You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.
Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess
Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. I think this would also count as slow burn. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.
Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission
Unlike the other chapters, this one has not been reviewed or edited (neither in Spanish nor in its English version), although it probably does not have spelling errors, it may have errors in the narration or structure. It is also possible that in the next few weeks I will edit it, not to change facts but to change some of the way in which some things are written.
You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3
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Chapter Five - Reflected Gaze
Could it be said that Tim’s apartment was less luxurious? Yes, it was smaller than the manor, but apart from the cartoons you sometimes watched, you didn’t know what a home looked like outside Wayne Manor.
Tim gave you a brief tour of the apartment to show you around, explaining which door led to the bathroom, his room and Bernard’s, the study, and your room.
He told you it was the guest room—again, it was the first time you’d been anywhere other than the manor, so you had no frame of reference for whether a guest room should look like someone had always lived there.
He placed your few suitcases in the room and helped you arrange everything on the shelves and in the closet. Except for the wool bag hiding the comics, you’d told him it contained your underwear and you were embarrassed, which wasn’t a lie; not all your underwear was in there, but enough to make the story believable.
Not much time had passed, only half a week since you left. Tim said he’d tutor you and ensure your health improved. You’d suggested your teachers come to his apartment so he wouldn’t have to go out of his way… and you could keep the distance you needed… But he refused, and even seemed… offended.
Truth be told, after all the chaos of last week, you found these days almost boring. You hadn’t done much with the comics while you adjusted to the new surroundings; you repaired the plush toy you’d shredded with your nails last time, watched a few cartoons, and read the occasional book with Tim glancing at you furtively… Was it a bother? Yes. But after the suffocating week before, you wouldn’t complain again. Handling one vigilante is easier than three.
You were in the bathroom, following your usual bedtime routine: styling your hair, brushing your teeth, grabbing the pill bottle, and tossing one down the toilet to make it look like you were still taking them...the usual
You watched the pill sink slowly in the water, remembering how, before Alfred left, after leaving them both in the apartment he’d warned you not to forget to take one of those before bed, like always.
Never mind, you’ve already lost three days, you need to get back to your plan of gathering information from the comics, preferably by taking notes again in your wool notebook…
Finding a way to do it wasn’t easy. If you did it out in the open, Tim would discover you; if you stayed too long in the bathroom he’d worry. The only time he left was at night to do his vigilante work. You still didn’t know if he’d told the rest of the family that you knew about him; you also didn’t know if he’d deduced that you knew about the others. You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.
You could stay awake until he left for work, if it weren't for the fact that he wouldn't leave until you actually fell asleep, really fell asleep. He knew when you were pretending. It was useless trying to fool him.
Over these days you thought a lot about what you could do, so you concluded that the best approach would be to read a few pages in the bathroom and jot down notes in stages. The time it takes to read a handful of pages is relatively short; you’d be out before Tim realized. And today you’d put that plan into action.
Starting with the first of the three comics—where Serelith made her first appearance.
You pulled out the wool-class notebook you’d hidden under your pajama top, and began writing on its back in sequence, timing how long it had been since you’d started your nighttime routine.
First, you and Serelith were born in Gotham, but neither of your maternal families is from here. She was found in England on a trip by Batman and Nightwing. And apparently your real father was from there, too.
Dick noticed the obvious resemblance between her and Avery, and had her take DNA tests, uncovering the truth… Later they put you both through other examinations…
You had the initial key events down—very good—too bad in your condition you couldn’t go to England soon to bring Serelith back and end this.
It was easy to extract the early turning points. Maybe you’d keep at it for a while, recapping important moments… after that… what would you do?
Sure, you said you wanted a scholarship and to change your last name, but you had no idea how to go about any of that. Your life boiled down to studying, asking for material favors but never emotional ones, watching a movie when they let you, and you don’t recall ever having any class about what the future holds.
Well… maybe you could leverage your stay at Tim’s apartment? He said he could tutor you, so it wouldn’t hurt to ask discreetly.
Also, by spending time with him, could you perhaps learn something about investigation? It would be very useful to get the most out of the comics.
