3,020 words, self insert fic, mc is Bruce Waynes daughter and twin of Damian wayne. Good brother Damian, trying to be a good brother Tim. (Main characters are minors so dont sexualize them or i swear to god i will lobotomize you)
This chapter sucks a little because ive never been to an actual school (homeschooled bitch) and also im trying desperately to make her not a mary sue
I do not fuck with the canon. If you like Cassandra Cain theres a possibility you will like this but not yet, she needs some character developement (which she will get eventually!!!),
“No weapons, any move is fair.” Damian stands across from me on the mat. “I know Grayson already told you the rules, but again, non-lethal only.”
“Like i’m gonna kill you.” I roll my eyes. “You think we still match up to each other?” We used to be the perfect match. Probably because we had been together for every training we’d ever had. Now though?
“I think I can still beat you.”
“Wanna bet?” I smile, because my brother and I were being civil.
“Sure. If i win, you tell me why you’re really here.”
That was a scary bet. But i wasnt going to lose so it would be fine.
“Okay. If i win…you show me gotham.”
“Gotham is hell.” He sneers. “You’ll get mugged.” Its stupid he thinks i can get mugged.
“I dont care.” I cross my arms. “Theres no mother out there so its enough.” He looks up at me when i mention her. But he notices my disdain and doesnt ask about her.
“Fine. Its a deal.” He drops into a sparring position. I do the same.
He doesnt give me five seconds, advances quick with two punches for my chest, i block both and return one to his shoulder. He blocks my second, then goes low, I guard my wound by pushing his hand away. A suspicious move but i play it off with an attempt to flip. He keeps his balance and backs off for a second. I do the same.
He’s looking at me like he wants to say something, and i’m trying to rein in my brain. If he had punched me in the gut, i couldve ripped another stitch. Then I would definately need new ones.
I advance first, with a spinning kick to his side, he catches it and throws it back. I spin slightly but fast enough to catch one punch. The other lands on my collarbone, hard. He still punches like a fucking rock. Still holding one fist, I catch the other and pull my knee into his side, it lands beautifully and i let him go. Backing up a step.
I didnt care about seeing Gotham. I just couldnt lose this fight.
He jumps back in the fight with three punches the i manage to block, before he pulls out a kick to my gut and its over.
The pain is horrible, i stumble backwards and he sees my agony. He stops. He shouldnt have stopped.
“Thought it was go till pin” i breath out. Holding my stomach. His eyes flick between my face and my gut.
“Roman you’re bleeding.” He tells me, i look down and sure enough my shirt was turning sticky and wet.
“Fuck-” i whisper.
“ya 'iilahi, you’re hurt arent you.” The arabic gives me pause, the annoyance in his voice too. “I- i’ll call Alfred.” He doesnt move. I lift up my shirt to see it, i was bleeding through the bandages i had put on earlier, and the wound had definately opened up more.
Damian still just stood there, like he hadnt seen blood before. It wasnt the blood that was making him freeze. Damian knew blood, Damian had drawn blood a thousand times. But he thought he had hurt me.
“Can you clean this?” i ask him. “I dont want Alfred-”
“I can.” He doesnt let me finish. I really look up at him. He just nods. “I can.”
The medbay was quiet, completely seperate from the rest of the cave, and the rest of the manor. Damian had given me a painkiller in my arm, and was now cleaning up the wound with a suture kit ready next to him.
My eyes were watching the cieling, even though I was excited about now knowing where the first aid supplies were.
“You sure you want me to do this?” He asks me again. “I can, i just dont think we should hide this from father.”
“Can you just do it please.”
He works gently. I dont really feel the stitches going through, its more like little pokes. Like accupuncture, except i dont really remember doing accupuncture that well. I try not to spend too long watching my brother work. Because that would be creepy. But it was hard. He looked like mother, but also so much like that eight year old twin brother i got ripped away from. The kindness in his eyes was gone, the stuff only I ever saw. I wonder how hellish life was, after Ras split us up. He was never very nice or sweet, but i could tell something had hardened him.
“Tell me why there is an evisceration threat on your stomach.” He breaks the silence.
“Its not that deep.” I reply. “And…what if dont want to tell you?”
“I won the fight didnt I?” He doesnt look up at me.
“You said if you win, i’d have to tell you why im in gotham.”
“Its related though isnt it?” he looks at me, green eyes holding every memory from shared dinners to bleeding noses inside them. I cant lie to him.
“Yeah, it is.” i look at the cieling, away from him. “There was a…a ceremony kind of thing.” he stops working and i swear it got quieter.
“A ritual?” He breaks the silence, his voice was a calm that hid something behind it, concern. I nod. “What kind of a ritual, Roman?” There was a knowing in his voice. In his face. I look away again.
I dont know why I felt guilty. I dont know why the sound of his voice was making me feel like a horrible person. This was what was supposed to happen. Neither of us thought it was be this soon, but it was practically our fate.
