A/N: Part 1 and 2 have done so well!! Thank you all for the love <3 I didn't really know what to do with this one, so I decided to focus more on Damian here but if you guys have any suggestions or anything my inbox is open. Plus, if you guys want one-shots ask away!! I am dealing with health issues but I promise I'll get to it :) Sorry that it's so short!!
TW: Substance abuse, abuse, alcoholism, relapse, self-harm etc
꣑ৎ"Something in the orange tells me we're not done."
-Noah Kahan ꣑ৎ
The silence of the hospital room consisted of rhythmic breathing and the beeping of monitors. It didn't take long for you to fall into a deep sleep, the only real warmth came from Damian, and his pinkie was still interlocked with yours. No matter how much complaining he did about the promises being childish, he was always heartbroken when they were broken.
Right now he stared at your face, even in slumber you still looked bleak. Your face was marked with eyebags, even in older pictures you seemed to have them, he always wondered about your story.
Sadly there was not much you'd tell and there wasn't much anyone knew.
It surprised him when even Alfred told him that he didn't know much about the only blood daughter, that was only recently. Up until now, Damian had no idea how little attention the family had actually given you.
It filled him with anger and...guilt.
The same people that saved him from his mind, the same people that showed him that family wasn't just blood were the same people that led you back to your darkest times. Tears bore into his eyes, the image of your red and tired eyes, the sound of your hopeless voice, it was etched into his brain.
He had never seen a more tragic site, he wanted to wake you up, he wanted to shout at you, he wanted to ask if you really thought about leaving, leaving him.
Most of all he wanted to scream, scream at Grayson for being an idiot, scream at Father for forgetting your birthday, and scream at Alfred for letting it happen. But most of all he wanted to scream at you, scream and cry in your arms.
Damian was never the patient one, that was all you. When everyone would demonize him and his mother, you were the one who thought before you spoke.
You always saw his side in things, not that you always defended him, but you always understood him. That's why he warmed up to you the fastest; you became his rock. So seeing you so weak and frail broke something in him—his perfect family picture, shattered.
You knew every secret about him, you knew every scar he caused and every tear he shed. He told you first about wanting to become a doctor, and he thought he knew you too.
He wiped away the stray tear and sat at the edge of the bed. He looked down at you with a sort of cruelty that wasn't hard to miss. His eyes wandered between his and your arms.
He hated how much he needed his sister, he hated how much no one else needed her. The sky was now painted a deep orange, the sun was rising, and there was not a single worried text or call on your phone. Was his their family really that cruel? That cruel to her? With his fists clenched at the side he made a silent promise.
No one was to hurt you again, he was going to protect you. It was his duty as your only true brother.
"A minute from home, but I feel so far from it" 𓂃⋆.˚
A/N: Continuation of Part 1 with you in a hospital and Damian scarred. You know he is, even if he won't tell you. Will he keep this secret for his blood sister/sibling or will he cave in and tell the family, the same family that caused this.
TW: Substance abuse, abuse, alcoholism, brief mention of underage drinking, self harm etc
۫ ꣑ৎ"You really know how to make me cry"
-Billie Eilish ۫ ꣑ৎ
Every point of your life could be summarised by one thing, harm. Back when your mother was still alive, when you lived with your step-father and even after Bruce had taken you in.
Harm. It was either you were the cause of it, or someone else. That's when the drinking started, back when you were sixteen you had your first sip of alcohol. Then you were eighteen and it was the only beverage you'd drink, not legal but it was Gotham so it wasn't hard to get alcohol. After two years of non-stop drinking, all you could see in the mirror was her. The droopy eyes and frail body, the silence followed you like it followed her.
Like mother like daughter right? Right.
The harsh, white lights pierced through your eyelids, pulling you back to a conscious state. There was the sound of a distant beat of a heart monitor, everything sounded mechanic. It was nothing like the filled silence in the bathroom. You squinted your eyes, trying to make sense of your surroundings, the faint smell of antiseptic and the plastic-feel sheets you lay on gave it away.
You lay, almost lifeless, on a hospital bed with an IV drip attached to your arms. It was like it was feeding life into you, replacing the smooth liquid that once graced your tongue. It made your head throb, like it was matching the beeping of the near by monitor. The pieces that led to here were starting to come back, filling you with dread.
