#batsis reader

[amourxmp4]

In a Speed of Light.

Pairings: Platonic! Batfam x Law Student Batsis Reader, Wally West x Law Student Batsis Reader

Synopsys: The forgotten daughter of the Wayne family quietly builds a future of her own after years of being overlooked, forcing the Batfamily to confront just how little they truly know about her.

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Okayyy im making a fic series! lemme know if yall like this and i will continue itt! Ive seen like one or two wally x neglected batsis fics but I wanted to do one aswellll. Obvi the ages have been either aged up or down to align with the fic and yeahhh. Hope you enjoy reading!

________________________________________________________________

Ever since you were young, you knew something was wrong with your family. You were the blood daughter of the notorious billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne, after all.

From the outside, everything looked perfect.

The Wayne family was admired across Gotham. Every gala photo showed smiling faces. Every newspaper article praised Bruce's generosity. Every interview painted the Waynes as a close-knit family that had overcome tragedy together.

People loved the story.

They loved Bruce Wayne and his children.

They loved Dick Grayson, Bruce's golden son. They admired Jason Todd's resilience. They respected Tim Drake's intelligence. They adored Damian Wayne, the youngest heir. Even the family friends seemed to have a place in the carefully crafted picture.

Everyone fit somewhere.

Everyone except you.

You weren't sure when you first noticed it.

Maybe it was when you were six and came running into Bruce's office with a drawing you'd spent hours making, only for him to promise he'd look at it later…

Later never came.

Maybe it was when you were ten and sat through an entire family dinner without anyone asking how your day had been. Or maybe it was when you realized that every member of the family could list everyone else's favorite food, favorite movie, and favorite color!—

…but nobody could answer those questions about you.

At first, you told yourself it wasn't intentional.. hell you even asked Alfred if they loved you!

He sighs, "Young Master, I'm sure they love you." he threads his fingers through your hair, "But you must undertsand, they have.. certain circumstances.." And you got that point, you swore you did.

Bruce is always busy.

Dick lived in another city.

Jason was always coming and going.

Tim practically lived on coffee and three hours of sleep.

Damian barely tolerated most people.

Everyone had something important happening.

Something more important.

You became good at understanding. Too good. So subsequently in due time, you gave up.

You stopped interrupting conversations.

Stopped asking for help.

Stopped sharing things you were excited about.

It was easier that way.

Less disappointing.

Over time, people stopped expecting to hear from you.

And eventually...

They stopped noticing when you were quiet.

________________________________________________________________

The manor was loud most days. You heard your brothers' voices echoing through the halls. Damian and Jason having arguments over breakfast. Someone was always training, complaining, or stealing food from the kitchen.

Yet somehow, you'd never felt more alone.

You lie alone, in your room. Staring at the accomplishments you oh- so truly desired to share. Just for one singular second for someone. Someone. To give you the recognition you wished for. Your eyes panned across the room. Gymnastic awards, science awards, leadership awards, writing and advocacy— Hell you even took some drama performances! All these accomplishments, only to be overshadowed and overlooked by the ones who deemed to love you most.

You stare softly at your desk which had an envelope you had opened moments prior, it read

Date: July 20th 20XX

Dear Miss (Name) Wayne,

It is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to Gotham Law Academy for the upcoming academic year.

After careful review of your application, academic records, personal statement, and recommendations, the Admissions Committee was impressed by your outstanding achievements, dedication to your studies, and strong potential to excel within the legal profession.

Your exceptional academic performance, critical thinking skills, and commitment to justice distinguished you among a highly competitive pool of applicants. We are confident that you will make valuable contributions to our academic community and uphold the standards of excellence that Gotham Law Academy represents.

As a student of Gotham Law Academy, you will have access to rigorous coursework, experienced faculty, internship opportunities, and a network of legal professionals dedicated to preparing the next generation of advocates, attorneys, and leaders.

To secure your place in the incoming class, please submit your Enrollment Confirmation Form by [August 19th 20XX].

On behalf of the faculty, staff, and administration, we congratulate you on this remarkable achievement. We look forward to welcoming you to Gotham Law Academy and supporting your future success.

Congratulations, Miss Wayne.

Sincerely,

Dean Victoria Hayes Dean of Admissions Gotham Law Academy

"Justice begins with those willing to pursue it."

You hum, "Well, atleast there's one thing I can be excited about." You roll on your bed with a groan. Knock knock. "Yes?" You answered,

"Young Master, it's time for supper."

________________________________________________________________

You sat at the dining table one evening, absently pushing food around your plate while the others talked.

Dinner at Wayne Manor was loud.

It always was.

Dick was halfway through some story about Blüdhaven, waving his fork around as he talked.

"I'm serious," he said. "This guy thought hiding in a dumpster was a genius escape plan."

Jason snorted.

"Was it?"

"No."

"Then why are you telling the story?" Jason raised a brow, "Because he stayed in there for three hours." Dick grinned.

Tim nearly choked on his drink.

Damian looked disgusted.

Bruce rubbed his temple.

The conversation continued around the table while you sat quietly at your usual spot.

A few months ago, you would've tried to join in.

Maybe told a story of your own.

Maybe mentioned something interesting that happened during your day.

Maybe brought up the fact that you'd been accepted into Gotham Law Academy.

Now?

You couldn't find it in yourself to care.

As you finished your food and ready to head upstairs you get interrupted,

"(Name)," It was Bruce, steady eyes gazing at you as if expecting something. All eyes turn to you , what the fuck? You think as you muster up a reply, "What?" You stare back, head titling ever so slightly to the side. Bruce clears his throat, "Where are you going?" He replies coolly. The soft rain pattering by the glass windows. You blinked, "To my room?"

The answer came out more like a question.

Bruce frowned slightly. "As soon as dinner ends?" A beat of silence followed only the sounds of rain could be heard. You looked around the table.

Dick looked confused.

Tim had finally put his phone down.

Damian was staring like you murdered his family.

Jason looked like he was waiting for a punchline.

You honestly didn't know what they wanted from you.

"Yeah," you answered. Bruce grumbled, "...Why?" what the hell is going on. "What do you mean, why?" You asked.

Bruce exchanged a glance with Dick.

It was subtle.

The kind of look people shared when they thought something was off. You almost laughed. Now they noticed? After years?

You put up a polite smile, "I usually go to my room after dinner."

"No, you don't," Tim said automatically. You looked at him. Tim looked back.

Then his expression shifted.

Slowly.

Because he realized he had no idea whether that statement was true or not. The silence stretched. You sigh and folded your arms. "Actually, I do."

Nobody responded.

Because nobody knew.

Not a single one of them.

Jason leaned back in his chair. "Since when?" He asked, raising a hand.

You shrugged.

"A while."

"A while being...?" Dick asked.

"A couple years, maybe."

The dining room fell silent. You almost felt bad for them.

Almost.

The looks on their faces suggested they genuinely hadn't noticed.

Bruce set his fork down. "You spend that much time alone?" There was something strange in his voice.

Concern.

Confusion.

Maybe guilt.

You couldn't tell. And maybe you weren't interested enough to find out.

"I guess."

"You guess?" Damian repeated harshly.

You glanced at him. "Does it matter? I've spent 18 years in this house doing the same things without anyone noticing." The sentence wasn't hostile.

It wasn't angry.

If anything, it was tired.

That seemed to hit harder.

Because suddenly nobody had anything to say.

You pushed your chair back. "I have things to do."

Bruce straightened.

"What things?"

You paused.

For a second.

Just a second.

Then you remembered the acceptance letter sitting upstairs in your room. The enrollment forms. The plan of becoming a lawyer. The future you were quietly building by yourself.

The future none of them knew existed.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

"Just planning some things."

Dick frowned, "What things?"

You grabbed your plate and placed it in the sink, "Nothing important."

The words slipped out before you could stop them. The irony wasn't lost on anyone. Not when every accomplishment, every award, every achievement in your life had become something "Not important."

Not important enough to ask about.

Not important enough to notice.

Not important enough to remember.

The smile disappeared. "Goodnight."

This time, nobody stopped you.

You walked out of the dining room. The door clicked shut behind you. And for the first time in years, the conversation didn't immediately start back up.

Because downstairs, for the first time, the Wayne family was left with a realization they didn't quite know what to do with.

They knew almost nothing about you.

[neellscapsule]

intro. girl with one eye

summary | it takes you losing an eye for your family to realize that they don't want to lose you, to make them realize how much they actually love you, and how much you actually despise them

pairing | platonic yandere batfam x batsis!reader.

warnings / tags | angst, literal mutilation, y/n is mentioned as a female, trauma, reader hates her family so family issues as well. it gets worse and worse actually no better. this is a bit more darker than usual, as reader is not the nicest and the batfamily turns a bit dark for her. NO INCEST because we don't mess with that here 🚫🚫 but future PLATONIC yanderes!

word count | 5k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first language so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) please vote <3

bruce is 44-45. barbara is 28. dick is 27. cass is 23. jason is 22. steph is 19. tim is 18. duke is 17. damian and y/n are twins and are 15.

next.

YOU WOULD NEVER FORGET IT.

You could forget a lot of things —or not, actually: your Mother hated it when you forgot about stuff, often reminding you that as a princess and heir, you couldn't allow yourself that—, like one of the many rules your Father had, or that you now lived at the Manor, or how annoying teenagers can be. 

But not that day.

Never.

Years ago, when your brother Damian and you arrived at the Manor alongside your Father, you didn't have much hope. Despite growing up without him, you never wished to know him. You were more than satisfied at your Mother's side, pampered and trained and still so loved. 

There were no differences there. No one treated you as less than what you were: the future of the League. Raised to be a killer, made to be a future wife and a warrior, a protector of your brother. And you were okay with that. Perhaps a bit less with the 'wife' part, but that could be arranged as well.

You grew up with gold, fine silk and swords in your hands. And you were more than okay with that too.

Which is why you hated the Manor so much.

Everything was different there. Everything you knew, every part of your life already planned, crumbled down. Your Father was nothing like your Mother. Nothing of what she had told you as well. He was nothing like your brother and you.

He didn't believe in killing, despised it, and punished the both of you every single time the word was mentioned. He also didn't like the extensive training you had since you were merely an infant. And you would think he also didn't like you a lot.

But it was okay —it wasn't—. You didn't like him much either. It was only fair.

The only good thing you would put on your Father's favor was that he let you be 'Batgirl', a sidekick that started with Barbara Gordon when she was younger. Likewise, he let your brother be 'Robin', as the adopted companions had once been as well.

You loved being Batgirl. You took the greatest of proudness on it. Despite not enjoying your Father's presence, you never wished to disappoint him either, and it seemed he preferred you more as a sidekick than a daughter, as you proved yourself to be helpful and extremely efficient.

Of course. You would very much prefer working alone, or only with Damian, but the old Batman didn't even allow the thought of it. If it was not him who stood by your sides, it was Grayson as Nightwing, or Drake, in the lowest of cases. 

So you still don't know how Damian and you got there alone. How is it that you ended up in that stupid warehouse on your own. You just knew that you couldn't bear you see those men grab your brother, especially when he snarled and tried to kick away.

He couldn't escape.

And you couldn't let them hurt him.

You and your brother had always been far too close. Raised with no social instincts, with poor physical affection from your maternal family, no limits on what was right and what was wrong. You slept on the same bed from time to time still, and when you first arrived at the Manor, barely ten, you couldn't even enter your own room without feeling alone. You missed him even if he was just a room apart.

In school, you joined the art class just for him, and he waited very patiently while you were at your swimming club. You shared the same classes, the same schedules, you both trained with each other, and patrolled together.

So you did what you had to do. You mocked them. You made them so angry they forgot about him, tied him up and left him on the side. But you continued, and continued, and continued. All to make time, to not let them get close to Damian again. You were sure that by any moment your Father would arrive. 

You just didn't know when to stop. 

One of them, eyes red with rage and exclusively drug-lived, ripped your mask apart after a particular mocking got to him. Didn't even bother to actually see your face —if he had, perhaps, he wouldn't have done what he done: he would have taken another choice of torture.

He took his pocket knife, rusty and dull, and smashed down on your face. He didn't even taunt you, he just did it. You turned your face around, as to not let the metal enter your forehead.

Instead, it pushed right into your eye.

Once, twice, thrice. 

You lost the number after that.

It slashed your face, destroyed your whole eyeball. You had never suffered such pain before, nothing of what you had experienced before could compare to having that ordinary knife shoved almost to your brain. 

The pain was not sharp. It was molten. Blistering. A heat that radiated from the core of your skull and exploded outward in pulses. You screamed. You didn’t even realize you were screaming until you choked on your own breath, your voice reduced to something hoarse and primal. 

