Batfam (or just Damian) with a Sweet//Soft Al-Ghul Twin! Reader who loves to cuddle! (Can be during naps or in general. :3)
BATFAMILY X SOFT!AL-GHUL!TWIN READER
When the softer twin loves cuddles.
Y/n and Damian were the same in skills.
Personality? No.
You and Damian are like yin and yang. Moon and Sun, the classic duo that everyone overuses when they want to be different from others.
But you are different from Damian.
You’re too soft.
He’s ruthless.
So maybe that’s why he finds himself being cuddled by his twin sibling who seemed not to have a care in the world.
You had a cuddling problem.
Sleeping in general? You’re sitting by someone and cuddling them.
You’re like some kinda kitten just wanting warmth.
Jason was the first one you cuddled close to, making Damian mad cause first of all… you’re his sibling and second of all, YOU’RE HIS SIBLING?!!
So Damian moved Jason out of the way and hugged you. And Damian doesn’t do hugs.
Tim was once playing on his switch when he saw his preteen sibling walking over before cuddling against him. He froze before he kept playing.
Dick was gushing when you cuddled him, he’d been WAITING for his little sibling to cuddle him. He took so many pictures that he put one as his profile picture.
“Oh yeah, that’s my ex-assassin of a little sibling cuddling me after school.”
Bruce was the last person, he saw how you cuddled with the others in your sleep.
He just didn’t expect his small child to be curled upon his lap as he put data in the bat computer.
Bruce just let out a small smile before continuing to type in a report for the latest crimes that happened in Gotham.
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, neglect and violence, death/blood.
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That day began like this, a sun shining brightly and the sky was blue, no cloud to cover the light rays. Mom had just made breakfast, the delicious smell of bacon and pancakes filling our tiny house.
“Extra syrup for an extra special person”- Mom said, her soft fingers brushing lightly on your cheeks.
It was always like this, you didn't need reason to be loved. For mom, your own existence was a motive to be loved and she never failed to show you.
‘I wonder if this is why being rejected by Bruce hurts, I never had to beg to be loved by mom.’
You didn't know when, but it happened. In one moment you were relishing your mother's love and in the next, the house was filled with scream. Your mind couldn't grasp, but your body did, filling your senses with everything that was happening.
How your ears captured the angry voices and their threats.
How your skin felt when your mother hugged you.
How your limbs trembled when her blood, still warm, embraced you like a blanket.
How your eyes looked at hers and could see life vanishing.
No…No…No… Not again.
You trashed your body against the mattress you were in, your shoulder dislocating in the process. You wished you could scrap your face off. A pained scream left your mouth and tears gathered on the corners of your eyes.
All you wanted was to forget. Forget the pain. Forget the despair. Why won't he allow it?
Outside the room, the man observed you. Eyes closing slightly as his smile grew, satisfied with the results of his research. You are his most prized subject and he would never let go of it.
These days Dick Grayson hasn't been the same, his days are filled with that anguish that won't go away. For as long as he remembers, Dick has been the one to mend the family, his loving demeanour and patience playing a big role in it. But with you… With you he never remembers being this way, actually he mostly remembers how coldly he treated you.
When you came to the manor, he had already left for Bludhaven, only coming back occasionally for Jason, but never you.
He remembers the harsh words coming out of Bruce's mouth and, even worse for conscience, he remembers your startled eyes and how they look for him only to be let down when he doesn't interfere.
His guilt has already been eating his mind throughout the years and receiving Bruce's call saying how you never been to the wellness camp hurted him even more. Apparently closer to him than he ever thought, but that was five years ago. They don't know if you are still there or if you're even alive. His baby sibling, the one he was supposed to protect, how afraid you must have felt.
Keeping his eyes close to the place you were last seen, he couldn't find anything and that was more than enough to take his sleep away. Between his facade as a civilian and his duties as a vigilante, all the remaining time is meant to look for you - tho the thought of you remains in his mind all the time- and this hopeless feeling of not finding any more clue about your disappearance makes everything feel even more sour. But this time he will not give up on you.
“Alfie, why does father not like me?”
“He absolutely does, darling. Is just that master Bruce has been dealing with many issues right now.”- The older man patted your head with a caring hand.
“That's odd, father never let his issues meddle between him and Jason, but I do not get the same treatment…”
Bruce didn't mean to hear it, but he did. He heard the way your voice fell in the last sentence and he saw the way your little fingers held onto Alfred's sleeves. Bruce didn't know why he treated you the way he did, sometimes he just felt frustrated since your existence has been shoved to him without any warning. But your mothers death also had no warning to you, being shoved into someone's house ,even if that someone was your father, certainly was hard for you too, so why did he do that to you?
Bruce woke up with sweat gathered on his forehead, the image of you now hunting him even in his dreams. Having left Gotham's problems to his children, his focus was completely on you- though he occasionally helped-. More than just guilt, Bruce was now afraid of having pushed one more of his children to death. That video of your body hanging unconscious on that man's arms seemed to be glued to his mind. His regret found way into his heart way too late, if he wasn't so hard headed maybe you would be here today.
Seemingly lost in his thought, the man barely noticed the commotion in the manor, just when the door of his room opened abruptly showing a very disheveled Damian, did Bruce let go of his thoughts.
“What is it?”- He asked, but the youngest was already ready to fill him with everything.
“Todd is on a pursuit, two vans getting out of Bludhaven. Grayson asked us to be prepared to ambush if any of the cars come to Gotham's way, he is on his way to meet Jason. Probably one of these vans must have Y/N.”
Damian had barely finished saying when his father got out of the room, making his way towards the cave and his gear. God his daughter is alive. Soon the others filled the cave, also looking for their gear, though a few of them would remain in Gotham in case of any emergencies. Their voices were loud, but Bruce didn't listen to anything, his mind being solely on his lost daughter.
On the highway, one of the vans drove at high speed. The white haired girl, bound from hands to feet sat silently still, head down and body trembling. A hand suddenly came to her chin, bringing her face to look at the man in front of her.
“Are you ready to go home child?”- Teeth showing in a creepy smile, his eyes fixed on her face.- “You must remember. They're going to think that you're being rescued, but it's the other way around, I'm the one letting you go for a while. For a great purpose.”
His face came closer to yours and then he whispered with a bright smile, as if this was just some sort of funny joke.
“Once everything is done, you'll come back to me, okay?!”- He got back to his place, letting go of your chin.- “Now, should we go give the bats some trouble?!”
It meant possibility. It meant that you were almost good. almost great. almost perfect.
You've heard it from everyone.
You heard it from teachers at parent-teacher conferences.
"She's a good student. She has the potential to be great."
Maybe if you weren't such a smartass during class, you would be great. perfect, even.
It wasn't your fault; you already knew most of the things your classes would teach.
You would correct the teachers when they got something incorrect.
That got on their nerves.
You heard it from annoying boys at your middle school who would rate every girl on a number scale.
"She has potential, but she's a smartass and kind of off-putting… plus those rumors—"
How annoying. How were you offputting? You tried your hardest to interact with others correctly.
You watched others interact with each other and learned their mannerisms to fit in.
You would attempt to understand social cues you never understood growing up.
You heard it from your family growing up.
"She has the potential to be Robin. She's kind of weird, though."
How were you weird?
Even if you were, they never saw you be weird.
They were never around. You were never enough.
Growing up, you never truly saw yourself as equal to others.
You weren't good enough to be great. which is why you couldn't believe that your friends actually saw you as something other than potential.
Your spider-friends, that is.
You don't like to think about your old friends.
Your new friends could see right through the facade you put on frequently.
The one where you were a quiet, perfect girl who let everyone walk over her.
They didn't see you as what you could be, but as who you are.
You didn't have to burn yourself out trying to be something you couldn't be.
You could be yourself around them.
They were your safe space. which was why you were so annoyed at this moment.
You had to bring your family along with you to the spider society.
______
Earlier in the morning, you had gotten the message from Miguel.
The one warning about the spot.
You got up from your warm bed, the light from your window waking you up.
You yawned, fangs protruding.
You mentally made a plan on how to go about your day.
You tried to pretend you weren't scared over what you learned yesterday.
You went through your morning routine, ignoring the pit in your stomach.
You walked out of your room.
You spotted Jason (why was he even visiting?) in the living room.
You went to sit down to eat breakfast. You kept dozing off by accident.
You put your head down for a moment more, hoping to get more sleep, only to be awoken to the sound of a mug hitting the table.
You look up to see it was Alfred who had placed it.
You muttered a quick "thanks" and looked around.
You noticed how everyone was sitting together at the table, an unusual sight.
You quickly pull out your phone from under the table to see if it was a special occasion.
It was Sunday.
Years ago, Alfred suggested Sundays should be days where the family had at the very least one meal together.
You were never really invited or involved with these meals, so this was really your first or second one.
You let out a groan, quiet enough so no one can hear.
You look to your left and see Damian glaring at Tim across the table, who's next to Bruce.
On your right is an empty space, luckily for you.
You aren't cramped.
You took a sip of the coffee and let out a yawn, the coffee doing nothing to wake you up due to your boosted metabolism.
As you yawned, your fangs showed again, catching the attention of your family.
"Holy shit, you have fangs?" Jason asked, bewildered.
"Yeah," you said, clearly not wanting to talk anymore.
Dick spoke, "How long have you had them?"
"A while," you tapped your foot impatiently, wanting to get up and leave.
"Are you a meta?" Tim asked, clearly taking mental notes.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"B doesn't want metas in Gotham, you know," Dick said, about to ask if you wanted to stay in Bludhaven with him instead.
You spoke before he could, though. "That's fine. If he doesn't want me here, I could move back in with Miguel."
Bruce paused for a moment before speaking up. "That isn't needed."
Conversations continued amongst them. However, you got up before breakfast was even served.
You ignored their confusion and left for your room.
You got changed into your costume and left the manor through your window.
You went to secretly patrol, on the lookout for any suspicious spot activity.
You ended up finding spots scattered around where the jester would pop up the most, which you thought was strange. You took photos for evidence maybe you were a little afraid your friends wouldn't believe you). You know they always will, but deep down you feel that they will ignore you as your family once did.
You made your way to the manor, stopping by some stands to buy breakfast on the way.
You also attempted to think about this more clearly.
How was the spot connected to the joker?
Has he gone to other universes?
How has nobody noticed he left?
You pull out your phone to send a message to your friends.
__
Y/n: Meet at my universe, my room
y/n: ASAP no rocky
____
Maybe they have information you don't. You doubt it, though.
It was implied by the message you all got from Miguel earlier that up until yesterday no one knew he had escaped.
__
Once you made your way back to the manor, you sneaked into your room through the window.
As you stayed in your room and set up some snacks you had bought from a corner store nearby, you couldn't get your mind off the spotty situation.
You decided to not go into the main living spaces, knowing that if your family saw you, they'd know something was up.
They were all extremely observant of your body language and how you acted when you were feeling anxious.
You'd be surprised if they didn't know you were anxious this morning.
You knew that they'd immediately bug you for answers, and that was the last thing you needed.
Talking about bugs, the number of bugs they placed was insane.
You've always had a habit of excessively cleaning your room when you were bored (which was always), and you started noticing that some bugs were placed in your room.
You don't know how long they've been placed there.
What you do know is that you've gotten rid of them each time. Because of some tech Peni made you ages ago, you could spot recording devices.