“He tried to kill you.” Damian answers for me. “It was the Lazarus pit ritual. Wasnt it.” I still dont look at his face, but i nod.
“ya 'iilahi” he mutters under his breath again. He says it with such an disgust in his voice. “We’re only sixteen. Is something wrong with mother?”
“Nothing is wrong with her, not physically.” i keep the insult to a minimum, because he still cares for her.
“Not physically?”
“Yeah, mentally and emotionally she’s still the woman who let her father kill her child.”
“You’re not dead, Roman.” His tone made me look at him. I wasnt dead. That was a fact.
“No, im not.”
“Why didnt it work?” the room stills. I still needed another stitch in my stomach, but Damian had stopped working. I look away, i was becoming very familiar with this cieling.
“They didnt tell me it was happening. Mother wasnt there, Slade wasnt there. Just Ras and a bunch of guys in cloaks.”
I had bowed, like you’re supposed to. One knee on the ground. They hadnt given me any ceremonial clothes to wear, they didnt give me any warning at all. I was wearing training blacks, but the ones i’d wear for a competition, the nice ones. Swords on my back, knives and gun on my belt. He had told me to look up, i did. Then he was coming at me with a knife. It was a jagged, black thing. Ceremonial. Instinct can be a bitch sometime, because I tried an evasive move, only for the knife to slash across my abdomen.
“He shouldve let me bleed out, throw me in the pit anyway.” I finish the story. I leave out the part where i fell back against the ground, head hitting stone to where i saw white for a second. Like static. Ras grabbed me by the throat before i could stop him,
“Pathetic.” he spits out in arabic, actually spits, in my face. “You will go nowhere if you do not learn your place.” I don’t think i had felt true fear in years, not until that man held me by the throat, inches away from my face, while i bleed buckets from my abdomen. I was all alone. No Slade, no mother. No protection.
“I cant understand why he wouldnt have let you die.” Damian breaks me out of my thoughts. He was finishing the last stitch.
“I dont get it either.” i exhale long and slow. “I didnt see Slade before i left either, so i coildnt ask him about it.”
“You can talk to him freely?” Damian asks, like its absurd. I nod again. Me and my mentors relationship was an odd one. He was really the first kind man i’d ever met. But he did have his moments, he would yell at me occassionally, although mostly id done something wrong to earn it. He trained me really hard, which was rough for the first couple months but I adapted. I always adapt, thats what i had eventually learned about myself. “I still find that odd.” he finishes the stitch and cleans the area again before putting away the supplies, i watch where he puts everything. “Can I ask you something?” His back is turned to me. Not exactly a sign of trust, but it was something.
“Yeah of course.”
“Do you think that…do you think that means they finally decided?” He still didnt turn towards me, organizing something in a drawer but he was just biding his time.
“Decide what?”
“Which one of us is the heir.” He closes the drawer, theres an uneasiness to his voice. Like he didnt want to ask that. It makes sense why he wouldnt. That was a question both of us wanted to ask since we were so young.
“I dont want to say yes, but its either that or he just wanted me dead.”
“He does not want you dead, Roman.” he finally turns around, i finally sit up, pulling my shirt back down.
“Well I don’t like the other option.” My voice comes out harsher than i meant it to, but I didnt apologize. It makes my brother freeze. I watch his face go through five different emotions before he opens his mouth.
“You… dont?” his question, it was so simple. I knew my answer. I didnt want to be the actual heir yet, because that meant he wasnt.
When our mother gave birth, she did so in her private rooms with one midwife. She killed the midwife before anyone entered or exited that room. Her logic was that if Ras knew which one of us was born first, the other would be cast off, neglected, abused or killed. So she lied. Said she couldnt remember, said there was no telling which of us breathed air first. Everyone knew she lied. Not because she was bad at it, but because they believed she truly loved us so much that it was true. So that was the legend. The story that followed the Al Guhl twins as they grew up. Even we dont know which of us is older, and i suspect we never will.
Since nobody knew which of us was the actual heir, the only way for either of us to earn the title was to actually earn it.
“You cannot just…not want it.” Damian steps forward. “You’ve trained for this your entire life.”
“So have you.” I reply. “And I do want it, just not at sixteen.”
“Age is nothing when it comes to this.” He was angry now. “If he thinks you’ve earned it, then you have.”
“Damian!” Someone yells from the batcave, sounded like Dick. Not angry just searching. My brother looks at me for another second. Then heads for the door. I get up and catch his wrist.
“Dont tell anyone that i’m hurt.” I tell him. He pulls his hand away. Was he really angry at me? For what? “Damian.”
“I wont tell anyone.” He says simply, and leaves the medbay.
I pack as many supplies as i can onto myself without looking suspicious. It didnt matter because I didnt run into anyone on the way upstairs. This house had a lot of people in it but it was so big i barely ever saw anyone.