There was no clarity — only flashes. Red, black, white. The world shook under the weight of it. You clawed at your restraints, wrists tearing against the rough rope, skin breaking. Damian was shouting — his voice was raw and feral, but muffled, as though you were underwater.

Your legs kicked involuntarily, muscles twitching as every nerve in your body revolted. It wasn’t just the eye. The trauma sank into your jaw, your temple, your throat. It felt like he was cutting through not just your eye, but your entire sense of self.

You felt it rupture. Felt it pop.

The pressure released — a grotesque, wet sensation. It was warm. It rolled down your cheek in thick pulses, staining your lips copper. Blood. Fluid. You couldn’t cry — your tear duct had been left intact, but there was nothing for it to cradle anymore.

He kept going.

“Still got that damn mouth on you?” the man barked, voice scratchy with a smoker’s growl and something much worse — glee.

You didn't answer. You couldn’t. Your body was seized in shock, muscles locked. The agony was consuming everything — your thoughts, your memories, your pride. There was no Batgirl here. No League prodigy. Just a child strapped to a chair, skull fracturing under a lunatic’s blade.

“YOU BASTARD!” Damian was screaming. Over and over, his voice echoing, cracking. “I’LL KILL YOU — I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU—”

“Shut him up,” another voice said. Older. Colder. You heard the wet impact of a hit and the thud of your brother’s body against the wall. He grunted, but he didn’t stop snarling.

They left you slumped, barely upright, head hung low, eye a ruined socket. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, louder than the voices. Louder than Damian’s desperate shouts. Louder than the world.

You were fading.

Not passing out, not yet — that would have been a mercy. But fading, like a flickering signal on a broken radio. Everything became distant. Your fingers stopped moving. Your lips trembled.

But you didn’t cry.

Your mouth opened in a cry, but it was broken. Shattered by the pain. You choked on it. Swallowed it. Your body arched against the chair, against the ropes biting into your arms, and you wished for a moment you could just black out. Just a second. But you stayed awake. 

Then came the second stab. There was no grace to it. Just brute force. The blade twisted, angled wrong, and you felt the serration drag. Something tore again, and it burned. Not like fire, not anymore. It was acid. Acid in your skull. Acid down your jaw. It rippled all the way down to your spine and back up through the top of your scalp. You felt your fingers curl and your wrists strain and the ropes snap skin. You thought you’d vomit — and you did, just a little — down your chin and onto your suit.

You tried to breathe, but it came in hiccupping gasps. You tried to think, but your thoughts were consumed by the horror — not of death, no — but of mutilation. Of being broken.

And then he laughed.

The man laughed like he was carving a pumpkin, like it was a game. He turned your head to the side, gripping your jaw with greasy fingers. He was breathing heavy, sweat slicking his forehead. And he said — so easily, so plainly — “What’s the matter, girl? Thought you were tough.”

You spat at him. Or tried. It didn’t reach.

He hit you. Just once. Across the cheek, opposite your ruined eye. Your head cracked back and hit metal. You think you saw stars. Or maybe it was just the other eye struggling to stay open.

Damian was thrashing, gagged but shrieking behind it. Desperate. You turned your good eye toward him, tried to give him… something. Reassurance. Love. A silent goodbye?

Another hand grabbed your chin again. The knife hovered now, inches from your face. The man wasn’t finished. He wanted more.

You whispered, because it was all you could do, “Go ahead. I’ll still kill you after.”

He laughed again. This time more viciously. “You’re done, sweetheart. You ain’t killin’ anyone. Not like that.”

But he didn’t strike again.

Not because he decided to stop. But because of the noise — a crash — and then another. The door exploded inward. Gunfire, screaming, the unmistakable screech of metal and cape and fury.

You barely saw it. You were already fading.

You heard Damian gag and sob and yell “Father!” before the gag was ripped away. And someone was screaming louder than you now — the man, probably, being slammed into the wall. A sick crunch followed.

Then hands. So many hands.

Hands on your shoulders, your wrists, your jaw. But these were warm. These were careful. These weren’t enemies.

One of them was soft — softer than all the others — fingers brushing your face and muttering something under their breath.

“Y/N, can you hear me? Oh my God—Y/N—can you hear me?”

Grayson. You knew his voice even as the darkness clung to your ears like wax.

You whimpered. It was all you could do.

Your throat burned. “He… he took it.”

“We know,” he said. “We know, sweetie. You’re okay now. You’re gonna be okay.”

He was lying.

Because nothing was okay.

You felt someone lift you. The cape, the smell of it, the warm inside lining — it was your father. You knew by the way he moved. Silent but precise. Every breath he took was rage restrained.

“I’ve got her,” he said. Quietly. Too quietly.

You wanted to say something to him. Something mean. Something sour. You didn’t know. The pain was overtaking you again.

“It hurts,” you whispered.

“I know,” Bruce said. And that was all.

You passed out somewhere between the warehouse and the sky.

And when you woke again, it was like drowning.

The first thing you noticed was the smell — disinfectant and something older, like dust and citrus cleaner and the faint hint of metal. Then the lights, too bright and clinical, burning the inside of your one good eye. Your entire skull throbbed, throbbed so hard you were sure it had cracked from the inside. 

There was pressure, a dull pulse that rhythmically pounded against your left browbone, and heat — a sort of sticky, horrible heat like your skin had been wrapped in cotton soaked in your own blood and left to fester.

Your mouth was dry. Your lips stuck to each other. Your tongue felt like sandpaper pressed into raw meat. And yet, none of that compared to the sensation clawing inside your chest.

You were aware.

Of what was gone.

Of what was missing.

Of what you could no longer feel behind the bandage that wrapped half your head like a grotesque imitation of a helmet.

“No—” you rasped. “No, no—”

The left side of your face is numb and too hot at once. Something is wrapped tight around your head, dragging over your scalp, cheek, temple. It itches. It stings. It suffocates. And the longer you lie there, blinking through the blur of the right side, the more you feel the rising panic clawing up your throat.

“Hey—hey, you’re awake.”

It’s Jason.

“Back with us, little bat.”

His voice tries to sound calm, but there’s a tension to it. A sharpness behind the trembling grin you can’t see.

You try to sit up and the pain hits you all at once. Your skull pounds. Your stomach flips. You collapse back onto the bed with a sharp gasp, and the machines spike briefly.

“Easy, Y/N. Don’t rush it.”

You don’t care. You lift your hand, touch the gauze. It’s thick, layered, taped down hard. Your heart pounds.

“What did they do to me?”

“Y/N,” he said, softer this time. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re in Leslie’s clinic. You made it out. You’re—”

But the words twisted in your ears. Made you sick. You weren’t okay. You weren’t safe. You weren’t whole. You weren’t.

You jerked away from his hand like it burned you. Your body betrayed you, shaking too hard to sit up fully, but you tried anyway. 

“No,” you whisper, fingers trembling as they hover at the edge of the bandage. “No, I’m not.”

And then another voice — clearer, gentler — “Hey. Hey, it’s me.”

Dick.

Your mind reached toward the sound like a rope in a storm.

“You’re okay,” he said, kneeling by your bedside. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise—”

“No!” Your scream cracked your throat open. You shoved at the blanket, at the sheets, at the wires in your arms. “No, I’m not! I’m not—!”

You clawed at the bandages before they could stop you. You didn’t even know what your fingers were doing — they were frantic, desperate — but you felt the gauze tear. The tape pop. Someone grabbed your wrist.

“Stop—!”

“Let me go—!”

“Y/N—!”

But it was too late.

The bandage dropped to the side of your face like wet tissue.

And you saw yourself.

It wasn’t a proper mirror. Just the reflective metal of a tray table across the room, but it was enough. The lighting caught it just right. And in it — half your face, bright under the fluorescents, pale and wounded and horrifically wrong.

Where your left eye once was, now sat a gaping wound stitched in a rough crescent. The lid was still there, partly, as was the bruising and raw lines where Leslie had sealed what she could. But it was concave, empty, the orbit sunken deep. A pit. A hollow.

You saw it.

And you screamed.

“NO! NO—NO—PUT IT BACK—”

You screamed so loudly the sound tore through your ribs and chest and made your throat bleed. You twisted and flailed and grabbed at the edge of the bed, trying to stand, to do something — but your legs gave out. Dick caught you before your knees slammed the tile.

Jason was behind you now, arms wrapping fully around your back and middle, holding you still. Your body trembled violently, like it wanted to rip itself apart. You couldn’t even breathe. You were choking on nothing, gasping like a fish pulled out of water.

“Let me go—please, let me go—”

“Y/N, you have to calm down,” Jason said into your ear, his voice straining. “You’re gonna hurt yourself worse—”

“I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—”

And then Leslie was there. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t ask permission. You didn’t even feel the needle until it was in your arm. A sting, a push of warmth, and then—

You sagged. Not instantly. Not completely. But your limbs slowed. Your heart — hammering against your ribcage like it wanted to escape — finally began to soften its rhythm. Your voice broke into hiccuped sobs, then whispers, then nothing but silence.

Jason still held you.

Dick still crouched in front of you, his arms around your shoulders.

Your head drooped against one of them. You didn’t know who. You didn’t care. All you knew was the absence of your eye. The echo of what used to be there. And the horrific realization that this was permanent.

You would never get it back.

Never.

Leslie sat on the edge of the bed beside you. You could feel her eyes on your face — not judgmental, not clinical. Just sad. Just impossibly, unbearably sad.

“It's gone,” you whispered. “It’s really gone.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

You blinked. Your right eye burned with tears that never came. The left — the one that wasn’t there — still ached. Still itched. You wanted to claw at it, to scrape out the pain. But you couldn’t lift your hand anymore.

“Why does it still hurt?” you asked. “Why can I still feel it?”

“Because the nerves don’t understand yet,” Leslie said. “Your body still thinks it’s there. It’s called phantom pain. It happens to amputees. Eyes too. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t answer. You just laid there.

“Just sleep,” Leslie says, her hand brushing your hair. “Just let go.”

Since there, nothing had been the same. You spent weeks at Leslie's clinic. Weeks isolated from reality, surrounded by the white walls of the clinic, the clink of surgical trays, and the quiet rustle of Leslie Thompkins’s slippers as she moved like a ghost between your room and the halls. The only company you had was your own nausea, your dreams—which bled into nightmares—and the unbearable nothingness inside your eye socket.

No one was allowed in.

Not even Damian.

Not Dick. Not Jason. Not Cass, though she’d tried more than once to slip in silently through the ventilation. (You heard her once. You didn’t say anything. You wanted to, but the words died in your throat.)

The only one Leslie let through the door was your Father.

And even then, only because you didn’t get a say.

Leslie followed his orders when it came to you. She always had. The same way Alfred used to defer to him. The same way Dick never raised his voice when Bruce lowered his. The same way the whole damn city of Gotham bent to Batman’s unrelenting shadow.

And you were no different.

He came in quietly every night—always after dark, always after patrol—and sat in the single chair near your bed. Sometimes he would bring you books. Or your favorite herbal tea, the one Damian swore you loved as a child. Sometimes he would just sit there, silently reading reports or rechecking your medical chart even though he already had it memorized. A few times he tried talking.

But you never responded.

Not once. Losing an eye wouldn't change your distaste of your Father.

It wouldn’t unwrite the years without him. It wouldn’t erase your Mother’s warmth, her fierce pride when you beat your tutors with a blade, the soft silk of your robes as you sparred in the gardens under moonlight. It wouldn’t change the way he treated your training like abuse — it was. How he recoiled from the version of you that wasn’t his.

But the loss changed everything else.

Especially in your heart.

While you had never been extroverted enough to be called anything close to warm, you had still once possessed a fire inside of you. A flame. The heat of your mother’s blood and the League’s training and your own sharpened pride—your defiance, your discipline, your hunger to be great.

Your identity had been built on precision. You were Talia al Ghul’s daughter, the League’s prodigy. You moved like smoke through shadows, struck faster than most men could blink. You trained beside Damian — and often above him — with pride, discipline, and the terrifying assurance of a child that knew what she’d been built for.

But now?

Now, even reaching for a glass of water made your hands tremble.

You’d gone from warrior to weakling. From fire to ash.

One eye gone, and so was your depth perception. Your balance. Your peripheral vision. Tasks you’d never had to think about now tripped you up at every corner. You couldn’t pour a drink without missing the cup. You couldn’t catch a thrown object — not without tilting your head and praying you judged it right. You’d reach out for a vase on your bedside table and knock it over instead, sending it crashing to the floor, ceramic in pieces.

You’d shove everything off the table. Off the bed. You didn’t even know what you were breaking anymore. You just needed the noise. Needed something to match the chaos inside your chest. Because you couldn’t take it — the constant, aching absence in your skull. The way the gauze would get damp from your tear duct. 

It mocked you. Your own body mocked you.

