bonegirl . ch2 little brother
─ platonic batfam x neglected?reader | words 2818
── DESC. don't know you as well as they do, but they seem to care a lot. i could too, if you let me.
── MLIST. ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4 . . . tbc
── CONT DISCLAIMERS. female reader, substance abuse, mental illness, unhealthy dynamics, some profanity, others to be included if they're chapter-specific.
── a/n. this is definitely a filler chapter, and probably a bit / a lot ooc. honestly, i'm not expecting it to perform too well, especially because i had no idea outside of "make damian a little brother instead of an evil, hateful boy". pls read the a/n at the end!
of course, damian’s heard all about you already. "all" being an abashed few words from richard, who was wringing his hands like a schoolboy all through it. your older sister damian, she’s coming back from the hospital. be nice yeah? you don’t know her, she doesn’t know you. just be careful, yeah?
what did they think of him? some feral idiot who’d snarl all over a done-no-evil stranger? besides- he didn’t need to know any of this! he was a detective, intelligent like his father, observant like his mother, a product, the perfect product; he’s peered at family photos and eavesdropped on conversations, humming over the rare occurrences and sightings of this sister. he’d never seen her in the manor, neither had she ever been called over the way his other siblings were, so she wasn’t here- obviously!
his conscience had already mulled over the thought of her being dead before, but it never seemed that way. his intuition, the subtle glances his father gave to the handful of pictures that included her which never seemed to quiver, the hints of the way richard and tim seemed to miss someone, without mourning them, they all made him decide she definitely wasn’t dead.
maybe within the first few months, at most a year, damian had let the matter of a mystery sister rest, disposing it mentally. It didn't seem to affect him or anyone in his family, neither did it seem to create a weight on anyone. a meaningless absence, nothing to worry about.
in fact, he’s almost forgotten all about her until last month, when he overheard his father speak to alfred about a dismissal, (name), next month, and a string of incomprehensible words drowned by titus’s barking outside. that’s why he wasn’t all too surprised when richard pulled him aside after one of family dinners on friday, talking like he was walking on eggshells. damian felt only a little insulted by this over the top caution, taking the information with grace just out of spite.
(name)’s been in the manor for two and a half weeks now. she started coming to gotham prep with him last week, quiet all the way there and all the way back. they don’t have time to talk in school, and he’s sure neither of them want to, but she doesn’t speak to him at home either. doesn’t acknowledge his presence. tim had shrugged that she may be intimidated, may be weary of a sudden stranger, since he’d come to gotham while she was away. but so far, damian picked up nothing. no fear, no nervousness, not even resentment. nothing to worry about.
he’s considered talking to you a few times, but he’s only been observing for a while now. he can’t figure out how to approach a conversation, if you’d even want to talk to him. a little weary maybe, damian was still just a boy, he didn’t want this somebody that his family was so careful about to dislike him. but what does he care! right?
it’s on your third thursday in the manor, when he finally gathers the courage to creep up behind you on the porch, sitting down next to you- keeping a foot’s distance like he’s afraid you’ll scratch him.
“...hello (name),” he begins, slowly. he cringes immediately after- wondering if you’ll disapprove of him talking like that, “what are you doing?”. you don’t turn your head, glancing at the boy, smiling just a little bit; “damian,” you acknowledge looking away, “just sitting.”
he nods- “right,” looking for what else to say, “how’s school?”
when you don’t answer, he squirms a little bit. he’d thought a long time ago, that he’d given up on trivial things like if somebody liked him or not, but it wasn’t evil of him to want his family’s approval, right? especially if everyone else seemed to like this stranger sister so much, he should be allowed to too right? and she shouldn’t hate him- she doesn’t even know him! he doesn’t care, doesn’t give a damn-
“it’s fucking awful,” you remark lightly, folding your hands over your lap, “i hate everyone there, and it’s no fun being in gotham.” damian blinks, nodding, a bit unsure how to respond. he doesn’t much feel thrown aback by your language, you being the same age as tim- he’s been conditioned to understand just how prevalent being foulmouthed is in gotham. it just feels a little crudely honest- but that’s good right? it means you don’t mind being open with him, right?
he scoffs a little fake-ishly, shrugging “tell me about it. the city’s all filthy and full of muck. didn’t like it much at all when i first came here.” he sees you squint from the corner of his eye, like you’re going to say something. but you don’t, so the two of you sit in silence for a while. you stare out at the vast expanse of nothing that surrounds the manor, and he fiddles with his fingers.
did he mess up? he’s unsure what (name)’s like, what if she doesn’t like getting personal, what if she’s just blunt- like cassandra? what if he’s made a fool out of himself? he should’ve just waited, thought this out, like tim would. maybe if he leaves now, you’ll shrug it off and forget him and he’ll never have to talk to you again.