You also got rid of the cameras that were suddenly placed near your window. You knew they were placed recently because ever since middle school, you've snuck out through the window.
The lack of cameras made it easy to leave.
You would go out for walks late at night alone.
It wasn't until you got bitten that you had a way to protect yourself.
Usually you'd just go out into the Gotham night with nothing but cheap earbuds and an old portable music player.
The worst they could do is attack you or kill you, but hey, you didn't have much to live for anyway.
You got mugged a couple times, but they could tell you had nothing valuable on you.
They didn't know you were also Bruce's daughter; lucky you.
Thank goodness he didn't flaunt you around like his sons.
Who knows what those criminals would've done to you?
You always spaced out. usually falling into a daydream.
You were always described as a girl with an imagination too big for her size, especially when you were younger.
You used to spend hours every day daydreaming.
Imagining yourself as a superhero, or as a magical girl, or as a self-insert OC you made.
It started off as something normal kids do. It started to get more and more concerning when others noticed how you'd space out for hours listening to music.
Usually at a blank wall, on walks, or while you are getting rides.
As soon as you heard yelling, you'd put in your earbuds and try to drown out the sounds of your family.
Of course, your family barely noticed.
When they did, they just played it off as you being weird.
It wasn't just about how you spaced out. Growing up, Alfred would "find" your drawings and write about them. He definitely didn't go snooping.
You stopped drawing or writing about them as you got older, out of fear someone would find them.
Most of the time, your art was innocent.
You meeting Superman, you becoming a superhero, hanging out with friends, inserting yourself into your favorite show, etc.
Years ago, you drew and wrote about a treehouse.
After a couple months of begging, Bruce grew more and more agitated until he hesitantly got one built.
He proceeded to forget about it and got it chopped a year later after Tim complained about it obscuring his view from his window.
"Jerk." Alfred could hear your voice complaining years later.
What really caught his attention is how a lot of them were about you getting adopted into different families.
Being Superman's daughter, being adopted by some teachers of yours, hell, you even wrote about replacing your siblings with friends you thought of as siblings.
He tried telling the others; however, he'd always be dismissed.
"She's just trying to get attention."
"She's not serious."
"Strange... anyways—"
All you could do was roll your eyes and walk away.
You spaced back once you heard someone come in through the window.
Well, not just someone. All of your spider gang (as Miles once called you all, and you teased him for being corny despite the warmth in your heart) started making their way through the window.
Miguel was absent, but that was expected from you anyway.
He was probably trying to locate the spot.
Same with Jess; she was most likely busy too.
You assume that Margo couldn't make it either.
It was a miracle Noir could make it. You felt a hand comfortingly meet your back.
"You alright, mate?" Hobie asked, face uncharacteristically concerned.
"You spaced out for a good minute or two," Peni added.
You took a look at Peni's face. She looked so tired.
Nothing like the angel you met years ago.
She had heavy eyebags, and her eyes were less relaxed.
However, she looked less miserable than she used to, a year or two ago.
You remember checking up on her semi-regularly and bringing her foods you baked and cooked after her canon events had taken a toll on her.
You remember her red, puffy eyes.
Her matted black hair, you brushed out and braided to prevent further matting.
Her messy bed—she refused to leave. How she kept insisting on pushing everyone away despite how you all wouldn't budge. You were so proud of her and how she seemed to be healing.
Of course, she has her moments, but you all do. As exhausted as she looked, you were glad she was healing from the events.
"Hello...? Earth to y/n?" Gwen questioned, trying to get you to stop spacing out.
"Oh, uh, sorry," you apologized, uncharacteristically quiet.
"y/n? Are you alright? You only really get like this when you're not feeling good," Pav asks, picking at his fingernails.
"Or when she's high," Miles adds, getting a light slap on his arm from Gwen.
"No, uh, sorry, this might be a dumb question." You looked down at your hands, feeling like a burden for even asking for your friends to come over.
Noir raises a finger into the air. "There's no such thing as a dumb question."
You took a deep breath and spoke. "Have you guys noticed anything in your universe that may be connected to the spot?"
The others gave you a look you couldn't decipher.
They knew how the spot was a sensitive topic for everyone.
Miles almost lost his parents.
Gwen almost lost miles.
You almost lost Miguel.
Peni cleared his throat a bit shyly. "I noticed some technology basically vanish from my earth. not sure if it could be connected, though."
You nodded, taking a mental note.
Pavitr cleared his throat. "Is this because of the message we got earlier?"
You quickly looked through your pockets in your pants, your friend's eyes suddenly widening at how many items you took out while trying to get the photos out.
"How does all that fit in your pockets?" Miles asked, puzzled.
"Hammerspace is a wonderful thing," Ham said, earning a chuckle from Peni.
After a good moment or two, you pulled out a bag full of photographs.
You blinked, and suddenly everyone got closer to you to see the photos and started passing them around amongst themselves.
"I noticed how there are more spots near places Joker was spotted." You said, "This might be a stretch, but I feel like they're both planning something."
You tried to ignore how your heart dropped every time you thought of either the Joker or the Spot. They both caused events in your life; you almost lost someone you loved.
You rarely ever hated anyone; however, they were both people whom you hated.
"Why don't you tell Miguel?" Miles asked, sitting on your bed.
"I don't want to make him more stressed out. You know how he gets when he's stressed."
"Angry?" Peni asks.
"A tightwad?" Noir spoke, playing around with a fidget toy that you got years ago.
Gwen scoffs, lacking any irritation. "Destructive?"
"A tosser," Hobie says, suddenly hanging off of a coat hanger.
"Violent?" Miles adds, pointing to a scar of his that hasn't faded.
"I was going to say cold, but that works too." You let out a slight chuckle.
You slump down on your bed. It's kind of dumb. I don't want to disappoint him."
"Booshwash," Noir said.
Gwen put her hand on your shoulder. "You won't. You're his favorite."
"It's like you're the one person who won't get in trouble," Pavitr said, putting the pictures that were left scattered around into a pile.
"I think the last time he was upset with you was when you got shot that one time," Miles said.
"Even then he wasn't even mad; he was just worried. Peni added.
"You guys are low-key right. I might tell him." You guys fell into more conversation, calming your nerves slightly.
After what felt like minutes (but was truly hours), it was getting dark out.
Collectively, you all looked toward the door as your spider senses went off.
You immediately prepared yourself in an offensive position, only to see Dick walk in.
"Hey, birdie, you skipped breakfast, and lunch passed already; we're getting worried—" He paused when he noticed the group of people in your room.
"You didn't eat breakfast or lunch?" Ham asks, concern tainting his voice. "I did; I got breakfast from a stand outside," you defended yourself.
"Well always," Dick continued, "are they allowed to be here?"
You shrugged, holding the case of markers Miles let you borrow.
Dick left shortly after, letting you enjoy yourself a bit longer.
He wanted to snitch to Bruce or Alfred and get your friends kicked out, but seeing you look so happy with your friends made him change his mind quickly.
As you and your friends continued to eat snacks and hang out, it got darker. "Hey guys," you say, putting away your pack of cookies, which is now empty. "I'm low-key still hungry."
"We should go to a restaurant!" Peni said, playing with some slime you guys made.
You guys all snuck out your window and went swinging around until you found a diner.
Unfortunately for you, while swinging, you all saw Batman and Robin.
Man, you were in so much trouble.
______
Once you guys came back to the manor, you knew it was only a matter of time before someone told your friends to leave.
And before you got grounded.
While you and your friends talked about some gossip going around in HQ, Alfred walked in.
Your eyes widened, and you internally started preparing yourself to be scolded.
"It's one in the morning. You all have to leave."
"One already?" you said, shocked time had gone by so fast.
One by one, your friends left, leaving you and Alfred alone.
You slowly turned around to look at him.
He cleared his throat. "Are you aware there will be a punishment for this, Mistress Y/N?"
"Yes, sir..."
He left the room, and you let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding.
You got ready for bed, but you remembered to call Miguel.
You hoped he would pick up.
Ring... ring… ring…
The longer he took to pick up, the stronger the urge you had to collapse into bed got. Just as you were about to, he picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, uhm, Dad, do you think I could come tomorrow to show you something I think might be related to Spot?"
"You don't even have to ask. But mija, please go to bed. It's two in the morning for you."
"Okay, goodnight, Dad."
"Goodnight."
As soon as he hung up, you fell asleep.
___
Once morning hit, you decided to eat breakfast and then immediately leave to tell Miguel about the information you had.
You headed downstairs to see everyone at the dinner table yet again.
Weird.
You quickly grabbed yourself a Pop-Tart and tried to leave.
"Where do you think you're going?" you heard Bruce say.
"Out," you responded, not bothering to turn around and look at him.
"To where?"
"Miguel."
"No, you're not; you're grounded."
"It's an emergency—"
"No, it's not; you're going to see your friends."
"I'm literally not—"
"Well, I don't believe you."
"Fine. Don't believe me then."
As soon as you opened a portal, Bruce stepped forward to grab your wrist.
"I'm coming with you."
"Fine. Just don't blame me if you get hurt.
Before you knew it, your whole family (besides Alfred, thankfully) had come with you.
In those ridiculous costumes.
You sighed as Dick raved about how big HQ was and how many spider people there were.
You ignored Tim's questions and Jason's complaining.
You never thought you'd say this, but you were grateful for how silent Bruce was.
You spaced back into your family, showing a familiar glitch.
You sighed and threw them the 24-hour bracelets.
"Here. They're day passes. Use them."
They put them on without resistance.
You started growing more irritated with their antics.
Luckily for you, you guys were right outside Miguel's office.
You entered, immediately swinging toward Miguel and ignoring his dramatic entrance.
"Dad, I'm here."
Before he could reply, you shoved the pictures into his hands.
Usually, he would lightly scold you.
However, looking at you, you looked unusually disheveled.
You both got down to a lower level and called Jess to come along.
The longer you looked at the pictures, the more anxious you got.
"I'm here," Jess said, getting closer to you both.
As you all discussed what this could mean, your family stood awkwardly apart from you.
Tim was the only one who didn't, choosing to investigate technology.
"I'm not waiting around." Damian started walking closer to you and the others, growing impatient.
The others made no effort to stop him, instead using this as an excuse to get closer to you yet again.
The closer they got to you, the more they could hear your conversation.
"I just don't understand what the Joker wants with him!" you said while picking at your nails anxiously.
"We need to stop him before he tries anything."
"How can we stop him if we don't know where he is?"
"I don't know."
You felt Dick grab you in a hug, which annoyed you even further.
"Let go of me!" you kicked harder and harder.
It wasn't until Bruce told him to let go that he did.
"I thought it'd make you feel better."
"Well, you thought wrong!" You relocated your dislocated shoulder and put it back into place.
"How are these bracelets made?" Tim asked both Miguel and you as you both ignored him.
You proceeded to try and block out everyone's noises.
Jess and Miguel are trying to pinpoint the spot.
Tim is asking questions.
Dick is trying to calm you down.
Jason and Bruce are arguing. Damian asking if you all could leave.
"Y/n," Miguel said. You looked at him, his face full of worry. "We think the spot is trying to team up with the Joker."
You could practically feel your heart beating out of your chest.
And you hated how due to Jess's and Miguel's super hearing, they could tell you were freaking out.