At night, you'd feel the phantom of it — the memory of having two eyes. The illusion that if you just blinked hard enough, the world would go back to full. But it never did. There was always the dark spot. The void.

Even walking became different. Subtle, strange — like your body forgot how much space it occupied. Corners caught your shoulders. Doorways felt too tight. You’d turn your head too fast and flinch, not because you were in pain, but because your brain was still learning how to be broken.

And the migraines. God, the migraines.

Leslie explained them calmly. “Your brain is adjusting to monocular vision. That left orbit was traumatized, and even though the nerves are dead, the tissue’s still healing. It’ll take time.”

But nothing helped.

Light became an enemy. Flashbangs in the dark. Shadows where there should be none. You stopped trusting your sight entirely. Your right eye twitched sometimes, under the pressure of carrying everything alone. You couldn’t bear the feeling of someone coming up on your blind side — it made you flinch and snarl and lash out.

No one told you that losing one eye meant you'd feel like less than one person.

Once Bruce decided it was “time,” you were taken back to the Manor.

You didn’t say goodbye to Leslie. She didn’t expect you to.

The car ride was silent. Damian sat beside you, his arms folded, his jaw locked in that tight, uncomfortable way that meant he was trying not to speak. Bruce was driving. You didn’t know why he didn’t just send Alfred or Dick, but maybe he thought he was doing something by showing up. Maybe he wanted to be the one to bring you home.

Home.

What a joke.

You didn’t say a word the whole way there.

The Manor looked the same when you arrived. Of course it did.

Gothic arches, heavy stone, windows like darkened eyes. Alfred opened the door before the car had even come to a full stop, as if he’d sensed your arrival from a mile away. His expression softened the second he saw you. His age showed more lately — his hair was whiter than you remembered, and his eyes crinkled more with sorrow than sternness.

“Miss Y/N,” he said gently. “Welcome home.”

You didn’t reply.

You walked past him. Your boots were too loud in the entry hall.

You were fifteen. You’d been raised by assassins. You were trained to kill before you were trained to write. And now you couldn’t even grab a damn vase without guessing where it actually was. You couldn’t train. You couldn’t patrol. You were off the roster.

You weren’t Batgirl. You weren’t anyone.

You weren’t sure when exactly Damian started sleeping in your bed again. One night blurred into another, your dreams stitched together by broken lights and phantom pain. You woke up from one of them, gasping into your pillow, only to find the weight of something curled against your side. Small. Familiar.

Damian.

He was facing you, eyes shut but his brow furrowed, his fingers twisted into the hem of your sleeve like a lifeline. His breath was slow but shallow, like he was fighting off some nightmare of his own and refusing to let it show. He hadn’t cried, not once, not since the night in the warehouse. But he’d been quieter. Rougher around the edges. Quicker to snap at the others and always within arm’s reach of you. You weren’t sure if he was guarding you, or himself.

You didn’t say anything. Just stared at him for a long moment, your one eye adjusting to the dark, your vision split permanently in two.

And then you let him stay.

Because he was still half of you, and probably the only part left that still made sense. You didn’t know what kind of person you were anymore. Not Batgirl. Not a warrior. Not anything that felt familiar. But you were still a twin. Still his sister. Still his.

Damian was still there. Still yours. Still half of you. And maybe, if you closed your good eye and lay there long enough, the rest of the world would fade. Maybe, for just a while, you wouldn’t feel so unbalanced. So ruined.

You moved just enough to rest your hand on his hair, fingers slipping into the familiar black strands. He didn’t stir.

He started showing up every night after that.

Sometimes early, sometimes after patrol. You’d hear his soft footsteps before the door opened. Always without a word. He’d slide under the blankets, press close to your side, and fall asleep with one hand curled near yours.

You never stopped him.

You never would.

You shared too many things with him — your first steps, your first blades, your first blood. You were born together, trained together, made together. And now you were broken together, too. Even if only one of you bled for it.

He never mentioned your eye.

Not once.

But when you got frustrated and knocked something over again, or walked into a wall, or missed your footing — he was there. Steady. Silent. Sometimes he picked things up for you. Sometimes he just placed a hand on your wrist until your breathing steadied.

And when the nightmares got bad — yours or his — you curled together like you had when you were small, nothing but soft breath and bruised ribs and shared, smothered pain between you.

Damian always curled inward when he slept. Like he didn’t trust the air around him. Fists tucked under his chin, knees close, spine slightly bent even when the mattress gave him space. But since the warehouse, since the night you lost your eye — your eye, God, that phrase still made you sick — he had stopped pretending to sleep alone.

Once, he whispered: “It should’ve been me.”

And you whispered back, “It wasn’t.”

You didn’t talk about it after that.

Eventually, Leslie said it was time.

Your orbit had healed. The worst of the inflammation was over. There were still sutures inside your skin, layers of muscle and bone trying to knit back together. You’d need follow-ups. Long-term scans. Some of it might never fully recover. But the gauze? The gauze could finally come off.

You should’ve felt relieved.

You didn’t.

You felt exposed.

You felt seen.

They didn’t let you do it alone.

You tried to protest, of course. Tried to tell them it was your face, your choice, your eye — or what was left of it. But the moment Alfred stepped into your room with the medical tray, Bruce behind him, Damian already sitting near the headboard like a statue, you understood that it wasn’t up for debate.

Alfred approached like he was performing a ritual. Not a task. Not a job. Something sacred.

The tray was placed beside your bed, a clean cloth folded at the corner, sterile scissors gleaming under the light. You sat propped up with pillows, hands balled into the sheets, your chest tight enough to crack.

Bruce sat in the chair across from you. No cape. No armor. Just him. Plain clothes, face unreadable, eyes locked on yours.

No one spoke. Not until Alfred dipped the scissors into disinfectant and murmured, “Miss Y/N… May I?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to scream and hide and throw the blankets over your face. But you swallowed hard and nodded.

He worked slowly, gently. The scissors snipped through gauze like whispering paper. The first layer peeled back, and cold air hit your cheek, your brow, your eyelid. The texture of exposed, healing skin made your stomach twist. Alfred’s hands didn’t tremble once.

Another layer. And another. And then the last. The gauze fell into the tray like old linen, stained with hours of dampness and sterile creams. Your face was bare.

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe.

You just stared straight ahead at your Father’s face, searching it for something — disgust, sorrow, judgment — but it wasn’t there.

There was only quiet.

You kept your good eye trained on Alfred’s collar, on the soft silver of his tie pin. He didn’t comment on the tears spilling from your left tear duct — steady, unearned, grotesque in their asymmetry.

Alfred gently packed the bandages away and said, “The patches arrived this morning.”

You nodded without speaking.

The black one fit best.

Leslie had sent a few to the Manor, no doubt working through one of her reliable medical suppliers. The white patch — classic, clinical — looked absurd. It got dirty too fast. You tried it once and ripped it off within the hour. The beige one disappeared into your skin but made the hollow too obvious, drawing more attention than it hid. The soft cloth one looked like something out of a pirate film.

The black patch was clean. Sharp. Neutral. It didn’t ask for pity. You could pretend it was tactical, even stylish. Something deliberate. Something chosen.

But every time you put it on, you felt the echo of what it was hiding. A whole part of you. Gone.

The world saw it differently, of course.

Wayne’s daughter, injured in a freak accident. The media latched onto the story like it was fiction, spinning it into a tale of bravery and trauma and noble recovery. “A tragic incident,” the headlines read. “Still under investigation.” The official press release said it happened during an off-duty car crash. Gotham clutched its pearls and murmured in sympathy, turning your pain into cocktail party gossip.

But only you — and the family — knew the truth.

Only you remembered the warehouse. The rusted knife. The sound of Damian’s voice breaking as he screamed for someone to help you. Only you could still feel it — that moment the blade went in, that sickening pop, the burn of your own body eating itself alive.

Every look you received now — on the street, in the Cave, in the damn mirror — was a reminder.

They didn’t see Batgirl.

They saw the girl with one eye.

But once, just once, you woke to find Damian already awake beside you, eyes open, fixed on the ceiling.

“Would you want it back?” he asked.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “What?”

“Your eye. If you could. Would you want it back?”

You didn’t answer right away.

You thought about what it had cost you — the balance, the vision, the grace.

“There's a debt to be paid,” you whispered. “With his eye.”

He didn’t say anything after that, but his fingers pressed into yours, hard, and pressed again, a promise that, one day, he'd give it to you.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

Spacing out

________

Potential.

You hated that word.

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

anyqays my phone is going to die no charger

[athenalvss]

Omg I just stumbled onto your page after reading your “Flashancy” fic. It was so cute! If you don’t mind me asking could I ask for a follow up after that? Like the months of bat!sis pregnancy, how everyone helps, Damian glaring daggers at Wally if she even so much as sniffles, and how Wally through his panic steps up when it’s time for the baby to be born? 💕💕

DONT BE WALLY PLEASE (Wally west! )

summary: Everyone accompanies the young couple during your pregnancy.

pairing: Wally west x batsis reader

1 part / part three

open request - Wally masterlist

Month 3

After the announcement, the initial chaos gave way to a tense calm, like the silence that comes after a storm... although everyone knew that the worst, or the best, was yet to come.

The mansion felt different. Not in any specific way, but in the small details. Conversations lowered their volume when you entered a room, as if everyone was trying to size you up. There were constant glances, some concerned, others simply curious. And a silent care in the air. As if everyone, subconsciously, knew there was now something fragile between you, something precious.

Now you were spending more time with your family when you weren't with Wally, because none of them wanted to miss the progress of your pregnancy; it was the first time they had experienced it so closely.

Coffee disappeared from your cup and was replaced by mild infusions. Training was replaced by short walks. Nights on patrol became quiet dinners with Wally, who went out of his way to learn how to accompany you, even though he still forgot basic things like how strong smells now made you nauseous.

No one talked much about the baby because, well, they don't know much about pregnancies. But someone was always nearby. There was always a hand extended if they saw you hesitate on a step, an excuse to stop by to "check on you," even if it was just to sit in silence for five minutes.

Your father said almost nothing, but it was clear he was always attentive and looking after you in every way, from the reinforced security reports, to the health analyses reviewed with double attention, to how his gaze lingered on you a little longer than usual when he thought you weren't looking.

Wally, for his part, was on his own emotional roller coaster, but he was always there, worried and caring for you and his baby. He was there for every ultrasound, every appointment, every discomfort. He spoke to you tenderly even when you were irritable. He held your back when everything hurt. And he held you tight every night, as if that way he could protect you from everything.

Sometimes you cried, over small things like a song, an old photo from when you were a child, a smell. Sometimes you laughed so hard your stomach hurt. Your hormones were a mess, and you really hoped it would all pass quickly, but someone in your family was always willing to try different methods to ease everything you were going through.

And that was the greatest show of love you could ask for.

Month 6

By month five, pregnancy was no longer "news" or a "surprise." The whole situation had become normalized, or at least for you, because while you remained calm and didn't have to put up with anything, those around you seemed to be going through the pregnancy for you.

Dick treated you like you were made of glass, with slow hugs and gentle steps, as if you were about to shatter at any second. Tim filled the refrigerator with meals scheduled by calories and nutrients, having Alfred prepare the recipes he'd found.

Jason didn't say much. But he came by more often. Always with some other excuse: bringing you a soft blanket, a romance novel, and a box of homemade cookies. "Don't ask who made them, just eat them."

He didn't ask any questions. He just put his things down, leaned against the door frame, and said, "Is everything okay?"

And you nodded, and that was enough for him. But one night, as you shared ice cream in the kitchen, he looked at you sideways and murmured, "You're going to do just fine. And that baby... that baby is going to be lucky to have you for a mom."

"Thanks Jay"

And Damian...

Damian followed you like a hawk. He didn't say much, but he took note of everything. He checked your sleep schedule, your posture, what you ate, the room temperature. If you frowned, he'd already call Alfred.

More than once you found him standing in the middle of the hallway, fully dressed in his training robes, in the dark.

"Dami, you know I don't mind you coming to my house, but what are you doing there in the dark?"

"I'm keeping watch. If you get hungry at midnight, I'll be ready. And if that useless ginger falls asleep, someone has to be awake."

You rolled your eyes with a smile and closed the door, already accustomed to his Operation-like vigilance. But when you turned around, you found Wally lying next to you, face down, his head on your stomach and his eyes closed as if waiting for the universe to speak to him directly.

"Did you know the baby can already hear voices?" she asked suddenly, her voice filled with restrained excitement.

"Yes, I read that. And they can kick too."

"Kicking? Already?" he asked, sitting up slightly, excited. "Did you feel anything?"

"Sometimes. it's like... little bubbles. But I don't think you can see them from the outside yet."

Wally went completely still. He rested his cheek against your belly again and placed a hand gently on your skin, as if it were something fragile. "Hi, little one... it's me, Daddy, the one who's going to run by your side until you get tired of me. I promise."