Even if you want to distance yourself from everyone to stop taking someone else’s place, for now it’s best to make use of your options.
You hid the comics again under your underwear inside the wool bag, placing them back in their spot. Once more you tucked your wool-class notebook under your pajama top and stepped out of the bathroom, hugging yourself. Tim was probably starting to change into his suit in his room, so you dashed to your bedroom, crawled into bed, and only after you’d ensured the blanket covered your entire body did you pull out your notebook and slip it under your pillow as discreetly as you could, hoping the sheet wouldn’t reveal your hand.
You wouldn’t go to such lengths to hide it if, on the very day you arrived, you hadn’t had a nightmare that sent you tumbling out of bed.
It wasn’t a hard fall—it only left a bruise on your arm—but somehow, Tim found out what happened. You don’t know how—you never told him, and every night he goes out on patrol—so how did he learn?
That’s precisely why you now have to be so careful with the comics and your notebook. Better safe than sorry.
It would be stressful, of course, but nothing would compare to what you went through with the others.
You waited, lying down, now with everything secured, for Tim to walk through the door as he had started doing since you moved in recently
As expected, he didn’t take long to open your bedroom door, wearing his Red Robin suit without the mask… It was strange how this pre‑sleep routine mirrored the night everything changed.
As on the previous nights, he left a glass of water and a communicator device on your bedside table, straightened your sheet for you, and finally looked at you for a few seconds before sitting down beside you, giving you space.
— I’m heading out. You know the drill: if anything happens—even a nightmare—don’t hesitate to use the communicator.
You listened attentively, even if it was the same thing since you arrived here, you nodded, even if you clearly refused to call him, it's not your right to call him... And, as always, he hesitated, wondering if he should stay a bit longer, say something more.
But this time, unlike the other nights, you spoke first.
— Tim, could you start giving me lessons tomorrow? At least a few… — You watched him, fatigue settling in.
Even if you didn’t notice, Tim was excited on the inside—you talked to him, said his name, asked him to teach you. Not one of your teachers, two of which (in his opinion) weren’t great options anyway. You asked him.
— Of course. Yeah, your condition’s a bit better, we can start tomorrow, at whatever time you want, with whatever subject you prefer, okay? — obviously he’d say yes. He’d spent the whole week thinking about different study plans for you. You’d do way better with him than with any teacher.
— Yes, that’s fine. — One less worry. If you could choose, you’d start with something useful for the future. Maybe you’d ask about scholarships or something.
Tim wanted to say more—he had to seize the moment—but he couldn’t. The communicator on his suit buzzed first, and reluctantly he rose from the bed.
— I’m off, sleep well. — He said goodbye, leaving the room, though you knew better than anyone that he wouldn’t go until you were asleep. And that’s exactly what you did.
Dick remembers clearly the day you were born—how could he not? It was the same week he was on a mission in Tamaran, the very week after Jason’s death. And the exact day Avery died.
Of course, he didn’t learn any of this until days later, he wasn’t there for anyone.
The revelation hit him like a bucket of cold water: his younger brother, whose Robin suit he’d given and spent nights training, and the woman who had supported him most when he distanced himself from Bruce—the woman who, since arriving in their lives, had given her all even though there was a wall between her and them.
He sat on the rooftop, gazing out over Gotham’s night skyline. In a few days he’d return to his own city. Shame he wouldn’t be here for you again—because by his own words, you didn’t want him around.
Even from a distance, he could sense Red Robin touching down on the same rooftop; he turned to look, smiling, despite the envy burning within him because the newcomer had been there with you, despite never having held you as a baby like he had, and despite having spent less time in the family—these past weeks Tim had felt more like family to you than him for you.
Tim settled beside him, as if nothing had happened—as if he didn’t have the privilege of being chosen by you.
— It’s alright, her mental health is improving. — Tim spoke before Dick could ask; he already knew what was coming, since the same question came up every night. He understood that someone in Dick’s position would worry about everyone, but hearing the same thing each evening was growing tiresome—it spoiled the comforting feeling of tucking her in. — If you still have doubts, go see her before you head out.