"Hey, hey, Mija—Pavitr was waiting for you in the training room with the others. How about you go join them?"
"I don't want to," the truth is, you did. You always did.
You didn't want your friends to worry about this.
Jess practically read your mind. "Yes, you do. Peni was on her way to get you some food."
Despite your reluctance, you got up and started making your way out the door. Before you were even halfway through the door, you realized you were being followed.
You paused, which caused the others to stop closely behind you.
You look back to see that most of your family has started following you, with the exception of Bruce, who, despite his stone-cold face and stupid mask, you could tell was dumbfounded.
"Can you guys—" Exasperated, you pushed the one closest to you, which happened to be Tim. "—leave me alone?!" By pushing Tim, you ended up pushing the others along with him.
Suddenly your siblings were on the floor, surprised at your strength.
You turned around, ready to swing away angrily and possibly leave the society and teleport to a random universe just to get away from everyone.
Before you could do anything but turn away, however, you felt a calloused hand firmly grab your wrist.
You turned around, expecting it to be Jason.
What you did not expect was for the hand to be Bruce's. He spoke up, his voice cold and uncomforting.
"You just demonstrated to everyone you cannot be trusted to be alone. Your behavior is unacceptable. Control yourself."
'Control yourself?'
'Control yourself?!'
You yanked away from his hold and stared at his eyes in a way that reminded Bruce of Dick when he was younger.
As he glared at you, you thought about how years ago, had you been in this exact position, you would've given in to Bruce's silent demand to calm down.
However, you weren't afraid anymore.
You pointed a finger at his chest. "How are you going to tell me what to do? You barge into my space and have the audacity to tell me what to do?"
"Your space?" Dick spoke up, amused.
"Yes, my space, the same space I took comfort in after you all had forgotten about me." The angrier you got, the louder your voice got. "You guys weren't even invited! Gosh, you're so inconsiderate—"
You felt a pair of gentle hands get yours out of your scalp, which you hadn't realized were pulling your hair.
You look up and see Miguel towering over you, a familiar gentle look on his face making you quiet down.
"Go to the training room."
You didn't argue against Miguel's words and made your way out, but not before stopping the others from coming with you. "Don't follow me."
Before any of them could object, Jess defended you. "You should walk by yourself anyway; take a break."
You smiled weakly at her and made your way out.
As you made your way out, you could hear Jess scolding someone, presumably your family.
You angrily huffed your way towards the training room, ignoring the concerned stares from others.
You passed by the medbay and the therapist's office and wished they had a better one you could talk to and finally made it to the training room.
You didn't bother to knock.
Gwen was sparring with Miles.
Pavitr was practicing his swinging using the gymnastics area.
Hobie was having a smoke break near a window.
They looked your way as you angrily ripped off your mask and threw it onto the ground.
You ignored your friends looking at you and went straight to the punching bags.
After around a minute or two, Pavitr came up to you.
"Hey, uh– y/n?" You heard the hesitation in his voice.
You let out an unusually irritated sigh. "What?"
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." He reached out to you. "Listen, don't be afraid to ask for help. –"
"I don't need your help." You punched the bag harder with every word.
"I don't need anyone's help. I'm fine on my own."
Before he could talk, you continued. "I don't need your help," you repeated. "I don't need anyone's help! And I certainly don't need help from Bruce or his stupid sons!"
You blew through the punching bag, leaving half of it still hanging and the other half on the floor.
"Are you sure? You just broke five punching bags in like 8 minutes—" Miles nervously added.
"I'm fine," you said through gritted teeth.
As you started storming off, you felt a hand hold your wrist.
Man, what's with you and people grabbing onto you?
You whipped your head around to see it was Gwen.
The others also started surrounding you, pissing you off even more.
As soon as you were going to pull away and leave, Gwen beat you to it and pulled you onto the ground and into a hug.
You started tearing up; you couldn't tell if it was from relief or frustration.
"I'm sorry for snapping, Pav. I've been so overwhelmed."
"I might forgive you if you bake me some of those cupcakes you made me a while ago," Pavitr playfully said.
You let out a wet chuckle yet stayed hugging Gwen. "You mean the ones I made Gayatri and you ate?"
"They were delicious and insisted I eat them; she was sick!"
You tried explaining your frustration, only to hiccup and stumble over your word vomit. You decided to stay quiet and try and calm down. You didn't explain what happened and why you had walked in so upset.
They understood anyway.
__________
It wasn't very hard for Damian to find you.
It was easy for anyone in your family to disappear from a crowd.
So it isn't very surprising Damian managed to escape Miguel's grasp.
The problem was finding you in an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar faces.
He went around walking, ignoring how people looked at him like he didn't belong. It looked like how he looked at you years ago.
As he went looking for you, he saw a familiar shade of raven hair.
Peni.
He made his way toward her, ignoring the people in his way.
Sensing him, Peni turned around.
"Parker," Damian said.
"Oh, hey, Damian," Peni said casually before looking up again in surprise.
"Wait, Damian? Why are you here?" Peni said, continuing to walk.
"I'm looking for my sister." Damian started walking alongside Peni.
"Oh, come with me. I'm on my way to get her some food, actually," Peni said, holding a white takeout bag.
"Hn," Damian acknowledged.
"But why are you in headquarters right now?" She held his wrist and lifted it up slightly, showing his day pass. "How did you even get a day pass?"
Damian quickly pulled his wrist away. "None of your business, Parker."
"Whatever," Peni said, standing outside a large door. "We're here."
Damian masked his confusion and watched as Peni entered a room. Damian followed behind, looking at the room.
The room looked a lot more comfortable than the one at the manor.
It also had a lot more resources somehow.
It had a gymnastics area like the one Dick used.
"Hey, Y/n! I've got your food!" Peni yelled out toward you.
You were sparring with your friends. Sweet, thanks, Peni! Come up with us!" you called to her.
"Can't. Don't have my robot," Peni said, disappointed.
Before she could think, you swooped her up with you and swung with both Damian and Peni with the others.
"Who's this little guy?" Gwen said, pointing to Damian.
"Oh, I don't think Damian has met you guys. Damian's my little brother."
Damian noticed how you no longer had any hesitation in your tone.
As your friends all got to know Damian, you and Pavitr continued practicing gymnastics.
It was mostly you two fooling around.
It surprised you when you saw the rest of your family walk in.
"Birdie!" You let out a groan when you heard Dick.
You swung down to them, your annoyance apparent on your face.
"Why are you here?" you asked, crossing your arms.
"I didn't know you did gymnastics!" He held both your shoulders, ignoring your question.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Can't we visit our baby sister?" You let out a gag at his words, which made his smile falter slightly.
You turned around to see your family interacting with your friends.
Hobie and Jason were being amicable. You knew that if you hadn't told Hobie about your home life, they would've gotten along great.
Tim was trying to talk to Gwen and Miles.
Damian stayed around Peni, who was still being stuck on a high-up balance beam.
Bruce was standing near the door menacingly.
Before you could tell them all to leave, you and your friends got a live message from Miguel.
"Come to my office. It's urgent."
fuuuccckkk.
As you all started rushing out, Peni's voice called out.
"Hello? "A little help here?"
"Sorry, Peni!" You quickly scooped both her and Damian up and left.
____
this took too long happy ficaversaryi dont have much of an excuse for not posting besides life and i coyldve died oops
ok so this is a very general idea but.. rebellious reader! A reader who acts out for attention—
(the reader is heavily implied to be male)
Rebellious reader who smokes, does lines, skips family dinner, ignores the family back, more of the euphoria type of stuff.
They were in the slums of gotham before their mom died and eventually they found Bruce as his father.
Bruce left him to Alfred as he was too difficult to take care of.
Rebellious reader does not bother with being a good son or anything, in fact they run away multiple times but always gets caught because Tim put a tracker in his phone (In case he knows the batfam’s secret and wants to sell them out)
Rebellious reader does not care about their academics at all, they skip class, school, heck they even skip hangouts with their million of friend groups (that they got purely from clubbing, doing lines, and sneaking off to the poor side of gotham to have fun.)
Reader is underage— just 17 and is in 12th grade by a lot of bribing from Alfred.
Alfred doesn’t care about Reader mainly because he doesn’t see him as a possible robin or as a son, but Alfred can only stare in disappointment as he puts food in the fridge for Reader (since they skipped it.. again)
One random day, Reader actually goes to the family dinners —by force since Alfred keeps making them feel guilty— and is dealing with a horrible hangover as they sit on the first seat that they find.
Unfortunately it’s the seat that makes Bruce in front of Reader.
And for the first time in years, Bruce acknowledges he has a child, one that grew up too fast for him to even notice.
CLEARLY you all are desperate for an actual story on this blurb I quickly wrote up ♡
Part 1: (You are here!) , Part 2: Here! , Part 3: Here! , Part 4: Here! , Part 5: Here!
CW: Reader is pregnant BUT is gender neutral only being referred to as you, if you don’t have the ability to get pregnant you do now (in this potential series). Neglected reader x (platonic.) bat family. reader is somewhat introverted and is describe loosely as attractive. Reader is probably around in your 20s (21 - 25) and is the 5th(??) oldest. READER ALSO HAS NO IDEA THAT THE WAYNE FAMILY ARE SUPERHEROS (for now…)
TW: Abuse in the form of emotional neglect, Reader’s mom is dead, Pregnancy and rich people.
You weren’t a kid anymore. Part of you wonders if you ever got the chance to be one. Your mom died when you were pretty young, barely 6 at the time, you don’t remember much about her. She was pretty though, maybe that’s where you got your looks from?
You spent 4 years at an orphanage after her passing, until one day a car came and picked you up and took you to a big manor. Apparently Bruce Wayne was your father, but not just an adoptive one, your biological father. That was definitely shocking, You looked so much like your mother that you really couldn’t see the resemblance, maybe if you really focused you could see some aspects of the new father you suddenly gained.
You only met Bruce a handful of times, the first time was to greet you. He seemed particularly disinterested, you were only just a bit younger than Jason which he was currently focused on at the time. Bruce showed you to your room it was way bigger than your room in the orphanage then promptly disappeared, Alfred (who you came later to learn was the butler and NOT your new grandfather.) showed you around the rest of the Manor, claiming that Bruce had paperwork that needed more attention than his newly gained child, okay, he didn’t put it like that but that’s basically what he ment.
The Manor was big and rather empty, you wonder what the point of all this space was as a child. As you grew older you grew to understand and appreciate its big and emptiness, because then you couldn’t run into any of your other siblings. Whenever you meet them, it’s awkward, like you’re an outsider. Which you suppose you are, but it’s different because you later learn that all of your siblings were adopted, minus Damian but you only gained him as your sibling towards the end of your stay in the Manor. So why did they treat you like you were the odd when out, when they all should know perfectly how that feels since they were also outsiders at one point? To this day you have no clue.
You quickly grew adjusted to not being around your family. The first the phew years was difficult, you craved their attention like any normal child. You remember you used to cry at night as a kid wondering what you did wrong for them to barely even glance your way, to not even love you… but after the third birthday with the exact same gift you got on previous birthdays from Bruce, continually getting rejected by all your siblings on your offers to hang out and occasionally catching wholesome moments between your siblings and Bruce where they were chatting and laughing without you, You naturally gave up on trying.