There fragmented memories of broken glass, now your foot started to hurt, the bitter taste of alcohol and the looks of horror in Damian's eyes, it all resurfaced.
It was like the guilt was trying to drown you, the way it came down in waves. it was more potent than the hangover that held you down, the reality of your mistake hit like an axe to the skull. It was like your head was splitting in two, you were never supposed to come back to that place. You were never supposed to fail...but you did. And the obnoxious ceiling of the hospital was proof of your failure. It made your eyes sting, every second that goes by made the dam, you spent years perfecting, break. You've never fallen so far down. You've never felt so low.
As your eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights you finally noticed him. Damian, the side of his head pressed against you bed and his hand loosely in yours. Even in his sleep he didn't look peaceful, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth down-turned, poor baby looked so miserable.
It was your fault
You moved your hand to his hair, gently, you played with it. He always had such nice hair, even when he first arrived. It must've been in his genes, a perfect mix of his mother and father...you on the other hand..
Despicable. Every shitty thing about Bruce and everything about your mother seemed to fit in a human shaped mould. A human shaped like you. You felt the coldness of the room hit your eyes, it made the tears over fill your eyes. They slipped down when Damian woke up, confusion evident on his face as he sat up, he didn't bother with the embarrassed act.
He was different, not instantly meeting your eyes. No, instead he looked at every wire coming off of you, then he met your eyes. He met them with caution, and you could feel the disgust and self hatred bubble in your stomach.
He shouldn't have seen that, no kid should see someone like that. His eyes, usually filled with determination and will, now displayed a storm of emotions-anger, worry, distrust.
It was a vulnerability he almost never showed, now laid out for the world to see. The hurt in his face cut deeper than any blade, it stung harder than any reprimand ever would. You pleaded with your eyes for him not to say anything, there wasn't much more she could handle.
"Why..." he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and raw.
Look at what you've done, you've failed it all. Failed at being a daughter, a student, a robin and now you've failed him. You failed at being a sister. "How long-"
"It was one slip up, just one I promise." Desperation laced your voice as you sat up. It was just one.
His jaw hung open as he tried to get the word out, he didn't want to be interrupted, he didn't want to be comforted, he wanted to angry but he didn't know who to blame.
"No, don't interrupt me. One? It wasn't one slip up, it was a big one." He was right, and that made it hurt so much more. In your mind, Damian was one of your strongest siblings ever, he always knew what to say, so watching his chin wobble and his mind scramble for words made your heart drop further and further. "...was it me?"
Huh...
Why, on this god given earth, would he ever think that? You watched him as he clamped his hands together and the way his voice was barely audible. Oh God...why would he think that? The question repeated in your head as he waited for an answer.
"No. Not in a million year Dami." You looked him dead in the eyes as the words left your tongue, it was obvious that he wasn't fully convinced. You couldn't stand seeing him like this, "come here." You tapped the spot next to you, beckoning to come here. He does exactly that and you gently pull him closer. The room is quiet, just slow beeps coming from the corner. He hesitates before allowing his head to rest on your shoulder. With your head resting a top of his, Damian hold onto you. He's holding tight, like you'll float away if he lets go. His grip is firm but gentler, a silent way of him saying 'I'm here.'
"I'm so sorry." You whisper, knowing it's probably not the words he wants to here right now. You can tell with the slight tremble of his hands. It makes you think, is this how you would've reacted if your mother survived that night? Would you have hugged her? Would you have asked her?
For a while neither of you speak, words weren't necessary. Right now you needed him, and he needed you. No matter how much you want to leave, you would never go without a proper good bye. Dami was like an anchor, he kept you grounded when needed. And that's all you needed, him. You didn't Bruce's money, you didn't need Richard or Jason or anyone else. Right on the brink of sleep, you heard your brothers little voice call your name.
You hummed in response to indicate that he's got your attention.
"You broke my promise." His voice was quiet and weary, like he was treading slowly, in case he accidently set off a bomb.
"I did, buddy." You don't know how many apologize you had left in you.
"Promise you won't do that again."
You smiled softly, knowing that this was really just the calm before the storm. But ignoring that fact, you held out your pinkie.
