I’ve always wanted to see a neglected bat sibling who’s fully grown up. Like they’ve already graduated university/college, married, on their first child, the whole shebang. The potential of the Batfam finally remembering Batsib but them no longer needing them anymore. Imagine finding out that your child/sibling is married and on their first child and they weren’t even there to even see it. God, could you imagine Bruce reacting to the fact that he’s now a grandfather and that the batsiblings are uncles to batsib’s child that they didn’t know existed.
All Grown Up
Platonic Batfam x GN Reader
…
You hum a peaceful tune as you wait in the hideously long line at the store. It’s honestly your own fault for going shopping on the second day of the new year.
Your baby coos and looks around with his adorably large eyes. You bounce him on your hip and kiss the small spot between his eyes.
You catch the narrowed eyes of a judgmental woman behind you. You clear your throat, “can I help you?”
The woman looks down her nose at you, “I couldn’t help but notice you have no ring and a new baby.”
You scoff at the woman and grumble a small “mind your business.” The woman takes two steps back but continues to silently judge.
You had noticed the harsh looks people would shoot your way since you stopped wearing your ring.
Your husband had divorced you shortly after having his child. He complained that the baby was taking up all of your time and he “deserved better.”
That rat bastard doesn’t even pay any child support…
Your sour musings are interrupted by a gasp and someone calling your name.
You turn your head and see the one and only Bruce Wayne.
“Hi,” you say plainly.
He stands there wide-eyed, mouth agape. There’s a wealthy looking woman hanging off of his arm with several large bags from luxury brands.
Bruce wordlessly looks between you and the chubby, little baby hanging off your hip.
“I-we would love it if you could come over to the manor for dinner. To celebrate the new year and catch up. There’s so much I want to ask you,” Bruce pleads.
You pretend to contemplate before his offer for a moment. You step out of line and slowly start to walk away, “I appreciate the offer but we already have plans tonight. Thanks anyways!”
Bruce looks so sad as you walk away from him. You place the tiny coat you intended to get for your baby back on the rack.
You can feel Bruce’s eyes watching you as you leave the store but you don’t spare a backwards glance.
The walk to the car is short and you buckle up your precious child in the car seat. You let out a long sigh as you settle into the driver’s seat.
“We’ll just…order you a coat online.”
…
Bruce feels sick. Prancing around the mall with his new girlfriend as he thinks back to your childhood.
He was so distant with you, always out on patrol or doing some publicity stunt. He let the bat consume him and the rest of his family.
He thinks back to all the times where he should have checked on you - the only non-hero in the family.
He can fix this - no - he will fix this. First, he needs to go home and tell the rest of the family what he saw today.
Photograph (Platonic Batman x reader) (second half inched on the yan territory)
Notes: I made a joke that I wasn’t held enough as a child. Well, jokes on me because it was apparently not a joke. I'm still shit at making endings, help Merry Christmas folks <3
Masterlist
dividers by: @strangergraphics
“Isn’t this for newborns?”
Bruce sat shirtless on the room’s armchair. The room didn’t exist until this week, back then it was just another one of the big guest rooms inside the mansion. From formal, vintage patterned, dark green wallpapers it changed into a soft pudding yellow (Jason’s suggestion) and the corners are filled with soft plushies. He looked down on his shirtless self again as Alfred stood by the crib to prepare the four month old infant. Years of fighting rogues but it was the thought of holding a baby that made him nervous.
He takes a silent pride on his body, from his back muscles to his strong arms, from bruises and scars, he wears them like an intangible medal. He thought that the media would question how a businessman like him would have such build but he was easy to conceal it with his ditzy public persona. Ladies did love it but then again holding a lady and holding a baby are two different things.
“You might have missed their newborn days but bonding as father-baby is not too late”, Alfred explained. “Ah, skittish like your father when it was his first time holding you”
Bruce’s hands protectively closed around the sleeping babe. He reclines as Alfred helps lay the baby on his chest, one hand on the head and neck and the other under their bottom. Skin to skin and warm. Warm. He didn’t know an infant could produce such warmth. Is this how his father felt the first time he held him? The feeling of happiness like a small glowing bubble melting in his soul, a warm innocent light in the gloom.
He tensed again when he felt his little baby moved, their tiny arms stretching with all their might. “Alfred I think they are —” Before he could finish his words, he found himself staring at a pair of (eye color) eyes with their little lips curled in a curious ‘o’. They can barely lift their head for a long time but keep doing so to keep the little staring contest going. “What are you doing? Are you memorizing me?” He cringed a little especially knowing that he just butchered the movie quote. The little cringing turned to a small panic when the baby’s little trembled. He braced himself for a wail but instead he was greeted by a gummy smile and a giggle.
A giggle! Sure he missed the days of them being a newborn but they were here to witness the giggle milestone. “You think dad is stupid for quoting it wrong?” As if understanding his words, their giggles turned louder. “Master Bruce, language please.” The master of the house didn’t hear the older man nor the sound of the camera going off, capturing the moment. A picture, one of the many to cherish in the later years.
✮⋆˙(alternate ending here because I can’t make up my mind) ✮⋆˙
Bruce found himself in the room that he hasn’t been in for years. Each step that he took was heavy as his heart, echoing regrets and apologies that needed to be said not just in words but also in actions.
The room was empty with the exception of the barebone furnitures and thin sheet of dust. The only sign that someone once lived in the now lifeless room was a picture frame that was left behind and placed facing down. It was left behind as if mirroring how they had abandoned you. “Where has time gone?” he asked, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. He is envious of his younger self in the picture. He wished he could turn back time, hold you close and hold you tight, and reclaim the promises he had forgotten to do. Forgotten like the pictures and the memories and the wallpapers in the room. All yellowed on the edges and faded.
The small sound from his phone snapped him from his trance, he had to compose himself before picking it up.
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕 || 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 can you really start over and have a "normal" life here at the Wayne manor with everyone else?
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It's been weeks since Bruce started nagging him about the current case he's working on.
As if Tim and the titans are not also busy with stuff in star city.
The only reason he had agreed to meet up with Bruce is because he wanted to see if the case he's working on might be connected to the one he's investigating.
Recently, a series of disappearances—possibly kidnapping—had been taking place in star city and, now Gotham.
At first he assumed that it was human trafficking or something of the sort, however the description of victims felt too specific, if it really was, anyone from any age would do.
Most of the victims' traits align.
The culprit seems to target children around the age of 13 to 18, or above, specifically stray children.
A smart move, they have no families or friends to look after them, meaning that their disappearance can go unnoticed for god knows how long.
Every now and then, a certain and unchanged number of kids and teens disappear without any trace.
It was not just a random series of kidnapping, it was thoroughly thought through, carefully planned and calculated so as to not draw attention and raise any suspicion.
He recognizes a pattern.
When a bunch of children mysteriously disappear in one night, there's definitely someone pulling strings in the background.
He already has a few people in mind.
Penguin was on the top of his list, a lot of his smuggling operations flew under the radar for months. Barely leaving any traces that could lead to who the culprit might be.
That also sounds like something black mask would do as well. Right next to penguin, this man has the dirtiest history when it comes to running rings and mugging.
Human trafficking sounds like something right up his alley.
And then there's Harvey dent, but knowing him, he wouldn't stoop this low and involve children in his less savory business.
…Which leaves him with Slade Wilson, but that's a very low possibility.
He doubts that the man is even alive, and even if he is, with injuries like this, Tim doesn't think he will ever recuperate from any of them.
Besides, even with how calculative he is, most of the time he just plays it by ear. His plans eventually fail and he gets thrown to jail.
Tim sighs again as he looks at the files and documents he's brought with him to show Bruce the process with his case so far.
He was so close to solving that case, but then Bruce had to call and ask for his help.
Yeah, I work alone my foot.
Tim grunts in exasperation as he makes his way towards the front of the manor.
He was doing great at the Titans tower, he was almost close to solving his case, but Bruce just had to cut his train of thoughts by calling him here—was that Talia Al ghul?
An awfully familiar figure passed by him, he wouldn't have noticed because of the dark, but thanks to her audible angry muttering he was able to spot her.
That sounds like bad news.
He had hoped that it was just a petty argument between two exes, but knowing the type of person Talia is, it's not going to end with just a ‘fight’
He was just hoping that she would give them some time to investigate the case before she plots her sweet revenge.
It was quiet when Tim entered the manor, which felt weird, Bruce had told him that dick and Jason would be here as well, and it's usually lively with these two around.
Then again, it's probably because they were in the middle of recovering from an ambush.
Apparently an assassin from the LOA gained a number on them.
Something Bruce informed him as well.
Perhaps he was just overthinking. He has better things to worry about right now.
Tim strode through the manor's hallways, too busy with the papers in his hands to notice the shadow creeping at him from the corners.
And then it happened all at once.
“INTRUDER!” Before realizing what had happened, he was socked in the jaw and pinned to the ground, he felt a knife being pressed against his throat. Whoever attacked him had restrained his wrists with an iron gripe.
“This is private property, who are you and what are you doing here, state your name and business, that's an order.” The voice sounded like it belonged to a young girl, around twelve or so. Which perplexed him even further.
You continued to interrogate him, one question after another without a break, completely oblivious to his racing thoughts.
Tim had went totally still from the pure shock of being overpowered and pinned down in less than a second.
His head was spinning with many questions, himself. “Private property? What the heck are you talking about—” he felt the knife press harder into his neck, but not hard enough to draw blood.
“Answer the question.” You said, voice low and threatening, Tim would be lying if he said he wasn't intimidated, but that would be humiliating to admit.
Tim was about to respond to you, but stopped when he heard the rushing of footsteps coming from the corridor.
You both looked up to see the source of the sound, you both see dick entering the room with a startled look. “(Name), why did you suddenly start running off—oh, Hey tim, I see you both have already met.”
Tim blinks, surprised at his overly casual tone, he felt an upcoming migraine from the lack of his reaction. "Excuse me, what did you just say?”
Tim was literally being held at knifepoint and this is all he has got to say?
And who the hell is (Name)?!
Dick simply pressed his lips into a thin line before turning to you, who was still pinning him down. “It's okay, he’s a friend, you can let him go.”
And with that, you release him. Tim massages his wrist where you had a death grip on a few seconds ago, he turns to Dick. “Can someone explain to me what's happening here? What am I missing?” Tim demanded an answer.
Dick scratched the back of his neck with a troubled look. Wondering how is he supposed to break the news to him. “Remember when Bruce told you about that mission we got ambushed by an assassin?” He pointed at you with his bandaged hand. Looking at him dead in the eye. “This was her, (Name) Al Ghul, Damian's sister. And she will be living in the manor from now on.”
Tim's jaw almost got unattached from his skull. “THERE IS TWO OF THEM NOW!?” Tim nearly asphyxiated on his own spit.
oh sweet mother of Jupiter.
Is it physically possible for someone's head to explode from a headache?
“Please, tell me you're joking.”
Dick had to bite his bottom lip to prevent himself from laughing, the look Tim had on his face right now was priceless.