You instead grew as a person without them, you made friends at school, developed your own personal fashion taste, you discovered your hobbies and your personality. You occasionally heard news about your family from Alfred (You never got used to only hearing news from him), like how Jason died, Tim was brought in, turns out Jason was alive and at some point Damian was also brought in. The timeline was messy. Honestly you didn’t think much about why Bruce adopted so many damn kids nor did you bother to concern yourself with their affairs.
Instead you discovered somethings more important. Number one is your huge allowance, you knew Bruce was a billionaire and filthy, disgustingly rich, but not to the point your allowance was in the MILLIONS. The second thing is nobody cares about you, to the point one time when you were around 17 you stayed at a friend’s house for two days without telling anyone, came back and apparently no one had any idea you even left when you asked Alfred.
Those two things got you to where you were now, a stunning and safe apartment with the most beautiful view in the whole of Gotham, a loving husband who would do practically anything for you, heavily pregnant in your 20s and currently surrounded by your shocked family.
You had a fight with your husband and you were livid at him deciding to spend some time at the Wayne Manor just to cool off (and to somewhat teach him a lesson), You honestly thought that nobody would care when you came waltzing back. Since nobody cared any other time.
However you were sorely mistaken. To the point you regret not just staying at a hotel or something. When you first walked through the door, Alfred greeted you. You were occasionally in contact with him, but you neglected to tell him about the pregnancy, let alone the fact you were married mainly because you knew he’d run and tell the entire family and you’d rather keep your life private from them. Which is probably why he stopped mid greeting to stare at your belly. It looked like he was buffering as he let you in and led you to the kitchen, you texted him on the ride there that you were a bit thirsty, so he prepared you some tea.
“My word, you’re really pregnant?” Alfred finally said once you sat down at one of the counters, which earned a chuckle from you as he slid your tea over to you.
“Last time I checked… which was in a mirror and when I felt the little gremlin kicking around in me on the drive here, I am.” You say with a smile before proceeding to chug your tea. “May I ask-” Alfred starts but before he can finish he’s interrupted by Damian, who entered the kitchen to grab some snacks at some point but instead noticed you.
“What on earth is that.” Damian hissed, he looked disturbed and disgusted as he pointed at your belly, like he just discovered a bug. Which ticked you off.
“An Alien, no use your head what does it look like?” You sarcastically reply. Normally Damian would’ve retorted however you quickly decide that you want to relax in the living room where you could continue your conversation with Alfred. As you and Alfred quickly leave, abandoning your empty tea cup, and finally settling in the living room. However you suddenly hear a STORM of footsteps from inside the house. You turn around and realize Damian followed you to the living room, phone in hand and clearly had texted the entire family about his new discovery.
“Fuck me…” you mutter softly, your peaceful days of being ignored were probably officially over. All thanks to your one dumb decision to come here. While you silently regretted your choices, almost the entire Wayne family had run into the living room, Tim was the first to run in shouting “WHO’S PREGNANT?”
You only really snap out of it when you notice the entire Wayne family staring at you, they got here faster than expected. Not all of them were here but most of them.
‘Maybe I really am carrying an Alien’ You ponder momentarily before you begin to speak, “Listen I’m only here momentarily because I had a small disagreement with my husband—” “HUSBAND?” Dick squeaks out his voice breaking in shock. “Yes— wait why are you all here anyways?” You say as it dawns on you how ridiculous this whole reaction was. Hell even BRUCE WAYNE, the supposed father you were under the care of, that you never saw for the majority of your life was even here.
“Well cause you know Bruce is always bringing home kids it’s the first time someone other than him is bringing home one, let alone an unborn one.” Cassandra pointed out, which you promptly agreed nodding your head. That explains it, to this damn family it must be pretty alien.
“Okay, well I’m pregnant. I get it shocking and stuff but there’s no need to—“ You say trying to calm down the situation when you are interrupted by Damian who’s pointing at your belly where your baby, as if sensing the crowd of spectators, decided to do its own acrobatic routine.
“Ew why is it moving….” Damian said, You’re starting to wonder why you even talk. “Don’t say ew. It’s just kicking, if you want you can touch my belly—” you regret those words instantly as around 20 hands immediately fly to touch your belly where the baby continues to kick. You’d almost find the whole situation adorable if it weren’t for the fact they were your family who previously didn’t give a flying fuck about you.
All of a sudden Bruce, noticing your uncomfort, clears his throat. When he does the 20 hands resend from touching your belly, “How far along are you?” He asks calmly but you can clearly hear his voice shake slightly. “7 months.” You reply calmly to which Damian opens his mouth again.
“Jesus when is it going to come out— wait how does it come out…” He still look horrified to which you suppressed a laugh. “Did no one teach you where babies come from?” You laugh and then pause when the room goes silent.
“Oh my god…” you mutter, no wonder he’s so disturbed. You hear Bruce quickly whisper to Selina “I thought you told him!” To which Selina fires back, “Me?! It’s your job!”
That’s your cue to leave before you have to witness a very uncomfortable conversation. “Okay, I’m going to go to my room, I’m tired.” To which everyone nods giving you space to leave.
Phew hours had gone by and you were relaxing in bed on your phone, when you heard a knock on your door.
“Come in!” You call, assuming it was Alfred but instead the one who came waltzing in was Damian. He looked awkward and you definitely felt that as well.
“Hello.” He said as he walked over to you staring at you where you were lying down.
“Uh… Hi Damian… how can I help you?” You ask praying he just going to briefly insult you and walk away like he did in the past. Instead he looks curious.
“I have been educated on where kids come from. It is very disturbing.” You chuckle at his statement and at his face full of regret while putting your phone away.
“It’s not too bad, at least you learned from your parents and not your friends half way into high school.” You say smiling reaching out and patting his small shoulder at your own memory of your shocked friends as they held your hand in the bathroom and slowly explained it to the poor naive you.
“Yes that sounds way worse.” He admits as you laugh at his sentiment, to which he scowls a bit before snapping out of it. “Anyways, like I said, I have been educated and although it’s very disturbing I commend your bravery for creating life.”
Damn it, he made it awkward again. You resend your hand awkwardly and place it back on your chest, Damian continues speaking though. “I also did some research and apparently the fetus can hear around the 5th month, and since you said it’s in the 7 month stage it can hear. Which means it heard me insulting it.”
You nod at his words, encouraging him to get whatever he’s planning on doing over with already. When he sees your nod, he removes his hands from behind his back, he’s holding a book.
“So to replace my negative words I have brought an educational book, normally I know perhaps the other parent my read so the baby gets used to both your voices, however since your a single parent—“
you give him an incredulous look “no… I have a husband.” To which he stares at you like your pants are on fire, that’s how much of a liar he thinks you are.
“Yes… right.. well since this supposed husband isn’t here to read to your child I shall.” He plops himself beside you, not accepting any protests from you about how you really do have a husband, he begins to read, you give in closing your eyes, clearly you’re going to be here awhile. “Law 1. Always make those above you feel comfortably superior…” you scrunch your face at his words as he reads. Half way into chapter one your eyes fly open and realize that he’s actually reading.
“Are you reading 48 laws of power right now?” You say staring at the book he’s holding as you prop yourself up on your elbows. He gives you a look like you just said the sky was blue.
“Yes of course? It needs to come out smart. Now please lie back down.” He says pushing you to lie back down. You give in once again, you’re too tired to protest against Damian anyways…
At some point both you and Damian passed out, the book could only hold both your interests long enough and the warmth of your room was just perfect for a nap. You stare down at the still sleeping Damian, whose head is currently resting on your belly, contemplatively. In someways you were jealous he fit in perfectly with the Wayne family and was actually treated like their sibling and child. However on the other hand you were honestly glad you were not loved like he was, because if you were you would’ve never met your husband (that you are now starting to miss…) and you also would’ve never been given the opportunity to create your own family, one that will love you truly.
You didn’t like the fact that Damian used to insult you occasionally in the past, but it’s not like you held it against him and you also don’t regret making fun of him back. Although he was a brat at times, he was still a child. A child in a huge messy family that just happened to be your little brother. Perhaps that was the gnawing feeling in your heart. The knowledge such a small kid like him will probably struggle in someways you used to is weighing heavy on you. He was earnest, and clearly tried his best from the fact alone he came to your room to read a book that he knew would help the baby… even if that book was the laws of power and was incredibly boring (in your opinion.)
He was just like you when you were smaller. That thought made you gently reach down and stroke his head. “I hope you’ll only make smart choices, but even if you don’t I’ll still love you, my dear. Just remember, don’t hold onto people who will never hold you gently and lovingly. After all, You are the most precious thing to me and you will be precious to so many others. You are worth your weight in gold.” You whisper to the sleeping boy, the same words your mother said at her passing. You feel yourself getting chocked up, after all this day was full of emotions for you. And you aren’t quite ready to face those emotions so you close your eyes.
After saying all those words and remembering the things you’d almost rather forget you find yourself pulled back into sleep. This time though, Damian had a small smile etched on his face as he slept..
summary: “You have reached Wayne manor. Who may be calling?” “Alfred? It's me. Can you come pick me up, please? I’ve been de-aged.”
or: batsib gets de-aged and doesn’t know what to do with their family’s meagre attempts to form a bond.
contents: crack turned serious, concept fic, angst, de-aged!batsib, batsib is gender neutral, reader is 23-ish in present-self, sassy batsib apocalypse, highly intelligent batsib, dialogue-heavy, teacher!reader, no beta we die like batsib’s interest in being involved with the batfam.
a/n: this is a concept fic, meaning i might expand on this or i might not touch this at all, so please don't get your hopes up for a part two 💀💀
word count: 2.3k
"Watch out! There's a banana peel on the floor!"
"Huh? Why would there be a—" Slip. "W-Woah!"
As if the world slowed down, you observe, frame by frame, as the liquid of a beaker comes hurtling towards your face. It's a dazzling, deep shade of purple, and bubbling.
Gods above, why is it bubbling?
You do not know what could possibly be in this mystery concoction your less-than-stellar student has attempted to secretly dispose of behind your back, or how he did it without you noticing. It's commendable, you'll give him that, but you also would have thought that university students would have more common sense by now.
You can dodge this, just a half-step to the right.
But there's another student adjacent to you.
If you dodge this, they'll get hit instead.
Upon that realisation, you sigh, close your eyes, and brace.
Of course this happens to you on a Tuesday morning.
Splash.
Floating. Drifting. Drowning. Somewhere in between.
At first, you find that you’re almost ten years into the future.
Although, this was quickly proven wrong when you ran tests. Apparently, according to a quick google search, you’re supposed to be twenty-three years old. You’re not in the future. You’re in the present, just not... your present.
10/10 explanation. No notes!
You didn't time travel, you’ve been de-aged. (Supposedly)
ring ring ring
“You have reached Wayne manor. Who may be calling?”
“Alfred? It's me. Can you come pick me up, please? I’ve been de-aged.”
And it’s nauseating how fast everything seems to be going from there, because you suddenly become everything and anything negative in such a short amount of time.
You’re dizzy. You’re confused.
You were in a laboratory, belonging to Gotham University. You were in an office. (Your office! Isn’t that exciting?). You were in a car, courtesy of Alfred.
And now you're in a cave.
You're in the Batcave.
The very last place you would ever want to find yourself in. Though, you suppose you don’t have much of a choice.
“We need to make sure that this calls for the de-ageing protocol, or if the past and present versions have switched places."
