was that?
A new rogue?
Timothy Drake - Red Robin POV
When Tim woke up that next morning, he was exhausted to say the least. He didn’t get to finish dinner before the bat signal went off. Then, when they finally got to the scene of the crime, the Joker had already been detained, but now there was a new rogue of all things on the loose!
Tim and his family had spent the entirety of the night chasing after this person! They’d barely caught a glimpse of them too! The family was always either one step behind or too slow, and by the time they blinked, they were gone. Then, the family would be running across the city to the next sighting of the villain.
So, when he got up that morning, all he wanted was his morning coffee, but guess what? The mug usually placed on the coaster next to him on the desk he fell asleep at wasn’t there.
(You weren’t there to make it.)
His weighted blanket wasn’t draped over his shoulders either. He’d noticed when he tried to pull it around him when he felt the chill of Alfred opening his door to check on him.
(You weren’t there to drape it over him.)
Also, speaking of Alfred, he was the one who woke him up today instead of you. Alfred also made sure Tim actually got up instead of your leaving him alone immediately after, because you knew he would get up after another five minutes.
All in all, it was a shitty night and a shitty morning.
When Tim went down for breakfast later, the coffee wasn’t in the pot either. Actually, there wasn’t even a pot. When he asked Alfred, he told him that you swept through the kitchen looking like a zombie, made yourself the coffee and took the entire pot with you.
been watching all madagascar movies instead of writing and i thought I'd be funny to write a yandere × reader inspired by king julien and mort 🤭
⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 ⋆.˚
imagine crown princess!reader who abandons her royalty duties because they bore her. she'd go around the kingdom where people praise her beauty and all, she'd be sticking up her nose in the air while covering her smile with a fan. "my, my, i have so many fans today. that's right! praise my beauty! ha-ha-ha!" her poor chancellor would be following behind her, the bags under his eyes are begging for some sleep.
"your highness, we have to go back to the castle before your father gets angry." she chuckles, "my people needs to see my beautiful face, boris. daddy will understand." she waved at the crowd, thriving in their attention. yandere!duke would arrive in a grand carriage decorated with the flowers she love. he opens the door for her and reach out his hand. "my beautiful, lovely, kind, sweet, gentle, precious, adorable darling, i'm here to pick you up!"
"oh, a new footman!" she takes his hand and gets on the carriage.
"um, this is duke marcus, your highness."
"i know, boris. he's the footman cuz he loves my feet! seriously, don't go correcting me. i know what i'm saying." chancellor boris just rolls his eyes and rides with the coachman. once you've arrived at the castle, instead of taking your hand as usual to assist you, yandere!duke would get on all fours before the exit of the carriage.
"your highness, please use me as a stool to get down! it would be great honor for me to be blessed by the soles of your shoes."
"oh my lord." boris facepalms himself.
crown princess!reader gets down from the carriage, using him as a step like he suggested. he didn't mind the way the sharp heel of her sandals painfully dug on his back. "see, boris? he's a literal footman!"
A bit more of a story format instead of the points
Lawyer Y/N
Previous • Part 3 - (In Progress)
They never really tell you about what comes after law school and your internships. It could just be assumed that you go straight into big case or start talking with big wig clients straight off the bat when you have no idea what you're doing in an office. You still have to trail after people to embarrassingly ask what you should be doing and it’s a lot of assuming things on your own for the time. Jobs are easy, the waiting is a bit more difficult. The key thing to an office building like yours, is to look busy and knowledgeable during in between time of assignments
You stretch your back up as you finish replying to an email to a potential client and an invitation to a webinar that you have to attend in a week. A bing from your email echoes, as you stare at the screen then to the side to the papers you have to read through, and to another pile to shred. It should be time for a break. 'Damn, is the office A/C on or something?' You feel a chill run through your back as you throw your coat on.
In the breakroom, a warm drink in hand as you stare into the liquid abyss, blinking one eye at a time. A hand appears in front of you, "Hey, heyyy (Y/N), you there?" Slow blinking once more, turning towards your coworker and friend.
"Mm yeah, I think so?"
"Didn't sleep so well last night, I think" You say trying to burn the feeling on the sides of your throat. Shit. Swollen lymph nodes.