My bedroom was still quiet, still drab and horribly decorated. The bathroom was large though, with space to keep my newly grabbed first aid supplies. Just some gauze, hemostatic dressing, regular dressings, a suture kit, some pain meds. The meds i hid in the underneath of the counter, there was an empty space right underneath the decorative scalloping. When i finished stashing everything, i went back into the bedroom and it was still way too big. It was nearly ten thirty now and that was a good a time as any to go to bed. I moved my weapons case to the top of the vanity table, and the duffel bag to the chair. Not permanent. This wasnt permanent. I change and sit back on the window seat.
Falling into meditation again. Allowing my mind to take root in the peace that is my future. I would return home, i would train with my mentor, i would earn my way to the top again. Everything will be as it was a month ago.
I let myself hold that thought while i finish meditating and go to sleep. I dont forget it when i wake up at 5 and go downstairs to train by myself.
That first couple days, i realized quickly that they train like theyre fighting to the top. Which doesnt make any sense because in gotham, they are at the top. Instead, they use their power to help. Doing good was the point of these peoples lives. There was no hunger for power inside them. I dont even think Damian wanted to be on top of the world anymore. Not as much as i did. For me, that was still the only end result acceptable. After those first few days, I discovered i truly didnt belong here.
Dick going home certaintly did not make that feeling go away. He had a superhero team in a city somewhere, the titans. Tim tried to be just as welcoming as Dick was but there was something he couldnt quite nail. It didnt matter to me.
“You can sit in the front. Damian doesnt really make for great conversation.” Tim gets into the drivers side of an expensive looking car. He was matching Damian in a school uniform. I wore a similar one, except it had a skirt to it. I was still trying to get the tie right when i get in the passenger side of the car. Damian gets in the back and Tim pulls out.
“So are you nervous?” He asks me, looking at me with a smile. But it didnt make me feel better, especially because I heard him this morning arguing with Bruce, basically begging to not make me go to his school. Something about it being his senior year or whatever. It didnt hurt my feelings, i didnt want to go to his school either. I wouldve gone in there and argued on his behalf if i cared just a little more.
“I’m never nervous.” I reply, but i’m still adjusting the collar and the tie.
“I can tell Bruce to get the pants uniform for you.” he offers. “If that would fit you better. I dont think I would be comfortable in a skirt either.”
“I’m not uncomfortable.” i look out of the window.
“If you say so.” He sighs and we drive the rest of the way in silence. I had technically never been to a real school, one with periods and mandated subjects and other people. Back home i would litterally just learn. I mean i had tutors and everything, they would try to keep me on one track but i was one of the lucky ones with unlimited library access, so i was on every track i could be on. I liked learning, it was the only thing outside of training that actually felt fun to me. I didnt have so much freedom for hobbies, but studying kind of became my hobby. In short, i didnt know what i knew, where it would get me here. But i participated, not raising my hand or anything because that looked dumb but i did the worksheets, i answered direct questions. Basically, i survived. At least until lunch. The cafeteria was loud and I couldnt find Tim for a hot second. Bruce said he’d given me the same lunch period as him, and while my father didnt explain what that mean, i assumed that he would be in this room. I wasnt stupid, i could figure things out on my own. I dont need anyone explaining school to me like its some great mystery.
He was sitting at a table with a couple other people, all of them looked rich. Which i guess i could compete with.
“Hey Roman.” He smiles, moving over on the bench so i can sit with him. The food on my tray was less than impressive, but it was better than what i could make myself so what can more can i ask for? “Guys this is my half-sister.” None of them say anything really to me, just a couple heys. I didnt comment on the use of the term half-sister. I guess that made sense, Bruce had adopted him so he was legally his father. But it still felt weird to be half sister to a boy i met like a week ago. Eating lunch with them was odd. I didnt say anything and none of them said anything to me. It was fine, i didnt necessarily want to talk to them.
I end up leaving the cafeteria at the first opportunity that felt normal. It did not take long for me to miss the quiet library back home. The textbooks i would just…order and study from. It was easier when there werent people around that had the audacity to judge me. The day ends far too slowly, and the drive back home was quietly. Damian and Tim had finally caught up and realized I just wasnt supposed to be here.
i'm working on a gotham-based poetry collection called "who to blame for Coulrophobia".
here's one of the poems for it, called 'Brothers'. was wanting to see some people's thoughts :)
Brothers
once we were brothers.
now hes more stranger than anything else,
but still brothers.
not by blood, but by shield
by father and family,
by ski trips and ice cream.
he stares at me with the eyes of a haunt
of a boy who died years ago,
afraid and alone, because that's all he thought he was.
with the nervous eyes of a boy whose proud report cards still line our walls,
whose homework sits on his desk, never to be turned in.
there's blood on his hands, his hair, his teeth,
crooked braces smile, baby fat cheeks.
his smile is acid, leaking through gums and irises,
but it's still his dimples, his nose.
his sticky soda fingers and my missing pocket change.
Is it normal to feel envious of the actor who played your kin in your canon source (bonus if live action) for having your kin's face or voice, saying this as a fellow fictionkin