"Pinkie promise." You managed to get out, you were really starting to get tired. Damian rolled his eyes and muttered 'childish acts' underneath his breath, but he still interlocked his pinkie with yours. "I love you Dami." The words left your mouth just before your eyes shut, there was no bother waiting for a response, you knew how he was. And you knew how perfect he was.
A/N: First fic on this acc!! Enjoy this little angsty fic :) Neglected bat!reader breaks their sobriety after their family makes a grave mistake. Sure Reader should be used to it by now, but offering them a drink? At a Gala they forced you to attend? On your birthday? What a load of bull. You pray that Damian doesn't find out...but sadly they don't get accepted. No beta reader, we die like Jason Todd
TW: Substance abuse, alcoholism, brief mention of underage drinking, self harm etc .
𐙚"Don't let them see you like this"
-Alex G 𐙚
ᑎᑌᗰᗷ
That's what it felt like, not a single though in your mind. It was consumed by the taste on your lips, the bottle in your hand. Limp, you sat in your bathtub, surrounded by broken glass and empty beer cans. The loud city of Gotham seemed to finally be silence, it seemed distant. It was the only thing keeping you from fully drifting away, the faint sound of cars, the only time you thanked this godforsaken city for being loud.
Guilt hadn't reached your mind yet, you only wanted to drink. Focusing on how the burn in your throat made you feel, oh how it made you feel so alive. Each breath felt sharp against your throat, it made you want more. The alcohol coursed through your veins, providing an escape, providing a warmth no person ever gave to you.
Leaning more into the cold porcelain you stared at the shattered glass by your feet. You could feel its sharp edges against your feet, it was a constant reminder of your mistakes.
Unfixable, the glass and your life. But right now that didn't matter, only the bottle existed, the burn and the urge to finish it. You managed the strength to pull your arm up, tilting your head back to feel it. The taste you missed so much, a taste you wanted to forget had no idea why you would neglect. What a day to celebrate your twenty second birthday! Relapsing after two years wasn't your plan today but it sure was better than anything else that happened today.
The night, displayed by your bathroom window, taunted you. It made your mind float through an intoxicated haze. Pieces of the day coming back to you, as well as the -now broken- promises you made. A sigh left your lungs and it was evident that she had drank, so much. All of this, just because of one question. A question that shouldn't have broken your heart as much as it did, really it was pathetic.
"Why aren't you drinking tonight?"
The sound of your 'brothers' voice was distant, and so was the guilt that was soon to consume you. But as the line between fiction and reality blurred more with another sip, there was not a worry in your head. The guilt will come later, but here it was no where to be seen. The only thing you could grasp was the bottle you used to keep on the highest shelf.
A shelf that was now empty, thanks to your so-called family's echoes. Echoes that were forever etched into your brain. Not only had they forgotten about your birthday, forcing you into a social event that you already dreaded, but they had also forgotten about your sobriety. Was not drinking on your twenty-first not an obvious sign? The question had filled you with anger at first. Your fists were clenched to your side when Dick had asked that. Hopefully you would forget this day ever happended.
"Why aren't you drinking tonight?" Dick said with slurred speech, making your family turn their heads to you. At first you took it as a joke, that he was trying to make you less tense. When your chuckle left all of them confused that's why you could feel your heart shattered. It felt like time had stopped, like god was playing a joke on you. You just stared at them, not giving him an answer.
"You're kidding." There was no point in hiding the sadness in your voice, there was no way anyone was going to care anyway. After a strangled 'yes' left his lips you decided there was no point in talking them. You took one last glance back at your dad Bruce, he looked like he was going to offer you a drink, that was the last straw, so you decided there was no point in staying.
Sadly, you did. Just enough to take a sip of champagne, just enough to set you back. God did you wish Damian was with you, he would've remembered.
Remember. That's the only thing you wanted to do. Today was supposed to be simple, go with Damian to a petting zoo, visit you favourite café with a few friends and be done with your day.
Damian...would he have stopped you from doing this? He was too young to attend whatever you were at this morning and sadly he wanted to meet up with his friend. You weren't going to stop him, he was the only one that listened to you and vise versa.
It made you chuckle, every time you told him about how much you used to drink, and every time he would give a small lecture on how much it impacts your liver and brain. Being a doctor would really suit him.
