Bittersweet Tragedy (pt2)
Synopsis: Tim and Damian take it upon themselves to be the unofficial therapist of Wayne Manor (it doesn’t go well)
TW: divorce mentioned, unhealthy relationships (duh it’s Bruce), Damian is literally so mean in the beginning of this fic omg
A/N:
Masterlist
part 1
Shoutout to @magicaldestinyharmony who asked for a pt2 ;)
Damian Al Ghul Wayne was a child born of two worlds. Two separate worlds. A child born to be the heir of the League of Assassins, and a child born to be the next Batman. He was the only blood relative to Bruce Wayne, and therefore was easily the better Robin and son. But even if he was the only blood relative and thought he was better than everyone, he had a soft spot for his step mother—Y/N.
His mother, Talia, kept tabs on Damian’s father and he had known about Y/N from an early age. His mother was so infatuated with his father, even though he was married to another woman. Talia never sugar coated anything, never told Damian to view the world through rose colored glasses. He always saw the world as it was. A bad place.
Although Talia never met Y/N, she spoke of her like she was lowest of the low. Naturally, Damian hated her too. All the ‘good’ publicity was just a scam to hide what kind of woman Y/N truly was—a deceitful, lying, manipulating woman.
Damian knew his father had a weird relationship with his mother. A on again, off again relationship. Talia would give her all, Batman wouldn’t reciprocate, and thus resulting in Damian’s eventual birth. Even if it wasn’t a ‘normal’ birth.
The day Talia dropped Damian off with his father for the unforeseeable future was probably one of the worst days of his life. His father wasn’t anything like he was expecting, and honestly, his presence was extremely underwhelming. And then she came down to cave wearing pajamas, silk and pretty against her skin.
“Damian, this is—.” Bruce tried to say, gesturing to the sleepy eyed woman who was entering the cave.
“I know who she is.” Damian snapped, “the whore.”
“Damian.” Bruce said, his tone of voice like a warning.
“What? It’s true though.” Damian crossed his arms as he watched the woman approach the two. “Mother says she’s a whore and should be killed for her actions.”
Y/N stood there, half awake, her eyes locked with Damian’s green ones. She uncomfortably stood there looking at Bruce, confusion written on her face.
“Y/N, this is Damian.” Bruce tiredly explained, “my son.”
“His biological son.” Damian added.
“Biological?” Y/N repeated. “With who?”
“Talia.” Bruce answered. “It’s…a long story.”
Damian smirked, pride swelling through his small body at the mention of his mother’s name. Maybe by Damian being here, he could be the driving force behind Y/N and his father divorcing. His mother would surely be proud of him for putting this lesser woman in her place—.
“Talia, huh?” Y/N mused, “not sure I wanna know the story behind it.”
“It’s something we still need to discuss though.” Bruce says, “he’ll be staying with us for a while. Alfred, would you mind showing Damian to his room?”
“I could do it.” Y/N suggests.
“I’ll take the servant over a whore.” Damian said, walking past Y/N, making sure he hit her in the process. “At least he has dignity.”
Hard to imagine a time where Damian despised—loathed—his step mother because now he couldn’t imagine a time without her. She was kind and nothing like how Talia portrayed her.
She wasn’t a whore, or some lying and manipulative bitch.
She was kind, caring, understanding—actually cared when Damian got injured on patrol. Not only that, she gave the best hugs (not that Damian was one for affection). One time he had gotten a good grade on a final exam for a class and she hugged him, tight but still gentle. Her hug was warm, comforting…now he understood why his siblings enjoyed her hugs.
She helped him realize how much he was missing the physical connection between him and parental figure. He never realized how deprived he was until now. Until her.
Damian pulled away from Y/N, a scowl on his face like he always wore. “أمّي, I’m fine.” He said, “I don’t need help.”
“Damian, you fractured your wrist tonight.” Y/N softly said, “I have to make sure it heals properly.”
The teenager sat there on the medical bed located down in the batcave. The cave never felt all that homey…it was always cold, a little eerie from the bats that hung around. In comparison to the manor above, it was nothing. It wasn’t warm or welcoming. Just cold and depressing.
“Drake got hurt too. I don’t see you helping him,” Damian said as he eyed his older brother who was changing out of his Red Robin uniform.
“Tim’s got some light bruising. He hardly needs medical attention,” Y/N said wrapping his left wrist. “You’re the more reckless one.”
