abracadabra - chapter one
yandere! batfamily x neglected! demigod child of hecate reader. (inspired by percy jackson)
Version: they/them - she/her (you are here) - he/him
Bruce had expected difficulty. Children, from what he understood and researched, were complicated and could be unpredictable in ways even Gotham’s worst criminals were not. He had prepared himself for sleepless nights, endless crying, and the kind of exhaustion that dulled even his instincts. Instead, Y/N was quiet. Almost unnervingly so. Adjusting to an infant, Bruce found, was far more simple than navigating Dick’s teenage mood swings. At least with Y/N, the problems were simple. She needed to be fed, changed and held. The worst Bruce had to contend with was the occasional spit-up on tailored shirts and the struggle to coax her asleep before he left for patrol.
Alfred ensured that nothing slipped through the cracks. The butler took on the majority of Y/N’s care with the same quiet competence he applied to every aspect of the Manor, but he was insistent that Bruce be present.
“You will not raise this child from a distance, Master Bruce,” Bruce had been surprised at the tone of Alfred’s voice.
“I have seen what becomes of children who only know their parents through appointments and obligations. This house will not become one of those,” Bruce did not argue. He never did when Alfred sounded like that.
XX
“Is it normal for her to be so quiet?” It had been a full week since Y/N had arrived and Bruce had yet to hear her cry. He was sitting in what would become her room, gently rocking in an old rocking chair Alfred had unearthed from storage. The motion was unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Y/N rested easily in his arms; her eyes stared up at him as one of her tiny hands gripped his shirt. Alfred paused from where he was assembling the crib, glancing over his shoulder. Dick was hovering nearby the butler that was more in-the-way than helpful.
“Not common, perhaps, but not unheard of. You were much the same as an infant, Master Bruce,” Bruce blinked in surprise, looking up at Alfred.
“I was?”
“Yes sir,” Bruce had never known that. There had never been time to ask. The billionaire let his gaze drift back down to Y/N. He wondered briefly what his parents would have said and thought about finding a child placed so suddenly into his care. He believed he knew the answer, though.
They would have loved Y/N, without question or hesitation, mystery and all.
Across the room, Dick lingered near Alfred, doing everything he could to escape looking directly at Y/N. The boy had been avoiding the baby. But he wasn’t doing it to be cruel; he was just keeping his distance. Bruce understood why. Loss did that to people; it made them cautious about attachment, even when they didn’t realize it.
“Dick, would you like to try holding Y/N?” Bruce rose from the rocking chair. Dick stiffened. His gaze darted between Bruce and the baby, hesitation on his face quickly giving away to something closer to fear.
“What if I drop her?” Dick took a couple steps closer to Bruce. Alfred had paused to watch them.
“You won’t,” Bruce nodded his head toward the rocking chair, telling Dick to take the seat.
“Hold your arms like mine. A little tighter. Do you remember the cat you rescued last week?” Dick huffed softly.
“That cat tried to bite me,”
“And yet you didn’t drop it,” That earned Bruce the faintest of smiles. Carefully, he placed Y/N into Dick’s arms, adjusting his posture and grip, ensuring that her head was supported. For a moment, Dick didn’t breathe. Then, he looked down and Y/N’s eyes met his.
And just like that, something shifted.
“Hi,” Dick’s voice was barely a whisper, like he was speaking to something sacred. Y/N responded by grabbing one of his fingers. The boy froze, only for a moment. Then, something in his face softened in a way Bruce hadn’t seen in a long time.
“They’re so tiny,” Dick had awe in his voice as he wiggled the finger Y/N held onto. The infant let out a small, pleased noise, making the older boy chuckle.
“You’re right, chum. That means you have to protect them. After all, you are her big brother now,” Bruce allowed himself a small smile as Dick glanced back up. There was something fierce and determined flickering behind the wonder in his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, I can do that,” Y/N cooed faintly, still clutching to her big brother tightly. And after watching his two children, Bruce thought that this might just work.
XX
After that first week, Dick stopped pretending he didn’t want anything to do with Y/N. In fact, it became increasingly difficult to get her back from him. If Y/N wasn’t in the nursery, Bruce and Alfred quickly learned where to look: Dick’s room, the family room or even perched somewhere far higher than Bruce was entirely comfortable with. At least, Alfred pointed out, Dick had the decency to wait until Y/N were a bit older before attempting to carry her up into the rafters. Bruce still wasn’t convinced that was better.