Just as you close your eyes you see a small light peeking outside the door. Light footsteps followed soon after, and suddenly everything is crashing down. You shake your head, hoping, praying that it isn't Damian. You'd rather it be a murderer coming to finally end you then your little brother. No, he had so much faith in you, please. Sadly, if you speak of the devil, he appears.
The light spilling in from the living room stung your eyes, luckily they were already tearing up.
"Sorry I didn't knock, but can you pick up the phone-"
You saw it, the way his eyes widen an he drops your phone. The way the his green eyes suddenly become more reflective, is hands twitched and he took a step back. Your baby brother, staring at you with such a distaste and confusion and...there was nothing you can do. There was no way you could've gotten up to hug hum, even reassuring him seemed impossible in your state. Glass etched into your foot, a pool of blood by feet as your eyes fluttered.
"Wha...y-you promised!" His voice wobbled with an anger that you understood all too well. The way his eyes switched between shock and sadness and the way he seemed to be frozen on the spot. It was like looking into a mirror ten years ago. He stared at you the same way you stared at your mother, it was driving you crazy with guilt.
"Dami..." you croaked out, feeling nothing but selfish.
"No. Keep your eyes open I-I'll call an ambulance. I...I" watching him stutter didn't do anything good for your heart, you just wanted to hold him and tell him that this was just some sick prank.
"I'm sorry...just don't tell Dad." The way you uttered those words seemed to catch him off goard.
"This...feels like a matter that should be reported to hi-"
"Dami. Just don't...please." To be honest, you were baffled he was even understanding you. It didn't even feel like english you were speaking. "I love you, buddy..."
If those were your last words, you were glad. Soon the coldness of the porcelain was no longer there, and there was only a faint ringing you could here. Maybe you were dying? It was a lot less scary then what you thought it would be, it was just...numb. No taste of alcohol, no warmth, no burn. Only numbness.
A/N: This was cross-posted on AO3, and is just the backstory. Promise there will definitely be more writing soon, i've been really busy and my life is just filled with endless tasks. This was also written a while back so it..kinda sucks!!
TW: Suicide, Child abuse, Child endangerment, SH, SA, Murder, Graphic violence.
Alone.
You were always alone.
In the rowdy clubs, your mother dragged you into, alone.
The school halls, alone.
The run-down food courts, alone
It was peaceful though, as peaceful as Gotham gets really. You and your mother against the world, or so you told yourself. Deep down, you were aware of her late-night partners and the way she indulged in moments that blurred your reality. It was just drugs—everyone did them... It never crossed your mind just how foolish she was being.
Perhaps it was her drooping eyes that gave her an air of tranquillity, or how she cuddled you when the alcohol clouded her judgment. Maybe it was simply that she didn’t hit as hard when the redness overtook her gaze.
She wasn’t a good mother; you understood that from the moment you could understand language.
No mother should ever let their child know they’re a constant reminder of deep-seated failure, yet she did. But she was all you had, and so you clung to her hand—the same hand that marked your skin with black and blue bruises—hoping, just hoping, she might hold you back, if only once.
You don’t ever remember her holding you.
But it didn’t bother you, not really. Touch was never something you craved anyway. Still, it would have been nice, just once, to feel her warmth against you for one last time before she slipped away into a pit that she dug within her mind.
How could you have known? It was just like any other Friday afternoon.
The winter mist hit your tired eyes, making them sting just like your bruised lip.
It was another fight, the same two idiots that always got on your nerves. Today they decided to pick on some small street kid, you had seen his curly head of hair before. He lived on the floor above or used to, it had been a while since you heard a complaint from his mother. It was normal for the kid to get in trouble, and of course, you had to throw yourself into his trouble.
Jason, was that his name? He was maybe a few years younger than you, you can never tell with the small ones, but recently he seemed healthier. It was almost as if he had been eating well, but he still had that look in his eyes.
Desperation, to prove himself.
You couldn’t help it, the kids on your street always pulled on your heartstrings. So you helped him out and got injured in the process. Just a small busted lip, nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. Plus you had other things to worry about, like peeling mom's ‘work’ clothes off and making sure she’s clean.
Mom, probably, didn’t cook and most likely didn’t eat so that’s another thing you have to take care of. Was there even anything in the fridge?
You can’t remember, you’ve been living off your friend's school lunches since Mom deserved fresh homemade food.