"If it is the latter, then we risk the integrity of the timeline. They need to be monitored.”
"The tech we normally use is to confirm a situation like this is being updated by Cyborg, he said we won't get it back until next week."
Even when you stand here, clothes a little too baggy, and wearing a face far too young than what it's supposed to be, even then, they are talking as if you are not there.
"Maybe we can contact a speedster to confirm?"
"Last time we relied on a Flash, they ate our entire pantry."
"Wally even ate my limited edition cheerios, the one with chocolate, marshmallows, and sprinkles. I had that imported!"
None of them are even looking at you anymore and the conversation is being steered to something different altogether. They don't care, not really. It is a little disappointing, but you did not expect anything less from them.
Typical, really.
“It’s the former," you chime, your voice cutting all chatter. Everybody is staring at you now. Good. Maybe some progress will actually be made today.
“How are you so sure?” Bruce asks, taking the time to actually look at you now. It's weird having his attention, you think.
After years of yearning for it, begging for a glance, you feel nothing short of indifference. Nonetheless, that doesn’t cover the fact that he sounds doubtful of your declaration. Because why would you, the civilian, know anything?
“I collected a sample of the leftover substance I was hit with and analysed it during the time it took for Alfred to arrive." You fish out an eppendorf tube from your pocket, filled with what substance you could salvage from the scene.
"Judging by the results, it seemed that it had residual magic properties that match similar cases of de-ageing, rather than those of time travel.”
The cave is so silent that a distant squeak from a bat echoes around you, but still, you plough through.
“As a result of being raised in a house where one of the two adults dress like a bat at night and has clinical paranoia, I had guessed that my ‘present’ self had protocols put in place if an event such as this one were to occur.”
Someone whistles lowly. “I don't remember you being a nerd before I died.”
Your eye twitches.
Jason Todd-Wayne, for you, died almost a year and a half ago. Instead of in a casket, he's leaning against the meeting table, arms crossed, and you can tell that he's much taller now. Shorter than Bruce but beats Dick by at least two inches. According to the files, he should be around twenty-four now, give or take.
You're happy for him, truly. He did not deserve the death that had befallen him. But, it would be too far to say that you liked him, let alone miss him.
How do you miss someone you didn’t know?
The thought alone leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. Maybe that's why you couldn't stop yourself from blurting out something you wouldn't normally say out loud.
“Hello, Jason. Alfred has already informed me of your reanimation. You talk an awful lot for a zombie.”
You will be the bigger person and admit that what you said is most likely uncalled for, but nothing could stop the sick satisfaction that fills your chest at the way he almost snarls at you.
Just like a rabid dog.
His resurrection must be a sore spot, you snicker to yourself.
“Lotta mouth on you for being a middle schooler—”
“What does your protocol state?” Bruce, seemingly dismissing Jason's outburst, instead raised a brow.
"Three things." You shrug, unperturbed. "One, confirm that this is a time-body swap or a de-ageing. Two, confirm whether the de-ageing is temporary. Three, confirm if the age I have turned is that of a child or adult. Given the circumstances, protocol stated to contact the Wayne manor and hope for the best.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeahhh, it got sloppy at the end but that’s mostly because present-me didn’t think this would actually happen to us.”
When the bell signals for the end of the school day, Damian is notified of your presence and your circumstance by Alfred on the drive back to the manor.
He would not be the blood son of the 'World's Greatest Detective' if he were to say that he wasn't curious about you.
You, who had next to no portraits on the walls. The only ones being of you holding your degrees and a polite smile. All of which are contained in a measly frame atop an antique ornament table at the end of the corridor.
You, who supposedly packed up everything they owned and moved out at eighteen, a year before he arrived.
You, who no longer has an assigned bedroom at the manor.
He's done research about you before.
You are single. Graduated with first class honours in all your degrees. You live in a studio apartment, despite being a lecturer and research scientist at Gotham University, and could definitely afford something more substantial. You tutor snotty Gotham Academy students on Saturdays. You are older than Drake but younger than Todd, and have lived in the manor the longest amongst the siblings, up until you moved out. You are allergic to paracetamol and strawberries. Your mother is dead.
But those are all mindless, meaningless things, things you can look up on the internet or from the latest gossip magazines (though the word ‘latest’ was a stretch, Damian thinks, seeing as the most recent magazine of you dates to before your leaving).
He knocks twice at the door. Sharp. Precise.
“Enter.”
Damian had been informed that this office used to belong to you, way back then. An office on the top floor that overlooked the garden.
Despite knowing that, when you glance up from the sprawl of pages across the long oak desk, Damian deems it far too large for somebody of your stature. Somebody of your age. His age. No matter what de-ageing situation has befallen you.
“Damian, right?”
The room is dusty from years of disuse. Even Pennyworth knows it is pointless to constantly maintain a room nobody will occupy.
“Correct.”
The shelves are lined with scripture and history. Books are even stacked on top of each other as a result of there being no more room, piles that almost reach his own height.
“Do you need something?”
Damian glances at the untouched dinner placed carefully at the edge of the desk. It is bound to be cold now.
“Why do you insist on acting like an outsider?” He is quick. Straight to the point. Efficient.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” You tilt your head to the side. You're not offended, it seems.
It's nice to know that you are not overly sensitive compared to the other emotionally driven residents of the manor.
“You are a child of this manor, yet, why do you go to such lengths to not appear as such?” There is no accusation, just interest. After all, Robin is no less a detective than Batman. He craves knowledge.
“It’s best to ask the older version of myself, Damian. What they believe and what I believe could be different.” Honest. Lackadaisical.
“What is it that you believe, then?” He prods.
“I believe that I am not a child of this manor. I am nobody’s child. I do not act like an outsider. I am an outsider. Simple as that.”
Damian does not have a reply to that. He let's the information stew in his head for a second while also asking himself questions.
Why are you dismissing his connection with you? You, his older sibling, denying your link that ties you to him. How long have you had this mindset that you do not belong here? "Father loves you, so why is it that—"
It is at that moment where it all changes.
When you change.
It's abrupt and unexpected.
Because you're laughing.
Loudly. Unabashed. Uncaring.
Damian watches your lips curl upwards. A smile so cruel and so cold does not belong on the face of a teenager. Did he once look like that when he first arrived?
“Pfft— Damian, you cannot possibly believe that Bruce loves me like everybody else in this manor.” Your laugh is empty, as if incredulous to the very concept of such a thing. It almost sends a shiver down Damian's spine.
You practically read his mind like a book. How did you know what he was thinking? Had he asked that last thought out loud?
"You bear Father’s crest, his name. That should be enough proof." Damian sputters.
"What are you talking about, Damian? Being Bruce's son, I thought you would have read my file already?" Genuine confusion.
“I have.” He has. He's read anything and everything he could about you.
“Then you should know that Bruce didn't formally adopt me, and after reading articles about my present-self, it seems that he never did.”
Oh. He had overlooked that. Like a rookie, he assumed. But Father was so quick to give Damian his surname, has Father never offered you the same? He has formally adopted every one of Damian's siblings, all of them hyphenating their former surnames with Wayne.
Why not you?
Maybe because of his baffled expression, your face finally softens again. "I watched some videos of myself earlier, of interviews and speeches. I look… satisfied. It’s nice to know that I didn’t end up dead in a ditch, or in Metropolis." You say gently, rounding the corner of the desk, and now standing in front of him.
"Damian."
He looks at you. You're the same height as he is. The same age. It was like looking into a mirror.
Yet, why do you feel so far away?
"Don't dwell on things that are out of your control. It seems to me that I've made my peace with it years ago."
And with that finishing statement, he can tell that he is being politely asked to leave.
[ EXTRA ]
You're curious about Damian. You can see Bruce in the way Damian holds himself, the way he walks, his inflection, even his eyebrows.
You've done brief research into his character. Talia al Ghul's lab grown child. Raised within the League of Assassins. Raised to be an assassin. Kept a secret from Bruce until Talia brought Damian to the manor at ten years old. A year after present-you left.
He is now Robin.
Judging by the reports and security footage, Damian is brash, and is quick to threaten violence, especially towards Tim. He does not call anybody by their first name, most likely to put emotional distance between himself and others. He is spoiled relentlessly by Dick. He is frustrated, more often than not. He is overconfident. He views everything as a competition. He smirks. He scoffs. He jeers.
But, he is kind, in a complicated sort of way.
He is vegetarian because he cares and loves any and all animals. He enjoys and appreciates the arts, and is willing to discuss its portrayal and meaning. He helps Alfred in the garden, occasionally. He aids his classmates that do not understand the material. He likes reading manga and comics. He is patient. He does not judge without reason. He does not underestimate.
Damian is not perfect by any means, but he... he is willing to learn, and you respect that.
You wonder if he would be interested in having your collection of manga you no longer read.
No warning. No explanation. One moment Jason is alone and the next, there’s a kid sitting on his motorcycle, calling him Dad like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The child knows his name, knows the family, knows things they shouldn’t be able to know.
Worse, they have proof.
the child isn’t scared. They aren’t confused. They’re soft, trusting, affectionate, utterly certain they belong here. Certain Jason is their father. Certain this is home.
Jason doesn’t know when this child is from.
Or how they arrived.
Or what kind of future could produce something like this.
All he knows is that every instinct in him says this shouldn’t exist.
The night patrol passed like any other. Nothing out of the ordinary—if anything, it was almost peaceful. The shift was nearly over, and they gathered briefly before splitting up, each heading their separate ways.
Jason had only stepped away from his bike for five minutes—five goddamn minutes—to grab intel from one of his contacts in Crime Alley. When he returned, ready to head back to his safehouse, he froze.
There was a kid sitting on his motorcycle.
Not near it. Not looking at it. On it. Perched on the seat like they owned the damn thing, legs swinging casually, completely unbothered by the fact that this was Red Hood's bike in one of Gotham's worst neighborhoods at night.
"Kid," Jason called out, his voice edged with warning as he approached. His hand instinctively moved toward his holster before he stopped himself, it was just a kid, probably no older than six or seven. "What the hell are you doing on someone else's ride?"
The child looked up at him with an expression that was far too calm for the situation. No fear. No surprise. Just... mild annoyance?
Jason glanced around the empty street, his instincts screaming that something was off.
No parents in sight. No one running after a lost kid. The area was deserted except for the distant sound of sirens.
"Where are your parents?" he asked, studying the kid more carefully now.
This wasn't some street kid. Their clothes were too clean, too well-fitted, a nice jacket, good shoes, and a shirt that probably cost more than what most families in this neighborhood made in a week. The kid was well-fed, well-groomed, clearly cared for.
So what were they doing here? Alone? On his bike?
The kid's expression shifted from annoyed to offended, their small face scrunching up in a way that was almost... familiar.
"Dad! What's wrong with you?!"
Jason's brain screeched to a halt. "What?"
"I said," the kid repeated, crossing their arms with the kind of attitude that would've made Damian proud, "what's wrong with you? Why are you acting like you don't know me?"
Jason's brain stuttered to a halt. 'Huh? What? Dad? Me? A father?' His confusion only deepened as he tried to process what he'd just heard.
“Yes! You’re my dad!” The child held up the locket, hands trembling with excitement.
The photograph inside captured Jason as he had never seen himself—older, grayer, faint wrinkles at his eyes, smiling with a warmth he didn’t recognize as his own.