But Bruce let Dick be. He told himself that this was good for the boy. When he was out as Robin, the boy could be stoic and sullen, never letting himself truly be a kid, unless he was hanging out with the Teen Titans. But even with his friends, it felt like Dick was holding a part of himself back. With Y/N though, Bruce had seen and heard his adopted son smile and laugh more than the five years he had been at the Manor. There were even some nights, where everything felt too heavy, that Dick would sneak into the nursery and just sit beside Y/N’s crib, just to make sure something in the world was still good.
XX
“Icky!” Much to the amusement of Alfred and begrudgement of Bruce, Y/N’s first word was the closest way she could pronounce the nickname ‘Dickie’. The toddler held up her arms.
“Little Wing!” Dick quickly scooped her up into his own arms. He leaned his head down bumping his forehead against Y/N’s and rubbed the tip of his nose against the toddler’s. Bruce had no idea how or where this odd show of affection started, but it never failed to bring a smile to his face after a long night of patrol. Y/N giggled as Dick pulled his head away and Bruce got closer to his children.
“Pa!” Y/N looked at her father, just as Bruce leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead.
“Hello sweetheart. What are you doing awake?” Y/N only yawned in response, which led to Alfred taking her from Dick. The toddler rested her head against the butler’s shoulder. It didn’t happen often, but Y/N seemed to have the uncanny ability to know when her family came back from patrol and would sneak out of her room to go down and wait in Bruce’s study until her family came up from the Cave.
XX
When Dick decided to leave at 16, he couldn’t say it out loud to the 3-year-old Y/N. He knelt in front of her, hands on her tiny shoulders and his forehead resting against hers. His usual easy smile was a little too tight.
“I’m not going far,” He tried to promise and Y/N nodded like she understood. She rubbed her nose against Dick’s before hugging him tightly. Dick hesitated before he hugged her back even tighter.
“Love you, Dickie,” Dick could almost feel his heart breaking.
“Love you too, Little Wing,” Dick pulled away and pressed a hand against Y/N’s cheek.
“Hey, you’ll be okay, right?” Y/N nodded again. Dick stood up and walked to the front door. And just like that, he was gone.
XX
Jason Todd did not belong in places like Wayne Manor. Everything was too clean, too quiet and way too expensive. Bruce brought the eleven-year-old home bruised, stubborn, and glaring at everything like it had personally wronged him. The boy had all sharp edges and sharper words, all instinct and survival wrapped in a frame that was still too young to carry it. Bruce had expected resistance. He had not expected Jason to freeze the moment he first saw Y/N.
Y/N was three and waddled into the foyer when Bruce brought Jason to the Manor. In one of her hands was one of Dick’s old throw blankets. Y/N’s gaze looked away from Alfred, who she was following, to the new boy standing in her home.
“Who that?” Y/N looked curious, but it still made Jason shift uncomfortably under her attention.
“This is Jason. He’ll be staying with us,” Jason’s own gaze flicked over to Bruce and then back to Y/N. The toddler tilted her head, staring the new boy down like she was trying to figure him out like a puzzle. Then Y/N walked right up to Jason and grabbed his hand. The boy jerked away like he’d been burned.
“Kid…” Jason looked back over at Bruce like this was some sort of test. But the older man didn’t move or intervene. Y/N’s small fingers tightened around Jason’s hand again.
“Jay,”
“That’s not my…” Jason stopped himself as Y/N tugged on his hand. He didn’t pull away; he didn’t know how to. So the older boy let himself be pulled. Later, he would blame it on Y/N being too small to refuse. Or the way she had looked up at him like he was something safe. Or on the fact that no one had ever held onto him like that before.
That was only the beginning.
XX
It didn’t take long before Y/N decided Jason was hers. Alfred didn’t say aloud, but he likened the duo to a former stray cat being forcibly adopted by a kitten. Jason didn’t pick Y/N up right away, no matter how much the toddler tried. He didn’t crouch down or coo or soften the way Dick used to. But he didn’t shake Y/N off either. Jason soon found himself with a toddler as a shadow; wherever he went, Y/N could be found slowly following after him.
“Kid, you do know there are, like, a million other rooms in this place, right?” Jason barely glanced up from his book as Y/N walked into the library, the usual blue blanket trailing behind her. The toddler nodded at him as she set the blanket up on the couch next to her new big brother. Jason watched from over the pages of his book as Y/N climbed up onto the couch next to him. He huffed and scooted a little to the side. Only for Y/N to scoot over with him. The boy looked away fully from his book and down at the child. Y/N was leaning against his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re weird,” Y/N smiled faintly at Jason’s comment, only to cuddle up to him more, pulling the blanket over her lap and partway onto his. Jason sighed like it was the greatest inconvenience in the world and yet he did not move his arm.