Lately, her boss had been giving her longer hours, some nights she would come back covered in hickey-like bruises that made scrubbing her wince in pain when she lay down. You didn’t like her boss, whenever she complained about him it sent a shiver crawling down your back, all you can remember about him is his calloused hands. You hated his hands, they were rough and seemed to have a mind of their own.
You shook your head, pushing the thought of Kyle away, getting home mattered. With a turn of the corner, you were met with home.
Once vibrant red bricks now a withered brown, poking from the badly painted grey that matched the concrete entrance.
It was bleak, it had dead trees tethered around it, somehow still standing.
The old stairwell creaked with every step you took, usually, you would rush upstairs but today your legs felt like they were going to crumble apart. The thought of turning away gnawed at your brain the closer you got to your door. The familiar croaking of the wood underneath your feet now felt threatening, you rubbed your index finger against your thumb, and your hands now felt clammy.
In your pockets lay your keys, yet you felt like there was no need to pull them out. In front of you stood the tall red door to home, was it always towering over you? It was almost suffocating. The worst part of it all is that it’s quiet, why is it quiet? The usual lively hum of the building seemed to be non-existent. It wasn’t always a happy hum but there was always a hum-where is the hum? The silence was deafening, it was like the world had been put on pause. You pressed your ear against the door, hoping to try and hear the clinking of bottles or the sound of an obnoxious static-like laughter instead you almost tripped over yourself.
The door was unlocked.
It feels like all the air in your lungs has suddenly been pried out, the sound of the creaking door sends a jolt of fear up your body. The familiarity of the apartment was now shattered, replaced with chilling wariness. The chaos was gone, every surface seemed to be wiped spotless and the clutter was just…gone! The once broken glass was replaced with a sterile orderliness that made your heart drop. You had only seen the apartment be clean a few times and it was usually met with the sight of a dear mother and a few syringes around her.
In the corner of your eyes, you saw the bathroom light flicker, everything in your mind was telling you to run, just go get the neighbours, it was the safe thing to do. But your heart, your heart needed to see her, your heart needed to see her just cleaning the bathroom.
That’s all she had to be doing, it was Christmas soon, so surely she wouldn’t.
She couldn’t.
“Mom? Mom…” Your pathetic voice called out, your legs moving faster than your mind. As you reached the door you felt your jaw drop. The white lights bounced of the wall tiles and landed on your Mothers face. She lay in the bathtub, her breathing laboured and her eyes low. The flickering light distorted her shadows, along with the shades of the empty bottles and forgotten syringes. Your eyes widened with fear as the stench of it all hit your nose like a drunken Saturday punch, you felt your hands shake and your knees buckle. “Mommy?” You called out, a sob bordering your lips as you dropped your jacket and climbed into the bath next to her. No matter how much you shook her cold body, there was no response.
“No. No! You can’t do this to me again…please,” the tears pooled in your eyes, but you wouldn’t dare to cry. Not until she responded.
“I love you my little Luna…tic.”
It was weak, and her voice was hoarse. It was already so far gone, there was no emotion behind her eyes but she managed to bring her hand to your face. She rubbed her thumb against your cheek, rubbing a stray tear that escaped your eyes, there was no car in the gesture. You felt her blood smudge on your face as her wrist went heavy and her arm fell to her side.
It was only until you felt the heaviness of a blanket being placed over your shoulders that you finally snapped out of whatever you were doing. The day was a blur, you didn't even know why the cops had been called.
The silence around you was loud, it was overwhelming. No one in the station spoke, they acted like a sigh would break you. Your nails dug into your palm, what a load of shit, no one even seemed to care. Expect one man, he had a thick bushy moustache and he was the only one looking at you-no he was staring at you. It felt like a spider was crawling down your back with the way you shivered. His eyes were tired, probably like yours at the moment, but he couldn’t stop staring.
His face remained neutral as he spoke but inside a bubble of confusion sat inside him. Commissioner Gordon had seen those eyes before, he had seen those shaken hands and he had seen the anger. There were loads of kids like her who had the same pitiful look in their eyes, but he had seen her eyes before. He had seen them on a boy years and years ago. He felt his mind blank for a second, he couldn’t help but stare.
Not only did this add to his increasing headache, but it also made the girl's case worse. The funny thing is, the mother's body had clear signs of struggle, there were clear fresh, red hand marks on the woman's neck. But the worst part? The kid knew.