He knows Tim’s experience with Damian was far from ideal, considering the fact that Damian almost killed him multiple times because he felt that Tim was a threat to his ‘position’ as Batman's future successor. (Thankfully, they're past that point.)
And the fact that you just hammered him to the ground and threatened to slice his jugular a few seconds ago was the icing on the cake.
Dick felt the urge to make a witty retort, but decided against it.
Tim doesn't look like he's in the mood for his smartassery. “I'm sorry you had to find out that way.” He says trying to stifle a chuckle. “How are you coping?” He already knows the answer to that.
“Peachy.” But he looked nothing like it. Expectedly. Never in his wildest dreams thought that he would be in such a situation. And yet here he is.
Now that he thinks about it, he should've assumed something like this would be happening the moment he saw Talia storming of the manor with a scary frown on her face.
It's no wonder she was in a bad mood. She practically lost custody of her child.
How many times had he been on the receiving end of every failed relationship Bruce had now? This wasn't this first time something like this happened and he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.
“Where were you heading anyway?” dick asked, snapping him out of his haze. “I was on my way to show her where she's going to sleep. If you're looking for Bruce, you will find him in the batcave.”
“Anyway, see ya.” dick placed his hand on your back and ushered you toward the hallway. But before he could walk out of the room Tim called him out “I will go with you, Bruce can wait.”
dick stopped in his tracks and turned to Tim with a puzzled look. “Are you sure? I think Bruce needs your appearance as soon as possible, solving the case is urgent after all—”
“No, I insist.” Tim pressed further.
dick is not stupid, he exactly knows why Tim is being persistent about coming along.
Tim wants to keep an eye out for you to make sure you don't do anything to hurt him, he is afraid that you will strangle him or something when he's not looking, which he's sure won't happen, and even if it does, he's perfectly capable of protecting himself, even if injured.
He wanted to tell him that it's okay, and she's not any danger to anyone, but he couldn't say that in front of you. So he just sighed in defeat and shrugged. “Sure why not? The more the merrier.”
All while you merely observed in silence with an impassive expression, you didn't agree nor opposed so he took this as a good sign.
With that all the three of you strode through the hallways of manor together with a renewed tension, mainly coming from Tim, he can't tell if you're aware or just pretending not to acknowledge it.
Dick exhales.
The night is still young.
“Here's where you will be sleeping, Alfred will be here with the food shortly.” dick swings the door open revealing a big room with a large bed and a wide TV screen.
The room was painted plain brown and had a simple yet fancy decor, something suitable for a billionaire. Classic.
It had all that you needed and perhaps more.
A dinner table, some videogames to entertain yourself with, not as luxurious as it was in your old home, but it's sufficient. You nodded to yourself in approval. “Thank you for your assistance, Grayson.”
That earned a snort from him, he found it funny how you sounded way too professional for your age. “Just call me dick, no need for formalities.”
“Alright…dick.” He notes the way you hesitate before saying his first name, he can tell you're still trying to adjust.
Tim, who was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, observed the two of you, he didn't make any motion to enter nor any attempt to join the conversation.
You didn't show it, but his intense gaze was making you uneasy.
But of course dick noticed and turned to face him. “Tim, relax. She doesn't bite, I promise.” dick practically hissed through gritted teeth. The words—lay off, Tim. She's just a child, you're making her uncomfortable—float in the air between them unspoken.
Tim's body went rigid for a second, he didn't mean to be hostile or seem unwelcoming.
But now that he thinks about it, it's almost like he was scowling the entire time.
Great, now he feels like a jerk.
Tim straightened his posture, his weight shifted awkwardly to try and look less intimidating.
Dick gave him a small nod of approval before turning back to you. “If you need anything, call for me or Bruce. Although, I recommend coming for me first. Right now, B is a little engrossed in something at the moment and there's no guarantee what he might do when he's this intense.” He quipped before turning to the door again.
You gave a short nod. “Understood.”
The corners of his lips quirk up at your response. “good, I will go check on Bruce real quick and come back. See ya.” he gave you one last wave before exiting the room, leaving you and an unsure Tim all alone.
Tim remained morbidly still, you note the uneasiness in his stance. He's clearly feeling unrelaxed around you.
At that exact same minute, the butler decided to make an appearance and entered the room carrying a tray in his hands, and god knows you were grateful for the interference.
“Your meal, young miss.” With nimble movement, he carefully set the tray on the nearby table.
On the plate, a full grilled chicken decorated with some vegetables on the side.
You couldn't help but grimace at it.
The servings back at the assassins league were far lighter, professionally made dishes prepared by skilled culinary professionals.
The food wasn't to your liking to say the least.
Not that it looked bad, it was fairly nice, however your taste buds are only used to luxurious foods, and right now your appetite is dead from exhaustion.
You had a very long and eventful trip to get here.
Alfred, who was watching you with subtle attentiveness, with how you were looking at the plate of food like it insulted you, was mentally preparing for you to kick the entire tray and throw a fit.
But instead, you turned to him with a sheepish smile.
"Thank you for the food, sir pennyworth. But if possible, I would like something a bit lighter, like a chicken salad, or soup or..." Your words slowly trailed off as you noticed the look of disbelief on the butler's face.
Did you say something wrong?
You tilt your head awkwardly and instantly backtrack. "Uh... No? It's fine if there isn't any of these, any light meal would do—"
"Oh, no. That's not the matter at all." Alfred quickly tries to smooth things over.
He hadn't realized that he let his surprise show on his face.
how unprofessional of him.
He had expected you to throw the dish to the wall and lash at him, instead you politely requested another dish without needlessly throwing a tantrum like your brother did before, he was taken by surprise.
"Excuse my rudeness miss, I will return with your request at once" without a single glance, he took the tray of food and exited the room.
All while Tim watched you from a far distance, eyebrows knitted and eyes narrowed at you, you do not miss the way his gaze analyzes you, he seems pretty distrustful of you.
You partly understand the reason why, you literally drugged his brothers.
…And that's besides the fact that you attacked him and accused him of being an intruder.
Yeah, not a good start.
You wouldn't be surprised if he hates you.
“...this place is pretty big, even for five people.” You try to initiate a conversation with him, Hoping it will make the situation less awkward for the both of you.
“Huh?” That seemed to snap him out of his daze. Tim simply scratched his head and decided to roll with it. “Oh well, you're not wrong. But dick, Jason and I don't live here. Though, there used to be more than five people living here in the manor.”
“There were other people in here?” You tilt your head at him in curiosity.
and he found that gesture oddly endearing. “Yeah, they have their own lives and apartments, but they're in and out quarter of the time. The only ones who live here are Damian and Duck Thomas—he’s a foster kid that Bruce is currently mentoring. He's on vacation with a few relatives at the minute.”
Realizing that he got carried away and said too much, as if the words got caught in his throat, he coughed and averted his gaze from you to stop the conversation from going. “You will meet them eventually.”
“That's… good to know.” The awkward atmosphere was back in full force.
You hate this, so you tried to come up with something to say to fill the uncomfortable void.
And then it clicked.
This is probably a good opportunity to make amends.
You clear your throat so you now have his attention. “So, about earlier…I'm sorry for attacking you, I really thought you were a thief or something of the sort.” you tried to sound as apologetic as you could.
Tim freezes on the spot, firstly, he was offended that called him a thief, secondly, did you just…apologize? He had expected you to be just as arrogant and righteous as your brother is.
But the way you were acting was far from that. You looked rather… tame.
But looks can be deceiving, maybe this was all just a front.
Who knows what malicious intent you have, after all no one plans a murder out loud. “I—”
“Tim” Before Tim could respond, dick who had just entered the room without him noticing, called out his name, interrupting him mid sentence. “Bruce is calling for you. He wants you in the batcave immediately.”
Tim exhales through his nose before his eyes met dick's. “I will be there in a minute.” He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder before exiting the room, leaving you alone with dick.
You didn't know exactly what to make of it.
Dick headed to where you were sitting and took a place on the bed next to you. “How are you doing so far?” He asks in a friendly, easygoing manner that made you let out a sigh of exhaustion.
You were already growing tired of the amount of tension between you and your father's wards.
But at least you were grateful to have someone understanding like dick.
“Good, but your ‘brother’ doesn't seem very fond of me.” You confessed. Hoping that the disappointment doesn't show in your voice.
You weren't expecting any of the to immediately befriend you, still they didn't have be so judgemental.
Dick immediately shook his head. “Hey, that's not it at all. He's being… cautious.” you don't miss the way dick hesitated before finishing the sentence.
The doubtful look he had says that it's more than that, however you chose not to address it. Silence stretched out between the two of you.
Having no idea how to fill it, you turn and head toward the bed that was placed in the middle of the room, the mattress springs creak as you sit down.
“Also… Sorry for causing a scene back there...You probably think I'm just a spoiled brat" in hindsight, you can't tell if what you did was stupidly courageous or just stupid, but either ways, It was unbecoming the way you talked back to your mother, you're certain that she's seething right now, but you were so blinded by anger it completely clouded your judgement.
You feel bad for hurting her feelings, you were not oblivious to the hurt in her voice, but what she did was not something that could easily be pushed off like it's nothing.
You just wish things turned out better than this.
"No, quite the opposite actually, I'm glad you stood up for yourself back there"
"Huh?"
He gives a sheepish smile and shrugs. "I'm not exactly a huge fan of Talia."
"Between you and me... I sort of dislike her, no, screw that, I actually hate her, we both never got along. I'm sure if it wasn't for Bruce always being present we would've killed each other”
"Oh..." It was reassuring to know someone here doesn't loathe you. The lighthearted joke makes you laugh a little
"Haha, I never meant that. I care about my mother, I really do, it's just..." You paused momentarily, your laugh died down and your gaze fell, getting lost in thoughts for a few seconds, ultimately you replied to him.
"...Sometimes, I feel like she doesn't care about me, and sees me as a soldier more than a daughter." Dick's face turns into a sympathetic frown, he had always known how extreme and uptight the Al ghuls can be.
And as much as he despises Talia, he can't say that she never loved her children.
He's not sure about you, but he saw it in the way she dots on Damian every chance she gets. He doesn't know if she treats you differently or is it just your insecurity that influenced the way you view your mother.
“Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore.” dick rested his hand on your shoulder, the little gesture brought some comfort to you. “This is your new home.”
New home.
Which means a new life.
That's what you always have wanted. To turn over a new page and live the way YOU want.
“Maybe, this won't be so bad.” You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, allowing him to be physically affectionate with you.
It felt nice.
Perhaps, leaving the league was the right choice, you thought to yourself.
Bruce sat in front of the batcomputer in the dimly lit batcave waiting for Tim's arrival with the reports.
He didn't want to ask for his help, or anyone's in general.
But this case was way out of his depth.
A series of events happened in the span of a week, Bruce is sure they're all tied, but none of the investigations he had done lead him to a conclusion, he just keeps going in circles.
So in order to speed up the process he called for backups.