“i saw you playing with a dog outside yesterday,” he hears you say, still facing away, “what’s it’s name?”. this is good, it’s good right? you want to talk to him too, right? “...titus” he responds, “he’s a great dane.” you nod, smiling a little distantly, “we had a cat once, mary, she was lovely.”
he quirks his head to the side, no one’s told him about any cat, and he’s sure someone would’ve mentioned it- knowing his fascination with animals. he was pretty sure he hadn’t seen any pictures of memoirs of any either, apart from alfred the cat, but they’d got him while (name) was still away. so he asks, turning to face you- “we?”
“my mother and i,” you breathe, looking at him sideways, “ a gray tabby.” oh. he nods again, turning away. the conversation of parents, especially mothers, is frighteningly personal in the family. but you don’t seem to all hesitant to mention her, you don’t seem hesitant to say anything really. you just seem hesitant to speak at all. the more he sits next to you, the more hesitant he feels too.
the two of you just sit there for a while, quiet in each other's presence. the initial awkwardness he felt at the beginning seems to smother down a bit. he doesn’t know if he’s felt this way before- he can’t remember how he felt when he first met his father, or dick, or cassandra or any of his siblings. everything seems to be hidden behind a mental block his brain’s created- out of shame? out of worry? he doesn’t know, doesn’t like to believe his mental works that way.
you stand up quietly after what seems like forever, finally turning to look at him. he’s been weary of facing you for so long, a little intimidated, and feeling pathetic for it. he doesn’t want you to dislike him. he doesn’t want to be awkward. this time, when he sees you- he’s almost a little taken aback.
he’s been told affectionately and retortfully that he looks like his father a lot, a product, a perfect product of his mother’s startling beauty and a spitting image of bruce’s younger self. but you, the only other blood sibling he has, has none of him. he sees a stranger in his strange, stranger sister and blinks once, twice, thrice to process it. but he wasn’t expecting anything, really- and the thought flies by in the wind, gone as fast as it came.
“mosquitoes,” you retort, making a face as the darkening sky, “i hate them, too.” damian says nothing, focusing more on how you carefully reach out a hand, an olive branch from the world’s weirdest bird. he doesn’t take it, but smiles stiffly and stands up, walking back with you after you drop your hand like an anchor.
how strange that he was nervous. how odd that you were strange. but wasn’t he strange too, being nervous? he felt nothing, nothing mattered. and (name)... she was looking away again, distant. even though they were walking with only an arm’s distance between them, she was far, far away from gotham. (name) was nothing.
you haven’t given yourself much time to think about all the new faces in the manor. big brother dick’s there, so are alfred and bruce. you’d already seen them on the first day when they came to pick you up from the station. the girls haven’t visited yet, neither have you seen tim. there’s a boy named duke, who’s gone on a school trip- according to alfred, and a child that seems to run out of sight each time you catch a glimpse of him.
damian, dick had said, assuring you he’d introduce the two of you properly the first chance he got. that first chance seemed to be delayed, and he was probably busy (as he always was when it came to you) with something in bludhaven. he hadn’t visited last friday, but had sent a message you didn’t open or read.
he seemed a little cold and distant, and you felt him scrutinising you at dinner and on the ride to school. you were a little anxious, even if everything had felt dull and muted since you came back to gotham, and it ate away at you like a little moth in an attic. you wonder if this is how tim felt because of you when he first came to the manor, you recall being a little unkind to him, but don’t recall moving past it.
you were a total asshole, weren’t you? if this is the way you behaved with everyone (hell to it, you don’t remember. why can’t you remember anything?) it’s no surprise your older brothers didn’t like you when you were here before, or why the first year of the academy in undeveloped new jersey was so mind-numbingly terrible. but you haven’t even spoken to damian yet, he shouldn’t have any reason to dislike you, right? gosh, you hope he doesn’t dislike you.
it’s on your third thursday in the manor, you realise while sitting on the little wooden platform suspended from the kitchen wall outside. you’ve had a lot of time to think and lament and feel out of place and really, afraid, of being here. everything feels different and uncanny, you want to go back to the academy and the hospital, see your friends, people who are used to you and know you. you wonder if you’ll see them again, and have already panicked over the whole ordeal a few times this week. you wish your friends were here; carrie, sri, jordan and a handful of people you’d gotten so used to seeing everyday.
you think about them, missing them like anything. you wish someone would listen, listen to you rant and cry and really just listen to you freak out about feeling so afraid. but you can’t bring yourself to talk to the family, to anyone. they never much liked you when you were here before, and you gave them no reason to. even now- you offered nothing. you were nothing.
you miss her. seeing her. listening to her. she always knew what was wrong and you wouldn’t even have to say anything. it makes you want to rip your face off each time you see her in the mirror. herself in you. she's everywhere you don't need her to be.