It became routine. Jason adjusted to Y/N following after him like a little duckling. He started leaving doors open and to pause just long enough for small feet to catch up to him. Eventually, time with the toddler felt sacred. Books felt more alive when Jason began to read them aloud; he first started with children’s books, but he realized that Y/N didn’t mind what was being read to her as long as Jason was reading to her. Alfred’s cookies tasted a little sweeter when the preteen stole an extra one; he would smile a crooked grin as the kid looked up at him with chocolate smeared on her little face. The Manor didn’t seem as big and lonely when Jason and Y/N were in their tiny bubble.
XX
However, there were times where Y/N didn’t show up after a while. Jason would notice. His eyes would flick toward the doorway with irritation settling in his chest.
“Kid’s probably just bothering Alfred,” Jason flipped a page too roughly, glaring down at the book like it was offending him. But, he didn’t take in any of the words from the new pages, because he’d soon close the book and go looking. It was often during these times that Jason would find Y/N in what felt like random places; curled up beneath a window while watching the rain, sitting at the kitchen counter while watching Alfred cook or standing at the end of the hallway while staring at nothing.
That last one happened one too many times that Jason was comfortable with. It made him linger right behind Y/N.
“Hey,” Y/N didn’t move, only stared down the hallway. Jason frowned before finally he got closer to the toddler, tapping her on the shoulder.
“Kid?” Y/N blinked like she was just waking up. Then, she turned and smiled up at him.
“Jay,” Jason hesitated, and then jerked his head toward his room.
“C’mon. You’re not supposed to just stand around like a creep,” Jason held out his hand and Y/N instantly took it. The older boy lightly tugged the toddler towards his room, ready to read the next chapter of a book he started with her. Jason didn’t question why Y/N was eerily standing in the hallway.
Jason didn’t question a lot of things he found Y/N doing. Like how the toddler always seemed to know when Jason and Bruce were coming back from patrol. Or how he’d find her at the opened front door staring out at the fog as if waiting for someone. Or how the lights in the hallway flickered on the rare occasions Y/N got upset. But Jason had grown up in a world where weird things happened all the time. You didn’t ask questions. You just adapted to them. Y/N was only a kid; a little weird, yes, but she was his.
XX
There was no warning. It happened the way things always did in Gotham, suddenly, violently, and irrevocably.
Jason never came home.
The Manor felt it before anyone said the words out loud. Something precious had been taken from it. It wasn’t misplaced or delayed. He was simply gone.
Bruce could not bring himself to say Jason’s name for days. Days then turned into weeks which turned into months. He spoke of other things like a man consumed, like ‘The Joker’ or ‘Failure’. But never Jason. Bruce disappeared in a way that made Dick leaving feel gentle by comparison. Because at least Dick had said goodbye. Bruce vanished down into the Cave. He still came upstairs when it was necessary; he still had to be Bruce Wayne to the public. But it felt like he was putting that mask on less and less.
Y/N did not understand death. At seven, it was still too big a concept for her to know. But she understood absence. She understood waiting.
At first, Y/N waited by the front door. Her small hands pressed against the glass as she stared out at the long drive; Dick’s old blanket still clutched in one of her hands and one of Jason’s hoodies swamping her entire body. Alfred would find Y/N there, every evening without fail.
“Master Jason will not be returning tonight,” What else could he say to a child waiting for her big brother to come home? Y/N would nod and let him guide her back up to her room.
Dick tried truly, but he was grieving too. But grief made him restless in a way the Manor could not contain. He would visit, often unexpectedly. He would sweep Y/N up into a tight hug, spin her around like he used to and ruffle her hair.
“Hey, Little Wing,” Dick’s voice was softer than ever before. It would always make Y/N smile again.
But Dick never stayed long. There was always something pulling him away; Blüdhaven, the Titans and even his own life. Every time Dick left, it made the Manor feel just a little bigger and a lot emptier.
XX
No one but Alfred seemed to notice that Y/N stopped following after people as often. She stopped tugging on sleeves and even stopped waiting in Bruce’s study for the man to come up from his Cave.
Y/N settled into her own little routine; she got up, had breakfast with Alfred, headed to school, came home and settled in the library while trying to read the books Jason used to read to her. Dinner was usually a lonely affair since Bruce rarely came out of the Cave now.
Then, Alfred noticed a change. Y/N mentioned a new friend at school; a Poppy Underburrow. There was a smile on the young one’s face that he hadn’t seen in a while. So when Y/N asked if Miss Poppy could come to the Manor, Alfred didn’t hesitate to agree. Though, it was when meeting the new friend, that Alfred knew that Y/N’s life will never be the normal, safe one Bruce seemed to believe his young child had.