He's pretty sure he had gathered a good chunk of Intel, now he's waiting for Tim to fill him in on everything.
“I'm here.” The door to the batcave cracked open revealing Tim carrying some files related to the investigations. “You're late.” Bruce's voice was stern, obviously displeased with Tim's awful timing.
“I ran into some ‘trouble’ on the way, and by trouble, I mean your new daughter.”
“I see, you have met?”
“Yeah, not a good first impression though.” he deadpans. Generally speaking, almost every Al ghul he met left him with a terrible first impression.
Although, his impression of you wasn't entirely negative, you did acknowledge your mistake and apologize for it instead acting obnoxious about it like most of them usually do. “What in god happened while I'm away?” It's not the fact that Bruce took another child in, that's just typical Bruce, just another Tuesday for him. It's the fact that Damian has a twin sister that he didn't know of up until now.
So much drama happening his head might pop. Though, it might be the caffeine he consumed to help him pull an all nighter.
Who knows, insomnia is merciless.
Bruce huffed “According to Damian and the DNA tests I ran, she is my daughter.”
Tim lets his head hang back as he groans. “Seriously, Bruce. I disappear for the weekend in the Titans tower and you already have another child? You're quite fast.” He lets out a humorless laugh.
“Are you really in the mood to joke now?” Bruce shot back at Tim.
“I can't help it. The irony of the situation is hilarious.”
Bruce hums thoughtfully. “You're feeling wary aren't you?”
“Well, your daughter literally held me at knifepoint. Am I to blame?” his words were sharper than he intended.
Bruce left an eyebrow at him. “she did?”
There was a hint of amusement in his voice that Tim didn't miss. But didn't comment on. “well, at least she knows how to apologize”
“Unlike the demon brat.” he grimaces remembering Damian and their past encounters.
Bruce nods “that's good to know.” he says sounding a little relieved, at least you were tame to a degree. Too much going on at the moment he doesn't really have the time for disciplining. “At least we know living with her might not be as difficult as it was with Damian.”
RECORD SCRATCH.
Tim's thoughts came to a halt when he heard that. Dick did say that she will be living with us from now on, and he's not exactly living in the manor anymore, he has his own apartment. But the thought of dealing with another version of Damian has him on edge.
“Wait. You're really going to keep her? You have got to be kidding me! Her brother almost drowned once." He's not ready for another near death experience, Damian and the rest of his family already gave him plenty.
“I know the situation stinks, but I'm not about to send her back Talia, especially after that argument. Who knows what she is going to do to the poor girl if I do.” And Bruce really doesn't want to think about it. Damian's life back at the league of assassins had messed him up in an unexplainable way, and if he can, he would do anything in his power so you don't turn out the same way.
Tim groans, obviously displeased with Bruce's decision but doesn't say anything against it. He knows that Talia and the Al ghuls in general have something fundamentally wrong with them and he had first handedly experienced how deranged they can be.
A tale as old as time.
His head replayed the conversation you both had a few minutes ago.
His emotions and thoughts were running amok, aside from your first encounter, you're not really half bad, it was merely a knee jerk reaction to sensing danger.
As much as he would like to send you back to where you came from, he can't, Batman considers you family now, which means he doesn't have anything to say in that matter.
You're still his daughter as much as Damian is his son. Even if his family has a less than stellar history.
Meaning his only options are to either avoid you and go on with his life or just man up and deal with it.
Both options are worse than the other, but he has no choice.
Can an enemy be any more insufferable? “I really don't have a choice, do I?”
“No you don't.” Bruce answered flatly. “Just make sure to watch your back as well as your front whenever you're at the manor, Nothing is guaranteed.”
He pointedly ignored Tim's glare, as he went back to professional mode. “Have you checked the report files I sent you?”
Tim straightened his posture sensing the serious shift in bruce's voice. “Yeah, I did.”
“found any links? Any suspected patterns?”
“The last place the victims were seen in seems to be the crime alley, and There also seems to be a few common things between the victims, their age ranges from 13 to 18 who happen to be homeless kids. That's what I concluded at first, however…” Tim's voice trailed off, choosing his next words wisely.
“The descriptions of the latest victim completely kind of blew all my theories.” he says as he drops a file on the console Infront of Bruce.
“Kid's name is Eric,” Tim says as he watches Bruce pick up the file. “He's a student in Gotham academy. intense and socially awkward, and an artist. doesn't have a lot of friends, not relatively close to anyone. People who know him say he likes to paint and he wanders to places with natural scenes to help him with his inspiration. In short, the ones who last saw him have no idea where he went off to.”
Bruce's heart almost stops at the mention of Gotham academy, it's the place Damian will be sent to study in once his papers are done and he's announced in public.
The situation was getting more dreadful than Bruce had accounted for. “...Do you think it could be human trafficking?”
Tim grimaces. “If it's happening in Gotham then it's probably more complicated than human trafficking, a twisted cult preparing for some unruly ritual, an evil organization collecting minions, or even some evil supervillain making his own army of children is more likely, but yeah, human trafficking is not far-fetched.”
Bruce narrows his eyes, he had thought of these too to be honest, but he will stick with the human trafficking theory for now. “Any leads? Did the culprit leave any trace or prints that could clue us in?”
“Nope, not even an inkling. Whoever is doing this, he knows what he's doing. This is why I suggest planting security cameras in secluded areas.” he runs his hand through his hair.
Bruce let out an exhale of frustration, he really was hoping that Tim would throw him a bone or something, but they weren't making any progress on this case, the more they try to dive into it, the more it gets more complicated and more questions are unlocked.
It could've been some bonkers Shakespeare riddle. At least that would have been easier. “Around eight children disappeared in the span of a week…” Bruce muttered quietly, testing the weight of those words on his tongue.
Eight poor innocent children were whisked away from their homes and family, and they're probably scared, that if they're even alive, Bruce shivers at the thought. “if only I wasn't so… powerless…” his voice was laced with frustration.
This was mentally exhausting for him.
“Hey, dad…” Tim said softly, “you know it's not your fault, stop acting like it is. You're trying your best—WE are trying our best, and we will save all these children okay?”
“My best is not enough—at least not enough to prevent any more of these children disappearing on us.”
“Well, fretting about it won't get us anywhere!” Tim snapped at him, hoping it would be enough to get his point across.
And expectedly, Bruce doesn't react to Tim's shout, his face remains unreadable.
Bruce looked at him for a few seconds, not uttering a single word, before turning back to the mentor screen to resume his research. “Thank you for your help Tim, you may go and continue your investigation, I will make sure to keep you updated.”
…That's it?
Tim wanted to scream and shout at his father more, but he knows better than this, trying to reason with Bruce when he gets like this is pointless.
He just wishes he didn't have to shut him out like this.
Classic Bruce move.
Without any further ado, Tim spun on his heels and stormed out of the batcave. “I really wish you had more faith in us.” Was the last thing he said before exiting.
Bruce was once again left alone in the batcave, he was starting at the screen, but his attention was somewhere else.
‘I really wish you had more faith in us’ Tim's words from earlier echoed in his head leaving a bitter feeling in his chest.
How can he, when he doesn't even have faith in himself?
That's what he wanted to say to his son but then immediately swallowed his words.
"This computer could use a few updates."
He nearly jumped out of his skin as he whipped his head toward where you were standing right beside him."What are you—how did you get here?" How did he not notice you walking up to him?
"What? Tracing you to the cavern was a piece of cake, besides the butler left his prints on the keypad, it wasn't hard to make out the password." you say this like it's the most normal thing ever.
“No, what I meant is that it takes more than that to actually get in and out of the cave—”
“Oh, you mean the voice-activation locks? I hacked into the system and deactivated those.”
His eyebrows knitted. “And the motion sensors?”
“I deactivated those too.”
“...”
“Perhaps you should install more security systems that actually works, the ones you have are woefully inadequate, no offense.” That served more to his irritation. He responded to your face splitting smug grin with a deadpan look, but deep down he's sort of impressed.
And god knows how much Bruce loves when his kids subverts his expectations, in a good way. "I thought dick put you to sleep."
"Put me to sleep? Please, I'm not a baby. I was just having trouble sleeping, so I decided to take a stroll around the manor.” you give the batcave a once over before your feet start to mindlessly explore the grounds “and I came across this place. Richard had mentioned that you're in the 'batcave' I didn't know what that was so I decided to do some investigations myself and find out.”
Your gaze roved over the cave in curiosity, observing the place with nearly a passive interest.
Taking in all the machines and trophies he has.
His eyes followed you as you stalked around in the cave, and unlike when Damian had arrived, you explored it in a more casual manner and a less authoritative demeanor. “You're resilient, I'll give you that,” he say with a hint of admiration in his eyes. “not many people can slip through the cave's security systems like it's nothing.”
“Mhm.” You nod, not quite paying attention to what he's saying, too busy admiring the aesthetic of the place. What stood out the most was the bat symbols that seemed to be everywhere. That sparked a question in your head.
"Hey, I understand why you would call your secret base the 'batcave' since bats live in caves and all, but do you have to make everything bat themed?" You couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at the odd decor.
"I mean, batcomputer? batarang? batbucket?" You say, gestured wildly to the place.
You pointed at the bat themed vehicle "let me guess, batcar?"
"It's called the Batmobile."
"That—actually sounds better than 'batcar'...” you sheepishly scratched the back of your neck. “Still, I think batcar sounds cuter.”
Bruce rolls his eyes. “It’s not about what sounds cuter, it's about what's actually productive.” although, he doesn't blame you for finding it questionable, he's certain that his schtick is beyond comprehension to some people.
“sure sure.” you continued to explore the cave, walking until your gaze landed on something, a large tube, something in it caught your attention. Swiftly, you make your way towards it. you quietly observe the tube, it contained what seemed like a vigilante costume with a yellow bat symbol.
"That suit is cute.” Instinctively, your hand reaches out to caress the smooth glass, your fingers gently trace the cool surface like it would easily break if you press too hard.
And as if your palm had a mind of its own, it started to wonder to open the case.
However, someone's hand came up from behind to close it.
"No one said you can touch things here without permission, besides, this is not yours." Bruce says sternly, as he closes the lid and makes his way to the batcomputer.
Bruce warns you before turning to make his way back to the batcomputer.
"Who does it belong to?" You asked as you trail behind him.
"That's none of your concern."
"It doesn't seem like it has an owner." You shot back. “If it does then what is it doing in your cave?”
"It does have an owner, they just moved on." Bruce was hoping you would eventually give up and leave him alone, but you don't. "It would be such a loss not to use it, don't you think?"
"Like I said before, it's none of your concern." he felt his blood pressure spike at continuous flow of questions, he should be working on that case that's been nagging him for days now, but instead he's stuck with babysitting his daughter.
“But who was the previous owner?” you kept pressing him for answers, refusing to back down and keep demanding answers.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted in frustration. He didn't expect you to be THAT persistent.
“The way you're reserving it behind that glass suggests that it has been there for a quite good while. Don't you think it's about time someone revives that mantel again?” you title your head at him.