In his arms was the child, barely five years old, tucked close, gazing up at him like the world had already decided where it belonged.
"Wait, let me see that..." Jason took the locket necklace to examine it more closely. The photo looked recent, almost too recent.
But what really caught his attention was the small tracker embedded in the back of the locket, technology that was unmistakably from the Batcomputer. Who is this kid?
He looked back at the child. "How old are you?"
“Seven!” the kid said brightly, then held up all ten fingers. Jason exhaled through his teeth. “Seven,” the kid corrected quickly. “I think.”
'Ten or seven?' Jason mentally noted the discrepancy. "How did you get out here by yourself?"
“And how did you get out here?” Jason asked, voice low now.
The kid laughed, small and nervous, eyes flicking away. “Don’t be mad, okay? I just… I found a hole in the wall.”
Footsteps sounded behind Jason before he could respond. He turned just as Red Robin came into view, already mid-sentence, then stopping short. Tim’s gaze slid past Jason, straight to the kid sitting on the motorcycle.
“Jason, Bruce is looking for—” Tim cut himself off. “Why there is a child on your bike?”
The kid grinned, bright and unbothered, like this was exactly how things were supposed to go. “Hiiiii, Uncle Tim!!”
Tim froze. The surprise wasn’t just the kid, it was the name. “...What?” he breathed, the shock sharp and immediate, because no one was supposed to know who he was.
Silence settled thick and immediate.
Tim stared, then crouched slightly, eyes catching on the necklace, the backpack slung over the kid’s shoulder. A Robin keychain hung from the zipper, and when Tim looked closer, he saw the subtle stitching that hid yet another tracker.
They checked everything. The necklace. The bag. The clothes. Wayne Enterprises labels appeared again and again, neat and undeniable, enough to suggest coincidence—if not for the photo, the tech, the way the child said dad and uncle without hesitation or doubt. there is no way that's a lie.
_____________________________________
Tim and Jason exchanged a look.
The trackers, the photo, the Wayne branding, none of it fit cleanly into clear explanation Tim could pull from his head. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something they could leave standing on an empty street.
A moment later, Dick arrived, slowing as soon as he took in the scene. His gaze moved from Jason, Tim and.. the child perched too comfortably on Jason’s bike, "what is going on here?"
Jason let out a breath through his nose. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Dick didn’t press. He glanced down the street instead, the quiet, the cold, the faint hint of dawn already settling in, before looking back at the kid. “We should move,” he said quietly. “This isn’t a conversation for the middle of the city.”
They formed a loose circle around the child, close enough to contain him without crowding. Dick crossed his arms. “Kid,” he called, “you’re coming back to the manor with us.”
“Okay!” the kid answered instantly, bright and easy.
“We’ll take the Batmobile,” Dick added.
The kid hesitated, then stepped closer to Jason instead, fingers reaching out to clutch the edge of his jacket. “…I don’t want to,” they muttered, grip tightening. “I want to go with Dad. On the bike.”
Jason frowned. “The bike’s cold, and I’m not even going to the manor,” he said, trying to peel the kid’s fingers away. The effort only made the child cling harder.
“I’m going with Dad!” the kid insisted, voice rising. Tim opened his mouth, then closed it again before finally sighing. “…Fine. Jason can ride in the Batmobile too.”
“No,” Jason said immediately. “That’s not happening. Who’s taking my bike, then? you?” He tried again to ease the child’s fingers loose. “Come on. Let go.”
The child’s lower lip trembled. “I want to go with Dad,” they said, voice wobbling, cracking as tears spilled over. “Dad, you’re being mean… you don’t want me anymore..”
Jason froze mid-motion, a cold thread of dread crawling up his spine.
Dick immediately elbowed Jason in the ribs, giving him a pointed look. "Just give in for a bit, man. Come on, it's almost morning. Poor kid's exhausted."
Their attention shifted back to the child—tear-streaked, fingers still tangled in Jason’s jacket, knuckles white with the effort of holding on.
Jason looked down at the small figure clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left, and hated how natural it looked, how wrong it felt that the child seemed to belong there anyway.
Jason groaned, running a hand down his face as the child sobbed into his jacket, tiny shoulders shaking. 'This is emotional blackmail. Why is it working?'
"Fine! Fine!" Jason threw his hands up. "Stop crying, okay? We'll take the bike."
The child was still crying softly, tears clinging to their lashes as they looked up at Jason. Big, watery eyes searched his face. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Jason muttered, shooting a glare at Dick, who was very clearly fighting back a grin. “But you hold on the entire time. If you let go even once, we’re switching to the Batmobile. Got it?”
“Yes, Dad,” the child answered softly, voice hoarse and tired from crying. They wiped at their face with the back of their sleeve, eyelids drooping even as they nodded. “I’ll… I’ll hold on tight. Really tight.”
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jason, you know Bruce is going to—”
“Bruce can deal with it,” Jason cut in, already turning toward his motorcycle. “You two take the Batmobile. We’ll meet you there.”
Dick finally let his smile show. “You’re such a softie.”
“Shut up, Grayson,” Jason muttered. He reached up and gently wiped the tears from the child’s cheeks before shrugging off his jacket and draping it around their shoulders. “Here. Put this on.” He adjusted it properly, tugging it closer. “And stop crying already. What’s your name, kid?”
The child sniffled, rubbing at their eyes with the sleeve that was far too long. “I’m… Reader,” they said weakly, voice still thick from crying. After a beat, they added with quiet indignation, “Dad’s mean. Why would you ask what is my name.. hiks”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jason sighed. “Sorry.”
“Dad’s mean,” Dick teasing lightly, grinning as he picked up the kid’s bag.
The child giggled despite themself, small and tired, and Dick’s grin only widened.
Jason reached his bike and pulled the spare helmet from the storage compartment. It was far too big for a seven-year-old, the padding loose and imperfect, but it was all he had.
He crouched and settled it carefully over the child’s head, fingers lingering as he adjusted the straps, slower and more cautious than usual.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Rules. Hold onto me. Don’t let go. Don’t move around too much. Okay?”
“Mm,” the child answered softly, nodding instead of speaking, exhaustion weighing down their movements.
Jason swung his leg over the bike, and the child climbed up behind him with help, arms wrapping around his waist without urgency, more for balance than excitement. The hold was tight but unsteady, like they were afraid of slipping rather than clinging on purpose.
“Not too tight,” Jason muttered. “I need to breathe.”
The child loosened their grip a fraction, forehead resting briefly against his back.
“Sorry..” they whispered, voice small.
A few steps away, Dick and Tim were still watching. Dick tilted his head slightly, eyes lingering on the child. “They’re too small to be sitting back there,” he said quietly. “If they slip, Jason might not even feel it.”
“And that helmet’s barely holding,” Tim added, his gaze fixed on the loose strap.
Jason let out a slow breath. “So what?”
Tim stepped closer. “Reader—hey,” he said gently. “Just for a second, okay?” He lifted the child with careful hands, supporting their weight as he shifted them forward and settled them in front of Jason instead.
The child didn’t resist. They only leaned back against Jason’s chest, shoulders slack, exhaustion still heavy in their body.
Jason shot Tim an irritated look. “Seriously?”
“It’s safer,” Tim replied evenly. “At least you’ll know where the kid is the entire ride.”
Jason adjusted his arms, steadying the small body in front of him—and hated how natural the motion felt.
Dick headed toward the Batmobile, still grinning. “See you at the Manor, Dad.”
“I swear to God, Dick—”
“Bye, uncles,” the child murmured weakly, lifting a small hand in a lazy wave as the Batmobile pulled away.
Tim shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth as he followed Dick. “Try not to traumatize the kid with your driving, Jason.”
“My driving is fine,” Jason called back as he started the engine, the familiar rumble cutting through the quiet street.
He pulled onto the road at a measured pace—slower than he ever rode, slower than felt natural. With a small body pressed against him, he wasn’t taking chances.
Gotham’s streets were nearly empty, washed in pale blue as dawn began to creep in. Somewhere between intersections, Jason felt the child’s weight shift, their body relaxing fully against his chest, breaths evening out into a soft, steady rhythm.
'…Great. The kid’s falling asleep on a moving motorcycle.'
Jason didn’t speed up. Didn’t take sharp turns. He just kept the ride smooth and steady, carrying the quiet weight with him all the way to the Manor.
_____________________________________
They reached the Batcave just as dawn began to bleed faintly into the sky above.
Jason killed the engine, and before he could say anything, the child slid off the bike with practiced ease, landing lightly on their feet like they'd done it a hundred times before.
They didn't wait for him, didn't pause to take in their surroundings—just walked forward with casual familiarity, as if the cavernous space was nothing more than another room they knew by heart.
Straight toward the Batcomputer.
Where Bruce was sitting with Damian.
Both of them looked up at the sound of the motorcycle, their gazes landing first on the kid, then shifting to Jason with identical expressions of confusion and suspicion.
Bruce stood slowly, his imposing frame casting a long shadow in the dim light of the cave. "Why did you bring a child here?" His voice was measured, controlled, but there was an edge beneath it. "Who is this?"
The hesitation vanished in an instant. The kid's face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. "Oh! I'm Reader, Grandpa! How could you forget?!" They rushed forward without a shred of fear and wrapped their arms around Bruce's leg in an enthusiastic hug.
Bruce stiffened, clearly not expecting the contact.
Reader pulled back just enough to hold up the locket, flipping it open to show the photo inside. "See? Grandpa looks just like Dad!" they said brightly, pointing between the older Jason in the photo and Bruce's face.
Damian and Bruce both leaned in to examine the locket—the photo of the kid standing beside an older, more weathered version of Jason.
Then their eyes moved to Reader, and finally to Jason standing several feet behind, his arms crossed and his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and resignation.
Damian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Todd, what is the meaning—"
"We're just as confused as you are," Tim cut in, stepping into the cave with Dick close behind. "But I don't think the kid is lying."
He held up the small Robin keychain, turning it so the embedded tracker caught the light. "Everything Reader has on them—clothes, accessories, this tracker—it's all Wayne tech. High-grade stuff. And this," he tapped the keychain, "is directly connected to the Batcomputer. Same encryption we use."
Bruce's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His gaze dropped back down to Reader, who had released his leg and was now bouncing slightly on their heels, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes.
"Grandpa! Grandpa, pick me up!" Reader lifted both arms overhead, hands opening and closing in the universal gesture of a child wanting to be held.
No one moved.
The Batcave fell into a thick, uncomfortable silence. All eyes lingered on Reader—a small child who shared no physical resemblance with Bruce, with Jason, or with anyone else in the Cave. Their features were unmistakably their own, belonging to no one present, and yet they stood there as if the space had always been theirs.
Bruce didn’t pick the child up. Instead, he crouched, lowering himself to eye level, the habit automatic as his mind began sorting through variables and improbabilities. “Reader,” he said carefully, his voice gentler now but still precise, “who are your parents? Your mother—who is she?”
Reader tilted their head, confusion crossing their face as if the question itself didn’t quite register. “My Dad is your son, JJason Peter Toddd,” they said, pointing at him as if clarifying something obvious.
Then they shrugged, entirely unbothered. “But Dad says I don’t have a mom. He said I was born from a tree,” they added, thoughtful for a beat. “Like Timun Mas or Princess Kaguya.”
“Must’ve read too much fairy tale,” Damian muttered under his breath.