XX
It was a rare occasion. Bruce had come up from the cave, even going out to Gotham during the day as his public persona to check on Wayne Industries. The billionaire was now sitting at the large dining table with Y/N for dinner.
“Alfred mentioned a camp,” Y/N looked up from her soup. She nodded; though, she looked somewhat hesitant.
“Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”
“The three months of summer,” Bruce looked at his child. He could see that Y/N was excited about the camp. He knew he couldn’t take this away from her, not when she had lost so much already.
“Okay,” That was all Bruce said. There were no questions about where it was, no curiosity about what Y/N would be doing, and not even any concern beyond the bare minimum. Y/N nodded, returning to her soup. That was how most conversations with Bruce ended nowadays; short and efficient.
XX
The first summer Y/N left, Alfred packed her things himself; clothes, books and a small care package filled with her favorite homemade sweets. Y/N stood by the front door, a little taller than the last time she had stood there waiting for someone who wouldn’t come home. This time, though, she was the one leaving.
“Will you write, Young Master Y/N?” Alfred’s voice was gentle as he adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. They were waiting for Poppy and the ride that was supposed to take her to Long Island.
“I’ll try,” Y/N meant it. They both knew that this camp will be overloaded with activities that the child will be immersed in. Alfred would not fault Y/N for having fun and learning about this part of themself if she forgot to write.
When Y/N was gone, the Manor barely changed. Bruce noticed the quiet, but to him, the Manor was always quiet. Alfred noticed and missed the absence at the breakfast table. Dick had called once to ask how Y/N was doing.
“She’s at camp,” Bruce’s answer was short and simple. There was a pause on the other end.
“Oh…that’s good,” Dick had sounded like he wanted to ask more, but he didn’t.
XX
Tim Drake did not arrive at Wayne Manor in the same way Dick or Jason had. He wasn’t brought in bruised or heartbroken. He inserted himself. Bruce hadn’t wanted another Robin. That much was clear to everyone. But Tim was persistent in a way that Bruce recognized too well. There was something sharp in the boy’s eyes; he was observant in a way that bordered on unsettling, taking in details most people overlooked. Bruce told himself that was why he allowed Tim to become Robin. It definitely wasn’t because the Cave felt too empty or what felt like silent judgement coming from Jason’s suit on display .
Tim met Y/N in the library. She was sitting cross-legged on the rug, one of Jason’s old books open in her lap. But she wasn’t really reading it; her eyes were unfocused, drifting toward the window where rain tapped softly against the glass. Tim lingered in the doorway for a moment longer than necessary.
“You always sit here at this time,” Y/N looked over, blinking as if she was just waking up.
“Oh, hi,” Tim stepped fully into the room, hands tucked into his hoodie.
“I’ve seen you come here three times this week,” Tim’s first action upon becoming Robin and the new resident of Wayne Manor was to take over the security system. He had wanted to know everything about his new residence, taking note of any blind spots. Tim couldn’t help but notice Y/N’s routine around the home. She was 9-years-old like Tim and he knew that they went to the same school, though he wasn’t sure if they shared any classes. Y/N tilted her head at Tim’s comment about her routine.
“Okay,” There was no curiosity or annoyance in Y/N’s voice, merely acceptance. It made Tim frown slightly.
“You’re not upset?”
“Should I be?” Tim didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t used to people responding like that.
XX
Tim soon became busy. He had to train, learn and prove himself to keep being Robin. Tim didn’t avoid Y/N, but he didn’t gravitate toward her either. To the new Robin, Y/N was stable, the one constant in a house full of variables. She wasn’t unpredictable; she never appeared to deter from her routine.
Tim never noticed anything strange. He saw when she left every summer and how she came back a little different each time, a little sharper, a little more distant and tanner like she had been in the sun for too long. But people change, that wasn’t too unusual. He did not notice the way the light flickered when Y/N passed through certain hallways; it’s an old Manor he reasoned the one time he looked up. He did not notice when the shadows behind Y/N shifted just slightly when she moved.
XX
Jason came back wrong. That was the only way to describe it. He wasn’t just older or angrier.
Just wrong.
It was in the way he moved like every step was calculated for violence. It was in the way he looked at Bruce like there was something burning behind his eyes that would never go out. Even the air around him felt heavier. No one knew how to fix it.
The Cave was supposed to be off-limits to Y/N. For the most part, she listened and stayed up in the civilian part of the Manor. But this particular night, something had called Y/N down to the Cave. She heard the voices before she saw anything. The voices were sharp, angry and somewhat familiar in a way that made her chest twist.