God, if there's one thing you share in common with your twin, it was the stubbornness.
In the end, he decided to save himself the headache and humor you a little.
“...it belonged to a woman named Barbara Gordon, she's a part of the family and the one who came up with the idea of Batgirl title. An incident happened while she was performing her duty and then decided to quit.” Ultimately, his walls cracked and answered your questions.
You wanted to ask more, but the dejection in his voice prevented you from asking him any further about the matter.
Bruce seemed to sense your curiosity and spoke up before you start bombarding him with more questions. “And no, she didn't completely quit, she is still working with us, but in a different field.”
You sigh in relief. Good for her. “Was she the only one, or were there more batgirls?”
Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Why are you assuming there are more?”
You pointed to you other tubes that stood besides the batgirl's one. “I see more than one robin and Batgirl costume, and they're all in different designs and sizes, meaning there had been more than one person who wore the mantle, unless it's just for display. Am I right?”
“...” Bruce remained silent for a few seconds before finally speaking. “You're quite clever, aren't you? And yes, there had been more than one person, but they all have moved on.”
“Are they a part of the family too? Am I going to meet them?”
He sighs “yes, Cassandra, Stephanie and Barbara. You will meet them all soon enough.” At this point Bruce realized there's no point in resisting and succumbed to answering all your questions.
Still, he's grateful that at least you're not trying to intentionally stab anyone, he recalls when Damian first got here, he trapped Alfred in the supply room and Tim was stuck in the med bay for nearly a week.
Yeah, definitely better.
You stayed quiet for a long minute opening your mouth. “So, Does that mean the mantle is unoccupied?”
Bruce slowly turned his head to look at you “...what are you getting at?” his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
You don't answer right away, instead you title your head at him as if the answer is clear. “Isn't it obvious?”
“I want to become Batgirl.” You replied, precise and without any hint of hesitation.
And obviously wouldn't take a no for an answer. You looked too determined.
Great, just what he needed right now, more kid mentoring.
"Listen," Bruce took a deep breath before continuing
"Everything I do, I do it for justice, not for the fun of it. I'm not doing it just because I'm simply bored, there's a purpose. They had a purpose, either that or they were looking for one."
You stayed silent, listening intently to every word he said, after a few seconds, you opened your mouth and said. “Well, if this is what is this about...”
“What if I want to find a purpose too? Pretty sure the previous batgirls were thinking the same when they were honing the bat symbol, a lost person looking for a goal to achieve.” Perhaps I'm getting too wound up, but this is how I feel about things at the minute.
Bruce didn't answer immediately, his gaze never left your face as if trying to analyze you.
As if he was considering it.
'Perhaps you might be redeemable more than I give you credit for’ Bruce mentally notes to himself.
So far, she had shown nothing but restraint, also the fact that those needles she unleashed at his children contained a harmless stimulate, and not a lethal dosage of poison, which adds more to your point.
Bruce sighs in exasperation and pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing that he's up against an immovable Force, no matter how 'level headed' you seemed, you were also as persistent and stubborn as a mule, something you probably inherited from your mother. And much to his disdain, It was clear that taking the mantle was at the forefront of your thoughts.
And honestly, if you are just like he thinks, honest, intelligent, and incorruptible, you could be a great asset.
And of course that's what he needs to help him get to the bottom of this case he's currently working on.
Bruce weighed his options and the possible outcomes that might come from that decision.
He finally spoke again. “Look, you don't have to do that. I get where you are coming from. But this job is not a game, do you realize the risks you're taking?”
You gave a noncommittal shrug. “Well, my life back at the league was not a cakewalk, I could use the reprieve.”
Of course you would.
Bruce frowns, he has mixed feelings about this.
On one hand, he would like to redeem you in his own typical way and see you in action. On the other, he doesn't want to rush things and give you some time to breathe and not jump into that mess of a nightly job.
After all, you're still a child.
“I will think about it.” he says gruffly, not leaving much room for arguing. “But for now, you're allowed to train if you would like.” his cape swooshed as he made his way back to the batcomputer.
You huff, dissatisfied with the a non-answer you received from him, and as much as you wanted to keep nagging at him for that matter, you decide not to, since it seems like he already has a lot going with him, so you decide to cut him some slack.
I have to remind myself that I have no leverage here.
“On an unrelated note. I would like you to prepare yourself for the next week, I will be holding a gala at the manor, and I will introduce you and Damian publicly as my children.” he says without turning his head from the mentor screen.
You groan, because of course, running away from the league and deciding to live with your twin brother in a billionaire’s household apparently came with a cost. And the price was your peace. “Fine by me, but just a little heads up, don't expect me to be a social butterfly and kiss up to a bunch of rich pricks.”
It's not like you have never attended events like these back at home, but people knew better than to try and mingle with the Al ghuls especially you and Damian. You were practically the forbidden fruits, you can look but don't touch, or else there will be consequences.
Back there no one dared to interact with you. And your pretty sure it's not going to be the same here.
“As long as you remain civil, I don't really mind it.” Bruce assured you. “Those events usually last for three hours or so, you and Damian won't have to talk to anyone, leave all the talking for me. if that's what you're worried about.”
“good riddance, I wasn't planning on interacting with anyone anyway.” you were already planning a sneak out route, because there's no way in hell you're about to deal with the sheer absurdity of those events, throphy wives, fake rich bastards who will try to get on your father's good side merely for appearance. Nope.
“Also…” Bruce's voice jolted you back to reality. “A friend of mine will come over with his family to have dinner with us. Just letting you know so you don't accidentally attack one of them.”
“I said sorry, okay!?” You shout defensively, making the corners of Bruce's lips quirk up slightly.
Also, friends, huh? I wonder who are they.
𝕬𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 || sorry I took my sweet time writing this chapter, I've been a little depressed lately got swept with irl stuff, anyway, enjoy the chapter.
authors note | english is not my first language, so there may be mistakes, sorry
i don't have a panic attack, so I'm very sorry if I wrote something wrong that shouldn't happen, don't hesitate to correct me. also votes and reblogs are appreciate
word count | 1,4k
m.list
The Batcave was illuminated as always by dim lighting. Files were piled on the table, images streaming across the screens behind it. Bruce, with his calm and measured voice, was talking about one of the open files — a new mission.
A drug network involving the Penguin. Alongside the drugs, there would be a delivery of high-tech weapons — weapons that shouldn’t even exist in Gotham.
As all of you listened carefully to Bruce, he began talking about the delivery points, and Tim placed a file on the table in front of you. This was the coordinator of the delivery. A photograph was clipped to the corner of the file with a paperclip.
For a few seconds, you let your attention drift from Bruce’s words and reached for the file to examine it. Before even opening it, your eyes caught on the photograph on top. The moment you saw that face, the world stopped for a few seconds.
Age and the years spent in prison hadn’t been kind to him. The deeper wrinkles, the bruises on his face. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the look still lingering in his eyes — the one that made your stomach churn with unease.
Even though you had last seen him eight years ago, it was impossible to forget him. His face never left your nightmares. You would recognize that face anywhere. After all, could a person ever forget their father’s face?
Could you forget the man who murdered your childhood — the man who brutally killed your mother right in front of your eyes?
You didn’t know when he had gotten out. You only knew he never should have.
Not wanting to see his face any longer, you placed the file back on the table with trembling hands.
You clenched your fists, hoping the shaking would stop, but your breathing began to quicken without you realizing it. No one around you seemed to notice your reaction — you hoped it stayed that way. Tim kept talking, information pouring out one after another, but not a single word found its way into your mind.
After seeing that photo, your thoughts were consumed by nothing but the image of your mother. And the thought that this man had been walking the same streets as you in Gotham for who knows how long, without you knowing…
It was driving you insane.
Then Tim said his name.
The devil’s name.
The devil who slaughtered your mother in the bathroom of your small home, painting every tile red.
Your mother.
Blood.
Her broken voice begging for help one last time.
Her lifeless, empty stare.
You swallowed hard.
You clenched your teeth to keep anything from showing. You knew the kind of breakdown that would come if you let go. Your chest felt like it was going to shatter and spill out through your lips, choking you, when at last a voice reached your ears.
“Y/N?”
You lifted your head quickly and noticed Bruce looking at you with a questioning expression. This probably wasn’t the first time he’d called your name.
“Are you listening to me?”
You nodded quickly. Feeling all your siblings’ eyes on you, you forced yourself to keep your voice from trembling.
“Yeah, I’m listening. I just zoned out for a moment. Sorry.”
Bruce studied your face with narrowed eyes for a few seconds longer.
“If you’re too tired to focus, you don’t have to be part of this mission, Black Bird.”
Impossible.
You had to be there.
“No,” you said immediately. “I’m fine. I’m on this mission.”
Bruce silently nodded. He was suspicious, but he didn’t object. He knew that someone unfocused on a mission put everyone at risk — including themselves— but for now, he let it go. There were bigger problems to think about.
The fact that he didn’t push further eased you slightly. There was still a heavy lump in your throat. But you needed to face that man. That’s why you couldn’t let Bruce notice and keep you out.
The meeting went on for a while longer.
Throughout the rest of it, your fists stayed clenched at your sides. Finally, Bruce shut off the screen, saying you would continue later, and turned back to his files.
The moment he turned away, you didn’t wait. You quickly headed toward the exit of the cave. You didn’t think you could talk to anyone right now. You knew that with just one word slipping past your lips, the weight you had kept buried for so long would take over.
The more you tried to control your breathing, the faster it became. You just needed to get away from everyone and sink into the quiet of your room.
But the moment you left the cave, your steps faltered. Luckily, there was no one around to witness it.
Those left behind didn’t understand your sudden departure. Jason frowned as he looked at the empty space you’d left behind. Then, curiosity gnawing at him, he followed after you.
You, on the other hand, didn’t think you’d make it to your room. You forced yourself into the nearest bathroom on that floor. You shut the door hard behind you and locked it. Your body trembled as if searching for support, and you leaned your back against the wall.
Your chest burned like live embers; the inability to breathe hurt. The tears you had been holding back for minutes finally fell. A sob escaped your lips. Your hand flew to your mouth, as if to silence it.
Jason, out in the hallway, hadn’t seen where you went, but the sound of the door slamming shut made it obvious. He headed in that direction. As he neared the bathroom, he heard your sobs from inside.
He hesitated before knocking. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he couldn’t leave you there.
“Y/N? Are you okay?”
At Jason’s question, the crying stopped abruptly. After a few seconds of silence, a muffled answer came.
“I’m fine.”
Jason frowned.
“I can hear you crying, Y/N.”
You didn’t answer. You hoped that if you stayed quiet, he would leave. Didn’t everyone always do that? In this family, whenever emotions came up, you all ran the other way.
But Jason didn’t leave.
The continued silence on the other side of the door only made him more uneasy. That shaky “I’m fine” hadn’t sounded fine at all.
He placed his hand against the door and leaned forward.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice lower this time. “You don’t have to open the door, but don’t shut me out.”
