Author's note: This IS the last chapter, damn....Thank God, the next one shot is one I am excited for but babes that gonna have to wat till tomorrow. Imagine Y/n's clothes like this and this but instead of red, it is green. ( yes im an ATLA fan and yes it its inspired by Azula)
Warnings: Language?
Part 1 // Part 2
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You double-checked your hair as you looked in the mirror. The day had come when you would only be known as Y/n Al Ghul, heir to the Demon Head and future Leader of the League of Assassins. It was difficult to grasp if you were quite honest. Per your request, the League had changed headquarters. Nanda Parbat was no longer safe so you had advised of getting one of the old abandoned cities of the League and turning the temple into headquarters with the rest of the city becoming a safe place for all of the servants and assassins. It was surrounded by water and walls with constant surveillance, meaning that no one could get in or out without people knowing.
You were never going to forget the day that you came back, the surprise on your grandfather's face as you got to your knees and pledged allegiance to the League. He wasn't convinced at first but came around as you solidified your loyalty. You were no longer a Wayne like Damian. You were an Al Ghul
//
"Leave us." Ras's voice carried out across the room. Your mother looked at you and gave you a reassuring nod before she left.
As the room emptied, you were starting to feel nervous. Was this the right decision or were you too impulsive?
"Explain to me, once again, child. Why are you here?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
You summon all of the courage you had in your body and stand up.
"I came to reclaim my birthright as the rightful heir to the Demon Head," I said, trying my best to keep my voice steady.
"Is that so? Why the change of heart?"
I hesitated to answer and he saw right through me. His knowing smirk gave it away.
"Tired of being part of the birds and the Bats it seems. It is very curious how only one came back. You and your brother were inseparable. Should I expect a visit from him as well? To rescue his sis-"
"No." I interrupted him and he seemed taken back
"No?"
"I was never part of theirβ¦team. My brother formed great loyalty and attachment to them, but I did not. Theyβ¦"
"Go on"
"They rejected me the day I arrived, yet accepted my brother. I have been forgotten, ignored, and cast aside from the moment that I became present in that household. I only hold care for one of them and even he wasn't enough to make me stay."
Ras stayed quiet for a moment.
"So what my daughter has been telling me is correct after all. It wasn't just that she missed you. Well, then. Let me make you a proposition. You have three months to make me believe you are capable of being my heir. If you succeed, you will begin training solely for the purpose of being my successor. Were you to not prove yourself, you would leave at once. Have I made myself clear, child?"
Ras never was one for empty threats and promises, so all she could do was nod.
"You are dismissed. Tell your mother to meet me here. We have a few things to discuss" he dismissed you, "Oh and child?"
You looked towards him hopefully.
"It is good one of you came back to your senses. Don't disappoint me"
And thus began the most excruciating three months of your life.
//
You were surprised at how well you had adjusted to the League after coming back. Sure, those three months were harsh, but they weren't bad. You were thankful that you picked up a demanding sport such as ice skating. You weren't sure how you'd survive otherwise. Your mother would spar with you any time she visited so your skills weren't too rusty. After sharpening what had been there once again, which had taken you a month and a half, you were able to take assassins from the highest of ranks. Once your grandfather was satisfied, thus began your preparation for a leader. You were a natural. Your role was to follow your grandfather, grant him counsel, and even take part in some of the decision-making processes. Once, your grandfather had even gotten close to saying he was proud. Even went to say (in between the lines of course) that you had been able to surpass your brother in preparation. Since then, you understood that you no longer lived in Damian's shadow. A year had passed soon and your grandfather had announced that we would have a special coronation where you would be proclaimed as Heir.
That brought us here, to your coronation day. Your armor was specifically made to tailor you and your comfort for battle. Your hair, which had gotten quite long, was pulled into an intricate braid so that your face would be visible. You felt strong and that brought a smile to your face.
"You look radiant, my dear" you hear your mother say from behind you.
"Thank you, Mother" You responded as she stood in front of you and caressed your face tenderly.
"Ma'am, you have some visitors" A voice was heard from outside the door. One of your assistants went to open the door and lo and beholdβ¦your family was there.
They entered slowly, one by one. Each suited up.
"Beloved, those are not ceremonial robes" your mother reprimanded Damian, but he wasn't focused on her. He was focused on you.
"So, it is true then, sister," Damian asked feeling the air leave his chest. You were there, but it wasn't you. It couldn't be you. You were soft, kind, gentle, and tame, and you never raised your voice, you were you and this wasn't you. You looked stronger that's for sure. He wouldn't be surprised if their grandfather was injecting something into you. You looked like a member, no, scratch that, you looked like the heir. From the way you stood, with a sight upward til in your head, to the way you dressed. There was a sharpness in your eyes that told him that Ras had not been soft in your teachings.
"What is, Robin," you asked steadily. Gone was the girl who cried over her lost brother. Damian wouldn't admit it but he was hurt. Hearing you call him by his alias so coldly stung in ways he couldn't imagine.