— Does she even want to see me? — Was it worth asking? He already knew the answer. The only person you said you wanted to call was Alfred—maybe a halfhearted greeting to Damian, but him? Nothing.
Tim didn’t answer; he only looked at Dick, unwilling to lie about what Dick truly wanted to hear.
He remembers hearing your laughter...laughing innocently when he finally held you in his arms, so small, so weak. You were born at the worst possible time, not only because of your mother, but also because of the pain Jason left behind.
It hurt even more when Bruce confirmed his worst fear. The words printed on those pages only worsened the tension.
— I honestly thought it was something else… her fainting— he murmured, looking down, his voice tired and defeated.
—And if that were the case? What would you have done? Were you thinking of blaming me? — Since these nightly meetings began, he himself had noticed how Dick sometimes seemed annoyed with him. It wasn't constant, just enough to be noticed, and they were overshadowed by the feeling of guilt.
— I didn’t mean to… you don’t know why—
— Exactly, I don’t know. But it seems every time someone tries to give affection to a the kid, someone steps in.
— It’s for her own good, Tim— Dick’s frustration rose as he looked up at the younger man. — It’s out of our hands.
— If it’s for her good, why don’t you tell me what’s going on? — Tim tried to calm himself; he didn’t want to fight with the one person in the family he seemed to have a stable relationship with—aside from Cass.
— …If I tell you, you’ll try to find out on your own, right? — Dick stifled a chuckle, easing his frustration. Telling him felt right—so many misunderstandings would be cleared up—but it hurt too much to speak it aloud.
— “Try” is an understatement; I’m going to find out. — Tim replied firmly, crossing his arms. — Your choice how I learn.
Dick just sighed, even though it hurt, telling the truth was the best option.
Surprisingly, this morning, Tim didn’t pull your hair while brushing it, that’s an improvement.
I hadn’t said anything yesterday about going out for a walk early this morning; he just mentioned it in passing while they were having breakfast. As far as you were concerned, the only times you’d gone out before were to shop—if you wanted fresh air, you’d head to the mansion’s garden, and somehow you often wound up at Damian’s farm with the pets. Getting some fresh air away from the new apartment would be nice.
So there you were, walking toward a small children’s park near the apartment. You didn’t feel the same anxiety you did when you left the mansion, but it was still unfamiliar. You’d have to get used to it if you wanted to go out on your own in a few years.
When you arrived, you looked around curiously at the playground — stuff you’d only seen on TV. You’d never seen kids who weren’t Damian. You wanted to go closer, but what would you even do? Your experience socializing was terribly limited.
— Come on — Tim guided you toward the swings, showing you how to sit. You held tightly to the chains hanging from it. He was about to push you, but stopped, staring at your wrists. — What’s that?
You followed his gaze, realizing what he meant.
— Ah, that was a gift from Damian. — You clarified without much enthusiasm. When you opened the box and saw a bracelet, you hadn’t wanted to wear it. But after one of the calls with Alfred, where he explained that green-eyes had made the bracelet by hand, with some kind of decorative mix between Arabic and Chinese styles, you decided to wear it.
You might not consider Damian a brother, but you knew weaving wasn’t an easy task — even less for someone just learning, and especially when it had custom decorative motifs. So you ended up wearing the bracelet mostly out of respect.
You could tell Tim looked irritated — the same annoyed face he made when you mentioned wanting to have classes with your regular teachers instead of him. But just as he was about to say something, his phone rang. Tim sighed, now even more frustrated by the interruption.
— Stay here, I’ll be right back.
You stayed put, obediently, swinging your feet in the air. You weren’t planning to move — your fear of inexperience was bigger than your curiosity to keep exploring. Still, you turned your eyes toward the other kids running around...
Some of them were with their parents. You thought you heard a few calling out to their siblings.
Will you ever have something like that?
— Ouch! — your knees hit the ground of the park, scraping a little. You looked back to see who had pushed you off the swing, finding two kids.
— Move! If you’re not gonna use the swings, then leave. — the smaller one yelled at you, annoyed. You got up from the ground calmly — at least this kid was yelling at you over the swings and not because of Avery’s death.