Inside, you were barely holding yourself up, knees weak, back against the wall. Your chest tightened with every breath you took. Your fingers trembled, your vision blurred. You didn’t want to look at the mirror — you didn’t want to see the face that resembled your mother’s.
Your mother’s face.
The bruised face that had looked at you alive for the last time. That shouldn’t have been the final image you remembered of her — covered in blood and bruises.
Blood.
It was all over your hands, and that man’s voice was still in your ears. Saying your name.
“Y/N,” Jason said again, louder this time, but not harsh — just worried. “You can’t breathe. I can hear it even through the door. Please, just let me in—”
Only half his words reached you as your head fell back against the wall.
You tried to hold your breath, as if it would help. As if it would slow your heart. It never worked. It never had.
It only got worse.
A sharp pain flared in your chest. Your hand reached for the lock, but you didn’t have the strength. Your arm hovered in the air like a rag doll before falling back to your side.
“Jason…”
Your voice was barely a whisper. Just a breath slipping past your lips.
You heard his stance shift on the other side of the door. He could break this door if he wanted to — but he knew you might be right behind it. So he held himself back.
“Okay,” he said immediately. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just listen to me. Focus on my voice.”
You could hear him lean against the door as well. When you didn’t respond, Jason continued. His voice was soft — unlike his usual tone. A tone you rarely heard.
“Look, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but I’m here. You’re in Wayne Manor. You’re safe.”
You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you.
“No, I’m not,” you whispered. “He… he’s here. Again—”
“No.”
He cut you off. His voice was firm, but not directed at you — at the memory.
“He’s not here. He can’t touch you. I’m on this side of the door.”
Your breathing was still erratic. Your lungs were rebelling.
Jason continued.
“Now count with me, okay?”
He paused for a second.
“Breathe in for four seconds. Through your nose.”
You forced yourself.
One… two… three…
On the fourth, your breath caught, but you managed to take it in.
“Now hold it for six seconds.”
You did as he said, your eyes closed.
“Now breathe out. Through your mouth.”
You did. The pain was still there, but this time you didn’t run from it.
“Good,” he said immediately. “One more time.”
You didn’t answer, but Jason wasn’t waiting for one. Hearing your uneven breathing through the door was enough.
On the second round, your breaths grew a little deeper. By the third, even though the tears kept falling, the dizziness started to fade.
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of breathing. Jason counting. You holding on.
Eventually, your back slid slowly down the wall, and you collapsed onto the floor. You pulled your knees to your chest and buried your head in your hands.
“Did it pass?”
Jason’s gentle voice finally broke the silence.
“It doesn’t have to completely pass. Being able to breathe is enough,” he added quickly.
“I saw him. His photo…” you finally said. Your voice was low, and for a moment you felt ashamed — as if falling apart over a photograph was something to be embarrassed about.
Jason didn’t think so.
A sharp inhale came from the other side of the door.
“Who?” he asked, though something inside him already seemed to know the answer. Maybe not the name — but he remembered how you’d come here as a child. Back then, Jason had already been at the manor. Already Robin.
“My father.”
Silence fell.
Jason was thinking. Thinking about how to speak without breaking you further.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he finally said.
Then, after a moment,
“You don’t have to go on this mission. I can talk to Bruce.”
“No.”
Your quiet voice cut him off without hesitation.
“I’ll be there. Bruce can’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t let me go.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Jason said, then paused.
You rested your head against the door.
“I need to see him,” you whispered.
“I need to face him,” you continued, then hesitated.
“But…?” Jason prompted.
You closed your eyes.
“I’m scared,” you admitted honestly. “But… I don’t want to run anymore. I want him to know I’m not that little kid in that house anymore, Jason.”
Your voice was hoarse from the panic attack. Exhausted, you let the rest of your body lean fully against the wall.
Then, with effort, you lifted your arm and reached for the lock. Your trembling fingers slowly turned it. A soft click echoed.
You knew Jason heard it, but he didn’t try to open the door.
Keeping the door between you like a wall, he slid down until he was sitting on the floor as well. His hand rested against the door.
And he said,
“This doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
You stayed there a while longer. On opposite sides of the door, sharing the same weight.
Not long after, you heard his voice again.
“I’ll be there. With you. He’ll see you’re not that nine-year-old kid anymore.”
And for the first time, when you breathed in, the air didn’t feel like a blade in your chest.
request 💌 anon a platonic batfam fic with gn!reader coming out as queer? they’re like stressed but ofc everyone accepts them <33
content platonic batfamily & batsibling!reader, queer!reader, coming out, coming-out anxiety, fear of rejection, internalised shame, references to past foster care/an unsafe home environment, brief mentions of violence/vigilantism, emotional distress, crying, discussions of homophobia, protective threats toward hypothetical homophobes
word count 5.4k
dc masterlist | batfamily masterlist
You had faced gunfire with less fear than this.
That was the humiliating part. You had stood on Gotham rooftops while the wind tried to peel you from the stone. You had been held hostage twice, poisoned once, and trapped inside a collapsing warehouse often enough that Jason had started referring to structural damage as your “natural habitat.” You had stitched wounds under flickering bathroom lights. You had lied to police officers, social workers, journalists, and one particularly determined League of Assassins operative without letting your voice shake.
Yet the sentence written in the notes app on your phone made your hands tremble whenever you looked at it.
I’m queer.
Three words. Barely a confession at all. Not in this family.
The Manor had never been a place where heterosexuality was treated as a sacred institution. Dick had dated enough people across enough cities that you were fairly certain he could qualify as an international incident. Tim’s romantic history had its own encrypted folder on the Batcomputer. Steph had once spent twenty minutes explaining the difference between bisexual lighting and ordinary purple lighting while Bruce stood nearby looking as though he had accidentally entered an advanced calculus lecture.
You knew, logically, that none of them would reject you.
Logic was a very small candle against the dark.
Fear was older than reason. It grew teeth in the places where love mattered most.
You had not been born into this family. You had not been raised in the Manor or trained beneath the Cave’s cold white lights. You had arrived through a series of unfortunate events involving a stolen motorcycle, a corrupt foster placement, and the deeply questionable decision to throw a brick at Red Hood while he was pursuing someone else.
Jason still maintained that your aim had been impressive.
Somewhere between then and now, you had become part of them. There had never been an official ceremony. No adoption papers, no declarations. Your toothbrush had appeared beside the others. Alfred had started buying your preferred cereal. Bruce had given you a bedroom without ever calling it permanent, and Dick had begun sending you blurry photographs at impossible hours, accompanied by messages like look at this dog and do you think Bruce knows he sighs like a Victorian widow?
You belonged.
That was precisely why you were terrified. Belonging gave people something to take away.
For three weeks, you carried the words around inside your chest until they became too heavy to breathe beneath. You considered announcing it at dinner, then imagined nine pairs of eyes turning toward you and nearly died on the spot. You thought about sending a message to the family group chat, but Jason and Steph had been arguing through reaction images for six consecutive hours, and you could not bear the possibility of your life-changing confession being buried beneath a poorly cropped picture of Batman with the caption fatherless behaviour.
So you decided to tell them individually.
It felt safer that way.
It was not safer. It merely meant you had to experience the terror repeatedly.
You began with Alfred because Alfred knew everything anyway.
He found you in the kitchen at two in the morning, standing before the open refrigerator without seeing anything inside it. You had been there long enough for the light to begin feeling accusatory.
“Unless the mustard has recently developed hypnotic properties,” Alfred said from behind you, “I suspect you are looking for something that cannot be found on the second shelf.”
You jolted hard enough to strike your elbow against the refrigerator door.
Alfred closed it gently after you withdrew your arm, rescuing the household from your apparently determined attempt to increase its electricity bill. He wore a dressing gown over his pyjamas, silver hair still immaculate despite the hour.
“Couldn’t sleep,” you muttered.
“So I gathered.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That, too, had crossed my mind.”
He filled the kettle without asking whether you wanted tea. Alfred did not ask unnecessary questions. He simply created spaces in which answers could arrive.
You sat at the kitchen island while he moved around you. The familiar clink of china steadied something in your chest. He placed a cup before you, prepared exactly as you liked it, and took the seat opposite.
You curled both hands around the porcelain. “I need to tell you something.”
Alfred’s expression did not change, but his attention settled fully upon you. There was something almost unbearable about being looked at so kindly.
“You are under no obligation to tell me anything before you are ready,” he said.
“I know.”
It emerged too quickly.
The sentence waited behind your teeth. You had rehearsed explanations. You had prepared a small speech about how long you had known, how uncertain you had been, how you were still trying to understand what the word meant for you. Every carefully arranged thought scattered the moment Alfred looked at you.
“I’m queer,” you whispered.
The kitchen did not collapse. No alarms sounded. No hidden mechanism dropped the floor from beneath you.
Alfred only nodded, as though you had handed him something precious and he understood the importance of holding it gently. “Thank you for trusting me.”
Your grip tightened around the cup. “That’s it?”
“I could prepare a lengthier response if you feel the occasion requires one.”
Despite yourself, you laughed. It cracked in the middle and became dangerously close to a sob.
Alfred reached across the island but stopped before touching you.
You nodded.
His hand covered yours, warm and steady.
“My dear,” he said, “there is nothing you could tell me about the honest shape of your heart that would make you less deserving of a home.”
The tears arrived then, sudden and hot.
Alfred did not mention them. He only pushed a folded handkerchief toward you and kept his hand over yours until the tea went cold.
Telling Bruce should have been easier after Alfred. It was not.
Bruce had become your guardian in every way except the legal one, although you suspected the legal one was merely waiting for the correct stack of paperwork to materialise. He was not openly affectionate. He did not say I love you often, or perhaps at all, but he checked the locks on your windows after storms. He remembered which nightmares meant you needed space and which meant you needed someone sitting silently outside your door.
His love was a structure built around you so carefully that you sometimes forgot it was there. Which meant disappointing him felt unthinkable.
You found him in the study the following evening, staring at three case files while pretending he was capable of reading them simultaneously.
“Bruce?”
He looked up immediately. That was the first frightening thing. Bruce did not look up immediately for most people.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes moved over you, assessing for injury.
“No one’s hurt,” you added.
His shoulders lowered by an almost invisible degree.
You closed the study door behind you. The click seemed impossibly loud.
Bruce gestured toward the chair opposite his desk, but you remained standing. Sitting felt too vulnerable. Standing made you feel as though you could escape if necessary, although escaping from Batman inside his own house was perhaps not a realistic strategy.
“I need to tell you something,” you said.
Bruce folded his hands on the desk. “Okay.”
You stared at the carved edge of the bookcase rather than his face.
“I’m queer.”
Silence followed.
Your stomach dropped.
Bruce was often silent. Silence was practically his native language. You knew this. You had translated his silences before: angry silence, worried silence, planning silence, Jason has placed explosives somewhere on the property again silence.
This one felt endless.
You forced yourself to look at him.
His expression had softened. “Thank you for telling me.”
You waited.