And the first time the baby kicked him in the face, he froze. Then, with his eyes wide open and a mixture of shock and overwhelming love, he screamed at you. "He kicked me in the face! A kick! Right here!" He pointed to his forehead, completely overwhelmed.

"You sure?"

"Yes! Yes! It was real. It was… it was like, 'You silly old man, I heard you, let me sleep.' Do you understand what this means?"

"Were you beaten before they were born?"

"He recognizes me! My son recognizes me! I'm his favorite!"

You laughed so hard your tears flowed. Wally stared at you, grinning from ear to ear, then pressed his ear back against your tummy, hoping for another little kick, like a secret code between the two of you.

he stood there, whispering to them as you stroked his hair, your heart in knots and the absolute certainty that this baby was already loved. Deeply. Ridiculously.

Wally, with all his nerves, his clumsiness, and his uncontrollable enthusiasm, was ready. Or rather: he was learning to be ready. Step by step. Kick by kick.

And that night, as he fell asleep with his head on your belly, his arms wrapped around you with protective tenderness, you thought there was no safer place in the world than that.

Month 9

It was early in the morning. Of course it was early in the morning. You were in the kitchen, eating cereal straight from the carton because you didn't have the patience to find a bowl, when you felt the first contraction.

It didn't hurt that much. Yet. It was just a strange, uncomfortable pressure, like something big was about to happen. You knew right away.

"Wally..." you said calmly, as if you were letting us know you were out of milk. "I think it's time."

Wally, who was half asleep on the couch with a ridiculous duck blanket, raised his head, blinked, and paused. His face went from sleepy to completely panicked in a matter of seconds.

"Time? Time like 'we're going to the hospital' or 'just a little longer' or 'he's coming out now'?"

"Time to say 'grab your stuff and take me now.'"

Wally disappeared in the blink of an eye, running through the house. You heard him shout unintelligibly, stomp up the stairs, throw something that sounded very expensive, and then return with three bags. "We're ready!" he announced, his eyes wide, as if he'd just completed a level impossible mission.

"Wally… "you said with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Don't be nervous."

"Me? Nervous? No! I'm perfectly calm. Absolute control. Total serenity."

"One of his eyebrows was twitching."

"Wally. I'm fine. Nothing hurts yet."

"But it could hurt at any moment! That's what terrifies me! This can escalate in seconds! One minute you're eating cereal, and the next...!" he made an exaggerated gesture with her arms" BOOM! Baby!"

"Wally," you cut him off, grabbing him by the shirt. "Breathe."

He stood still. He looked at you. He took a deep breath. Again. And little by little, the color returned to his face. Then he hugged you, quickly, clumsily, with a kiss on your forehead that was more an apology than anything else. And then, with a flash and a gentle whirlwind, they shot off toward the hospital.

In less than half an hour, the hospital waiting room looked like a crime scene.

Alfred was at their side, with a folded blanket, a diaper bag, and a face that looked like he was going to take control of the situation if someone else panicked.

Bruce stood, serious, arms crossed, pacing. Every five minutes he asked for the doctor. "Have they said anything yet?"

And Dick and Damian… well.

"I'm just saying, if the baby has red hair, we're going to have to dye it," Damian said, his tone serious.

"We're not dyeing the baby, Damian. It's a baby," Dick replied with a sigh. "There's always the option of leaving it on the Kents' doorstep."

Wally, who had just gone back inside to get some water, froze in the doorway. He looked at them, offended, one hand on his chest. "Excuse me?!" he exclaimed. "What's with me today? I'm the father! You should want them to look like me!"

Damian didn't bother to look up. "That's precisely what we're all trying to avoid."

"I'm just saying," Dick repeated seriously, "that I appreciate your friendship very much despite everything, but I don't know if I want another Wally."

Just as he opened his mouth to continue complaining, the door opened with a subtle creak. The doctor came out into the hallway, his gown wrinkled, his mask hanging around his neck, his expression tired but warm.

"Miss Wayne's relatives?"

Everyone stood up instantly.

Even Bruce, who until that moment had remained in sentinel mode, motionless and silent.

The doctor nodded gently. "Everything went well. Mom and baby are healthy. It's a little boy."

The silence that followed was absolute. The only sound was Wally's glass falling to the floor.

And then Alfred sighed and smiled, his eyes moist. "Welcome, little West," he murmured. "We've been waiting for you."

Wally blinked. Once. Twice.

And suddenly, he burst into tears. he wiped his eyes with her sleeve without even realizing it. "Can I...?" hhe asked, his voice breaking. "Can I see them?"

The doctor nodded with a smile. "They're waiting for you."

Wally went out first. He didn't even run. He just walked quickly, as if he didn't trust his legs, as if the excitement was too heavy to move at his speed.

The others followed behind him, one by one, leaving the tension and nervousness behind, entering as a family.

And in the background, Damian murmured softly, not looking at anyone. "If he has his smile… he can stay too."

Dick patted him on the head. "Don't act tough, you'll spoil him in less than a week."

Damian didn't answer, but he smiled a little, just a little, as they walked toward the room where a new life had just begun.

[lobelliah]

Gotham's Ultimate Girl Dad

Batfamily x Spoiled!Batsis

Gotham’s protector. The world’s greatest detective. The only man to face gods and monsters without fear…just can’t say “no” to his daughters.

Word Count: 4,022

💮Masterlist💮

Duke had seen many strange things since joining the family — rooftop sword fights over snacks, Tim mixing energy drinks like a mad scientist, Dick swinging from chandeliers, Jason hiding stolen contraband in the Manor — but nothing, compared to the current conversation in at Wayne Manor.

“So,” Duke said, eyes narrowing, “you’re all trying to convince Bruce to let you take the Batjet to Tokyo.”

“Correct,” Tim said from his spot on the couch. “For mission purposes.”

Jason leaned back in his chair. “Translation: vacation.”

“And Bruce said no,” Duke confirmed.

“In about four different languages,” Dick sighed from his spot on the rug. “He’s in a mood.”

“Then why,” Duke asked, “are you all sitting here like you still have a plan?”

Jason smirked. “Because we do.”

Damian nodded solemnly. “A manipulative one. We don't like resorting to such measures, but Father is being difficult. We have no choice.”

Duke looked at the boys, feeling fear rise within him. "I don't like this.

"Don't be. It's harmless." Tim reassured. “We call it Sister Power.”

Duke's fear deflated. “Sister… power? What does that even mean?”

Damian crossed his arms. "You haven't been here long Thomas, but surely you've noticed that Father has a clear favoritism towards Cassandra and [Name]."

Duke frowned, thinking it over. “I… can’t say that I have.”

Jason shook his head, an amused smirk on his face. "Bruce is a total girl dad. He loves his sons we know that. But the way he treats his girls is on a whole different level."

"It's either hilarious or ridiculous," Tim added. "There is no in between."

Duke looked between them, pure disbelief painted on his face. “Oh come on!”

Dick got up from his spot on the floor and took a seat next to Duke on the couch. “Trust us on this. Before Bruce, we were all only children. We didn’t know what favoritism looked like. But when it came to [Name], it was obvious. She’s his favorite. And when Cass came along?” Dick grinned. “We realized Bruce Wayne is Gotham’s Ultimate Girl Dad.”

Duke still looked unconvinced. "I still think you guys are being dramatic."

"Okay," Dick got comfortable in his seat. "Here's a story for you."

The look in his eyes shifted — that particular mix of nostalgia and disbelief that only came from living in Wayne Manor too long…

…Bruce had been on an important Wayne Enterprises video call — one of those tense board meetings where everyone looked like they’d rather be filing their taxes in a hurricane. Ten people on-screen, all stiff suits and monotone voices.

He sat at his mahogany desk in his home office, posture perfect, expression unreadable. The laptop camera framed him neatly: Gotham’s most stoic CEO, unbothered and intimidating.

Then the office door creaked open.

You stepped inside first, dressed in your pajamas and holding your phone like it was a sacred artifact. “Dad, what color should I paint my nails?”

The question dropped into the silence like a bomb.

Every executive froze. Someone coughed. Another adjusted their tie.

Bruce didn’t even flinch. “Hmm,” he murmured, eyes still on the screen. “Let me see.”

You walked around the desk, showing him your phone. “Jade green, sage green, or emerald green?”

“Sage,” Bruce said simply, then unmuted himself. “Apologies, Lucius, continue.”

Lucius barely managed to keep a straight face.

And then Cassandra appeared, also in her pajamas and a blanket over her shoulders. She pulled up a chair and sitting on Bruce’s right side. She didn’t say a word, just took a seat and started sketching little doodles on the corner of his notepad.

Bruce let her. Of course he did.

Half the board looked shocked. The other half looked terrified.

At one point, you pulled up another chair and sat on his left. You leaned against Bruce’s arm, scrolling through your phone while he calmly discussed profit margins like this was the most normal thing in the world.

When the call finally ended, Bruce closed his laptop and looked between you two.

Cass showed him the picture she drew. A series of Batman doodles but they were vague black blobs with pointy ears and eyes.

“Very nice,” he said simply.

Cass smiled. You nodded, satisfied.

And just like that, Gotham’s most powerful businessman spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in a posh nail salon while his daughters got their matching sets…

…Back in the present, Dick spread his hands like he’d just presented irrefutable evidence.

“So yeah,” he said with a grin. “Bruce Wayne. Billionaire. Dark Knight. Total pushover.”

Jason leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, that confident grin already forming.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and dramatic. “You think that’s bad? Lemme tell you about the time your sweet sisters nearly totaled the Batmobile.”

Duke blinked. “What—”

But Jason was already lost to memory, the glint in his eye shifting from smug amusement to pure disbelief…

…It had started as “training.”

You decided it was time for you to learn how to handle the Batmobile. Cass had already mastered evasive maneuvers and parking. You? You were still stuck on the fun part — the speed. And Cass decided to give you a hand since Bruce was busy upstairs.

“Slow and steady,” Cass said calmly from the passenger seat, hands clasped in her lap. “You need to respect the vehicle.”

You grinned, revving the engine. “Respect, got it.”

She gave you a look. “That’s not what I—”

Before Cass could finish, the Batmobile shot forward. The roar of the engine echoed through the cave like thunder. You swerved—way too fast—and slammed the brakes so suddenly that the entire car jolted forward and crashed into the rock wall with a teeth-rattling BANG!

Then a faint plop as a stalactite somewhere dislodged and fell into the water.

Cass exhaled through her nose. “You okay?”

You nodded, dazed. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

The noise had echoed through the cave like an explosion. Within seconds, the cavalry arrived. Jason appeared first, half in his gear, looking way too delighted for someone who just heard a crash.

“Oh my god—” he wheezed, doubled over laughing. “You—you wrecked the Batmobile!”

You groaned, pressing your forehead against the steering wheel. Cass, to her credit, sat perfectly still, expression unreadable except for the tiniest twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.

A few seconds later, heavy footsteps approached — Bruce’s.

The laughter died instantly.

He stopped in front of the Batmobile, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes scanned the damage — smoke, dented metal, a tire barely hanging on.

Jason braced himself for the explosion. This was it. The Bat-yell. The lecture. The grounding for life.

But Bruce didn’t yell. He just opened the driver’s door and crouched down beside you. “Are you okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah… I think so.”

He nodded once, standing back up. “Good. That’s what matters.”

Jason stared at him, stunned. “That’s what matters?”

Bruce ignored him, inspecting the front bumper. “I should’ve explained the braking system better.”

Jason’s mouth fell open. “You’re apologizing?”

Bruce stood, calm as ever. “The car can be repaired. Though next time, I’ll supervise your training.” He shot a not-at-all serious glare at Cass.

Cass smiled back at him. “She learns fast.”

Bruce actually smiled back. “I know.”

Two days later, two new cars showed up in the cave. Smaller. Sleeker. Modified for “practice.”

Cass got to pick the color. Midnight blue. “Stealthy,” she’d said. "And there are two so we can match!"

Jason had never been so personally offended…

…Back in the living room, Jason leaned back in his chair, smirk broad and satisfied.

“And that,” he said, “is how the twins of chaos crashed a billion-dollar car and somehow got rewarded for it.”

Duke blinked. “Matching luxury cars is crazy!”

Dick crossed his arms. “He didn’t talk to me for a week when I popped a tire.”

Damian was fuming in his chair. "I've known how to drive since I was eight! And he won't let me drive!"

Tim sighed, leaning back against the couch. “You’ve heard Dick’s corporate chaos and Jason’s vehicular tragedy. Now let me tell you about the time Bruce tried to be a responsible parent… for less than two hours…"

…It started with an argument.

You had snuck out of the Manor one night — nothing reckless, just a spur-of-the-moment visit to your friend’s house party. Cass had gone with you, not wanting to miss any fun. All Bruce saw were empty rooms, the silent tracker, and the security footage of the two of you hopping a fence in Gotham at 11:47 p.m.