You knew. It was obvious that someone else was with her, sure Mom was a ditz, but she knew not to leave the door unlocked. There was no point in sitting here crying over her, there was no point in crying. You shut your eyes, feeling the panic slowly set into your mind.
So...what if Bruce Wayne had a sister? I remember doing something like this on my old account, but I love the idea so much. And if she was older than him, even if it was by a few years, she would've definitely parentified herself.
Wanting to shadow her precious baby brother from Gotham's cruelness, we all know how that worked out. Whether she was adopted or not, it works either way.
TW: Dark themes.
Bruce Wayne's sister.
You hated being known as only his sister, even though you were there first. The only time they used your name in headlines was to mock you or to exaggerate a mistake you made.
That was before the tragedy; after...well, it still didn't paint you in a pretty light.
After losing your parents, Bruce became more hostile, and you became more docile. When he would close his fists in rage, you would open your arms with tenderness. When he opened his mouth with sorrow, you opened yours with comfort.
His grief manifested into hostility; the sweet baby boy you once knew was gone. It was replaced with someone who wanted to hurt and cause pain. It was replaced with someone you wanted to, no had to, protect. Who cared about your tears? Alfred had lost his dearest friends, and Bruce had lost his Mom and Dad.
You grew up too fast; it made you a perfect target for the cameras. Constantly avoiding the flashes until you couldn't. Until they trapped you, until they caught you. But hey, at least it wasn't Bruce. Right? I mean...sometimes the attention wasn't that bad. was.
Sure, the praise was mainly unwanted, but it was innocent. A little girl who shines just like her parents did despite the loss.
Sadly, soon, the praise would morph into something darker, seeping into your head and clawing at it constantly. It clawed at your body as well, leaving a trail of disgust burnt onto her body. At least it was her and not Bruce; he could never know.
He could never know about any of it. Not about how you would sometimes sneak into your parents' room; you hated that there was no longer warmth in it. He couldn't know how you would steal Mom's perfume and Dad's cologne, spraying it on the silk pillows and just lay on their bed. Silently sobbing to yourself as you cursed herself for not remembering their voices properly.
You hated yourself, and you hated how Bruce would wake you up in the middle of the night just to sleep in your bed.
But not really; you couldn't hate your baby brother. Sure, he was turning ten soon, but he still clung on to you like he was still four. You didn't blame him for their deaths; how could you? How could you not?
It was Gotham's cruelness, the same cruelness that kept you up at nights. The visions and night terrors were too much, but it was probably worse for Bruce.
Bruce Wayne's sister, the same one that didn't shed a single tear at her parents funeral.
Bruce Wayne's sister, the only girl that doesn't cry when visiting her parents grave.
You held it in, held it all in. The only steady person in a sea of grief and anger. It was the best thing you could do, you thought. Until you felt trembling hands tug at your dress. A shaky voice calling you, accusing you of being heartless.
He was just a baby. You weren't heartless; you just couldn't allow it to be broken again.
Even if it did get broken, constantly at school. Bruce Wayne's sister, so timid compared to her brother. You couldn't fight back; you knew you couldn't. Even if all you wanted to do was push them against the road concrete and watch their noses go flat against it. It'll go away; you hoped it would go away.
But it didn't. It was hell, it was hell until you embraced it.
I will add more, just had to get this out there
I had a few more things I wanted to add, should I do a part 2
Sure.
NO PLEASE NO!!
You suggest a scenario with this concept (please :D)
A/N: Part three was posted back in January. Where did all the time go? Sorry, pookies!! Part four is here, and updates will be a bit more regular (hopefully)! Remember, my inbox is open. Share your opinions and requests!! I hope you guys enjoy this one. The calm before the storm. Also I'm not sure how hospitals work in america, I'm british so like...
PART 1 -> PART 2 -> PART 3 -> PART 3.5
TW: Substance abuse, abuse, alcoholism, relapse, self-harm, neglect etc
𐙚"Nothing about the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming 'til now"
-Harry Styles𐙚
You didn't stay long at the hospital; you never liked them. The same sterile cleanliness that brought others comfort-caused you to feel uneasy. It was almost like the shine of every surface was judging you.