Bruce seemed to realise there was supposed to be more.
“I’m glad you trusted me,” he added. “Nothing about this changes your place here.”
Your breath caught. “I know everyone’s probably fine with it. I know you’re fine with it. I just…”
The sentence tangled.
Bruce stood slowly. He did not approach you until you gave the smallest nod.
“I was scared it might make things different,” you admitted. “Maybe not immediately. Maybe everyone would say the right things, but it would be weird afterwards. Or I’d become the queer member of the family instead of just…”
“You,” Bruce finished.
You nodded.
His jaw tightened, not with anger at you but with the familiar rage he reserved for anything that had hurt one of his children.
“You are not required to reduce yourself to one part so other people can understand you,” he said. “You don’t have to earn your place by being easier to categorise.”
You swallowed.
Bruce’s hand settled against your shoulder.
“You are my family,” he said. “That is not conditional.”
The words struck harder because Bruce did not waste them.
You leaned forward before you could think better of it, pressing your face against his chest. He stiffened for half a second—the traditional Wayne response to spontaneous physical affection—before both arms wrapped around you.
One hand rested carefully against the back of your head.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmured.
You closed your eyes. For once, the shadows in the study felt like shelter instead of something waiting to swallow you.
Dick was next because he had already sent you seven messages asking whether you were all right. He knew you were hiding something. Dick always knew. It was one of his most irritating qualities, surpassed only by his habit of entering rooms through windows when perfectly functional doors existed.
He arrived at the Manor on Saturday morning with pastries from Blüdhaven and found you sitting on the back steps.
“Okay,” he said, lowering himself beside you. “I brought bribery.”
He placed the paper bag between you.
“You don’t know what you’re bribing me for.”
“I’m adaptable.”
You smiled faintly.
Dick nudged the bag toward you. “Croissant?”
You took one mostly so he would stop watching you with those enormous, worried eyes.
For several minutes, you ate in silence. The grounds stretched ahead, silver-green beneath the overcast sky. Gotham’s skyline was hidden beyond the trees, but you could still feel the city there, pulsing like a bruise.
“I’m queer,” you said.
Dick’s face transformed.
Not into shock. Not discomfort.
Joy. It was immediate and brilliant, the emotional equivalent of sunlight breaking through cloud.
“Oh,” he breathed. “Thank you for telling me.” Then his expression grew careful. “Can I hug you?”
You nodded, and he pulled you against him so quickly that the remains of your croissant nearly suffered a tragic death.
Dick’s hugs were not restrained affairs. He hugged with his entire body, as though trying to physically convince you of your own importance.
“I love you,” he said into your hair. “Exactly as you are.”
Your eyes burned. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“Good. I already waterproofed my shirt.”
You laughed against his shoulder.
Dick loosened his hold but did not let go entirely. “Do you want to talk about it? The good stuff, the scary stuff, crushes, labels, lack of labels, dramatic queer awakenings caused by animated villains?”
You pulled back enough to look at him. “That sounds suspiciously specific.”
“This conversation is not about me.”
“You made it about you in under thirty seconds.”
“A personal best.”
The laughter came more easily this time.
Dick squeezed your hands.
“You decide who knows,” he said, gentler now. “You decide when. You don’t owe anyone a performance or an explanation. And if anyone gives you trouble, I’ll handle it.”
“You’ll handle it?”
“I’ll talk to them.”
“That’s not what your face is saying.”
“My face is saying many things. It’s very expressive.”
“It’s saying you’ll throw someone off a roof.”
“A short roof.”
You laughed again, and Dick smiled like that had been his plan all along.
Barbara received the news in the Clock Tower. You had not planned to tell her that day. You had only gone to return a piece of equipment, but she took one look at you and muted the bank of monitors.
“What’s going on?”
You set the grappling unit on her desk. “Everyone keeps asking me that.”
“Probably because you’ve been hovering in doorways like a Victorian ghost.”
“I do not hover.”
“You absolutely hover.”
You dropped into the chair beside her.
Barbara waited. There was no pressure in it. No expectation. She simply gave you her attention and allowed the silence to belong to you.
“I’m queer,” you said.
Her smile was quiet but immediate. “Thank you for trusting me.”
The familiar words should have become less powerful through repetition. They did not.
Barbara angled her chair toward you. “Who else knows?”
“Alfred, Bruce, Dick.”
“Are they allowed to discuss it with each other?”
You blinked. The question was so practical, so completely Barbara, that some hidden knot in your chest loosened.
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“You don’t have to decide now. I’m asking because coming out to one person doesn’t automatically give them permission to tell anyone else, even if the people involved are family.”
“I think it’s okay if the family knows. I just want to tell them myself first.”
“Done.”
She turned back toward the keyboard and typed something.
Your stomach lurched. “What are you doing?”
“Updating the family communication protocols.”
“There are coming-out protocols?”
“There are now.”
You leaned over.
On the screen was a new encrypted memo reading: PRIVATE INFORMATION IS NOT YOUR INFORMATION TO SHARE. YES, THIS INCLUDES YOU, RICHARD.
You stared at her.
Barbara’s mouth twitched.
“You included Dick by name.”
“Preventative maintenance.”
You laughed, and she reached out to squeeze your forearm.
“For the record,” she said, “you never have to make yourself smaller to keep this family comfortable. We can make room.”
Jason was the person you feared telling most. Not because you believed he would react badly. Jason had defended queer kids in Crime Alley with a ferocity that bordered on biblical. He had once broken a man’s wrist for shouting a slur at a teenager, then purchased the teenager dinner and spent two hours helping them repair their bicycle.
But Jason’s opinion mattered to you in a way that lived dangerously close to the bone.
He had found you first. Before the Manor. Before the Cave. Before anyone else knew your name, Jason had looked at a furious, terrified kid holding a brick and decided you deserved another chance.
You found him in one of the Manor’s garages, bent over his motorcycle with grease streaked across his hands.
He glanced toward you. “You planning to stand there all day, or are you going to pass me the wrench?”
You passed him the wrong wrench.
Jason looked at it, then at you. “Okay. Who died?”
“No one.”
“Who are we killing?”
“No one.”
He straightened. “That somehow sounds worse.”
You picked at the fraying edge of your sleeve. “I need to tell you something.”
Jason set the wrench aside immediately. His attention sharpened, but his voice remained casual. “Shoot.”
You tried. Nothing emerged.
Jason waited.
You thought of every terrible possibility your mind had manufactured. Jason laughing. Jason looking uncomfortable. Jason treating you differently. Jason deciding he had misunderstood you when he chose to bring you home.
“I’m queer,” you said.
Jason blinked.
Then he looked behind himself.
You frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Checking whether there’s a second part.”
“No.”
“That’s it?”
Your stomach twisted. “Is that not enough?”
“No, no.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “I just thought you were about to tell me you’d joined a cult or started listening to podcasts about cryptocurrency.”
A startled laugh escaped you.
Jason leaned against the workbench. “Kid, I do not care who you date, who you don’t date, what label you use, or whether you decide labels can go screw themselves. You’re you.”
You looked at the concrete floor. “I was scared you’d think I was different.”
Jason’s expression changed. All humour drained from it, leaving something rawer behind.
“You are different,” he said.
Your head snapped up.
He stepped closer. “You’re different from when I found you because you don’t sleep with a weapon under your pillow every night anymore. You’re different because you laugh more. You’re different because you’ve got people now, and you let them have you back.” His voice softened. “Figuring out another piece of yourself doesn’t erase any of that.”
You swallowed hard.
Jason tapped two knuckles lightly against your chin. “And anyone who makes you feel wrong for it gets to have a very educational conversation with Red Hood.”
“You can’t threaten everyone who might be homophobic.”
“Watch me.”
“Jason.”
“I can make a spreadsheet.”
“You hate spreadsheets.”
“That’s how committed I am.”
Your laugh fractured.
Jason opened his arms.
You stepped into them. His embrace was firm, one broad hand pressing between your shoulder blades.
“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly. “And I’m glad you’re here.”
The words settled somewhere deep.
You held on a little tighter.
“So,” Jason added after a moment, “do I get to embarrass you about crushes now?”
“You already do that.”
“Great. No operational changes required.”
Tim was in the Cave, surrounded by six screens and drinking something that smelled less like coffee and more like a laboratory accident.
You sat beside him without speaking. He continued typing for approximately twelve seconds.
Then he stopped.
“You’ve been telling people something.”
Your mouth fell open. “How do you know?”
“Dick hugged you four times during breakfast. Bruce has been staring at everyone like he’s waiting for them to commit a hate crime. Barbara sent a privacy memo, and Jason searched ‘subtle pride gifts that don’t look corporate’ on the shared network.”
You stared at him. “Jason did what?”
“He used private browsing.”
“That clearly worked.”
“No one in this family understands private browsing.”
Tim turned his chair toward you. His expression softened. “You don’t have to tell me because you’ve told the others.”
“I want to.”
“Okay.”
You took a breath.
“I’m queer.”
Tim smiled. It was not a triumphant smile. He did not say he had known or suspected. He did not reach backward through your history and point out evidence as though your identity were a case he had solved.
He only said, “Thank you for choosing to tell me.”
You looked at the screens. “Did you know?”
“I wondered.”
Your shoulders tightened.
Tim noticed instantly.
“But wondering isn’t knowing,” he continued. “And knowing before you’re ready to say something wouldn’t make it mine to name.”
The tension eased.
“I’m still figuring some of it out,” you admitted.
“Good.”
You frowned. “Good?”
“People are allowed to be unfinished. It would be statistically alarming if you had your entire identity completely resolved already.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“I contain multitudes and several untreated sleep disorders.”
You snorted.
Tim nudged his coffee toward you in offering. You smelled it and immediately pushed it back. “That could strip paint.”
“It’s an acquired taste.”
“It’s a chemical weapon.”
“It can be both.”
You sat together while the Cave hummed around you.
After a moment, Tim spoke again. “You know you can tell me if someone makes you uncomfortable, right? Online or at school or anywhere else. Not because I think you can’t handle it. Just because you shouldn’t always have to.”
You glanced at him.
His gaze had returned to the screens, giving you privacy even while offering protection.
“I know,” you said.
Tim nodded.
On the nearest monitor, a new tab appeared.
Pride events Gotham safe verified
You smiled. “Subtle.”
“I learned from Batman.”
“That explains the total lack of subtlety.”
Cass found you before you could find her. You were crossing the upstairs hallway when she stepped from the shadow of an alcove. Other people might have found this alarming.
By Batfamily standards, it was practically a polite greeting.
“You told them,” she said.
You stopped. “Some of them.”
Cass studied your face. “Scared.”
“Less than before.”
She nodded as though this confirmed something.
You had worried most about how to explain it to Cass, not because she would not understand, but because language between you had always worked differently. Cass read truth in shoulders, hands, breath. Words were only one part of every conversation.
“I’m queer,” you said.
Cass smiled. “Good.”
You blinked. “Good?”
“You know more you.”