"I think you might be getting sick (Y/N)," another coworker enters your field of vision from behind. 'Holy- where did she come from???' Judging by the freshly made green tea she had in her hand. Probably a while.
"I… think so. Ughh I don't want to get sick," you rubbed your temple.
"The season begins," your office friend grins into his cup and takes a step away from you.
"Kindly hush, don't jinx the office," delicate bangle bracelets chimed accusatorily at your friend. Oh damn, you might be sweating despite being cold. You sighed before taking one last scalding swig of your hot drink, and waved off the other two.
"I'm going to go fill out a leave form for tomorrow, and delegate some calls and documents today. Don't want to get you guys sick when you all have stuff to do." It was like you can feel your sinuses closing up in real time, but you have to get through today at least. There at least wasn't too much to worry about at the moment.
You closed your office door and sat down to pull up the previous email that you saw and print off the necessary documents. The office is trying to go paperless, but still insist on having physical copies to read through. Then preach about it at the next meeting about how even buying paper is a waste of funds, but wanting funding for ipads they won’t use and more in-person travelling conferences to Las Vegas, LA, and Metropolis. You sighed and stapled the papers in order,
"Just say you hate us,"
You finished up dealing with a case not too long ago that ended with putting the defendant, Black Mask, behind bars… well some sort of bars, it had to be better than nothing even if it was Arkham Asylum. You know that there could have been more done to protect the public safety and provide more justice to Roman Sionis' victims. You have a sneaking suspicion that the lawyer behind Black Mask's sentence is in his pocket as well. You have to handle him carefully, not out of fear of said lawyer, but what would happen to the rest of the cases and sentences that he had a part in. That piece of shit, now you have to comb back through his cases. Maybe you can hand it off in parts. Yeah, you can probably make it work. You have a list racking up already if you think about it. You'll make a formal complaint after gathering necessary evidence with something else, maybe even the "alleged" bribes and misconduct that got swept under the rug for the Black Mask case. This and that. You might need a list…
You sneezed loudly filling up your quiet office space. 'I can deal with this after I get better… now, should I take one day off or two… nah you know what, I can afford four days of sick leave.'
…Fuck, you hate this new human resources software, filling out Sick leave forms is a nightmare. Who even approved of this new district wide Clock-In system without properly beta-testing this and going through this thoroughly. Piece of fucking shit. IT, HR, and Payroll must be having an amazingly wonderful launch month… this is sarcasm. It's stupid, inefficient, and stupid, but, hey, what would you know you're not a bigwig.
You can feel a sneeze coming on, but it goes away. You curse.
—
There was a light drizzle happening behind your curtains, your blankets have never felt better, and the muffled sounds of cars honking and speeding coming from below. This could have made this a very good day off. However; you called it. You were sick, not even social media could give you that dopamine rush, the uncomfortable pain in your ears ruins it. No matter how much you've grown up and become accustomed to it.
You recall a cold, gentle hand pressing against your forehead once. You couldn't remember if it was Bruce or Alfred, but once you made a sound the hand left with a cold wet rag taking its place. Cold. Everything in that manor was so cold, so big, and so quiet. You vaguely recall getting up to call for someone, but no one was home. The tall, winding halls seemed to spin the more you ventured around in a thin blanket. The cold seeping in from your bare feet, chilling your legs and crawling up your back, freezing sweat. Why did everything in that house have to be cold? You need to get up, you need to eat. You need to get up.
Your bones ached, feeling clothes stick to your body as you got up and walking the cool floor of your apartment. Making way to the kitchen area, it felt a lot like back then; although, there were a lot less stairs now. You can't remember whether you had slippers or your bare feet back then, memories only brought coldness. Bringing out a pot to make a simple porridge, soup, ramen, canned, homemade, it didn't matter. The action was practiced, didn't need much thought. A method that you always had. You didn't want the noise, so no phone nor tv nor radio accompanied you, just silence and foggy memories that resembled thoughts.
The air was cold, as were the kitchen tiles. Only the gas stove fire underneath a boiling pot warmed you in a way that your blanket wasn't. It was quiet, in the kitchen, too quiet. You set aside a bowl of soup… or did you already have the soup in hand? You can't really remember anymore. It's been so long since you've been in that place. But you remember the feel of being an intruder in your own home.