Damian, ever the protective brother, had been visiting the maximum number of hours. One time, the nurses almost had to drag him out. The thought almost makes you smile; he does care. You wonder what excuse he's telling Bruce, but only for a second. You didn't like thinking about your father that much
Sitting at the edge of the bed, you watched him hold onto your bag. You wanted to give him a smile, just to reassure him, but you couldn't.
You had already lied enough, and he had made it clear how much he hated your lies. Just as you were about to get up, your phone vibrated in your hands. It was the first time someone called you first; it caused your jaw to clench.
Your palms now feel sweaty. Why was Alfred calling? You should answer. You should answer. He had been the only one that was sending you constant messages, of course you should pick up.
With a shaky breath, you answer the call. In your best 'I'm doing amazing as always' voice, you said hello. Even if you could feel a lump start to form in your throat, it was believable.
"Ah, hello, Miss. I know it's rather early, but it's been a while since I've heard your voice."
His words were so soft, and now you want to cry again. Because you didn't deserve to be spoken to like this; you didn't deserve the gentleness. The lump in your throat was starting to sting as you tried to form an answer.
"Yeah...sorry about the sudden leave-"
"It's alright, Miss. I'm sure you had your reasons."
The way he cut you off, something seemed wrong. There was a long silence followed after, your eyes were starting to sting now. Looking at Damian, who was already glaring at you, you just waited for Alfred to say something, but he didn't.
He waited for your voice, waited for your words. It didn't make sense to you, did he know? No. He couldn't. You trusted Damian.
"I...did. I just had to take some time to clear my head." Your words quieter than what you wanted.
"I thought so, but may ask where?"
"...excuse me?"
You didn't mean to sound as nervous as you did, but what did he mean by that? Maybe you were just being paranoid, and maybe you shouldn't have answered his call, but it felt so weird. Usually he would believe everything you said.
"I went over to your apartment to drop off some food, but you weren't there. It seemed empty, and cold."
"Ah."
You couldn't say more; there was a pit forming in your stomach. It was foolish, but you ended the call abruptly. Your phone landed on the springy mattress while your hands held your face.
It was only for a moment; your hands ran through your hair as you got up and offered Damian a smile. You hoped that it looked real, and you hoped all of your energy looked real.
"Thanks for the help, bud." You say, picking up your phone again, the mere action making your palms sweaty. It vibrated again, a notification. You swallowed thickly, pushing everything down.
You breathed a sigh of relief as you saw that it was only Roy. God, did you need him right now
Roy: Hey Im here now :)
Roy: meeting me in the car park?
Damian watched as your whole demeanour changed just because of two messages. Your shoulders aren't as tense, and your face softens. How could you just do that? Why weren't you angry?
He sure as hell was. He gripped your bag tighter, looking down at his feet nervously. Of course, he hadn't told anyone yet- how would he? But it's been hard keeping it in. Especially since no one seems to care.
"Her apartment's empty? So what? It wouldn't be the first time."
You breathed in the not so fresh air, it was still better than that room. You felt like you were going to go crazy if your were surrounded by those white walls any longer.
You walked around the car park, looking for that familiar number plate. It had been a while since you'd seen Roy, your recent conversations have purely been behind a screen.
"Who is picking us up?" Damian asked, trying to look at your phone.
"Oh it's just Roy."
"...Harper?" He repeated with something a bit too close to disdain.
"Yeah, Roy. Why do you sound like that? Why do you look like that?"
You asked, referring to the face Damian now put on. It almost made you laugh. Your family had mixed opinions on Roy.
You, for one, adored him. He was a lot different from the loud, opinionated party boy you knew; he changed. He changed just the right amount to raise a beautiful little kid. Plus he was probably the only one that cared about your sobriety.
You tap your foot against the cold concrete, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet space. Your eyes flicker from your phone to Damian, whose expression is unreadable. The air feels almost suffocating again, thin, as if it’s pressing against your chest. You glance back at your phone, pretending to check for messages, but all you can think about is the way his eyes won't meet yours.
The cold wind stings your face, each gust reminding you of the chill that has settled between you two. It wasn't fair, you hated that you just expected him to be normal after all of this. But obviously he wouldn't be, what did you expect? The moment stretches, the silence so thick it’s uncomfortable—like you’re both waiting for something to break but neither of you knows what to say. Thank fully you eyes meet a different green pair, they're softer.