“Sssstttt,” Bruce said quietly, without looking away from the child.
I mean, what do you tell a child who’s too young to understand, when even you don’t know the truth about where they come from?
_____________________________________
second person point of view
Bruce doesn’t press the question after that. Instead, he let you a little closer, one arm steady at your back as you shift and settle into his lap on your own, like you’ve quietly decided this is the safest place to be.
You lean against his chest, smaller and quieter now, the earlier certainty finally worn down by fatigue.
The Cave slips into a waiting hush. Bruce stays where he is, gaze distant as his thoughts move silently, while the others linger nearby, careful not to crowd.
You remain still in his arms, fingers loosely curled into the fabric of his suit, blinking slowly as the long night catches up with you.
One by one, the rest of the family arrives.
Cass appears first, silent as ever, her eyes finding you immediately and lingering with that unsettling focus she uses for things she hasn’t figured out yet. Stephanie follows not long after, drawn in by Tim’s vague message that apparently just said you need to see this.
Soon, the Batcave’s main workspace feels crowded in a way it rarely does. Everyone stands a little too stiff, a little too deliberate, their attention drawn again and again to the small, drowsy figure curled against Bruce’s chest.
You blink slowly, fighting sleep, cheek resting against him as questions hang heavy and unspoken in the air.
“Is that… a new kid?” someone whispers, barely audible.
“No,” another voice murmurs back. “That’s Jason’s.”
“…What?”
The word echoes softly, unfinished, as several heads turn, toward you, then Jason, like no one is quite sure what they’ve just heard.
You shift slightly on Bruce’s lap and yawn, your head tipping against his shoulder before you straighten again, fighting sleep more out of habit than need. Bruce adjusts his hold without thinking—steady, stills, as if suddenly aware of how many eyes are on the two of you.
The Cave feels tighter all at once. Conversations taper off, movements slow, and the attention in the room sharpens—not on Bruce, but on you.
“We need to talk for a moment,” Bruce says at last, his gaze sweeping over the group gathered in the Batcave—Alfred, Tim, Dick, Jason, Cass, and Stephanie.
You’re still on his lap as he speaks, your eyes drifting now and then to Damian with awkward uncertainty, while Damian returns the look with his usual flat, unreadable stare.
Bruce gently lifted you and set you onto a nearby chair. “Reader, stay here for a bit, alright?” he said softly. “With Damian.”
“Why me?” Damian asked at once, displeasure plain in his tone.
Your eyes widened and you shook your head immediately. “I wanna stay with Grandpa,” you said, casting Damian a wary glance. “I don’t wanna be near him.”
“I don’t want to be near a spoiled brat either,” Damian shot back.
“Damian,” Bruce said quietly, in that tone that wasn’t quite a request. “Just for a few minutes.”
The others moved off toward the far side of the Cave, voices dropping as they began a private discussion, leaving you and Damian near the Batcomputer. The silence that followed stretched thin and uncomfortable.
You fidget with the hem of your jacket, sneaking glances at him before finally working up the courage to speak. “Are you really Uncle Damian?”
“Uncle?” Damian repeats, one eyebrow twitching.
You tilt your head, studying him with quiet seriousness. “Well… your name is Damian, and you’re short,” you pause . “You’re totally different from my Uncle Damian. But your attitude’s the same, super grumpy. Not fun at all.”
Damian’s jaw tightened. After a beat, he held out his hand. “Let me see your locket.”
“Okay.” You slipped the necklace over your head and handed it to him.
Damian examined it carefully, eyes sharp as he opened the locket. His expression shifted, just slightly. “Tt. Todd looks ancient here.”
“Well, yeah,” you shrug. “Dad is old. Even now his hair’s already going gray.” You glanced toward the group murmuring in the distance, then back at Damian. “It’s weird though. Grandpa’s older than Dad, but Dad’s the one with gray hair. He’s such an old man.”
“Hmph. Old man,” Damian muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
“You’re a tiny kid,” you shot back.
“Excuse me?” Damian snapped. “I’m older than you, you kindergarten baby.”
You went quiet for a moment, face scrunching as you thought hard—then brightened. “Well… you’re short.”
Damian’s eye twitched.
“Short and grumpy,” you added, clearly pleased.
“I am not short, I am still growing, you insolent—”
“Shooort,” you sing-songed, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.
Across the Cave, Stephanie leaned closer to Tim, whispering, “Are they… actually getting along?”
“That’s what you call getting along?” Tim asked, incredulous.
Dick grinned. “For Damian? Yeah. That’s basically a heartfelt bonding moment.”
Alfred observed the exchange with faint amusement. “It would seem Master Damian has acquired a… peer,” he said. “How… refreshing.”
Near the Batcomputer, the bonding continued.
_____________________________________
A few hours later, when the sun is already bright aboveground, you wake up somewhere unfamiliar. Not the Batcave—but a quiet, empty room, clean and orderly, like it’s waiting to be decided what it’s meant for.
Alfred is there not long after, gentle and unhurried as he helps you get ready for the day, treating the whole thing as if it’s perfectly normal.
There’s nothing special planned. No grand welcome, no explanations you can understand yet—just an effort to ease you into the space, to make the hours pass comfortably while they figure out what’s actually going on. Or, more precisely, who you really are.
It takes longer than they expect.
They ask you questions often. Not all at once, never pressing too hard—just small things woven into the spaces between conversations. What do you like to eat. Do you go to school. What games you play.
They listen closely, like every answer matters more than it should, and you talk easily, swinging your legs where you sit, unaware of the weight your words carry.
Sometimes you talk about your family back there—especially your dad. About how he was already old, even when you were still a baby.
You repeat it the way Grandpa once said it, because that’s how it stayed in your head. “Dad’s stubborn,” you explain seriously. “A real rock-headed guy.” You nod to yourself, certain. “Grandpa said that’s why he only had a kid when he was already old.”
“So,” Dick says casually, “you two close?”
You brighten at once. “Uh-huh. I’m close with everyone!” Then you add, just as easily, “Dad says I’m his favorite.”
Jason freezes.
Later, when the questions drift elsewhere and the room relaxes just a little, you lean back where you’re sitting, utterly comfortable. Safe. Loved. You don’t see the way they watch you now—not with suspicion, not exactly, but with something heavier.
“I never expect there a child like this to become a Wayne,” Stephanie says quietly, arms folded as she watches you from across the Cave. Her voice isn’t unkind—just baffled. “Especially Jason’s.”
Jason shoots her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not an insult,” Tim cuts in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just… statistically improbable.” He glances at you again, thoughtful. “Jason doesn’t exactly scream domestic future with a kid who’s this… comfortable. happy (??)”
“Yeah,” Dick adds under his breath, lips twitching despite himself. “I was expecting brooding. Trauma. Maybe a tiny crowbar collection.” He pauses. “Not… this.”
You choose that moment to swing your legs and hum softly, perfectly at ease.
Cass tilts her head, eyes tracking you with quiet focus. “Happy,” she says simply.
Bruce looks at her, then back at you. You’re leaning forward now, talking animatedly to Alfred about snacks, your earlier confidence fully returned. Whatever confusion lingers in the room, none of it seems to reach you.
“Maybe once in a thousand years,” Damian mutters, arms crossed. His tone is flat, but his eyes don’t leave you. “And even then, unlikely.”
“And yet,” Alfred says gently, stepping closer with a tray you hadn’t noticed before, “here we are.”
Jason watches the exchange in silence, jaw set. The idea still sits wrong in his chest—not rejection, not exactly, but something closer to disorientation.
A child like you feels too sudden, too soft, like a future dropped into his hands without warning.
You, meanwhile, remain utterly unaware of the weight of it all. You move through the room with an ease born of safety, untouched by the sharp edges of the life they know so well. Comfortable. Trusting. Loved—without ever having learned that love can be conditional.
_____________________________________
“Why are you sleeping in my room?” Jason asks a few days in, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, confusion edged with irritation.
You blink up at him. “I’ve never slept alone before,” you say softly. After a small pause, “I usually sleep with my dad.” Not a dad. Your dad—the older Jason in the locket, the one with gray in his hair and a tired smile who always knew where you were at night.
Jason exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Do what you want. I’m too tired for this.”
The words aren’t cruel, but they land heavy anyway.
You remain standing in front of his door long after he’s turned away, uncertainty creeping in where certainty used to live.
The dad you know would’ve sighed too—but he would’ve pulled the blanket up around you afterward. This Jason feels… different. Louder. Sharper. Like a stranger wearing a familiar face.
A hand lands on your shoulder. You glance back, unsure, and see Damian behind you.
“Why are you just standing there?” Damian’s voice cuts in, sudden. He’s behind you, having noticed your stillness. “Did you forget which room you were using earlier?”
You shake your head slowly. “No.” You hesitate, then lower your gaze. “I’m just… not used to sleeping alone. I usually sleep with my dad.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“You don’t have your own room there?” Damian asks, there—wherever it is you came from.
“I did,” you say quietly. “Grandpa had it ready for me.” Your fingers curl into the fabric of your sleeve. “But the night before I was supposed to sleep there, someone broke in. A thief.” You swallow. “They destroyed everything in the room.”
Damian’s eyes flick, briefly, to Jason’s door.
“So after that,” you continue, voice small, “I kept sleeping with Dad.”
Damian stares at the door a second longer than necessary. A thief, he thinks flatly. Right.
He looks back at you—small, tired, standing outside Jason’s room like it’s the last safe place you remember. And the thought settles in his chest, uncomfortable and sharp:
If you sleep near this Jason, you’ll probably have more nightmares than comfort.
“So you’re just not used to sleeping alone,” Damian says, after a moment. “You’ll have to get used to it. Slowly.”
He clears his throat. “Come on,” he adds, curt but not unkind. “I’ll walk you back.”
You nod, a flicker of relief crossing your face as you follow him down the hall—leaving Jason’s door closed behind you, and a future that still doesn’t quite know where to place you.
'dad.. i want to go home..'
_____________________________________
In the dining room
You climb onto the chair right beside Jason and even scoot it closer, knees bumping his leg. “Dad, I’m eating too!” you announce, tugging lightly at his han, an unspoken signal you’ve used a hundred times before.
“Go ahead,” Jason says, eyes still on his plate, tone flat like he’s talking to himself more than to you.
You pause. “Dad usually… feeds me.” you say softly, not demanding—just stating something that he always do.
He stiffens. “You can eat on your own,” he says after a beat. “You should try.” He doesn’t look at you, and the space between you suddenly feels wider than the table itself. It’s awkward—new for both of you. You’re a child from nowhere, and he’s a father by accident.
You slowly loosen your grip, your hand retreating back to your lap. “…Okay,” you mumble, the word small and heavy, like you’re not sure where to put it once it leaves your mouth.
“Reader.”
You look up to find Tim sitting across the table, an empty chair between him and Duke. He taps the seat lightly, then hesitates, like he’s reconsidering the words even as he says them.
“Over here,” he offers, voice careful. “Do you… want Uncle to feed you?” The word uncle sounds unfamiliar to him, tested cautiously.
Your face brightens at once. “Yes!” You slide off your chair and hurry over, ducking under the table to get to him faster, impatience outweighing any sense of dignity.
By the time you climb onto the seat beside him, you’re already smiling, relief settling in easily.
“Hey, Uncle,” Stephanie cuts in from the side, leaning forward with a teasing grin. “I want some too.”