You can hear Alfred lecturing Bruce in the walls echoing, you can't find where the echo is, but it's getting closer. Then you finally hear the sounds from the hall outside the other set of kitchen doors. The one that leads to Bruce's study, somewhere in the wing of the manor that you've never been allowed to enter. You don't remember the reason why you felt the need to hide in the pantry, but you were there.
"…you can't keep running from them, Master Bruce. They–"
"Alfred, I don't have time for this, please, just deal with the kid. I'll be back in a week after the situation is handled. You know that this is more important."
"Sir, they just want to see you. Even if it's just for a moment. I remember when you–"
"Alfred." Something about the dark tone in Bruce's voice made your fingers unconsciously clench at the bowl of hot soup in hand.
"This is something that can't be put off because the kid is playing being sick. I'll see them when I get back. End. of. discussion." The sound of dramatic flare of a long fabric strikes you as odder as an adult than when it happened in the moment. All you could feel was the heat in your ears and the burning in your hands… You can hear that there was a sigh, but the tapping of tailored shoes goes back in the same direction, back to the forbidden hall.
The soup isn't warm anymore.
The day passed in a blur. Sleep, headaches, medicine, and more sleep. You think you remember showering and brushing your teeth, but you could be mistaken.
You open your eyes to a brighter morning, well as bright as Gotham can get. Your throat still hurts to swallow, but at least you're not dead on your feet. The day passed much like the first except you at least have the energy to watch and read something. The lively noise from the TV becomes background noise as you remember. On your third sick day, you felt a little better and not like a hazardous bio-weapon. And your fourth day of being sick, you didn't even feel it. Feeling better after being sick and being away from work really makes you appreciate life and the small comforts afforded to you. Reflecting on cloudy days too… You wonder how Alfred is doing, is his back okay? Does his shoulder still hurt? Although you suppose he must be busy with all of his new wards. He always was a meticulous man. You mused, but notice that there's a feeling in your being. The feel… stings? Well, not stings, it doesn't hurt, but you know that it did, once. You're just aware of the feeling that this was once a person who was important to you, and now, isn't. It's both tragic and not. The feelings are conflicting and jumbled up into a pile that doesn't have any particular emotion to it. It just feels like nothing. It's nothing. It feels like nothing. But you can feel this nothingness so deeply, and you aren't entirely sure if you want it to keep feeling like nothing…
You stared into the empty space of your kitchen, and decided it's time to get some fresh air.
—
The bustling noise and the scent of coffee felt like a warm embrace from the streets of Gotham. You preferred the warmer touch of a local cafe, the rough layout, and the home-y decor. It's a "treat yourself" kind of day.
As you get to the front of the register, one of the baristas recognizes you.
"WOAH HEY! You're alive?!" she exclaims, while slightly covering her mouth
"Uhhh… yeah?" You look at her questioningly. How did she know that you were sick a couple of days ago? You haven't been to this cafe since you were in college and that one building collapsed with the Joker- … ohhhh. The dots connected.
"Oh. Yeah, that…" you shift side to side, well, time to ignore this conversation.
"Can I get a-"
Just before you could finish speaking, you see on a screen behind the register, your back being filmed very blurred from dust. A news story highlight for Gotham, and you were the subject. Aah crap. You glance back to the barista who is looking at you expectantly.
"Hello?? People have been looking for you? The whole neighborhood really, how have you been?!"
'Nooo, please, let's move away from this conversation,' you pleaded internally, shoulders dropping as you accepted your fate.
"Well I-"
"Raquel, what are you-" The barista, Raquel apparently, wasn't about to let you go now. She whips out her phone to rapidly start text people. Then she pulls up pictures and videos from a couple of years ago…
"This is the person who I told you about!! The one who saved those people from that collapsing building!" Your lips straightened as you could feel stares on the back of your neck.
"Dude, we've been looking for you everywhere, we- Oh!" Raquel the barista now notices the growing line behind you and her co-worker opening up the second register aggressively. Raquel looks at you conflicted, so you just sighed.
"I'll have a [drink order]... I have a bit of work to do, so I'll be in the corner seat," You vaguely gesture to a corner, and the barista brightens visibly. Her bright eyes and expectations kind of burns your soul.