The next morning, Bruce called both of you into the living room.

He stood there, arms crossed, voice firm. “You both know better,” he said. “You’re grounded. No missions, no patrol, no going out for a week.”

Cass accepted her fate, but she didn't look happy about it.

You tried to argue. “But Dad, it was a small party! Only like, thirty people were there!”

Bruce’s eyebrow twitched. “You broke curfew.”

“We were expanding our cultural awareness by interreacting with the unique Gotham youth!”

He didn’t budge. Cass put a hand on your arm — the unspoken don’t push it gesture — and the two of you retreated upstairs.

Tim had been in the corner the entire time, pretending to look at his phone, but watching everything. He nodded approvingly.

Finally! Consistency. Discipline. A real rule enforced and punishment given when rules were broken.

That lasted exactly one hundred and ten minutes and thirty-nine seconds.

Around noon, Tim heard footsteps on the stairs. You appeared first, dressed casually, hair done, purse over your shoulder. Cass followed, calm as ever, keys in one hand, and a homemade latte in the other.

Bruce looked up from his seat as you both approached.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Out,” you said simply. “We’re meeting our friends for lunch.

"Don’t wait up,” Cass shouted cheerfully.

Bruce blinked once. “Alright. Be safe.”

Tim nearly dropped his coffee, but did drop his jaw.

You leaned down, kissed Bruce on the cheek, and walked out the door like nothing was wrong.

Bruce went back to reading the Gotham Gazette as if he hadn’t just undone his own punishment.

Tim sat frozen in the his seat for a solid thirty seconds before finally blurting, “Bruce! They're grounded!”

Bruce didn’t even look up. “Oh. Right.”

A beat of silence.

“And are they still grounded?” Tim pressed.

Bruce turned a page. “I’ll revisit it later.”

He didn’t…

…Back in the living room, Tim pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So, yeah,” he muttered. “Grounded for a week. Gone in less than two hours. When they came back they told Bruce all about it.”

Jason was already grinning. “I still can’t believe you thought he’d enforce it.”

“Can you blame me for hoping?” Tim asked flatly. “He grounded me once for forgetting to eat dinner. He said it was ‘self-neglect.’ ”

Dick laughed. “Bruce’s logic when it comes to his daughters exists in another dimension.”

Duke just stared at them, slack-jawed. “He really just… let them go? Unbelievable.”

Damian straightened, expression carved from pure suffering. “My father’s hypocrisy knows no bounds,” he began solemnly. “Observe."…

…It began, as these tragedies often did, with good intentions — his, specifically.

Damian had always adored animals. He rescued them, rehabilitated them, even smuggled a few injured strays back to the Manor. Each time, Bruce had said the same thing: “No more animals in the house, Damian.”

A reasonable rule, perhaps. Until they got involved.

It was a quiet Sunday when it happened. Damian had just finished training when he heard you and Cassandra’s laughter echoing through the main hall.

“What the…” he muttered. He turned the corner and froze when he saw the animal. "What is the meaning of this!"

You and Cass turned to look at the boy. You immediately went into defensive mode.

"Damian you don’t get it," you began.

Damian grinned like he had a checkmate in chess. "Father is going to be livid when he sees this."

You clasped your hands together, pleading for sympathy from your younger brother. "She was all alone Damian! Scared and defenseless! Stuck in a tree and in need of help!'

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Damian urged. "You did not find a ZEBRA stuck in a tree."

Cass hugged the Zebra like Damian would take her away any moment. “We named her Wonder Zebra! Diana has to know we named this majestic creature after her.”

Damian blinked. “You cannot be serious.”

Cass smiled at their new companion. “She’s calm and has good energy.”

“Good energy?!” Damian gestured wildly. “She’s a zebra, not a therapy dog!”

The zebra snorted and began nibbling at one of Bruce’s antique rugs.

You gently patted her neck. “She’s just hungry. Poor thing’s been through enough.”

At that exact moment, Bruce came down the stairs. Damian folded his arms, relief flooding him — finally, someone rational.

“Father,” he announced, “they’ve brought home a wild animal. I assume you’ll handle this.”

Bruce stopped halfway down, taking in the scene: his daughters, his ruined carpet, and a striped fugitive from the Gotham Zoo. A long silence followed.

“Girls,” he said finally, “where did you find it?”

“We were just walking down the street and she was stranded Dad!” you answered innocently. “All alone stuck on the unforgiving streets that would corrupt her! We had to save her and give her a loving home!"

Bruce nodded once, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And you want to keep her?”

Cass nodded. "She can't go back out there. She's clearly been raised in captivity. She won't survive on her own. And I've seen the neighbor's lawn, the grass is fake!"

Damian smirked. “He’ll say no.”

But Bruce didn’t say no. He pulled out his phone.

“Father?” Damian asked, horrified. “What are you doing?”

“Calling the zoo,” Bruce said simply. “We’ll make the proper arrangements.”

Ten minutes later, Bruce Wayne owned a zebra.

Later that day, a new enclosure was being built on the property. Alfred was giving instructions to the contractors as Cass brushed the Wonder Zebra's mane. You gave Bruce's large body the tightest hug you could manage.

Damian stood at the fence, glaring at Bruce. “You said no more animals.”

Bruce just sipped his coffee. “I said no more unapproved animals.”

Damian gestured wildly toward the zebra. “How is this approved?!”

Bruce shrugged. “It’s domesticated now.”

You handed him an apple slice. “Want to feed her, Dad?”

Bruce smiled. “Sure.”

Damian groaned. “This is absurd!”…

…Back in the living room, Damian crossed his arms with righteous indignation.

“So yes, Thomas, Father not only allowed them to keep a zebra, he bought it. Within the hour.”

Duke blinked. “...A real zebra?”

“It took six months for Alfred to convince Bruce to give Wonder Zebra back to the zoo,” Jason said. "He still owns her but Alfred got sick of her eating his roses."

Tim leaned forward, smirking. “So now you get it, right? The favoritism?”

Duke ran a hand down his face. “I’m starting to think Bruce doesn’t parent them—he just funds their adventures.”

Dick laughed. “Welcome to the Wayne family.”

Night had settled over Wayne Manor, the kind of quiet stillness that felt almost suspicious after years of living with vigilantes. The boys had spent hours brainstorming ways to convince Bruce. They needed a backup plan in case you and Cass decided to not help them.

Duke shook his head. “There’s gotta be some situation where Bruce says no to them.”

Tim raised a brow. “If there is a limit, we haven't reached it yet.”

Damian, ever the realist, folded his arms. “Perhaps tonight will be the exception. Father returned home not long ago from his date with Selina. He is… preoccupied.”

Dick looked at him. "How do you know?"

"I saw them while I was in the kitchen getting a drink. Father grabbed some wine and two glasses and left with her," Damian clarified.

Jason grinned. “Oh, so the Bat and the Cat are having their little romantic rooftop debrief, huh?”

“Not on the rooftop,” Damian said flatly. “They went in the direction of his bedroom.”

That earned a collective grimace.

Dick coughed. “Okay, boundaries. Ew. But fine — if there’s ever a time he’s gonna draw the line, it’s now.”

“Exactly,” Tim said. “He won't let anyone interrupt his…"adult time"… with Selena. ”

Jason leaned back, smug. “Yeah, no way he’s getting out of bed for anyone right now.”

The universe heard them — and laughed. Because just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the hall.

Cass’s quiet footsteps were unmistakable. Yours weren’t — you were humming, the sound bright and careless. Both of you held dozens of shopping bags in your arms. The glossy bags cutting into your arms didn't dampen your moods one bit.

"Hi guys," Cass said casually.

"Have you seen Dad," you asked. "We want to show him our haul."

The brothers exchanged nervous looks.

“Relax,” Tim whispered. “Even Bruce has limits.”

Jason looked at the both of you, a confident smirk etched on his face. "Bruce and Selena are in his bedroom. If you catch my drift…?"

You and Cass looked at each other. The boys couldn’t read your expressions, but you two shared that silent understanding only sisters could. You both dropped your shopping bags with synchronized thuds, expensive logos scattering across the floor.

Jason blinked. “Oh, no. No way. You two aren’t actually—”

But you two were already marching down the hall.

Tim groaned into his hands. “They’re doing it.”

Duke whispered, “He's going to say no to them. This has to be the night.”

Dick felt himself flinch. "They're going to be devastated. Their first 'no' ever."

Damian sighed, defeated. “They're going to need comforting. Let's have snacks and movies ready for them.”

The boys moved to the kitchen like they were preparing someone's final meal.

Somewhere upstairs, faint music played — soft jazz, far too romantic for Wayne Manor’s usual gloom. You and Cass walked in perfect step, as if you were on a mission of personal vengeance.

By the time you reached Bruce’s door, the muffled sound of laughter and low voices confirmed your suspicion.

You knocked firmly. “Daaaad?”

Silence. Then a shuffle. Then hushed voices.

You frowned. “Dad?”

Cass added, “We need to show you something.”

More frantic movement followed. Then, Selina’s voice — unmistakably irritated — came through the door. “Bruce, don’t you dare—”

Too late. The door opened.

Bruce stood there in a black silk robe, hair a little disheveled, a light layer of sweat clinging to his skin, trying very hard to look like a man who hadn’t just been interrupted.

“Hi, girls,” he said evenly, the faintest edge of guilt in his voice.

You beamed. “Hi, Dad! We're done shopping!”

Cass excitedly bounced on her toes. “We bought a lot things.”

Behind him, Selina groaned. “Of course you did.”

You stepped forward, undeterred. “They had a sale at Cartier. And Cass found perfume that smells like Gotham rain.”

Cass nodded seriously. “It does not. It smells like Gotham in the summer.”

Bruce managed a smile. “That’s great girls.”

You peeked past him. “Hi, Selina!”

Selina sat up, the sheets pulled strategically high, and a forced smile on her face. "Hello girls. I'd come up to greet you but your Dad and I are very busy right now."

Cass tilted her head. “Busy?”

You blinked innocently. “Busy with what?”

Selina groaned again. “Unbelievable.”

You tugged one Bruce's sleeve. “Anyway, we wanted to show you what we got!”

Cass tugged Bruce's other sleeve. "And you have to smell the perfume and tell [Name] I'm right."

Bruce hesitated, eyes darting to Selina’s glare, then back to your hopeful expression and Cass' pleading look.

He sighed. “Alright. Let me make myself decent.”

Selina buried her face in her hands. “You. Are. Hopeless.”

You leaned up to kiss Bruce’s cheek. “Love you, Dad! You’re the best.”

Cass gave a small nod. “We'll wait for you in the living room.”

You both turned and padded down the hall.

Behind the closed door, Selina glared, “What about me?”

Bruce raised a brow. “What about you?”

Selina stared like he’d just committed a crime against humanity, but Bruce only walked to his closet and pulled out some clothes.

The boys had set up the living room to perfection. Popcorn bowls with 5 different flavors. Ice cream tubs with dozens of toppings. Blankets. A carefully queued movie.

Jason stared at the spread and sighed. “Feels like we’re prepping for heartbreak.”

Duke took a sip of one of the soda cans, letting the fizz calm his nerves. "Because we are."

Tim checked his phone. “It’s been ten minutes. No screaming, no crying, no door slamming.”

Dick frowned. “It’s the quiet before the storm.”

Damian poured a glass of water with grim solemnity. “Father may require this after the confrontation.”

Jason snorted. “It's a bittersweet night boys.”

Then they heard it. Two sets of footsteps heading their way, quick and heavy.

The boys turned toward the sound just in time to see you and Cass descend the stairs — all smiles and laughter — followed by Bruce Wayne himself, now in gray pajama set and matching slippers.

Dick blinked. “Oh my god. He actually came downstairs.”

Jason squinted. “In his pajamas and matching slippers!”

Bruce looked utterly unfazed. “You said you had something to show me?”

You and Cass nodded enthusiastically and began unloading your shopping bags onto the every available surface like a luxury-themed magic trick.

Perfume. Jewelry boxes. Clothes. Shoes. Half of Gotham’s economy.

Cass held up the perfume bottle. “Smell this. Tell her I’m right.”

Bruce leaned down obediently, smelling the sample strip you held out. “Cass is right. It smells like Gotham in summer.”

You gasped, offended. “What? No way! It’s totally Gotham rain!”

He smiled faintly. “Sorry honey.”

Jason muttered under his breath, “He’s so whipped.”

Tim, deadpan, “This isn’t even parenting anymore. It’s diplomacy.”

Cass handed Bruce another bag. “Look inside.”

He peered in. “A suede jacket?”

You nodded proudly. “For you! We saw it and immediately thought of you.”