“And why isn’t Pennyworth doing it? Isn’t it his job?”
“I wanted to.” Y/N replied, “you’re my son after all.”
Damian clicked his tongue and looked away, but his heart felt warm at the mention of being her son. That was how she always looked at Damian, even when he first arrived. He would make her life a living hell, and Y/N would always pick up the pieces and try again. She was persistent and determined, she’d give her that. No wonder his father was with her. She was just as stubborn as him.
Damian eventually looked down at his wrist, watching how his step mother carefully wrapped his bruised and aching wrist. “أمّي?”
“Yes?”
“I heard you and father this morning while I was getting dressed for school.” Damian watched his step mother tense up, her movements stalling for a moment before she continued to wrap his wrist. “You and father have been getting into more arguments…more than usual. Is it possible you two will get a divorce?”
The word ‘divorce’ made Damian’s stomach twist, like the word ‘divorce’ was holding a knife and stabbing him in the stomach until he bled out. He once wanted that, dreamed of Y/N and his father getting a divorce, but now he couldn’t imagine it.
“No Damian, we’re not.” Y/N assured, “we’re just going through a rough patch. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Damian only nodded as the cave was rendered to a tense silence. Once Y/N was done wrapping his wrist, she kissed the top of his head and told him to head to bed.
Damian undressed from his Robin uniform and headed up the steps and out of the batcave to find Tim pressed against the wall, almost like he was waiting.
“What is it, Drake?” Damian asked, heading down the hallway toward his bedroom.
“You’re worried about it to, huh?” Tim followed up, pushing off the wall and joining his brother.
“Hardly.” Damian scoffed.
“Then why’d you ask?”
Damian clenched his jaw at the way Tim said it, his words coming out in an almost mocking way. The older male was always annoying, constantly teasing and trying to get a rise out of the younger male when he could, it frustrated Damian to no end.
“I wasn’t worried. I was curious…there is an obvious difference between the two, you imbecile.” Damian said, his fist clenched at his side.
Tim couldn't help but smirk at Damian's denial. He could see through the younger's tough exterior, and knew that he was just as concerned as he was. "Right. Just curious." Tim drawled, his tone laced with skepticism. "Because you're totally not stressing out about their constant bickering.”
“You said it was bothering you too.” Damian pointed out, “you’re always thinking about it.”
Tim shrugged casually, his hands shoved in his pockets as they continued down the hallway. "Yeah, I am." Tim admitted. "I mean, can you blame me? It's like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off." His expression was nonchalant, but his voice gave away his worry. "It's not like them to fight this much. And not just little spats, but full blown shouting matches. It's just...off."
“Do you think they will go through with it?” Damian softly asked. “Father is stubborn and not one to let things go. أمّي is kind…she tries too hard.”
Tim sighed heavily, a troubled expression crossing his face. He knew both Bruce and Y/N well enough to understand their stubborn natures. "To be honest, I'm not sure. They're both pretty set in their ways."
Tim glanced over at Damian, noticing the worry in his eyes. He placed a hand on the boys shoulder reassuringly. "But one thing's for sure, they love each other deeply. They've been through a lot together. They'll figure it out, trust me."
“And how do you know that, Drake?” Damian asked, shrugging Tim’s hand off. “Father’s track record with women is not the best.”
Tim grimaced, knowing that Damian had a point. Bruce's history with women, particularly when it came to commitment, was indeed rocky.
"Alright." Tim gave in, "I won't lie, Bruce's track record doesn't exactly scream 'commitment' and 'stability'. But still, they've been together for a while now. They wouldn't have made it this far if they didn't care about each other, right?"
Silence.
Tim sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly dialing a phone number.
“Who are you calling?” Damian curiously asked, entering his bedroom.
Tim followed him inside, shutting the door behind him. “Dick. He’s the one who’s been around the longest. He’s gotta know something, right?”
“Desperate.”
Tim rolled his eyes at Damian's comment. "Desperate? More like resourceful. Dick is the oldest, and he's the most level-headed one of us all. If anyone can give us some insight, it's him."
Tim waited for Dick to pick up, putting his phone on speaker. Meanwhile, Damian flopped down on his bed and sulked.
Dick answered after a few rings, his voice coming through the phone slightly tired but still energetic in that Dick Grayson way.
"Hey, Tim. What's up?”
Tim took a deep breath before launching into his and Damian’s concerns about Bruce and Y/N's relationship. He filled Dick in on the recent arguments, the tense atmosphere, and the fear that they might be heading towards separation.