The simplicity of it struck you harder than any speech could have.
Cass stepped closer.
“Still you,” she said. “Love you.”
Your throat closed. “Love you too.”
She held out her hand.
You took it, and Cass squeezed once. No grand declaration. No questions.
Only her palm against yours, warm and certain.
It was enough.
Steph screamed.
Not in horror.
In excitement.
You had barely finished saying the words before she clapped both hands over her mouth.
“Sorry,” she said through her fingers. “That was too loud.”
“A little.”
“I’m trying to react in a calm, emotionally mature manner.”
“You’re vibrating.”
“I contain joy.”
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room, surrounded by nail polish bottles and three open bags of crisps. Steph lowered her hands.
“Can I be excited?”
The question surprised you.
“What?”
“Some people want coming out to be chill. Some people want balloons and a parade and twelve backup dancers. I don’t want to make it about me being happy if you need it to be quiet.”
Warmth spread through your chest. “You can be excited.”
Steph squealed again, more quietly this time, and threw her arms around you.
“I love you so much,” she announced. “Congratulations on being hot and mysterious.”
“I was already hot and mysterious.”
“True. Congratulations on the expanded lore.”
You laughed into her shoulder.
Steph pulled away and caught both your hands. “Seriously, though. I’m really glad you told me.”
“I was nervous.”
Her expression softened. “You don’t ever have to be nervous about being loved here.”
The words were beautiful enough to hurt.
Then Steph’s eyes narrowed. “Unless you tell me your first queer crush was someone deeply embarrassing.”
“I’m not telling you anything about my crushes.”
“I have truth serum.”
“You have glitter nail polish.”
“It reveals truth spiritually.”
You told Duke on the roof at sunrise. Patrol had ended an hour earlier, but neither of you had gone inside. Gotham unfolded below in bruised purple and gold, the night loosening its grip one street at a time.
Duke sat beside you, legs dangling over the edge.
“I’m queer,” you said.
He looked toward you, then smiled. “Cool.”
“Cool?”
“Very.”
You bumped your shoulder against his. “That’s all?”
Duke considered. “Do you want a speech?”
“Everyone keeps offering speeches.”
“We’re a dramatic family.”
“You’re the least dramatic one.”
“I dress like a traffic signal and fight crime before breakfast.”
“Fair.”
The sun edged over the skyline.
Duke rested his forearms against his knees.
“I’m glad you told me,” he said. “I know saying it can feel like stepping off a roof and hoping someone put a net down.”
You watched the light gather across the city’s windows. “Yeah.”
“There’s a net.”
Your eyes stung.
Duke’s shoulder remained pressed against yours.
“And if the net fails,” he added, “Cass can catch you. She’s terrifyingly fast.”
You laughed.
The sun rose without asking Gotham whether it was ready.
For the first time, you thought perhaps you could do the same.
Damian was last.
Not because you trusted him least. Because he was your younger brother in every way that mattered, and younger siblings possessed a unique ability to devastate you with a single poorly chosen expression.
You found him in the library, sketchbook balanced across his knees. Titus lay at his feet, snoring with the deep satisfaction of a creature who had never questioned whether he belonged somewhere.
Damian looked up. “You have been behaving strangely.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
“I do not behave strangely. I behave with precision.”
You sat opposite him.
He closed the sketchbook. The gesture made your chest ache. Damian did not close his sketchbook for just anyone.
“I’ve been telling everyone something,” you said.
“I am aware.”
“Of course you are.”
“Brown attempted to conceal a bag labelled ‘Emergency Gay Confetti’ behind her back.”
You covered your face. “She what?”
“She lacks subtlety.”
“She really does.”
Damian waited.
You lowered your hands. “I’m queer.”
His expression remained solemn.
For one terrible heartbeat, you could not read him.
Then Damian set the sketchbook aside and stood. “You believed this would alter my opinion of you.”
It was not a question.
“I was worried.”
His eyebrows drew together. “That was foolish.”
“Thanks.”
“I do not mean that you are foolish.” Damian frowned, visibly dissatisfied with the limitations of language. “I mean that anyone who convinced you love must be withdrawn when you reveal more of yourself is foolish.”
You stared at him.
Damian approached until he stood directly before you.
“You are my sibling,” he said. “I have already decided this. Your identity has no bearing upon the matter.”
Your eyes burned. “You decided?”
“Father’s reluctance to complete the appropriate legal documentation is irrelevant.”
A wet laugh escaped you.
Damian hesitated, then opened his arms with the stiff dignity of someone offering a treaty between hostile nations.
You hugged him. He held you tightly.
“You entrusted me with something precious,” he said near your shoulder. “I will not mishandle it.”
You closed your eyes. “Thanks, Dami.”
“Furthermore, if anyone responds with cruelty, I will—”
“You are not allowed to stab anyone.”
“I had not finished.”
“You were going to say stab.”
“I may have intended to propose several options.”
“No swords.”
“Tt.”
By Sunday, everyone knew. You had expected relief to feel like emptiness—the absence of fear, a room after someone removed all the furniture.
Instead, it felt full. Every conversation had left something behind. Alfred’s steady certainty. Bruce’s hand on your shoulder. Dick’s arms around you. Barbara’s careful questions. Jason’s fierce devotion. Tim’s refusal to turn your identity into a deduction. Cass’ simple love. Steph’s joy. Duke’s quiet net. Damian’s solemn promise.
You woke late that morning, exhausted by the strange emotional labour of telling the truth.
The Manor was suspiciously quiet.
Silence in Wayne Manor was rarely peaceful. It usually meant someone was hiding an injury, a crime, or an exotic animal from Bruce.
You dressed and went downstairs.
No one occupied the kitchen. The study was empty. The drawing room was empty. Even the Cave appeared abandoned except for a sticky note on the Batcomputer.
Dining room. Wear shoes. —B
You stared at it.
Bruce’s notes had never inspired confidence.
When you reached the dining room, the doors were closed.
Muffled arguing came from the other side.
“You cannot simply add another layer of icing.”
“You can always add another layer of icing.”
“The cake is listing, Brown.”
“It has personality.”
“It has structural damage.”
“Jason said that gives it character.”
“Jason is banned from engineering.”
You opened the doors.
The arguing stopped. Everyone turned toward you.
The dining room had been transformed. Not into a glittering spectacle, exactly. There were no strangers, no cameras, no grand public declaration. Barbara would never have permitted it, and Bruce appeared to have confiscated most of Steph’s confetti.
Instead, strings of warm lights crossed the ceiling. Small paper stars had been hung between them, each hand-painted in different colours. Flowers sat along the table—some arranged perfectly by Alfred, others clearly shoved into vases by people whose skills leaned more toward vigilantism than floristry.
A banner hung across the far wall.
NO MASKS REQUIRED
The lettering was uneven. Dick had drawn tiny hearts around the edges. Damian had crossed out several of them. Steph had drawn them back. Jason had added a red helmet wearing a rainbow cape. Tim had included a QR code in the bottom corner.
You pointed at it. “What does that lead to?”
“A secure digital archive of support resources, local community groups, legal information, and media recommendations,” Tim said.
Steph leaned toward you. “I added a playlist.”
“She added four playlists,” Barbara corrected.
On the table sat the leaning cake.
In bright icing, it read: CONGRATULATIONS ON BEING EVEN MORE YOU
The word even had been squeezed between the others in a different colour.
“Jason changed the wording,” Dick explained.
“The original said ‘Congratulations on Coming Out,’” Jason said. “Sounded like we were congratulating them for exiting a building.”
“You are aware the phrase has more than one meaning,” Damian said.
“I stand by the edit.”
Bruce stood near the head of the table, holding a small wrapped box. He looked deeply uncomfortable with being the centre of attention, despite not currently being the centre of attention.
“This isn’t because we think your identity requires a ceremony,” he said. “Or because you need to celebrate before you’re ready.”
Dick smiled. “We just wanted you to know that being yourself is never something this family will merely tolerate.”
“It is to be celebrated,” Alfred finished.
Your vision blurred.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Steph’s face crumpled. “Are those good tears? Please say they’re good tears. Alfred made me surrender the confetti cannon, and I need a win.”
“You had a confetti cannon?” Bruce asked sharply.
“No.”
Barbara sighed. “She has three.”
You laughed through the tears.
Bruce approached and handed you the box.
Inside was a key.
You looked up.
“It’s for the Manor,” he said.
“I already have a key.”
“That one was temporary.”
You stared at the small piece of metal resting in your palm.
The new key had been engraved.
On one side was your name.
On the other were the words: YOU HAVE A HOME HERE.
Your breath broke.
Bruce’s expression softened. “This one isn’t temporary.”
Dick reached you first. Then Steph. Jason complained that they were crushing you before joining the hug anyway. Duke wrapped his arms around the entire group. Tim attempted to protect the cake while simultaneously participating. Cass slipped between everyone with impossible ease and pressed her cheek against your shoulder.
Damian stood outside the chaos, arms folded.
You extended one hand toward him. He sighed dramatically before allowing himself to be pulled in.
Alfred remained nearby, smiling.
Barbara watched from the edge with suspiciously bright eyes until Dick stretched out an arm and dragged her chair into the circle.
Bruce was last. He looked at the pile of limbs, hair, and poorly regulated emotion with the wary expression of a man approaching an unstable explosive device.
“Bruce,” you said.
He stepped forward.
The family opened around him. Then he was there too, one arm around you, the other bracing Dick before the entire group could topple into the cake.
You stood at the centre of them, held from every direction.
Weeks ago, you had imagined coming out as stepping into a spotlight beneath which every flaw could be examined. You had imagined the truth making you strange, exposed, solitary.
Instead, it had brought you here.
Not newly loved. Not loved despite anything. Simply given the chance to see the love that had already been waiting.
Later, the cake collapsed.
Steph set off one of the confetti cannons. Jason accused Tim of making the playlist too depressing. Damian complained that the rainbow bandana placed around Titus’ neck was undignified, although he took fourteen photographs. Dick cried openly during a speech he had promised would be “super casual.” Bruce pretended not to notice when you slipped the engraved key onto the chain around your neck.
The celebration was loud, chaotic, and slightly hazardous.
It was perfect.
That evening, when the lights had dimmed and everyone had scattered across the Manor, you stood before the hallway mirror.
Nothing about your reflection had changed. Your face was the same. Your body was the same. The old scars and tired eyes and stubborn curve of your mouth remained exactly where they had always been.
But the key rested against your chest.
Beyond the mirror, photographs lined the wall: galas, birthdays, missions, holidays, accidental disasters. In more recent frames, you stood among them.
Sometimes in the centre. Sometimes at the edge.
Always there.
You touched the key.
Upstairs, Jason shouted that someone had changed his contact name to Pride and Prejudice. Tim denied involvement too quickly. Steph began laughing. Damian demanded everyone lower their voices while somehow becoming the loudest person in the house.