“...You don’t get to decide that,” That was Bruce.
“I already did,” Y/N paused at the bottom of the stairs, fingers curling lightly around the railing. That voice…It couldn’t be. Y/N walked fully into the Cave.
The first time Jason really saw Y/N again, he stilled. It was subtle and anyone else might have missed it but not the Batman and Robin. Jason had been pacing with his voice raised as he argued with Bruce. Then, his gaze shifted and landed on the twelve-year-old standing by the BatComputer. Jason’s mouth snapped shut. For a moment, the anger drained out of his posture so quickly it was almost jarring. Whatever word he had been about to throw at Bruce died somewhere in his throat.
For a moment, Jason didn’t see the Cave or Bruce anymore. He couldn’t see the years that had passed or the blood that had soaked into his hands. What he saw was a kid with a blanket dragging behind her. A kid who used to sit too close and just listen to him read. His kid that he left behind waiting for her big brother.
“Kid?” Jason’s voice came out rougher than he probably intended, like the word was stuck in his chest. Bruce turned sharply, following Jason’s line of sight. The older man’s expression tightened the moment he saw his child.
“You’re not supposed to be down here,” Bruce was already moving to place himself between Y/N and Jason. Tim stayed beside the computer, his eyes darting back and forth between the reunited siblings.
“Jay?” Y/N’s voice was quiet and almost raspy, like she hadn’t spoken out loud in a while. Maybe she hadn’t, Jason bitterly thought to himself. But hearing that old nickname made the now twenty-year-old flinch. Because it hurt now; it made him feel like he hadn’t died, that he hadn’t left Y/N behind. Bruce placed his hand on his child’s shoulder and was trying to say something, probably to send her back up to the Manor. Jason, however, took a step forward but stopped. Because suddenly, he didn’t know what to do. He came back to Gotham with a massive plan in mind, but upon seeing the kid, his kid, once again made his mind come to a screeching halt. He didn’t know how to stand in front of Y/N who had once been small enough to fit under his arm and act like everything in the world was fine.
“You got taller,” Jason didn’t know what else to say. Y/N blinked and looked down at herself like she hadn’t noticed. Then, she looked back up at Jason, taking in his face and making him almost self-conscious of the scar the Joker left behind. It had taken him a long time to adjust to the large ‘J’ crossing over the bridge of his nose and up to over his eye.
“So did you,” That almost made Jason laugh. He scrubbed a hand down his face, taking a breath as he looked away for a second. When he looked back, Y/N was still there, still watching and obviously still waiting for him. Jason swallowed before stepping even closer. Bruce had flinched and tried to hide Y/N behind him; Jason didn’t let that hurt him as much since the kid wasn’t listening to her father and was peeking around the man.
“...C’mere,” Jason’s voice was barely a whisper. Y/N hesitated; it was only for a second, but it was long enough for Jason to notice. He told himself that it didn’t hurt; he was lying to himself.
Still, Y/N stepped forward, past her father who was protesting, and Jason pulled her into a hug that was just a little too tight. Like if he let go too soon, she’d disappear on him. Y/N stiffened at first but slowly relaxed into the hug. Her hands fisted into the back of his leather jacket. Jason pretended that the front of his kevlar shirt wasn’t getting slightly wet from Y/N’s tears. The man pressed a tiny kiss on the top of her head, taking in the scent of her shampoo. If he murmured an apology to his kid, that was only for him and her to know. Jason held on like he was trying to memorize the fact that Y/N was real and not just a figment of a hallucination from the Pit madness.
Bruce didn’t move at first. He simply stood there, one hand still half-raised as if he had been about to pull Y/N back toward him but never found the moment to do so. Jason didn’t let go; he didn’t think he could. But Y/N clung just as tightly, her fingers twisted into leather like she was anchoring herself to something real. Then, finally, Bruce found his voice again.
“Jason, step back,”
“I’m not hurting her,” Jason let himself look up and glared at Bruce, the anger started to flicker alive in his chest. Then, Y/N shifted in his arms, taking a breath, and the anger drained again, like it couldn’t survive contact with her. Y/N finally pulled back first, wiping at her face quickly like she was annoyed at it for happening at all. She turned her head and her eyes flicked between Bruce and Jason, before they settled on their big brother again.
“I waited for you,” Jason’s throat and heart tightened.
“I’m…I’m sorry I’m late, kid,” Y/N’s eyes softened, like she accepted the apology. Jason almost wanted her to scream and yell at him for being gone; he felt like he didn’t deserve to be looked at like her big brother again when he was gone for five long years. Bruce reached for Y/N again, his hand resting firmly on her shoulder and making her look up at her father.