On the other end of the call, Dick listened quietly, his expression growing more thoughtful as Tim spoke.
“And you’re sure it’s not just Bruce being Bruce?” Dick asked, “you know Bruce is stubborn, an asshole.”
"Believe me, I know," he replied. "Bruce has a habit of digging his heels in and refusing to back down. But this is different. It's not just the usual petty arguments or disagreements. It's like there's a deeper issue that neither of them want to address."
Tim ran a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voice. "It's like they're both too scared to actually talk it out and fix things."
Damian then chimes in, “أمّي tries to talk things out. I heard her the other day in father’s office. She was upset, crying…something about him not having time for her.”
Dick's sympathetic expression deepened at Damian's words. He knew how much Damian cared about their mom deep down, even if the young boy struggled to show it.
"Yeah, that sounds like mom," Dick said. "She always puts others first. But it's tough when one person always gives and sacrifices more than the other." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe Bruce is too caught up in his own issues to see that. Or maybe he’s just taking her for granted."
“Did the two ever consider a divorce when it was just you?” Tim curiously asked.
“All the time.” Dick replied, “mom left for a month at one point. And when she came back? Bruce treated her like royalty.”
“Why’d she leave?” Tim followed up.
“Why do you think? Bruce will always prioritize Gotham over his relationship with mom.” Dick bitterly replied, “I told her to get a divorce at one point, but she stayed.”
“What do you suggest then?”
Dick sighed heavily on his end of the call, his voice tinged with weariness.
"Honestly? I think they need to sit down and have a serious conversation. No distractions, no running away. They need to lay all their cards on the table and be completely honest with each other."
He paused, considering his next words carefully.
"And Bruce needs to realize that he can't just expect mom to put her needs aside all the time. She's a person too, with her own wants and needs. They need to find a balance."
And that’s exactly what Tim and Damian did. They took a day to clean up the library, making it appear less homey and more like a therapist office. The two agreed that this was the best plan, considering there was no way that Bruce and Y/N would go to couples counseling. Well, Y/N would probably go, but Bruce surely wouldn’t.
“What did you two need to talk to us about?” Y/N asked, sitting on one end of the couch with Bruce on the other, brooding as usual.
“It’s come to our attention that you two aren’t getting along. I thought about signing you two up for therapy, but knowing Bruce, he won’t go.” Tim explains, “so this is the next best option.”
Y/N raised a brow, “and that’s..?”
“Discussing your issues with us.” Damian answers, “we’re old enough to be therapists.”
“Damian, you’re 14.”
“I have the maturity of an adult,” Damian replies. “Drake? Not so much.”
“Hey! You’re just as worried as I am!” Tim exclaims, hitting Damian’s arm.
“You have no proof.”
Both Bruce and Y/N were taken aback by the boys unconventional approach, but a hint of amusement flitted across Y/N's face.
"You two really think you can play therapist?" Bruce asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.
Tim and Damian both nodded confidently, their expressions serious.
"We've listened to enough arguments between the two of you to qualify," Damian said matter-of-factly.
Y/N couldn't help but crack a smile at the boys' determination. "The library looks quite therapeutic."
She looked around at the warm lighting, the comfortable couches, and the soothing ambiance. It was like a cozy makeshift counseling room.
Bruce grunted, still unimpressed. "This is ridiculous. We're not discussing our personal issues with children." He looked at Damian and Tim disapprovingly.
Tim and Damian exchanged a glance.
"We're not children. We're almost adults," Damian refuted, folding his arms across his chest.
"And we're concerned about the two of you," Tim added, his tone firm but sincere. "We want to help."
Y/N sighed, torn between amusement and concern. She could see the genuine worry etched onto the boys' faces.
"Let’s just humor them, Bruce," she said gently.
Bruce was reluctant, his stern expression faltering slightly. He didn't want to appear vulnerable in front of the boys, let alone discuss his personal issues. But the determination in Tim and Damian's eyes was unwavering.
"Fine." He relented, "But we're not going to delve into every aspect of our relationship."
Tim and Damian exchanged a subtle grin, pleased that their plan was going smoothly. They quickly took their seats facing Bruce and Y/N, like two therapists ready to begin the session.
Y/N gave the boys an encouraging smile, appreciating their efforts. Despite the absurdity of the situation, she sensed a glimmer of hope that something beneficial might come from this spontaneous therapy session.