They've got an odd look of sadness in them, you're just happy He's here.
Roy, he's finally in Gotham. It feels like forever, and sadly he's here because you fucked up. Royally fucked up.
He DEFINITELY picks up a phyco one as well. He doesn't adopt...yet. I have a few drafts like these that may or may not see the light of day.
And if they also came from a broken home OR if they're parents are still alive but just hella toxic, he let's the kid crash at random safe houses until he clears up that spare room in his apartment. Though he'll never ask the kid if they want crash at his place, they have to ask first.
But the thing is, this 13-17 year old shouldn't be associated with the crime lord Red Hood. So what does he do? Makes them associated with the crime lord Red Hood, under an alias. Now he has his own version of Robin, except a bit more rough and blood thirsty.
Now how is he explaining this to Bruce? Oh, he isn't. Sure Bruce is curious about this potential threat but, there's more he should be focusing on. But now his second eldest is being more...friendly? No, that's the word. Jason is just being weird, weirder than normal.
It would be even better if Jason drops everything the minute his kids tough, I can take care of myself act finally cracks. He's just by their side at an instant. Hell he'll drop everything if they just asked.
Hes attending a gala, that would give him trouble if he skipped, but he gets a message from his kid saying 'help'? He drops a bottle of expensive champagne and if put through the nearest exit, even if that means through a window.
He picks up a phyco, damaged street kid and he keeps them.
A/N: Hi!! I should probably work on my WIPS, finish my ongoing series, or go through asks, but...wait!! I had this really cool concept and I had to write it down!! This is only an intro !!Tell me if you wanna see more of this shitty writing of mine :) P.S Reader (you) have Oneironauts
TW: Bullying, bad parenting, school, suggested suicide, suicidal thoughts etc
In a city where danger creeps at every second of the day, only getting louder as the sky gets darker, you found your escape. It was bloody fists, it wasn’t on the bustling streets or behind a locked door. It sure as hell wasn’t in the false comforts of your home, where words hit harder than any punch and the silences stretched on longer than looming shadows.
Your escape was somewhere no one could reach; it was a drift away from reality. Nothing felt better than closing your eyes and putting your head down, drowning out the noise of life. And when you did, it felt otherworldly.
This…power seemed to have been with you forever. Well, that was a lie. You’ve always been aware of your dreams, but others? No, that was different. Started because of something dumb and stupid, really. Something dumb and stupid that put you in a coma.
But you were past that- you barely even remembered it! Or maybe you just didn’t want to. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t important, to tell yourself it was in the past. After all, what was the point in dwelling on something that no one could change? You were here now, alive. And more importantly, you were past that. Mostly. The medical bills were covered by the Wayne Health Foundation because it was the cause of some villainous attack- was it?- so it’s not like you had your parents drowning in debt!
No. But god, did they remind you how little they cared- and would’ve cared- every day. They weren’t exactly the nurturing types, both two sides of one bad coin. They weren’t abusive; they’ve never hit you. Their venom was usually quieter, poisoning you with every dismissive shrug and drunken eye roll. It wasn’t like they purposely starved you, no. Instead, it was the way they argued over whose responsibility dinner was as they didn’t notice the fact that you hadn’t eaten since the day before.
Cutting silence would swallow your house just after glasses were shattered, cuts and bruises were formed, and voices were strained. And the weight of it, the weight of it all, sat on your shoulders, heavy and suffocating. So when you realised that sleep wasn’t just rest and that it was a break- why would you ever stay awake? Closing your eyes meant entering freeing spaces, stepping away from the constant headache you called home.
When you were away in your head, or other people's heads, it was a space where nothing, no one, could touch you. Dreams didn’t ignore you. Dreams didn’t hurt you. Dreams didn’t judge you.
So when night fell, you took little trips into other people's heads. Seeing what their sick little heads come up with, but no one fills you with more wonder than his dreams. Oh, how you wished he’d sleep more often or slept more at night. He did sleep a lot. Just not at night.
Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. God, did he have the most elaborate dreams; even when sleeping, he was meticulous. His mind was so vivid and raw that you craved more of it. He was one of the first minds you visited, and he was your favourite. So much so that you actually talked to him when he was dreaming, one of three people you interacted with in your weird, alien-like state. It doesn’t really effect you in day-to-day life…until it does.