“Go upstairs,” Y/N hesitated at Bruce’s words, which Jason noticed. It made an ugly feeling sit wrong in his chest. The twenty-year-old squeezed the twelve-year-old’s hand, making her look back up at him.
“Hey. It’s okay. Go on up,” Y/N nodded once at Jason, before turning towards the stairs. The man could see Alfred waiting patiently at the top and knew his kid was at least in safe hands. Y/N glanced back only once while going up the stairs, and Jason could almost swear that her eyes were glowing in the darkness. It was only when Y/N disappeared with Alfred, that the anger came back.
XX
Life did not settle after that, it merely shifted. Jason did not stay in the Manor. He felt like he didn’t belong there anymore, not like before. But he started appearing more often; he had even come to an uneasy truce between Bruce, Dick and Tim. They had to stay out of the Alley unless necessary while he agreed to start using rubber bullets, also unless necessary. Jason kept checking on Y/N in his own little ways; he perched on rooftops as she hung out with friends, he would stop in and ask Alfred in that rough and too casual tone “Kid doing alright?” and even left some gifts in front of her bedroom door, such as a new book he’d thought she would like, a new hoodie that he’d spritz with his cologne, a knife he told her to hide from Alfred and most importantly, a woven bracelet he had gotten during his time at Tibet and the League. Y/N never mentioned it, but she made sure that Jason’s efforts were acknowledged. She would wear the new hoodie and bracelet, and sometimes Y/N would almost scare the hell out of him when he found her suddenly staring directly at where he was hiding.
XX
Cassandra Cain arrived quietly, slipping into Wayne Manor like she had always been there. Bruce brought her in without much explanation. He rarely explained anything to Y/N anymore. Y/N didn’t question it, but then again, she rarely questioned anything anymore. Cassandra did not speak much at first. She observed, that was her language. She watched the way people moved and breathed, saw the emotions going across their faces and knew what one’s reaction toward something usually turned out. People spoke with their bodies long before they spoke with words and Cass knew how to listen.
That was how Cass noticed Y/N. Not because she was different, but because she was quiet in a way she couldn’t recognize. The first time she truly saw Y/N, she was standing at the beginning of the west hallway. Both of their bedrooms were towards the east hallway so there was no reason for her new sibling to be there; no one lived on this side of the Manor yet. Y/N was not moving or fidgeting, just standing there. Her gaze was fixed on something Cass could not see. It made her pause mid-step. Most people acted differently when they believed that they were alone; they shifted their weight, blinked more often or even talked to themselves.
Y/N did none of that. She stood like a wax figure in a museum. Cass tilted her head, just to make sure she was still breathing. Then, slowly, she approached. Y/N’s attention snapped to Cass the moment she stood next to her.
“...Hi,” Y/N’s voice was a little raspy and slightly dreamy like she had just woken up. Cass watched her posture change: shoulders loosening, head tilting to mirror Cass’s, and the faint softening around her eyes. Y/N was pretending to be normal and she didn’t understand why.
XX
Cass started appearing where Y/N was, not intrusively. She was just there. First, she sat across from the other girl in the library as she read; though. Once she got more confident to sit next to Y/N on the couch, the other teen began to emulate Jason and began reading aloud to the other girl; though, when Cass looked at the book, she could have sworn the book wasn’t written in English. The girl would stand beside the other teen in the kitchen while Alfred cooked; he would always pause to make the two sisters some tea before returning to his duties. Cass would perch on the windowsill while rain tapped against the glass and Y/N stared out into the gardens; this was some of the girl’s favorite times, just enjoying the quiet of the Manor. Even when it came time for the galas, Cass wasn’t too far from Y/N and that made those large public events a little better to be with someone who didn’t expect her to speak all the time. The Press especially liked to take photos of the duo during this time. They liked to describe Y/N and Cass as long lost twins since they were both fourteen, despite the fact that they didn’t have the same birthday or even the same parents; sometimes the Press liked to include Tim into the rumors, making them triplets to Robin's dismay.
XX
Damian Wayne did not slip quietly into the Manor. He arrived like he owned it. Which, in a way, he did. He stood in the foyer with his chin tilted up just enough to be defiant, eyes sharp as they swept across everything; the architecture, the exits and the people. He was assessing and judging them as he looked. At eight-years-old, Damian held himself like someone far older. Bruce stood beside Damian, already tense in a way Y/N hadn’t seen in years. Not even when Jason returned had there been this tightness in his shoulders. Tim stood on the other side of Bruce, his arm in a sling and bandages placed all over him. He was tense in a different way, since he was in pain. Y/N didn’t ask what happened, but she seemed to know that Tim’s injuries were from Damian’s hostile takeover of the mantle of Robin.