Tim cleared his throat, assuming the role. His eyes flicked between Bruce and Y/N, his expression serious but compassionate. "Okay, let's start with something basic. Do you agree that your communication has been lacking lately?"
Bruce shifted in his seat, his usual guarded expression hardening. He knew Tim's question was a loaded one, a direct hit to one of their most significant issues.
"We've been busy," he grumbled, avoiding Y/N's gaze. "Gotham demands attention."
Y/N rolled her eyes at Bruce's evasion. "Busy doesn't equal neglectful, Bruce. There's a difference."
Tim nodded. "Communication goes beyond just talking about work. It's about expressing your feelings, listening to each other's needs."
Damian chimed in, his dark gaze fixed on Bruce. "You're so focused on being Batman that you forget to be a partner."
Bruce clenched his jaw, his stubbornness kicking in. "I'm doing my best. Gotham needs me more than Y/N does."
Y/N flinched at Bruce's cold words, her heart sinking at the harsh truth in them. She had always been supportive of Bruce's crusade, but constantly coming in second stung.
"I never asked you to prioritize me over Gotham," she said quietly, "but I did expect to be a priority in your life. I'm not something to just put aside when it's convenient for you. I’ve sacrificed so much of my life to be with you. I’ve missed hanging out with my friends and family because you need me to play the perfect wife, or because you don’t care enough to show up.”
Bruce's expression softened slightly at Y/N's words, a twinge of guilt creeping into his stoic demeanor. He knew deep down that she had a point, but the weight of Gotham's troubles always seemed to overshadow their relationship.
"It's not that I don't care," he murmured, the first hint of vulnerability seeping through his rough exterior. "I just have a responsibility in Gotham. You've never understood that."
Y/N bristled at Bruce's comment, her frustration bubbling to the surface. They had had this conversation countless times before, and it always ended the same way.
"I understand more than you think, Bruce," she retorted. "But you always use your 'responsibility' as an excuse to disregard my feelings. I'm tired of being second to Gotham. Can’t I just be the first?”
Bruce gritted his teeth, the guilt morphing into annoyance. He knew he had a habit of pushing Y/N aside in favor of playing the Dark Knight, but he saw it as a necessary sacrifice for the greater good.
"Gotham needs me. It's not something I can just put aside, Y/N. I'm the only one who can protect it."
Tim and Damian exchanged a knowing glance, silently watching their verbal sparring match.
“What about ours kids?” Y/N asked, “you trained them to be vigilantes too.”
Bruce's expression hardened at the mention of their children. He had trained them to be vigilantes, grooming them to follow in his footsteps. But it was a world of responsibility and sacrifice.
"They understand the stakes and the importance of what we do," he replied, his voice stoic but tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "They have their roles to play in Gotham's protection."
“But just like them, at the end of the day, their roles are to be themselves. My kids. Our kids. Just like how you have a role to play as my husband,” Y/N explained.
Bruce knew Y/N was right, yet he struggled to accept their truth. Being the Batman had consumed him for so long that it felt like an integral part of his identity, one that he couldn't easily shed.
Damian, who was usually quick to voice his opinions, remained silent, his gaze flickering between his parents. Tim shifted awkwardly, feeling the weight of the conversation press down on him.
Y/N took a deep breath, continuing her point. "I'm not asking you to give up being the Batman, Bruce. I'm just asking you to prioritize our marriage as much as you prioritize Gotham. Can you honestly say you've been doing that lately?"
Bruce couldn't bring himself to meet Y/N's gaze. He knew the answer to her question all too well. He had been neglecting their marriage, lost in the endless battle against crime and corruption. He had justified it as a necessary sacrifice, but deep down he knew it was an excuse to avoid dealing with his emotions.
Damian then spoke up, “أمّي deserves better than you, father.”
Bruce's head snapped in Damian's direction, caught off guard by the young boy's bluntness.
"Watch your mouth, Damian," he warned, his voice gruff. "I'm still your father, and you will respect me."
Damian held Bruce's gaze, unyielding. "Respect is earned,” he stated. "I may be young, but I can see clearly that أمّي sacrifices everything for you."
Tim nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "Damian's right, Bruce. You take Y/N for granted. She puts up with so much because she loves you, but even she has her limits."
Y/N's heart ached as she listened to their words. She had always tried to put on a strong front, to be understanding and supportive of Bruce's mission. But hearing Tim and Damian echo her own thoughts was both validating and heartbreaking.