"You truly are becoming the next Head of the Demon, Y/n?" This time the question came from Dick. The last months have been hell for all of them after the shock of your departure. It was as if someone had splashed all of them with a bucket of cold water and brought them back to reality. They had all visited your room at least once, would continually watch your ice skating videos, and would look at footage of you in the manor from the last years. They had desperately searched for a semblance of you in the entirety of the manor.
"Yes. What's it to you, Nightwing?" She responded once again coldly.
"Alfred misses you," It was Jason who spoke up this time. It was jarring to see the girl he once treated as his precious princess following the footsteps of someone so wretched.
"At least someone does. I couldn't visit because of my training. Once the ceremony is finalized, I will have more time and I will visit him"
"So you will visit us at the manor-"
"I will visit Alfred only. I have no other reason to do so," She interrupted Tim, with a heated gaze.
"What about your dreams of becoming a professional, (nickname)? It was all you ever wanted, you worked so hard for that. We all know, we all saw. This is not wh-"
"What do you know of me, Damian? What do any of you know about me?! We both arrived at the same. Time. And it appeared as if only you were there! Everyone favored you over me and why? Because you were fucking Robin and I wasn't? I tried to reach out. I invited you everywhere, I searched for you all everywhere, I asked and asked and the only thing that I ever received in return was disdain and silence. I only wanted to be loved, LOVED DAMIAN! What you got and I didn't! And if I tried to speak out, I was hushed because I had to be understanding of your processes. I WAS A CHILD HONED AS A WEAPON TOO. I went through everything you did too! And did any of you ever recognize that? NO! You stopped knowing me the moment you forgot you had a twin. You stopped knowing me when I came back and all of you were celebrating OUR birthday as if it was only you. You lost me the moment that you preferred seeing Jon over watching me compete at Nationals. You lost me when you left to see the Titans and I had to find out weeks later. You lost me when you decided that the love they gave you was yours alone and that I didn't deserve a fraction of it." She ranted and with her every word, Damian took a step back.
"You were always out training or with your friends-"
"Don't try to pin this on me, Damian Wayne. You all pushed me away." Y/n scoffed. "I invited you here because you are my mother's son. Not because I wanted you here. They were invited cordially because they are your family. Don't mistake my act of respect as an act of love."
"There are other ways, Y/n" Batman tried to intervene. Even if it didn't show, Bruce was hurting. He was deeply ashamed and disappointed at how things had turned out.
A bell sounded, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. Y/n straightened her back and turned towards her mother, a small smile present in her face. That smile, as much as it softened everyone's hearts, hardened the moment she turned to them,
"Batman, Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin, I will only say this once. I lack the care and mercy my grandfather and mother seem to have for you, with the small exception of Alfred and my brother. I will take this mantle. I will become the Heir to the Demon Head and I will be the next Leader of the League of Assassins. Those are facts that you will have to deal with. If you are here to cause a commotion, then I suggest you leave. I will not tell my assassins to hold back on their ways. If you'd like to stay, so be it. Enjoy the festivity. Have it very clear. I want all of you out. Of. My. Way. once I am the head. This is my birthright and I want it to have nothing with all of you." She started looking at Batman dead in the eye. "Nothing."
"My lady, everyone is expecting you" Came a voice from outside.
"Well, then. Let's go dear. You wouldn't want to have your grandfather waiting would you? Destiny awaits" said Talia as she ushered Y/n out of the room. She never spared a glance at the five men standing in front of her.
That day, they all watched from the sidelines as their sister was proclaimed Heir. Damian had failed and he was going to make sure he NEVER failed again. He was going to do everything in his power to fix the bridges that had been burnt with his sister. As much as Bruce wanted to reassure Damian that everything would be okay, he couldn't. It became clear to him that from now on when interacting with the League, they had to be extremely careful because his daughter could easily become as much an ally as she could be a formidable opponent. He never thought he'd say it but he was afraid of what his little girl could become.
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Author's note: YES!!! I FINISHED IN ONE NIGHT!!! YESSSSS LAWRD!!!! HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED!! PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK!! I WOULD LOVE LOVE LOVE TO HEAR WHAT YOU ALL SAY!! LIKE AND REPOST! BESITOSSS!!
Synopsis: Death is cold and dancing on it is cold too. That day she danced with death, dancing to see who would dominate the dance. Death dominated.
Slowly, one by one the lights went out, four five in total, she thought she would never see them again.
So why did the lights come back on now? Why are they now in the mansion above her? Since when were they so bright? Since when did they burn?
βπππ ππππβ
WARNING: Suicidal thoughts, slight mentions of abuse, slow burn, Yandere themes, Child Neglect, Platonic!Batfamily x Fem!reader, mentions of blood and death.
[As the story progresses and the chapters continue, there will surely also be content warnings. But don't worry, at the beginning of each chapter there will be a warning if necessary.]
While Jason Todd and Tim Drake are both tragedies, Jason is a Shakespearian tragedy (doomed by the narrative) while Tim is a Greek tragedy (doomed by himself/his own flaws). In this essay I will-
gonna make tim do 30mg of prescription vyvanse. go forth, boy, and grieve for what could have been
maybe he does unethical shit and synthesizes it with battech because his dad doesnt believe in adhd but he's got like. a fuckton of symptoms and doesnt say anything about it to batman and usa medical care is crap.