Bruce’s expression softened — genuinely touched. “Thank you.”

You smiled, satisfied, then added casually, “Oh! And we’re borrowing the Batjet next week. Tokyo trip.”

Jason choked on his drink. “You’re what!?”

Bruce didn’t even flinch. “File the flight plan first.”

Tim slammed his hand on the counter. “Are you serious?!”

Bruce looked at him calmly. “Always.”

The boys went dead silent. The sound of you and Cass giggling and rummaging through your bags filling the air.

Then Dick groaned, throwing his hands up. “I give up.”

Jason dragged a hand down his face. “He was in bed with Catwoman and still said yes.”

Duke muttered weakly, “We did this whole set up for nothing.”

Damian glared at his father. “Father, you are an embarrassment to the concept of discipline.”

Bruce looked around the room, expression neutral. “You all finished?”

The boys collectively mumbled variations of yeah, whatever, as you and Cass started showing your things again, talking happily. The boys abandoned the movie and started eating the food they prepared, drowning their defeat in calories.

The haul went on for three hours before the sisters disappeared down the hall with their things. Bruce watched them go, an unmistakable fondness softening his features.

Jason folded his arms. “You do realize they’ve got you completely wrapped around their fingers, right?”

Bruce’s lips quirked. “I know.”

Selina appeared at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, still in silk and absolute disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

Bruce gave her a small, unapologetic smile. “I’m a father.”

Selina sighed, rolling her eyes — but the corner of her mouth twitched. “A hopeless one.”

Bruce took her hand and lead her back upstairs, slippers soft against the wood floor. “Goodnight, boys.”

The room fell silent for a moment before Duke exhaled. “I can’t believe he’s the same guy who terrifies the Justice League.”

Dick laughed softly, looking toward the staircase. “That’s our dad.”

[mim16s]

Bluebird - Batfam x neglected Jinx!reader

Batfam x Jinx!reader CHAPTER 1 > CHAPTER 2 > CHAPTER 3 > CHAPTER 4 > CHAPTER 5 (COMPLETE) Serie!materialist

You were a child far too good for the world you were born into. Affectionate, dreamy, always offering love like someone who extends their hands into the dark, hoping someone would hold them back. It never happened.

You were left at the door of Wayne Manor on a cold night, wrapped hastily, like something that needed to be discarded. A single note accompanied you, crumpled, written in anger:

"Here is your daughter, you bastard. Take care of this child, who was treated like a jinx"

It didn’t take long for the truth to come out: you were Bruce Wayne’s biological daughter, the result of an affair he would rather erase from his own story. He didn’t want you. Gotham was already on his shoulders—too many secrets, too many wars—a baby wasn’t part of the plan.

Still, he didn’t abandon you. Not out of love, but out of duty. Gotham wasn’t a safe place for a child alone, and that, for Bruce Wayne, was reason enough. Love never was.

You grew up inside the mansion as a constant reminder of something he couldn’t control. Bruce was distant, silent, absent even when he was present. The one who truly raised you was Alfred. He had been there from the beginning—through sleepless nights, scraped knees, and held-back tears. He was the one who put you to bed, who listened to your stories, who made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you were loved.

But Alfred never stopped anything either.

You remember the day you brought Bruce a drawing. It was simple, childish, full of color— you, him, the family you so desperately wanted to believe existed. He barely looked at it. When he thought you had left the room, he threw the paper in the trash without hesitation.

Alfred found you crying afterward, kneeling beside the bin, trying to smooth the crumpled paper as if that could fix anything.

Dick Grayson was the first brother you tried to love. And perhaps the one you felt the most pain losing, even though you never truly had him.

How many times did you dress up excitedly to go out with him, only to hear at the door:

— Bluebird, he needs me more than you do. — he’d say, with that smile that was too light. — Damian just joined the family. You understand, right? You’re so mature.

You didn’t understand. You just wanted your brother. And once again, you were left behind.

Jason never pretended. The disdain came straight through his gaze, heavy, as if you didn’t deserve to share the same air.

Tim… Tim was too polite to be cruel, but distant enough to hurt just the same. You remember when you made coffee for him, carefully, waiting for a “thank you.” He looked at the cup as if it were contaminated and discarded it without a word.

And Damian… Damian was the worst. He destroyed your stuffed bears—your only company during long nights—and laughed at your crying like it was entertainment. As if your pain was too small to be taken seriously.

Alfred always comforted you. He dried your tears, spoke kind words, hugged you when no one else did. But he never stopped them. He never called Bruce out. He never told the boys that it was unfair. His silence hurt too.

So you decided to try the only way you knew. If they only saw each other through fighting, you would fight.

You spent days—nights—in the Batcave, training until your muscles burned, until exhaustion erased any remaining hope. You wanted to be perfect. You wanted to be useful. You wanted to be seen.

You dreamed of the day your father would let you fight beside him.

That day never came.

The mantle of Batwoman was passed to someone else. Someone better. Someone sufficient. You never would be.

Still, you kept trying. You baked cookies, gave gifts, were present whenever they needed. You never stopped begging for attention, even when every attempt only reminded you of a simple, cruel truth:

In the Wayne family, you were always just a mistake no one had the courage to fix.

The mansion was on alert that night. It wasn’t an emergency, but it wasn’t routine either. Bruce had received information about unusual activity around Gotham, and the security systems were running at heightened monitoring. Nothing that required Batman yet—just surveillance.

And, for some reason, you were included.

— You’re in charge of the secondary panel, — Bruce said, handing you the task like a silent test.

— Just monitor. Don’t make adjustments without telling me.

You nodded immediately. Your heart raced.

He trusts me.

Even if it was small, even if it was technical, it meant something.

The improvised control room—an extension of the Batcave—was busy. Tim analyzed data on one screen. Dick checked equipment. Jason observed everything with that suspicious air of his. Damian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching your every move.

You sat in front of the panel. The blue lights reflected on the glass—cold, demanding.

Alfred passed behind you and lightly touched your shoulder.

— If you’re unsure, call — he said softly.

You promised you would

For a few minutes, everything went well.

Until an alert flashed in the corner of the screen. A yellow, unstable warning.

You frowned. The manual Alfred had shown you said it indicated light interference—something that usually corrected itself. But it wasn’t correcting.

You thought of calling Tim. Thought of calling Alfred. Thought of raising your hand and saying I don’t know.

But the memory of all the times you were left behind weighed heavier.

I can do it.

You touched the panel to recalibrate the signal.

The system responded too quickly. The screens flickered. A short alarm sounded—louder than it should have. Monitoring dropped for exactly twenty-seven seconds before restarting.

Twenty-seven seconds.

— What was that? — Jason asked, already advancing.

Tim approached the screens, fingers flying over the keyboard.

— Manual drop. Someone forced a recalibration.

Your blood froze.

The alarm still echoed softly when the system returned.

Twenty-seven seconds of operational silence.

For Gotham, nothing.

For Bruce Wayne, unacceptable.

— Who did this? — his voice cut through the room, cold, without room for error.

You didn’t wait for them to point.

— It was me.

Tim’s typing stopped.

Bruce turned slowly, as if every movement was calculated.

— Explain.

— The alert wouldn’t stabilize. I thought it was light interference, I just tried to recalibrate—

— Without authorization, — he interrupted. — Without understanding the system.

— I understood, I just— I just pressed the wrong button, I didn’t know that—

— Exactly — Jason stepped in, with a hard half-smile.— You didn’t know.

Dick stepped forward.

— Bruce, it wasn’t on purpose, the bluebird just..

— It doesn’t matter, — Bruce replied, not taking his eyes off you. — Here, there is no “on purpose.”

Damian stepped closer, voice cutting.

— This is basic. Even I know not to touch what I don’t understand.

You felt your face burn.

— I just wanted to help — you insisted, voice already failing.— You always say I don’t belong, so when you give me something, I try to do it right—

— And you fail, — Jason finished.

— As always.

Tim finally turned to you. The look wasn’t cruel—it was analytical. The problem isn’t the intention. It’s the pattern.

Pattern.

The word pierced deep.

— What pattern? — you asked, almost begging.

Damian didn’t hesitate:

— The risk pattern.

The air grew heavy.

— You shut down the system, — he continued.

— Even if for seconds. If someone was watching, you would have delivered the entire mansion.

— I’m not stupid, — you snapped, your voice breaking for the first time. — I just made a mistake.

Bruce stepped forward.

— A mistake here kills people.

Silence.

You swallowed hard.

— Then why did you put me there?

The question hung in the air.

Bruce didn’t answer immediately.

When he did, it was worse.

— Because I needed to see if you were capable.

Your chest collapsed

— And I wasn’t, right?

He didn’t say no.

Jason scoffed.

— It always falls on us to fix it.

Dick looked away.

Tim shut his laptop too hard.

— You shouldn’t have tried to prove anything.

— I spend my whole life trying to prove something! — you exploded.— I do everything you ask, I stay quiet, I help, I make mistakes and apologize, and it’s never enough!

The whole room fell silent.

Damian stared at you, without any empathy.

— Maybe because you’re the problem.

The phrase fell like a verdict.

— Everything you touch breaks, — he continued.— Just like the woman who left you said. You’ve been nothing but a jinx since day one.

The world seemed to tilt.

— I’m not a jinx.— you whispered, voice barely there.

— Don’t you? — Damian tilted his head.— It’s all you do. She was right.

Before you realized it, tears were streaming down your face—hot, silent.

You didn’t wipe them away.

You weren’t going to beg anymore.

— If I’m a jinx… — you breathed, your chest aching.— then why did no one ever send me away?

Bruce answered without emotion:

— Because responsibility isn’t disposable.

Not daughter. Not family.

Responsibility.

Something inside you died right then.

— I understand, — you said, in a thread of a voice.— So don’t call me anymore when you need someone or when you need someone to blame.

Alfred stepped forward.

— My dear—

— No, — you cut him off, firm for the first time — Not now.

You stepped away from the table, each step heavy.

— You didn’t lose anything today. — You looked at all of them. — But I lost the last thing I still tried to believe in.

You left without thinking.

Not to your room—that place no longer fit you.

You needed air. Needed to exist outside the mansion for a few minutes without being a walking mistake.

__

Gotham was cold. Cruel.

The empty streets cut through your skin, and you didn’t even notice you’d left without a jacket.

The only warmth came from the tears burning your face, falling uncontrollably as you walked without direction.

And then…

A jinx.

Or maybe fate.

The laughter came before you saw him.

Sharp. Drawn-out. Familiar enough to any Gotham inhabitant.

— Look what the alley gave me as a present— the voice sang, amused.— The little princess outside the castle.

When you tried to run, it was already too late.

You were there.

Sitting in a hard chair, your arms tied behind your body, wrists burning.

The Joker’s hideout smelled of rust, gunpowder, and old madness.

Your body hurt—the blows had been calculated, enough to hurt, not to kill.

Your mind… that was in pieces.

He walked circles around you, hands behind his back, humming softly.

— So… — he said, stopping in front of you, leaning until he was eye-level.— What was the daughter of Gotham’s richest man doing wandering around alone, crying like the world had ended? Fighting with your boyfriend?

You laughed without humor.

— Boyfriend? — you murmured.— My problems are bigger than that.

He made a theatrical pout.

— Oh. Family drama? I love it.

A henchman approached and whispered something in his ear.

The Joker clicked his tongue, disappointed.

— Nothing yet.

He looked at you again.

No movement.

No bat.

No hero running to save the day.

Two hours had passed.

Two hours since you disappeared.

Two hours since anyone should have shown up.

Your body trembled.

Not just from the cold.

— He won’t come, — you said, voice hoarse, too tired to lie.

The Joker arched a painted eyebrow.

— Huh?

— They won’t come, — you continued, staring at him.— Not for me.

He tilted his head, now curious. Truly interested.

— Oh, sweetie… — he said, almost gentle.— Everyone comes when I call. Gotham knows what happens when I get bored.

You swallowed hard.

— He knows. — Your voice failed. — But he won’t come because… I’m nothing but a jinx.

The silence that followed was different.

The Joker didn’t laugh immediately.

He watched you. For real.

The pain on your face. The conviction in your voice.

It wasn’t self-pity—it was something deeper. Something broken.

A slow smile appeared.

— Aaaah… — he murmured. — So that’s it.

He crouched in front of you, resting his elbows on his knees.

— Jinx, huh? — he repeated, savoring the word — I like that. Bad luck is just another name for chaos… and chaos is incredibly honest.

You closed your eyes, exhausted.

— If they don’t want me… then kill me already. Or let me go. Because no one’s coming.

He laughed loudly this time, clapping once.

— Oh no, no, no! — he said, excited. — That would be wasting a masterpiece!

He came closer, his voice lowering, becoming dangerous.

— If they hate you so much… why do you still suffer for them?

You opened your eyes.