“...hello (name),” you jump a little in your skin- who the fuck was that? “what are you doing?”. you glance to your side, stiff all over, expression set in stone. you rack around your suddenly scattered mind for a name, settling in a fraction of a second on- “damian… just sitting.”
a small part of you panics, jumping up and down and flapping its arms around. another part of you takes on dr. michelle’s voice, telling you to focus and calm down. nothing’s ever as bad as it seems.
damian nods, you see the motion from the corner of your eye, “right. how’s school?” he sounds blunt, dry, you wonder if someone forced him to talk to you. you really hope that isn’t the case- you don’t want to be a burden on him. don’t want to impose. just act naturally, calmly. make a good impression, on at least one of your family members!
“it’s fucking awful,” you remark, cringing at how your voice sounds breathless, shaky from nerves, “i hate everyone there, and it’s no fun being in gotham.” oh god, look at you, being such a miserable let down. ruined the whole mood already- way to go!
there’s a prolonged pause that gives you just enough time to disappear into loathing everything about this conversation before he breaks the silence.
“tell me about it. the city’s all filthy and full of muck. didn’t like it much at all when i first came here.” there’s an initial wave of relief that floods you, becauss he didn’t close up and frown at you. but then the jumping, arm flapping part of you wonders all too quickly- if he’s just talking to talk, you’re too unfamiliar for him to care.
you put your hands on your lap, wringing them anxiously. it’s so quiet suddenly, he’s probably going to leave any minute, thinking that his attempt to talk to the freak was a complete waste of time. would he be wrong? you swallow up the stress that’s building in your throat to blurt out-
“i saw you playing with a dog outside yesterday,” a freak and a stalker, you shouls just stop talking- (name) please stop talking, “what’s it’s name?” damian doesn’t answer right away, probably mulling over in his head how odd it was for you to say that, answering gruffly at last, “titus. he’s a great dane.”
your conversation is so dismissive, so painfully polite and civil. you want to talk to someone, want somebody to talk to, but god you don’t want this little boy to be forced to talk to you. dick said he liked animals, think (name) think, animals-
“we had a cat once, mary, she was lovely.”
damian quirked his head to the side, curious; “we?”
oh. you hadn’t thought this far ahead. would you have to tell him? you probably should. it’d be impolite, right? “my mother and i,” you mutter, a secret spilling out of you already. being too personal with strangers never works out right- you only made friends at the academy after giving up and feeling ashamed at being so familiar with random people, you change the subject quickly- “a gray tabby.”
the two of you don’t speak for a while, but he doesn’t leave. your head, the part of you that sounds like michelle, pushes away every coherent thought and leaves you in the empty, barren fields of your head.
don’t think, it’s the only thing that’ll make you feel better. jordan would be proud, he always said “just stop thinking so much” when you went to him with a made-up problem. he'd feel proud if he could think or feel about anything. a spiritual problem, carrie would call it, her voice all light and dreamy.
you miss them.
the sun disappears under the cities buildings, the sky turning a murky purple colour to signal the city of evening’s coming. you stand up, legs a little numb while blood rushes up and down your head, making your vision blur. you reach out a hand to damian in almost a haze, too used to it after helping sri up whenever the two of you sat together.
maybe it’s because you weren’t reaching out to him, but a memory of someone else, it doesn’t sting as much as it would otherwise when he doesn’t take it, giving you a strained smile instead.
he looks so much like bruce it nearly kills you. his mouth and the curve of his brows, he’s the spitting image of your father. you wonder, pray, beg the whole world that he doesn’t feel as poorly towards you as bruce does. doesn’t hate you like everyone else. but after this conversation, after you messing everything up for the n’th time, you don’t blame him if he does.
the two of you walk around the manor to get inside from the main door, instead of the kitchen one. you only note it momentarily, along with the way damian doesn’t seem to mind, but your mind wanders off already.
dr. michelle holds your hand out to empty fields where you can miss your friends, and hate them for making you miss them. everything’s like them, they are everything, your whole world. (name) exists in the context of others, you decide, with nobody, you are nothing.
you’re nothing.
── a/n. HONESTLY, i don't much like this chapter. HONESTLY, it's filler asf. HONESTLY, i know my plan for the next one is way better thought out and will be way more interesting.
thank you everyone for reading and all the support the first part of this series got. i can't think of a date i can promise for the next update, because my mock exams (!!) are coming up.
i do want to ask for just one thing. please interact! i'm not sure if my writing constitutes for much interest among people, but hearing and engaging with others makes the process way more enjoyable. if it's an ask, a comment, even criticism, i'll be glad for the interaction!
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