"Okay, we'll have that drink right out to you-" you were interrupted by an impatient elderly gentleman behind you.
"Ok, their drink on me, I'll have-" The old guy must have gotten sick of waiting, but he surprises you. As you shuffle to the side after thanking the man, he comes back up to you. You straighten up as he takes a seat with you.
"You a lawyer?"
"Uhh yes, yes I am I work at a branch office of Hewitt & Associates firm"
"How much do you charge for consultation?" the man stares at his coffee intensely
"$250 per hour, but there's-" You can see his grip tighten ever so slightly around his cup
"But a, conversation; however, and on my day off, doesn't cost a thing," You take a sip as the elderly man meets your eye. He talks to you about his troubles and his concerns about a legal matter he wanted to take care of with a certain company. You explain to him in depth about the questions he has and what to ask his future legal representative, and recommend some good colleagues that run non-profits and low costing civil lawyers; as well as low to medium costing attorneys that you can stand to put a good word in for. And, as much as you dread it, a few Wayne funded programs would be a good start for the old man.
As you got lost in thought about what else you could recommend to the elder gentleman, you didn't notice the seats around you getting filled as some listened to you intently while others are just enjoying the lively atmosphere. Raquel, the barista, was recording for both her socials and the cafe's social media page.
"Cafe hero: FOUND!"
—
"Sooooo, a hero huh." Your coworker corners you at the office vending machine.
"What are you talking about?" You don't even glance at her as you are too busy trying to choose a snack. You kind of wish that there were more options, but again not your department.
"Oof, they don't know," Your other coworker started to scroll on his phone for something on one of his socials. Then tapped your shoulder to show you a certain cafe's social media page. You stare back at yourself for a moment. It's an edit from that day, a scary dust cloud filled window, the barista's hand shaking the camera then pivots to you carrying people into the cafe, your back disappearing into the dust and emerging again with more people, then it cuts to you watching the happy cafe scene, reading the caption; until it loops over again.
"Oh fuck," you can feel the dread in your chest, it gets even worst when you look at the number of views it had gotten since yesterday. It's in the 500k’s and growing. Wow, you need to disappear into the dirt forever.
"You're not going to disappear into the dirt,"
Since when can she hear your thoughts? Doesn't matter, the dirt calls.
"Wow, you need some serious social media training, like ASAP. You know my brother and sister can help with that," your coworker glanced at his phone to the comments and paused.
"... Are you one of Wayne's kids?" They both look at you, but you can definitely feel more eyes in the room.
"Fucking hell."
—
Damien stops scrolling on his phone for a moment to see a person who looks like his father at a glance. Damien's face pinches when he sees the word 'hero,' he takes pride in what he and his family does. Why does this random person get a title like their for carrying a couple of people. They do that almost on a weekly basis. He rolls his eyes internally. On a whim, he opens and looks at the comments. Two comments catches his attention. With this new information he gets up and starts walking to the kitchen where he knows Alfred to be.
Passing a large portrait, he pauses and glances up at his father and brothers looking down at him. A moment flickers.
He continues on his way to the kitchen, and as he swings the kitchen door open and feeling warm food being prepared with the utmost care washes over him. Alfred is sautéing something, and Damien stands beside him for a moment watching.
"Yes, young master Damien,"
"Who is (Y/N)?"
"... " Damien watches as Alfred looks lost in thought for a good minute before he notices the burning smell.
"Alfred, the pan"
"Ah," The vegetables had a bit of a char on them. Alfred and Damien look at the vegetables.
"I think a beef vegetables stew would be most appropriate," as Alfred grabs a red wine to deglaze the pan
"... agreed, but you still haven't answered my question."
"They're Master Bruce's first born, they left some time ago,"
"Why did they leave? Why are there no pictures of them anywhere? How comes I’ve never heard of them?”
"They're, a long story," Damien watches Alfred's back and walks to the kitchen island to sit in a tall chair, getting comfortable. Alfred feeling the expectant stare of Damien on his back. Alfred stares into the pot as he finished preparing the soup, and turn to grab some bread to toast.
" (Y/N) was the first, and I'm sorry to admit, but they were the first of everything for both Master Bruce and I,"
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