— Why do you still beg for crumbs? — he continued. — Why do you keep trying to be good in a family that only uses you as a scapegoat?

He placed a gloved finger under your chin, lifting your face without force—just intention.

— You call this a jinx. — He smiled— I call it potential.

Your heart raced.

— Take that fire burning inside you, — he whispered.— That pain they gave you as a gift. Use it.

He stepped back, spreading his arms as if showing the world.

— A Jinx doesn’t destroy the one who carries it… — he said, with a feverish shine in his eyes.— A jinx destroys others.

He looked at you again, wide smile, cruel, seductive.

— Let them bleed for making you believe you were worth nothing.

For the first time that night… the idea didn’t sound absurd.

It sounded fair.

And the Joker noticed.

Your disappearance was noticed too late.

At first, nobody questioned it.

You always distanced yourself when the atmosphere became too heavy.

Bruce assumed you were in your room.

Dick thought you needed space.

Tim believed Alfred was with you.

Damian simply didn’t care.

Time passed.

And no one went after you.

When Alfred answered the phone in the Batcave, the premonition came before the voice on the other end.

He didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t ask questions.

He just listened—and each word seemed to tear years of composure from him.

When he hung up, his voice came out low. Unrecognizable.

— She… is with the Joker.

The air was sucked out of the cave.

— Damn. —Jason ran his hand over his face.— I didn’t like her, but… not like this. Not with him.

There was no argument.

The Batcave turned into chaos.

Suits being put on, engines roaring, systems activating.

There was no room for guilt yet—only urgency.

They arrived fast.

Too fast to find anyone alive.

The Joker’s hideout was already a hell when the bats reached the place.

Flames climbed the walls, devouring concrete, metal, any trace of life.

A captured henchman coughed laughing, his eyes shining with something sick.

— When the bats show up, — he said, spitting soot, the clown orders everything burned.

Nothing stays.

Nothing.

Bruce advanced first, ignoring the heat, the alerts in the communicator, the screams of “it’s too late.”

He needed to see.

He needed certainty.

Among the charred debris, something caught his attention.

On the floor, half buried in ashes, was a bracelet.

Poorly made. Colorful. Childish.

The pair.

The bracelet you had made for him.

He never wore his.

Never cared.

Yours, however, you never took off your wrist.

Never.

Bruce fell to his knees.

The fire licked his cape as he held the object with trembling hands.

This wasn’t just debris.

It was proof.

It was goodbye.

You were there.

You didn’t leave.

You died.

The understanding came like a physical blow. His last interaction with you had not been a hug. It had been coldness.

Rejection.

Silence turned into sentence.

Bruce Wayne felt something he had never allowed before: grief without a mission, without an immediate enemy, without a way to fix it.

Dick turned his face, unable to look.

— We should have noticed.

Tim stood still, his brain trying to deny while the facts piled up.

— Time… the fire… it wouldn’t have been possible.

Jason clenched his teeth, anger overflowing too late.

— She just wanted to help.

Even Damian fell silent.

The remorse did not come in tears.

It came as something permanent.

It etched itself into each of them, burning inside with the same violence as the flames around them.

There was no body to bury.

No farewell.

Only the cruel certainty that when you needed them…

They chose not to see.

And now, for them, you weren’t missing.

You were dead.

[moviecritc]

bride to be ୭̥⋆*｡

☆/ platonic!bruce wayne, platonic!tim drake & batsis!reader (some roy harper x batsis!reader at the end). or where you go pick a wedding dress and you have the terrible idea to bring your father and brother with you. ☆/ this is just for funsies

You don't really know why would you even mention to your family that you were going to look for bride dresses that morning. Why would you? You were planning to go alone at first, maybe letting Cass tag along because you trust her sense of fashion. But you couldn't lie, you were excited and you kinda wanted them to be jealous of you being the only one of them on a stable relationship, even if it was with Roy Harper.

The diamond sits on your wedding finger, sparkling every time the sun hits it. The cut was gorgeous, in the shade of jewelry that you preferred and it's big enough to make you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. So at the breakfast table at the manor (you went this morning after Duke insisted you hadn't come in a while, and Roy was out with Jason in a mission, so you didn't have anything better to do) Bruce asked you about the wedding preparations and if they could help with something.

"Oh, I'm going today to try on some wedding dresses." You told them, sipping your orange juice.

Tim snapped his head at that moment. "Alone?"

"Yeah, I was planning to. Y'know, it'd be more calm and—"

"Can I go with you?"

You blinked, halfway through another sip. "Ummm..."

You looked at Tim, then at Bruce trying to find an excuse, but he was too focused on his coffee and newspaper.

You looked back at Tim, who was now doing that thing where he tilted his head like a puppy waiting for an answer he already knew he’d get.

“I just think,” he started, all casual confidence, “that it’s a huge decision, and you might want… a second opinion. Someone objective. Analytical.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Analytical? It’s a dress, Tim, not a case file.”

He smiled, unbothered. “Exactly. I’d be completely unbiased. Plus, Bruce would never say it, but he’s dying to go too.”

That got Bruce’s attention. “Excuse me?”

Tim kept going. “Come on, you love comparing price tags and pretending you’re not judging people’s spending habits. It’ll be fun for you.”

Bruce folded the newspaper, very slowly. “Fun is not the word I’d use.”

“But you’ll come,” Tim said, grinning. “For moral support.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked toward you. “Do you want moral support?”

You opened your mouth to say no, that you wanted peace and quiet, but the thought of the look on the boutique staff’s faces when Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake walked in behind you was… admittedly hilarious.

You sighed. “Fine. You can both come. But if either of you start getting bitchy, you will not receive invitations.”

Tim fist-pumped like he’d just solved an unsolvable riddle. “Perfect. I already have a spreadsheet template—”

“Tim.”

“Right, right. Just enthusiasm.”

By the time you got to the boutique, the consultant at the front desk looked like she’d walked into a fever dream: you, the bride-to-be, flanked by Gotham’s most overqualified bodyguards. Bruce looked like he was there to buy the building. Tim was scanning fabric samples like he might hack them.

You whispered, “Try to act normal.”

“I am acting normal,” Tim said, straight-faced, as he began timing how long each fitting took on his watch.

Bruce sat in the corner chair like a sentinel. “The lighting here is poor,” he muttered. “They should use warm LEDs; it’d make the fabrics look better.”

“Bruce,” you said sweetly, “I am begging you to stop assessing the infrastructure.”

He nodded solemnly. “Of course.” Then, under his breath: “Ceiling tiles are uneven.”

You were five minutes into your first dress and already regretting your life choices.

Tim sat with one leg crossed over the other, tablet balanced on his knee like he was at a quarterly review meeting. Bruce had chosen a chair directly facing the mirror, elbows on his knees, radiating the energy of a man who had seen too much and was bracing for more.

You stepped out in a satin and minimalist dress. “Okay,” you said cautiously. “Thoughts?”

Tim frowned immediately. “Too safe.”

Bruce countered without missing a beat. “No, it’s elegant.”

Tim turned toward him. “It’s boring. She looks like she’s about to attend a Senate luncheon.”

Bruce’s jaw ticked. “Not everything needs embellishment. Simplicity conveys confidence.”

“Yeah, and also ‘I gave up halfway through designing it,’” Tim shot back.

You raised both hands. “Guys. You do realize I can hear you, right?”

Bruce leaned back. “We’re being constructive.”

“You’re being loud,” you said, glaring at them in the mirror.

Tim typed something furiously on his tablet. “Okay, fine. Dress one: discarded, too boring.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose. “It’s timeless.”

“It’s yawn-inducing,” Tim muttered.

You turned to the attendant. “Can I get something with, I don’t know, less boardroom discourse attached?”

Dress two was a mermaid cut with a dramatic train. You stepped out, and before you could even ask—

Bruce: “No.”

Tim: “Absolutely yes.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

Bruce gestured toward the floor. “She can’t walk in that. It’s impractical.”

Tim waved him off. “It’s called a train, not a tactical disadvantage. It’s supposed to trail!”

“She’ll trip,” Bruce said flatly.

“Then she’ll look stunning doing it!”

They were actually arguing, full volume now.

Bruce folded his arms. “Form should follow function.”

“Function?” Tim repeated, scandalized. “It’s a wedding dress, not a grappling hook.”

You turned back to the mirror. “Do either of you remember who’s getting married here?”

“Roy,” they said in unison, like a well-trained chorus, then immediately went back to bickering. You roll your eyes dramatically, going back into the fitting room.

Dress three had lace sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. You walked out, feeling hopeful, until Bruce sighed audibly.

“Too fussy.”

Tim gave a sharp laugh. “Oh, you think it’s fussy? This from the man who wears three-piece suits to breakfast.”

“Presentation matters,” Bruce said coolly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Would you listen to my opinion this time?”

Bruce turned to Tim. “Do you own a suit without energy drink stains?”

Tim shot back, “Do you own a personality without repression?”

The attendant made a tiny squeaking sound and disappeared into the back room.

You took a deep breath, turned toward them, and said in your most patient voice, “If you both don’t stop acting like fashion critics at war, I’m eloping.”

Tim’s fingers froze mid-type. “Don’t do that. I already color-coded the venue shortlist.”

Bruce frowned. “Eloping is fiscally inefficient.”

“Of course you’d say that,” you muttered.

Dress four was a wild card, modern, bold and backless. You stepped out, and for the first time, they both went silent.

You squinted suspiciously. “What? Why are you quiet?”

Tim rubbed his chin. “I’m… conflicted. It’s great. But if I say that, you’ll think I’m agreeing with Bruce.”

Bruce’s voice was low. “It’s… good.”

You raised a brow. “Good?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “You look like yourself.”

Tim groaned. “You’re such a cliché.”

Bruce smirked slightly. “And yet correct.”

You threw up your hands. “Fine. Fine! I’ll buy this one just so you two will shut up.”

Tim perked up instantly. “Wait, don’t rush. We haven’t seen how it looks under different lighting conditions.”

Bruce nodded. “He’s right.”

You stared at them, deadpan. “You’re both banned from my wedding.”

Tim was already typing again. “Yeah, lets see who helps you with the playlist then.”

Bruce added quietly, “I’ll handle security.”

You stared at them for a long moment —these two overgrown control freaks arguing about your tulle and train— and started laughing so hard you had to clutch the wall for balance.

The consultant peeked out, wide-eyed, just in time to see Bruce Wayne trying to convince Tim Drake that a cathedral veil was a tripping hazard.

By the end of it, you didn’t find the perfect dress. But you did leave with the firm knowledge that your wedding day was doomed to be loud, opinionated, and exactly this funny.

You were laying in bed after that stupidly long day, clinging into Roy's hoodie that still had his smell when you received a message from your fiancé, asking you if you were free to call. When you answered affirmative, he called you practically a second later.

"Hi, sugar." You rolled your eyes at the pet name he hyperfixated with this week. Last week was darling, the other sweetie and who knows what would he call you the next.

"Hi, babe. How's the mission? Is Jason there with you?" You asked softly, twirling a curl between your fingers like a silly teenager.

"Everything's goin' pretty good, I should be back tomorrow night. And, yeah, Jason's here with me. Say hi to your sister, Jaybird."

You can hear Jason clicks his tongue and shift, reaching for the phone with a grunt.

"Hi, sis." His voice dropped, quieter, just enough to sound sincere. “He doesn’t shut up about you, you know. I’m not kidding. Every other sentence is ‘she’d love this,’ or ‘she’d make this shot easy,’ or ‘she laughs like—’” He stopped himself. “Point is, I’m about two hours away from throwing him in a ditch.”

Your smile softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, half-grumble, half-laugh. “You’ve ruined him. The guy used to be annoying in a manageable way. Now he’s annoying and in love.”

You laughed quietly. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Save it,” he muttered, and you could hear the smirk under it. “Just… don’t tell him I said any of that. I’ll deny it.”

Roy’s voice came through faintly again: “She’s still on the line? Tell her I found that coffee she likes in some weird local market!”

Jason sighed, deadpan. “See what I mean? Nonstop.”

You could hear the fondness under his irritation, though Jason’s special brand of affection that always sounded like a complaint but never really was one.

You settled deeper into the bed, the weight of the day finally easing off your chest. “Thanks, Jay.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Go to sleep before he starts making me pass along love letters or something.”

Roy called out again, “Tell her I love her!”

Jason groaned dramatically. “There it is.”

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt. “Goodnight, Jason.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Almost-Harper,” he muttered before returning the phone to Roy, that was now in the bathroom after brushing his teeth.

"And how are you doin', sugar?" Roy asked, as he leaned into the sink, staring at himself at the mirror.

"Ah, pretty good." You thought if you should tell him about the wedding dress or not. "I searched for some wedding dresses today."