Any evaluations, he thinks, would need other people to vouch that he's got a problem and not just a drug-seeking teen.
He's kind of paranoid about the doc being like Harley, too.
So he catalogues his symptoms over the course of a year, thinks back to his childhood history of being distracted, looking out windows, writing and doodling in class and not paying attention to what he was supposed to. He takes any overlapping symptoms from things like PTSD, autism, OCD, anxiety disorders, anything that could explain the issues he's had instead of ADHD, and computes the statistics. He talks to Dick and Alfred about anything they might have noticed, his talks to his teachers, his friends. He thinks he's the inattentive type, the kind that's got the energy swirling around inside rather than outside.
He comes to the conclusion that he does have it. Hypothesis supported with a p-value of 0.01, though he might have a bias due to being the one to "diagnose" himself, but Tim thinks he knows himself well enough.
If it's truly ADHD, this means it can be improved on.
In a situation like the one he's in, being Robin, he's got no room for error. Even a slight delay, even in the most mundane work, could result in countless deaths. He needs to fix it. He needs to be better. Medication has a strong likelihood of improving his symptoms, and stimulant medication especially, with an 80% chance of positive impact. He already eats healthy aside from what he shares with friends and family, he exercises regularly due to being Robin, and he's made lifestyle changes that he tries to keep up as best as he can, but he's still struggling.
He still skips brushing his teeth, lays in bed thinking about things he could have done better or moves he should try or costume changes to make rather than sleeping, goes to sleep without showering due to exhaustion, sits at a table for fifteen minutes with a pencil in hand and homework in front of him and nothing getting done before he sighs and gives up and shoves the paper in his bag to bring to the Waynes' since maybe the environmental change will do him some good (though it usually doesn't unless Alfred is willing to let him sit in the kitchen while he works).
He feels like he's been static, standing in place while others run ahead, thinking, constantly, I could do better than this. I should be better than this.
So, yeah. Things need to change.
He's paranoid about meds because this is Gotham, what if Scarecrow has a scheme to slowly poison all the medication with slight amounts of fear toxin over time, what if Joker has a similar plan, what if there's a bad-faith CVS worker that randomly mixes in poison in a medication bottleβ so he doesn't fucking trust pharmaceuticals with shit that affects his brain.
So he makes it himself. In secret. And then he packs it in thirty little pill capsules he bought and throws it in an empty medication bottle that he stole from his dad that used to store sleeping pills for insomnia, and, for the hell of it, prints out a little prescription label and sticks it on. Batman and Robin Pharmaceuticals. It's like medical malpractice, he thinks, but more of the making drugs in the basement at 2AM variety.
Tim doesn't do drugs. He doesn't like drugs, doesn't like the effect it could have on his brain, and he's gotta admit he's a little scared of the medication. He's seen how addiction messes up a guy. (Let's be honest. He's absolutely terrified, but he thinks that he's got the will to stop himself or tell Dick before things go too downhill.)
But the reward outweighs the risk, and he can't deny that he anticipates all of this, anticipates changing for the better. Gotham has a stigma against mental health, and he's worried about how Bruce will think of it, a little, but as long as he keeps it a secret he'll have no problem. Besides, it's not malicious medical malpractice like his last dentist committed, who let five cavities fester in his gums before his parents found out and sued and switched providers.
So he keeps it in a secret compartment in his desk and the first time he takes it, it's 10AM. He's woken up later for the weekend. He's slightly jittery with nerves, and he's working on a case. Investigative, mostly sifting through documents. Tedious work. A case that isn't as urgent, because he wanted to try the first dose on a day that had the least chance of side effects fucking shit up and putting their lives in danger, but one where he'd notice the impacts.
And he gets things done.
He isn't switching tabs willy nilly. He isn't zoning out. He's⦠actually working. He's reading the documents and sifting through them and he snaps out of focus and realizes it's been half an hour of work.
He doesn't want to be hasty. Maybe this is just a good day. A fluke. Something that seems like it's alright at first but wears off later. Maybe he's going back to normal in two hours. Maybe he'll crash right before a visit to the Batcave and, like, cry from exhaustion and get Bruce worried or something.
And then two hours later, it's twelve AM. He tracks his progress. It's not quite there, but it's better than it was before. Andβ by God, this is going to save lives, isn't it?
He's being hasty, Tim thinks. I'm being hasty, don't be hasty.
But he can't help but feel something break and heal over and over again, feel that maybe things will turn out okay, that he'll shower at a normal time, that he'll stop skipping toothbrushing sessions and flossing and never get another cavity, stop forgetting to put a bandage on the small scrape on the side of his arm before patrol in case they come across biohazards, that he'll only tune out Batman on purpose instead of on accident, that he'll stop disappointing himself and everyone around him.
So Tim leans back in his seat, presses his palms to his eyes, and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