Tim groans, dropping his head briefly into his hand. “Don’t start.”
“Uncle,” she repeats, clearly enjoying it.
You giggle, already settled and content at Tim’s side, attention fully claimed by the promise of food. Across the table, Jason watches with his fork paused mid-air, unsure why the sight of it all lands heavier in his chest than it should.
_____________________________________
It’s been several days now since you’ve been… stuck here.
“They eat only when someone feeds them, sleep curled up against whoever’s closest, won’t stay alone,” Damian says quietly, eyes fixed on you. “Are they really your kid, Todd?”
Jason snorts under his breath. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself. How did I end up spoiling a kid this badly?”
Tim exhales, rubbing the back of his neck as he watches you. “Age, maybe,” he says after a moment. “Or… timing.” His voice drops. “Honestly, I never thought you’d have a kid at all. Let alone one like this.”
Their voices fade as their attention drifts to the couch.
You’re asleep there now, small and slack with trust, curled up against someone without hesitation. Jason watches longer than he means to, something uneasy tightening in his chest. “It’s kind of a miracle,” he mutters, then scoffs quietly. “Or maybe a nightmare.”
Dick glances at him sharply. “Don’t talk like that about your kid,” he says, low and firm. “They’re still little.”
Jason doesn’t reply. His gaze stays on you, fixed and unblinking, he’s bracing himself for the moment he looks away and finds the couch empty.
_____________________________________
You tell them another story, the way you always do—like it’s nothing important, just something that happened.
“Back then, when I woke up in the middle of the night,” you say, voice soft, “I’d go down to the Batcave to look for someone. Anyone.” You pause, remembering. “But if it was really crowded, and you had friends over, You'd tell me to go back to my room.”
A few glances are exchanged.
“You know,” you add helpfully, “some of your friend i am not sure what's their name buat there are the loud ones. The ones with capes. Sometimes the red one. Sometimes the fast one. so many”
That earns a quiet reaction—someone clearing their throat, someone else going very still.
“But sometimes,” you continue, brightening, “when I walk back alone, there’s this really pretty green light.” You trace a lazy line in the air with your finger. “It guides me all the way back to my room.”
“…Green light?” Bruce murmurs.
“Lantern,” another voice mutters under their breath.
You nod, satisfied. “Yeah. That one I guess.”
Bruce studies you carefully. “Did you ever talk to them?” he asks.
You shake your head. “No.” After a beat, you add, “If they ever got close or even just looked at me, usually Uncle Damian or Uncle Tim would pick me up right away.” You lift your arms to demonstrate, like it’s a familiar routine. “They always say, don’t get close to weird people.”
The room goes quiet.
Weird people.
Someone exhales slowly. Because by every standard they live by—masks, secrets, double lives—everyone here is strange.
And yet, somehow, you had been kept apart from it all.
_____________________________________
ending.
It’s been a few weeks since you ended up here, and the feeling has finally settled in. Not fear. Not confusion. Just a quiet, persistent ache. You miss home. You miss the family you know. More than anything, you miss your dad.
You and Damian are sitting in the living room. Everyone else is gone—patrols, errands, the kind of adult business that makes the house feel too big and too empty. Only Alfred remains somewhere deeper in the Manor, footsteps distant and soft, and Damian, who has been firmly volunteered to keep you company.
The silence stretches between you. Not sharp, not tense—just heavy. You curl your knees up to your chest on the oversized armchair, swallowed by cushions, feeling smaller than usual in the wide, quiet room.
“You know, Uncle Damian,” you say at last, breaking the quiet. Your voice is softer now, stripped of its usual brightness. “Back home, whenever Dad goes away for a few days… I always wait in the living room in the afternoon.”
You stare at nothing in particular as you speak. “So when I hear his motorcycle, I can run straight to the door. That way, the moment he opens it, I’m already there.” Your fingers tighten around your sleeves. “I hug him right away.”
Damian glances at you from the opposite couch, posture rigid, hands folded neatly like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “…You miss your father,” he says, more statement than question.
You look at him then, eyes glossy, tears trembling but not falling yet. You nod. “I want my dad…”
Damian stands abruptly, the movement sharp and too loud in the quiet room. “I’ll call Todd—” he says, defaulting to action, solutions, something he knows how to do.
“No!” The word tears out of you before you can stop it. You lunge forward, fingers catching his sleeve, clutching it. You shake your head hard, until your vision blurs and the room tilts.
He freezes completely, caught mid-step. “But you just said—”
“Not him,” you whisper, your grip loosening as you pull your hand back, swiping at your face with the back of your wrist.
Your voice breaks, splintering under the weight you’ve been holding in for weeks. “Not this him.” You swallow, breath hitching. “I want my dad. The one I know. I want to go home.”
For a moment, Damian looks utterly lost, caught between logic and something he was never trained to handle.
Then, slowly, he sits back down. Not across from you this time, but beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t try to fix it.
He just stays.
And for now, that’s all you have.
_____________________________________
Meanwhile, in your original timeline, Gotham was in chaos.
The Bats hadn't stopped searching, not for a single moment. Day bled into night and back into day again in an endless cycle of desperate hunting.
Oracle's systems ran hot, every camera, every satellite, every piece of surveillance equipment in Gotham turned toward one purpose: find Reader.
The city felt it.
Crime spiked, then vanished entirely in some districts, thugs too afraid to move, others reckless enough to test their luck. Rooftops were never empty. Shadows moved constantly. Gotham knew something was wrong, even if it didn’t know what.
Tim hadn’t left the Batcomputer in over thirty hours. His eyes were bloodshot, fingers flying across the keys with manic precision as he ran algorithm after algorithm, refusing to accept the results.
Barbara worked beside him, her own exhaustion visible in the tightness of her jaw, but neither of them slowed.
“I’m running every scan we have,” Barbara said, voice hoarse. “Every pattern, every anomaly. If there’s a trace—anything—we’ll find it.”
But it was Jason who turned the streets into something else entirely.
He tore through Gotham like a storm with nowhere to break. Every alley, every warehouse, every forgotten corner of the city was searched, then searched again.
Informants talked not because they were paid, but because they were afraid. Doors opened when he knocked. Walls came down when they didn’t.
Because a child was missing.
Jason’s child was missing.
A Wayne was missing.
And every hour without answers fed the worst kind of imagination—the kind that fills the silence with things no one wanted to name.
Were you hurt. Were you scared. Were you calling for him somewhere he couldn’t hear.
No. They couldn’t think like that. Wouldn’t.
"Oracle, talk to me," Jason's voice crackled over the comms, rough and desperate. "Anything. Please."
Barbara's hands stilled over the keyboard for just a moment, her jaw clenching. "Jason, I'm trying. I'm—we're doing everything we can."
"It's not enough!" The sound of something shattering came through the comm, Jason's fist through a wall, maybe, or something worse. "It's been hours and we have nothing. No body, no ransom, no trace—where the hell is my kid?!"
"We'll find them," Dick's voice cut in, firm despite the strain underneath. "Jason, we will find them. But you need to—"
"Don't tell me what I need to do, Grayson. Don't you dare." Jason's breathing was ragged. "That's my kid out there. Mine. And I—I should have been there. I should have—"
"Jason—"
The comm cut off abruptly.
Back in the Batcave, Tim's eyes burned as he stared at the screens, at the maps with their shrinking search radius, at the temporal analysis that made less and less sense the more he looked at it.
"Come on," he whispered to himself, to the universe, to whatever force had taken you. "Just... give us something. One answer. Please. Are they alive? Are they safe? Just—please—"
The Batcomputer beeped. Another dead end.
Tim's fist slammed down on the console.
And somewhere in the Manor above, Bruce stood in Your empty bedroom, holding a small stuffed animal that had been left on the bed, and allowed himself one moment—just one—to close his eyes and pray.
You’re awoken out of a deep sleep by the shrill beeping of an alarm clock. You groan and childishly kick the covers off.
The sunlight pouring in from the skylight is quickly starting to warm the room. You tiredly rub at your eyes and navigate around the scattered toys.
After going through your morning routine, you make your way to the baby’s room. “River” is written across the door in laminated spelling blocks.
You open the door and melt at the sight of your baby lying peacefully in his crib. You lean over the side and scoop your hands under his tiny body.
“My sweet boy,” you whisper.
You position River against your chest and go about the normal steps to ensure he’s happy and clean. A quick look at the clock and it’s already past ten.
“Don’t worry, sweetie! Food is on the way,” you say in a sing-song voice.
You lift River and gently sit him down in the high chair. The dishes are starting to pile up and the contents of the fridge are dwindling.
You pull at your bottom lip in frustration, “it’s okay, it’s okay. Oatmeal it is then.”
Despite your concerns, River seems to be enjoying the warm bowl of oatmeal you served. You scoop the dripping oatmeal off of his chin and back into his mouth.
You can’t even seem to mind the mess with how cute he looks. River’s slow eating gives you just enough time to take a quick peak at your phone.
You scroll the long list of notifications, all of which are either bill-related or your manager demanding you take more shifts.
Your thumb hovers over one interesting notification from your security camera.
[Activity at door: package delivery]
“I didn’t order anything…”
The door is only a few feet away from the kitchen in your cozy little apartment. As much as you’d like to check the front door, you can’t leave River while he’s eating.
You bounce your leg and continue to wipe of his chin as he finishes his bowl of oatmeal. Once he’s finally done and burped, you carry him over to the playpen sitting in front of the couch.
It’s still within sight of the door so you can go check without leaving River alone. You look through the peephole and open the door.
There’s a small box wrapped in shiny, navy blue wrapping paper. You take the package inside and set it down on the floor.
You neatly unwrap the box, “I can use this for your birthday, baby boy.”
River peers curiously through the bars of the playpen. Once unwrapped, you’re left with an unassuming brown box.
“Please do not be a bomb.”
You cautiously open the box to find a coat for a baby. It only takes a second for you to recognize it as the same coat that you had almost bought at the store yesterday.
You pull the coat out of the box and feel a weight lifted from your shoulders. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, the coat would just make a significant dent in your paycheck.
“Look at this baby,” you hold up the coat for River to see, “now we can go the park today!”
River bounces in his playpen while not even facing you. He’s just enjoying the sound of your voice and the plethora of toys around him.
You shake your head at River’s disinterest in the coat and look back down at the box. There’s a folded, white piece of paper lying down in the bottom of the box.
You take the paper out and unfold it. Your habit of reading aloud to River takes over and you begin to voice the contents of the note.
You clear your throat and start reading, “hello, dearest. Your father is inviting you to join him at the manor to enjoy a home-cooked meal tonight at 6:00. Feel free to bring anyone else along. Fondly, Alfred.”
Your eyes roll so far back they almost get lost in your skull. It’s clear that the “anyone else” is River who was seen by Bruce for the first time yesterday.
While the sensitive side of you wants to decline and stay far away from that house, the other side yearns for a hearty meal you don’t have to pay for.
You wash your hands and make your way over to River.
“Okay, left hand for no and right hand for yes.”
River looks up at you and babbles nonsensically before honing on your outstretched hands. You hold your breath and wait for River’s expert wisdom to kick in.
He slaps your right hand and squeals with laughter.
You lean over and begin tickling River’s sides, “you must want some yummy food too, huh?”
Once his joyous laughter dies down you look back at the open gift and coat.