— You could’ve just told me, there was no need to push me — you said to them, looking at both with a bit of determination. You didn’t know how to socialize with other kids, but you did know how to deal with people who bothered you.
— No! This is more fun — one of the boys went around the swing and came closer to you, clearly not with good intentions. You were ready to defend yourself, just like Damian had once taught you. But the boy stopped, staring past you, terrified.
You turned to look, and found a blonde woman with a serious gaze, aimed straight at the boy. It gave you chills...
— …Leave — it was a dry, direct word, but intimidating enough that both boys ran off. Even the other kids still on the swings, who had nothing to do with it, also left. You were the only one who stayed, frozen, unsure of what to do. Until you gathered the courage and looked up.
— Thank you very much… miss… — you might not be a Wayne by blood, but being polite was already something ingrained in you.
— Maria — she finished the sentence, her tone softening a little for you. She looked around, noticing there was no one else. — Are you alone?
— No, ma’am — polite, yes, but you weren’t stupid either. You weren’t going to tell her you were alone. You looked back and saw Tim still on that call, but his eyes were fixed on the two of you. He looked away now and then, clearly still upset. — I came with… him.
— Is he your brother? — Maria asked. You fell silent. Saying yes would be safer, but ever since, thanks to Bruce, you finally got used to not calling them family, the words got stuck in your throat.
She noticed your silence, but didn’t say anything else — she just crouched down to your level, pulled a handkerchief from her pants pocket, and cleaned your scraped knees. You watched the fabric get stained a little with your blood...
Your chest tightened — the image from the comic came back to your mind.
— Miss Maria… — you stammered, feeling the air slowly leaving you. She looked at you, noticing your frightened state. — Do you have something I can squeeze?
She looked at you, confused. She noticed how you seemed on the verge of a panic attack. She wasn’t an expert, but she had seen them a few times before. She did as you asked and tried to find something while the dirty cloth slipped from her hands. She tried to think of anything, but she didn’t have much on her.
— Umm… I don’t have anything… — she looked around, searching for something. Your breathing sped up more and more. You tried to calm it down — inhale, exhale, repeat. You looked at Maria — you wanted her to calm you down before Tim noticed.
You also tried to look for something. You watched Maria’s hands move, and on reflex, you grabbed them and squeezed.
Maria was surprised. She looked down at how your small hands were holding hers, gripping tightly while you practiced a breathing exercise she didn’t recognize. Slowly, her eyes moved up to yours.
You calmed down — you managed to calm down. The bloody cloth was out of your line of sight, and now that you were fully back in your senses, you felt embarrassed. You were holding the hands of a complete stranger.
— I’m really sorry. — You let go of her hands as quickly as you could, apologizing, flustered. Maria, however, was still looking into your eyes. — Yeah, of course… I…
— What's going on? — Tim suddenly appeared at her side, his phone still on call, ringing only
— Ah, Tim, this is Maria, she was helping me with– You tried to explain quickly. You didn’t want more trouble, but she stood up, picking up the dirty cloth from the ground before you could say more.
— Take care, kid — she said as a goodbye, without looking at Tim, leaving the two of you alone.
You went back to the swing. Tim didn’t even say goodbye to whoever he’d been on the phone with — he just hung up and came over to you, crouching to your level and checking if you were okay.
Was it just your imagination, or did Maria put the cloth into her pants pocket?
I almost didn't make it to upload this, folks, but surprisingly — for being the chapter I wrote in the biggest rush (to the point it’s not even well edited in its original language) — it’s the one I’m most satisfied with so far. Since chapter one, no other chapter had felt this satisfying to me.
For those who didn’t see the post: I had to delay this chapter’s release to today because the past few weeks have been rough. I'm praying the next ones will be easier. The idea of going on hiatus is still on my mind, but I feel like some things are clearer now, and that’s making me question whether I should go through with it.
I don’t know if it was noticeable, but from now on, the chapters will be a bit longer. Normally, my writing limit was five pages to keep the pacing between chapters steady, but starting from the last one, the rhythm has shifted to seven or eight pages — and it’ll probably stay that way.
Anyway, as always, your comments and hearts are truly appreciated! :D
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