Y/N was fifteen when her little brother arrived. She was standing at the base of the staircase with a book tucked under her arm. Cass lingered a few steps behind Y/N, silent as ever but her attention was already fixed on the new arrival. Damian’s green eyes flicked over to Y/N, and the frown on his face deepened. He stepped toward his only blood sibling; his father and adoptive brother behind him both tensed even further and prepared for whatever the new addition planned to do.
“You are untrained,” Damian stopped a couple steps away from Y/N. It wasn’t a question. She blinked in slight surprise.
“Yes,” Damian frowned, clearly expecting resistance or at least confusion.
“You do not patrol. You do not train. You contribute nothing to the defense of this household or city,” Y/N merely tilted her head slightly, mirroring Cass without realizing it.
“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” Cass’s lips twitched in an almost smile. However, Damian went very still; not in anger, but simply observing. Like Cass had and like Jason used to. Something in him was trying to solve a problem that didn’t have an obvious answer.
“You should be. You are a Wayne,” Damian’s voice was a little quieter. But Y/N shrugged.
“Father didn’t ask me to,” That made Damian’s expression shift. His gaze flicked toward Bruce, something sharp and questioning, passing through the younger boy’s eyes before he looked back at Y/N.
“He should have,” Damian’s voice was lower, almost a mutter to himself.
XX
Damian did not ignore Y/N, but he did not seek her out either. Not at first.
Damian had to train just like all the Robins before him. But his training differed from the others; he had to learn nonlethal methods and discard most of his teachings from the League. He was determined to be better than the ones that came before him. So Damian trained day after day; he had to adjust his routine when his father sent him to Gotham Academy after a week of living in the Manor.
Damian simply chose to wake up earlier to get a start on his morning training before breakfast and being sent to the school. That first morning, he found Y/N in the sparring room of one of the many home gyms in the Manor. She was sitting in the middle of the mat, legs crossed and eyes closed, her breath slow. Damian paused in the doorway.
“You are in the way,” Y/N’s gaze snapped open and she looked at him through the mirror on the wall. She wasn’t startled, Damian noticed.
“Good morning, Damian,” The young boy frowned. Most people reacted to him being snappish. They would bristle or snap back. But not Y/N, she simply greeted him and was now smiling at him.
“Would you like to join me? I’m almost done and then you can have the gym to yourself,” That was the most words Damian had heard come from Y/N; even Cain seemed to speak more than the civilian of their family. He then realized that she was meditating. Damian hesitated; he did not like hesitation. It was inefficient and created openings, which often resulted in death. Y/N simply waited, her eyes calm, and hands resting loosely in her knees.
“...You are not training?” Damian never saw the purpose of meditation; something he shared with his grandfather. Yes, the ability to clear one’s mind was vital but the boy could do so when he was practicing with his sword.
“I am,”
“You are only sitting,”
“Yes,”
“That is not training,” Y/N blinked slowly, then tilted her head slightly, as if considering how to explain something obvious.
“It is for me,” Damian stared at Y/N. Most people tried to impress him or correct him or fear him or even kill him. Y/N did none of those things; she just simply existed like she was steady in a way the rest of the Manor wasn’t. Finally, Damian stepped fully into the room.
“I will use the other mat,” Damian threw off his house slippers and went over to the other side of the room.
“Okay,” With that, Y/N closed her eyes once more. There was no argument or reaction, just acceptance. It made Damian pause again, like his instincts couldn’t decide whether that was permission or dismissal. He began his drills anyway. His father had not allowed Damian’s blades to leave his room or the Cave so the boy had to use a wooden sword that was for children. But he did not let that dull his movements.
“You’re holding tension in your left shoulder,” Damian froze mid-motion. While out learning how to navigate the streets of Gotham with a grappling hook, Robin had slammed harshly into a brick wall, leaving behind a bruise on that shoulder.
“That is irrelevant,” Damian glanced at his sibling through the mirror. Her eyes were no longer close and her head was tilted towards her little brother. There was still that soft smile on her face, which irritated Damian.
“There is a bruise balm in the gym area’s bathroom. It’s all natural. Dick uses it after acrobatics sessions,” Y/N was standing up now, and stretching her arms over her head.
“See you at breakfast in a little bit, Damian,” The boy watched her leave through the mirror before he lowered his sword. Damian had seen the restroom for the gym area in the acrobatics area; maybe he could take a quick break before he continued his katas.