Roy gasped of excitement at that moment. "Oh really? Sugar, I don't think I'm gonna be able to wait until the wedding to see you in that dress."

You grinned, rolling onto your back and pressing the phone closer to your ear. “You better, Harper. Bad luck, remember?”

He laughed, that easy, gravelly sound that always managed to curl warmth into your chest. “I don’t believe in bad luck. I believe in temptation.”

You snorted. “You’d believe in anything that gives you an excuse to misbehave.”

“Guilty,” he said, no hesitation. Then, softer, “So? Tell me about the dresses.”

You sighed, covering your face with your free hand. “Oh my god, Roy. You have no idea. It was… chaos. Actual chaos. I took Bruce and Tim with me.”

There was a beat of silence. “…why?”

“I don’t know!” you groaned. “I thought it’d be funny.”

He started laughing immediately. “You took Batman and Red Robin to a bridal boutique? Baby, that’s not funny, that’s a war crime.”

“I know!” you said, laughing too hard now. “Bruce kept criticizing the infrastructure of the building. The ceiling tiles, Roy. He had opinions about ceiling tiles.”

Roy wheezed. “Oh my god.”

“And Tim was making a spreadsheet! Like, full-on data analysis on tulle density and hemline mobility!”

He was practically howling now. “That’s— sugar, that’s insane. You’re insane.”

“You’re marrying me, so what does that make you?”

“Happy,” he said instantly, all teasing gone from his voice. It was that tone, the one that always hit you in the gut. You could hear the smile in it, soft and stupid and so full of love it hurt a little.

You went quiet for a second, smiling up at the ceiling. “You’re disgustingly smooth sometimes.”

“I try,” he said, smug. “So which dress did you pick?”

“I didn’t. Every time I stepped out, they started arguing like divorced fashion critics. Tim said one made me look like a senator’s wife, Bruce said it was elegant, and then they started debating fabric function.”

Roy snorted. “Fabric function? What, like how aerodynamic the veil is?”

“At one point, Tim said, ‘Form follows function,’ and Bruce agreed.” you said, laughing again.

"I can't believe I lost seeing that, it would've been priceless watching your face expressions."

You laughed so hard your voice cracked. “You’re the worst.”

He hummed. “Nah. You love me.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, “I really, really do.”

There was a comfortable silence after that. You could hear the faint sound of running water as he rinsed out his mug or something, humming under his breath.

“Hey, sugar?” he said eventually.

“Yeah?”

“When I picture you in that dress,” he said, “I keep thinkin’ about how it’s not really the dress that’s gonna get me. It’s you smiling in it. You always do that thing where you tilt your head when you’re happy, like you can’t quite believe something’s going right. And that’s what’s gonna kill me.”

You blinked at the ceiling, your chest tight in that stupidly happy way. “You’re making it very hard to mock you right now.”

He laughed, gentle. “I’m trying to make you fall in love with me again every day. It’s exhausting work.”

“You’re a menace,” you said, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

“You like me better that way.”

You did. You really did.

He kept talking you for a long time after that, trying to keep you on the line as much as he could. He told you about all the coffee he bought for you, how the sky looked there, how loud Jason snores and he told you he misses you about five different times.

"I miss you more," you'd answer every time.

He'd click his tongue, shaking his head. "I don't think that's possible, sunshine."

[maryyloveslilacs]

I have this idea of a Yandere Batfam x Neglected!Female!Reader in which Batfam came back one day before reader died and reader was dead on reader’s birthday and I just want to post it. English isn’t my first language so sorry for the grammar mistakes and misspelling. Might have some OOC and some wrong timeline. Please be kind to me (Part 2 is here!)

Edited : Thank you for all of the comments I really appreciated it! But I'm sorry to break the news, I wouldn't turn this idea into a fic because I don't have time. I'm really busy with my school project right now. If there's anyone who wants to turn it into a fic, you can do it but please dm me first!! thank you!!

Tw: Neglected, Bullying, Gore, Death (If I miss something please don’t be afraid to tell me so I can add it.)

(No specific age but reader is older than Damian and younger than Tim)

Reader is Dick’s biological sister. You were just an infant when all the accidents happened. You barely had memories with your parents. Your life growing up only has Bruce, Alfred and Dick. At first everything was good. Bruce was a caring father, Dick was a caring and clingy brother who always spent time for his sister because you were the only left that reminded him of his parents but then the vigilante mantle made them slowly fade away. Suddenly your father and your brother become busy and don't have time for you anymore. You were just a kid and didn't get it. You asked Alfred and he said that they were busy but they still love you and they will make it up later. You believed it with all your heart. You were just a kid. While Barbara barely interacts with you. She knows that you are Dick sister and is a good kid. She only knew you from what Dick told her.

Timeskip Dick left for Bludhaven and it broke your heart. Like you lived in the same manor but you barely saw your brother and now he decided to move away?? Heartbreaking. But one day a boy named Jason Todd walked into your life. At first Jason didn't like you, thinking you were some spoiled rich kid. But no you were raised well by Alfred so yeah you are a good kid, good manner. You and Jason become inseparable. Dick started to come back to the manor and visit you and Jason more often so You were very happy!!

And yeah..Jason died. You were devastated. You woke up one day and didn't see your brother anymore. You asked everyone but no one told you where he had gone, why did Jason gone?? What happened?? No one told you about it. The manor became more gloomy and Dick didn't visit the manor anymore. You didn't smile anymore and it broke Alfred's heart. You became more lonely. Then Tim Drake walked into your life. You still missed Jason but you were excited that you were going to have a new brother. You wanted to be close to Tim too! Unfortunately, Tim thought you were a vigilante but no, you were a normal civilian and he didn't know how to act to you so decided to avoid you. Tim cared for his sister. He tracked your location to make sure you came home safely. He knew your routine, knew you didn't have many friends etc. But what he didn't know is that you thought Tim didn't like you. It saddened you even more.

Then Dick came to visit more but he only spent time with Tim. He often said "Next time, (N/N) Promised!" but he never kept the promise. In the family dinner you didn't understand what the others were talking about and started to feel left out. You didn't speak anymore and just ate your food quietly. Then Stephanie came in. Like Tim, Steph didn't know how to interact with you either. You were such a good and naive kid. She was afraid she would break you. So she avoided you too.

You become lonely more and more. You then started to play piano. You are talented in music and you expressed your feelings in a song you had written. But sadly your song is full of sad songs. In school you barely interact with anyone. Everyone knew you were a Wayne and you were always in a school performance playing piano without one of your family showing up. You did tell your family about it and sometimes Alfred show up but it became more rare until you gave up and didn't tell anyone about it anymore

When Cass came into this family you had some hope that maybe this time Cass might not be like Tim and she wasn't. You became close to Cass. Cass likes Ballet, You like Piano. You wanted to play piano while Cass danced ballet along with your music. It did hurt you a lot when Bruce could show up to Cass dance ritual but not your music performance. You were jealous but still you loved your sister. But one day Cass really had a headache with the vigilante work and wanted some quiet peace. Unfortunately Cass heard you were playing piano and it made her head pounding even more. She unintentionally said some mean words to you. It hurts you so much but without music, you have nowhere to express your feelings and keep your mind at peace so you still play it. But that day your heart and relationship with Cass had shattered. You didn't talk to each other anymore and Cass felt so guilty she couldn't show up to meet you anymore.

Jason came back and it confused you so much. Your brother looked older but he didn't act like Jason or Jay you had known. At first you tried to reach out to him but always got rejected. It made your mind twist. This man was cold towards you. Jay would never be cold to you. Jay was kind and always smiled at you. This man was not Jay and it made you believe that this man in front of you was some random man who was imitating your dead brother. Because Jay would never do that. Jay would never ignore you and look at you with such a cold gaze.

Damian Wayne came into the manor. Like some typical neglected reader fic, Damian didn't point a sword at you or try to physically hurt you but he often said something mean to you. He said that you weren't worth the Wayne name. You are neither a vigilante nor a genius. Even though you tried to be nice because you thought he was just a kid, Damian ignored you a lot. Everything became worse when Dick came to spend time with Damian but not you. Imagine your biological brother, a brother who had been with you all your life just said "Please understand, Damian is blahblah—" It shattered you. Thinking that Dick didn't view you as his sister anymore. Why did he protect Damian, a boy who just came to the manor, when he said something hurtful to you, his biological sister? Why Dick didn’t protect you? Why did your brother take side with Damian? WhyWhyWhyWhyWhy

One day during late at night you heard some argument about the family vigilante work and suddenly you kinda get it. Everything was all connected. They ignored you because you weren't a vigilante. They didn't have anything related. Even though Dick and you are related by blood, you didn't have anything in common. You weren’t a vigilante. He can’t mentor you. That’s why he spent time with Tim and Damian.

So you thought that maybe you didn't belong here. You started to seek validation in school. You studied hard, practiced piano everyday. But it attracted you to a bully. You get bullied almost everyday. It became worse when the batfam didn't do anything (because you didn't tell your family and tried to hide it.) The bullies thought maybe you were some kind of unwanted child of the Wayne. Because if you were really a wanted child, your billionaire daddy and brothers would show up by now. The bullying became worse and more brutal until one day, it broke you.

It was your birthday and no one remembered it. Dick and Bruce had a mission in outer space. Tim stayed with the young justice. Jason was still in Gotham but didn't pass by the manor. Damian and Cass tried to ignore you as always. You went to school as usual but the bullies had some plans in their mind. That night you didn't come back to the manor and didn't leave any message. Alfred was worried and called urgently to the Batfam, who was still in Gotham. Which was Jason, Damian, Steph, Barbara and Cass.

Jason was the one who found your crooked bloody body laid dead in an alley. His hands were trembling, cradling your body into his chest. It was too late. He was too late. He was too shocked to process anything he said to the comm to call Doctor Lesley. Had some hope that you might be alive and still breathing. Lesley had to confirm to them that you were dead. You weren't breathing anymore. It shocked everyone and suddenly they just realized it's your birthday. You died without anyone remembering or celebrating your birthday. When Bruce, Dick and Tim heard the news. They hurried back to the manor and when all of the Batfam saw all of the bruises and scars all over your body, their hearts shattered.

Dick was the worst. The only one who still reminded him of his parents, his old roots, his old life in the circus had gone. It was your birthday and he went to the mission instead of staying to celebrate yours.

Barbara was too stunned. Yesterday she just saw you. Now you’re dead. You shouldn’t be dead. A beautiful and naive girl like you shouldn’t end like this. It’s too cruel.

Jason regrets his decision to avoid you. He knew he wasn't the same since he came back to life and he was afraid of hurting you. He regrets it. Your dead body still appeared clearly in his mind. If he noticed the bruises sooner, you would be alive.

Tim felt like he was going to throw up. He decided to clear his mind by staying with the young justice. He stopped tracking your location thinking it was only one week, nothing bad will happen to you. Jason, Cass and Steph were still in Gotham. He shouldn't do it. He should keep tracking. If he didn't stop, you would be home safely by now.

Just like Jason, Steph shouldn't avoid you. She should protect you but look at what happened. An angelic and naive you had gone because she was too late to realize that avoiding you wasn't protecting you at all.

Cass was too shocked to react to anything. You got harmed both physically and mentally by the bullied but what Cass did was rubbed salt into your wound. She also ignored you. She couldn't imagine how sad you would feel and it broke her.

Damian didn't know how to feel. He stayed in this manor for almost a year but all that time what he did was just ignored you. He said to himself that there was no reason for him to be sad about your death. But why did he go to your piano room every night and try to play the song you used to play?

Bruce is a failure. He failed Jason once and now he failed you too. He was busy saving the world while you were murdered on your birthday. He didn't even know you got bullied. But what did he know about you? He always asked Alfred about you. Alfred reported about you every day but did he really pay attention to what Alfred said? In his memory you were still a baby sleeping safe and sound in Dick arms. Not knowing you just lost your parents. That baby is now lying dead in front of him.

Alfred didn't say anything but he knew that it was his fault. He saw you everyday. He was the one who drove you to school and back to the manor. Why didn't he notice it? Why didn't he notice your sad gaze? Why didn't he notice you were wearing long sleeves when the weather was so hot? He was the one who raised you. Saw you since you were just a baby. Now you are gone. After Jason's death. He swore to himself to protect all of the children but he failed again. Alfred can't accept this. You shouldn't die. You were just a kid. A kid he vowed to protect and failed. There are so many things that are waiting for you. Your life shouldn't end like this. He will do anything, even if it means to sacrifice his life. He wants you to be happier.

Alfred wakes up in such a headache. Last night he drank too much alcohol thinking that it will make him see you again. It is such reckless behavior but then when he goes down stairs, he sees you sitting peacefully waiting for breakfast and smiling at him like nothing happened?

Alfred later finds out that he came back one day before your death. He got a chance and he has to make it. You have to be alive.