Bruce ran a hand over his face, his usual mask of stoicism cracking slightly. He knew they were right, and the weight of their words cut deep. But old habits die hard.
"It's not as simple as you think," Bruce muttered, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Damian huffed. "It is that simple, father. You just refuse to make it a priority."
Tim interjected before the argument could escalate. “We're not asking you to choose between Gotham and Y/N. We're asking you to find a balance. You can protect Gotham and still be a husband."
Bruce's jaw clenched, his internal struggle evident. He had spent so long convincing himself that the Batman was his primary responsibility, that personal attachments were a liability. But hearing his sons speak up, seeing the pain in Y/N's eyes...it was slowly chipping away at his resolve.
Y/N reached out a hand, placing it gently on Bruce's arm. He tensed at her touch, his gaze snapping to hers. She searched his eyes, silently pleading with him to listen, to understand. “Bruce, I've been patient. I've been understanding. But I can't continue like this. Our marriage, our family...it's breaking apart."
"And you don't think that's a problem?" Tim chimed in, his voice firm. "Your identity being so heavily intertwined with being the Batman? It's not healthy."
Damian nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on Bruce. "You're so hyper-fixated on being the Batman that you've forgotten how to be human, father."
Bruce silently sat there, his eyes flickering toward the window where the bat symbol hung high in the sky. He stood up and walked over to the grandfather clock that led down to the Batcave. “I’m needed in Gotham. Tim and Damian, you two stay here.”
And like that…he was gone, back to being the Batman and consumed by obsession.
“I really appreciated this boys.” Y/N finally says, looking at Tim and Damian.
“We tried.” Tim shrugged, “wish we could have done more.”
“I’m sorry, أمّي.” Damian frowns.
Y/N stood up from the couch and walked over to the two teenage boys, hugging them. “It’s okay. Bruce is stubborn, he’s always been.”
Tim hugged back but Damian didn’t. Damian silently sat there, his thoughts harping on that magical word ‘divorce’ again.
“Please don’t get a divorce, أمّي.” Damian softly said—begged. For once Damian wasn’t acting like himself, his snarky and arrogant self, but instead a child who loved both his parents dearly and didn’t want to see anything bad come of it.
“I can’t make promises.”
“I know.”
•••
Y/N laid in bed, her side turned to face the grand window on her side of the bed. It was big, large enough to see the bat symbol that hung up in the sky still. She wondered where her husband was, who he was fighting, and if he was safe.
Bruce frustrated the hell out of Y/N, but she still loved him.
She didn’t think she’d ever would stop loving him.
And that’s why the word ‘divorce’ made her stomach knot, and why she always felt so sick to her stomach when it came up. Sure she had left him in the past, but she always came back like a cat. A cat who knew its way home, even if miles away.
Bruce Wayne was a complicated man, but the man Y/N loved with all her heart.
The window opened and in came a breeze of cold night air. She should have been scared, screaming her lungs out at the broad shouldered and tall silhouette that stood before her. But she couldn’t be scared. She never feared the bat.
“I’m sorry.” The bat said, voice low and gruff. “I’m an awful husband.”
“You think?” Y/N asked, shifting to sitting up. “But even if you are, I can’t hate you.”
“I’m sorry, Y/N.”
“It’s okay.”
His boots thumped against the wooden floor of the bedroom, light creaks heard as he approached her bedside.
Y/N didn’t move, didn’t even breathe or utter a word as he moved toward her with ease. He smelled of Gotham, like sewage, cigarettes, alcohol, and yet, still smelled like the man she married underneath with his expensive cologne. Her favorite cologne.
He stood there over top of her, placed a gloved hand on her chin and forced her to look up at him. He leaned in and kissed her. The kiss was passionate, deep, but heartfelt and full of unspoken words and apologies.
Y/N moved her hands up and pulled the cowl off his head, letting it droop behind him like a hood. She put her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss, softly pushing her back onto their bed.
He kissed her, deeper, harder, with the kiss trailing down her lips and toward her neck. Y/N let out a shaky breath but smiled, softly laughing at how the kisses tickled her skin and how the butterflies swarmed in her stomach.
“I love you, Bruce.” Y/N softly said.
“I love you too, sweetheart.” Bruce replied, his blue eyes meeting her own with a sense of hunger. “Would you—?”
“Yes,” she breathed out.