XX
Damian swore he had gotten used to Y/N’s strange presence as he continued to acclimate to Wayne Manor. But one night seemed to test him. His bedroom was in the newly redone west hallway; he almost felt like he had a part of the house to himself as well as easy access to the second floor of the library. It had been after a long night of patrol and the house was quiet. Then, Damian noticed a figure standing in the middle of his hallway.
It was Y/N, almost frozen like a statue. If it weren’t for the fact that he could see her chest moving up and down, Damian would have immediately ran back down to the Cave elevator to get someone. The hallway lights above flickered, but there was still no reaction from Y/N. She just stayed staring toward the end of the corridor, like there was something there; something that Damian could not detect. He approached silently, and gently took her hand.
“Y/N,” Her head turned instantly; her eyes focusing on him like they had just woken up.
“Hello, Damian,” The boy narrowed his eyes.
“You were not present,” Y/N blinked.
“I’m here now,”
“That’s not what I meant,” Damian felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest; it was not fear but something adjacent.
“...You are strange, Y/N,” Damian’s comment made Y/N smile faintly.
“I know,” Damian did not like not understanding something. It was inefficient and above all else, dangerous. And yet, as he stood there with his sibling’s hand still loosely held in his own, he found himself unable to categorize what he had just witnessed. Y/N had not been distracted or daydreaming. There had been something distinctly absent about her like a marionette with no puppeteer. Damian released her hand.
“You should not stand in the hallways in the middle of the night,” Y/N tilted her head at Damian, before nodding.
“Okay, good night, Damian,” That was it; Y/N offered no explanation or argument, just mere acceptance. It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. Damian watched as Y/N turned on her heel and walked towards her own room; her steps were too quiet even on the carpeted floor. The lights above them flickered once more, and then steadied. Damian stood there for a moment longer, watching his sibling disappear in the direction of her room. Then, very deliberately, he turned slowly and checked the end of the corridor.
There was nothing there.
XX
Bruce did not notice anything wrong about Y/N. He saw her around the house. He registered her presence at dinner when he made it upstairs. He noted her grades when the report cards came in. He approved of the fact that she caused no trouble, demanded nothing, and seemed, by all outward appearances, to be adjusting well.
After Jason, after everything, Bruce allowed himself to believe that. Because it was easier. Because it meant he hadn’t failed another child.
XX
Dick only noticed in pieces. Little things, like how Y/N sometimes didn’t react when her name was called the first time or how she stood too still when she thought no one was looking. But Dick had learned to juggle too many things at once –Blüdhaven, the Titans, his love life, the family– and every time he thought to ask, something else pulled him away.
“Hey, Little Wing, you good?” Dick was already halfway through the door when he asked. But Y/N nodded, giving him a small smile.
“I’m good,” And Dick would believe her. Because he wanted to; because it was easier.
XX
Tim noticed patterns. But Y/N never broke hers: she woke up on time, went to school, came home, read, left for camp every summer, returned, and repeated. There was no anomaly or deviation. Nothing that would trigger alarm. So Tim categorized Y/N as stable and safe.
Y/N was not a variable that required attention. So Tim gave her none.
XX
Jason noticed the most, but he never said anything. Because he knew what it looked like to be wrong. And he saw echoes of it sometimes with Y/N. In the way Y/N looked at empty spaces, in the way she found him even when he was hidden, in the way her gaze sometimes locked onto something that wasn’t there. Because he always looked; this was his kid, he always checked.
Jason had learned the hard way what happened when you chased ghosts. So instead, he stayed closer, watched more carefully and left more things at her door; just to show that Jason was there for her.
XX
Cassandra knew; not what Y/N was going through, but what it was like to have a body that didn’t cooperate like it should. To her, that was what Y/N was going through. Cass did not push; she stayed instead. She sat beside the other girl and stood near her sister.
Cass watched for the moments where the other girl’s expression went blank and she waited for Y/N to return.
XX
By the time Y/N turned sixteen, the Manor had settled into its rhythm. Heroes came and went, Robins rose and fell, and Gotham remained as unforgiving as ever.
And through it all, Y/N stayed. She was quiet, unassuming and forgotten in all the ways that mattered. She was the easiest child Bruce had ever raised; she was the least demanding, the least troublesome, and the one who needed the least of him.
And because of that, no one noticed just how much of her was missing until they almost lost Y/N.
A/N: I have made multiple versions of chapter one with different pronouns for each. If you would like to be in the taglist for a specific pronoun, please tell me!!!!