Hi I found your Tumblr like a couple months ago. I really enjoy your writing a lot since it's kinda hard to find a platonic reader where the reader is gender neutral/a kid because a lot of the time the reader has a lot of female implied things and if I wanna find a kid fic with a certain character it's always like Femreader x said character with a kid if that makes sense? So I really like your work and it really motivates me to make my own. Anyway I just really like your work and was hoping you could make another Jason Todd fic with the platonic child reader like you've made so far?
❥︎Pairing: !Platonic Dad Jason Todd/Red Hood & Reader
❥︎ ︎Content Warnings: !Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Nightmares / Night Terrors,Kidnapping (Mentioned), Violence (Implied/Referenced), Weapons, Smoking, Parental Guilt / Self-Loathing, Strong Language (Brief use of words like "shit" and "brat.")
❥︎ ︎Summary: Your Dad comforts you after a nightmare caused by a past trauma, he debates if you're better off without him.
❥︎Author notes: Thank you so much for your kind words! I completely understand what you mean, there is not a lot of parent reader fics and even less where the reader is gender neutral. I'm so happy to hear that you like my work and want to write your own, if you decide to I'd love to read it and will be the first to repost it ❤️
I hope you enjoy this work, it has dragged me out of my art block and had inspired me to make a possible minie series showcasing !Uncle Dick Grayson, depending how popular the idea gets.
(See end for more notes)
It was 3:14 AM. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the click of Jason disassembling his gun on the kitchen counter. He wasn't tired. He rarely was these days. His job eased him into being partly nocturnal.
The city outside the window was loud, with sirens and gunshots, but inside, under the harsh kitchen light, Jason felt his shoulders drop. The apartment had reinforced security, and you were asleep in your room–
A sob came from across the apartment. He didn’t think. The slide of the gun clattered onto the counter as he moved, sprinting down the hallway. He called your name twice before he shoved your door open.
His fists rose before he could process what was going on, and he dropped them when he realized you were still asleep. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and you thrashed against the sheets.
Shit, you were having a nightmare.
"Hey. Hey! Wake up," his voice was rough but low. He grabbed both of your shoulders and shook you firmly. You mumbled something he couldn’t make out, you weakly swatted at his chest, he grabbed your wrists, and pulled them down.
Your eyes flew open. They were wide, unseeing for a second, dilated with panic.
"It’s me," Jason said, softening his grip. "It’s Dad. You’re safe. We’re at home."
You gasped, the air hitching in your throat as you gathered your bearings. Then, you stilled. You slumped forward, burying your face into the leather of his jacket. Jason didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, pressing you against him. You could feel the steady beating of his heart.
"I’m here," he murmured into your hair. "I’ve got you."
He could guess what the dream was about. He could tell by the way you were shaking. His biggest failing as a Father was not being able to protect you from everything. A few months ago, you were taken and held up in a warehouse by some people he pissed off. Eventually, he got you home, but not before you’d seen things no kid should ever see. Not before you’d seen him do things no father should let his kid witness.
You sat there for a long time, just breathing, until the tremors stopped.
"You good?" he asked quietly.
You shook your head against his chest. "I don’t wanna go back to sleep."
He pulled back, scanning your face in the dim light. You looked exhausted, sweat matting your hair to your forehead. "Come on. Kitchen."
You followed him out. The kitchen light stung your eyes. Jason nudged you onto a chair and turned to the pantry. He didn't ask what you wanted. He just grabbed the box of cereal and a gallon of milk.
He slid the bowl in front of you. "Here, might make you feel better."
You picked at the cereal, the spoon clicking against the ceramic. Jason leaned against the counter opposite you, crossing his arms. He watched you with that intense, analytical gaze that usually made criminals nervous, but on you, it just felt heavy. He noticed the way your shirt was sticking to your back, the clammy sheen on your skin from the night terror.
“You’re covered in sweat” He stated bluntly. "Eat that, then go take a shower. The hot water will help the adrenaline crash,"
You nodded, knowing he was right.
The shower did help. When you got out you put on some sweats and an old hoodie of his, it didn’t fit him anymore so it was yours now.
It took a minute but eventually you found him on the fire escape.
The window was propped open. He didn't turn around when you climbed out to sit next to him, but he shifted slightly to make room.
For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. Just the sounds of distant sirens and the wind.
"Better?" he asked, taking a drag.
"Yeah. A little."
Jason exhaled a plume of smoke, tapping the ash onto his boot. He didn't look at you. He was staring at the skyline, his jaw tight.
"It was the warehouse again, wasn't it?"
You didn't answer, which was answer enough.
He let out a short, bitter huff of air. "I'm sorry, kid."
"It's not your fault, Dad."
"It is," he cut in, sharp and immediate. He finally turned to look at you, and his eyes were full of guilt.
"I'm okay," you tried to reassure him, leaning your shoulder against his arm.
"You shouldn't have to be 'okay' with this," he muttered, flicking the cigarette butt out into the alley below. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly very tired.
"Come on. It's freezing out here and you just showered."
Back inside, he didn't send you to bed. Instead, he steered you toward the couch. He grabbed the remote and out on the 2005 Pride and Prejudice.
You curled up on the end of the couch, pulling a throw blanket over your legs. Jason sat in the middle. Within ten minutes, you had migrated, your head resting on his shoulder, your legs drawn up.
“Mr. Darcy is emotionally constipated.” Jason muttered at the screen, this earned a small chuckle from you.
“Takes one to know one,” you mumbled.
Jason scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “Watch the movie, brat”
Eventually, he felt your breathing sync with his. Your hand, which had been gripping his shirt, went slack. You were asleep.
Jason didn't sleep. He watched the movie play out, watching the scenes of a quiet, respectable life that he would never have. He looked down at you, safe for the moment, but for how long?
He thought about the gun on the kitchen counter. He thought about the nightmares you were having. He thought about how he was teaching you to strip a Glock before he taught you how to drive.
He was ruining you.
Jason knew that he should’ve quit the Red Hood the moment he found out about you, or that he should’ve taken Dick up on his offer to take care of you instead of cursing him out and ignoring him for weeks.
You shifted in your sleep, mumbling something and scooted closer to him for warmth, Jason sighed. He rested his chin gently on the top of your head, his eyes staying open, watching the door.
He knew that he was too selfish to ever give you up, even if it was for the best he couldn’t abandon you like that.
Instead he’ll keep doing what he can to protect you, he’ll be sure not to make the same mistakes again.
❥︎Author notes: Thank you for reading. I know it has been a while since I posted and I apologize. Unfortunately I have had a difficult time recently between the loss of a loved one, financial worries, college starting up again, and more medical emergencies. I didn't want to get into everything while it was still very prominent so I decided to wait until I was in a better place to continue posting.
I will try to publish as many requests as I can but I will be more focused on publishing drafts as I try to ease back into a better posting schedule, my requests are still open but I can no longer promise each one will be answered.
The last thing I want to say is that I'm thankful for how kind and supportive everyone is, I'm thankful that I can write creatively without it feeling demanding or owed and that I can genuinely enjoy what I'm doing. Thank you everyone who has supported my blog, it means the world to me. ❤️
Can you do platonic Riddler with a teen reader who is in Arkham asylum (you can make up the reason why). But they have a tendency to isolate themselves from the other members and inmates and since their a teen they get a little bit special treatment but since their tendency to self-isolate they're forced out of their room / cell for meals and outside time and stuff like that
Of course <33 enjoy
Platonic Edward Nygma with Loner Reader
Being one of the youngest inmates at Arkham Asylum is one of the loneliest feelings in the world. The other inmates don’t really interact with you at all, you’re practically invisible to them. You get special treatment, your lawyer got you special privileges since you’re so young.
You get extra snacks when requested, and you get certain comfort items. Within reason of course. You mostly have colouring books, crayons, blankets, and a deck of cards.
You spend most of your time in your cell, it’s the only place you feel safe in this hellhole. Being surrounded by murderous supervillains is never fun, they’re always plotting something, most grand escapes.
Being dragged out of your cell by the guards for mealtime and recess isn’t always fun. The other inmates always scoff and ignore you.
One day you snuck your deck of cards out of your cell so you could play with them in the yard. You find the corner with the least amount of people and you pull it out of your pocket. The box is a little worn out but it still works to hold the cards together.
You slide the deck of cards into your hand and you sit down against the concrete wall, no one has approached you yet. You shuffle the cards over and over again, the satisfying sounds of the cards moving gives you a small rush of dopamine every time you shuffle them.
A shadow looms over you, you look up, confused as to why the sun isn’t shining on you anymore. There is a man standing above you, his hands on his hips and a mischievous smile on his face.
The Riddler.
You almost didn’t recognize him without his signature costume on, but his smile definitely gives him away. He’s a big shot villain, he gets into run ins with Batman. He’s a pretty big deal in Arkham Asylum, why is he approaching you all of a sudden?
You get a little anxious, you’ve heard so many stories about him. He’s not a good person.
“You got cards?” He tilts his head as he looks down at you, that smug smile never leaving his face. He keeps his arms propped up on his hips. You nod a little bit, gripping the cards in your hands.
“Wanna see a magic trick?” He inquires, already taking the deck out of your hands. He sinks down onto his haunches and he skillfully shuffles the deck like one of those fancy dealers at a casino.
“Pick a card, any card. Don’t be shy.” He fans the cards out to you, the face of the cards visible to you but not to him. You hesitate, but he waits.
You pick out a card from the middle of the deck, the seven of hearts.
“Remember your card, don’t let me see it..!” He teases, watching as your eyes dart from his to the card a couple of times.
“Alright.. put it back in the deck, anywhere you like.” He instructs gently, his eyes not leaving your face as you put the card back into the deck.
“Very good.” He praises enthusiastically, pulling the deck back towards him and he shuffles it again. The cards fly from one hand to another, your eyes widen in awe.
He tidies up the deck and he fans them out again, moving them around until there’s one card that’s a different colour than the rest. When did that one get into your deck?
“Go on, check if it’s your card.” He insists, that big grin still on his face, he’s obviously enjoying performing card tricks for you.
You pull the single card out of the deck. It’s not your card. You look up at him a little confused.
“It’s not my card..” you mumble quietly, holding the card in your hand carefully do you don’t bend it at all.
“Uh oh..” he mumbles, being a little dramatic about it.
“Did I mess up the trick..?” He mumbles to himself. He suddenly looks up at you, and you tense up a little bit.
“Oh? What’s that..?” His hand reaches up, pulling something from behind your ear, that smile on his face once again.
“Is this your card?” He asks excitedly, flipping it over to show you the seven of hearts in his palm. Your eyes light up in wonder as you nod. He giggles, putting the card back into the deck.
He ruffles your hair as he gives you back your deck of cards.
Green Arrow {talking about adult reader}: Yeah I just put the adoption papers in, I’m very excited about bringing them home and giving them a loving family.
Someone: Oh they’re actually Batman’s kid. They have a family.
Green Arrow: Did you know I birthed them? Yeah 9 months on the dot, was in labor for 16 hours, stubborn just like their dad, ME. {pulls out edited pics of baby reader and him as ‘proof’}
