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.
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. ❤️
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’}
Guy sees himself in the kid down the hall that flinches at loud noises.
Sometimes it feels like he never left, that he was still stuck in that house, still the same little boy that cowered under his sheets with tears in his eyes with every shout and curse from his father. He spent years of his youth trying to look forward, fixated on a future of success and freedom, one that would have his piece of shit old man gritting his teeth in regret and envy, but he’s still stuck in the past.
That’s more than apparent when the argument—or one sided verbal attack from the apartment across the hall continued for what felt like hours. He’s never met his neighbours, but he definitely knew more about them than he should with the shouting matches that occurred every night. He knows that it’s because of a man. A man that takes out his own frustrations, his own inadequacies out on someone weaker than him, he sees his father on the other side of the door. He tries not to see himself.
He’s had enough of listening to some scum of the Earth bastard screaming at his girl. He doesn’t know if they’re married, but he wants to tell her to run, that it never gets better. That she has no reason to stay.
When he slams his door open, he’s not afraid. He’s Guy Gardner, (former) Green Lantern of Earth, chosen by the Guardians (to be Jordan’s understudy), and there is no one he’s afraid of. He knows what to expect from a pathetic, mad man.
But when he sees a small curled up figure flinch and stare up at him with fearful eyes, he falters, freezing at his doorway, the sound of yelling louder. The scene feels familiar. He should have known. His own mother, too afraid to strike out on her own, to be solely responsible for messing up her kids by taking them away from their father. He feels hopeless, anger fading. What good were his fists and own loud words? He knows seeing a man beat on his old man as a kid that craved his father’s approval would have hurt him.
The kid looks up at him cautiously, huddled by the apartment door.
Guy Gardner, who rushed into fights fist first, always with something to spit out was no help here.
His head hurts, which wasn’t too uncommon after nearly becoming a brain dead, comatose patient.
Guy, the boy that left the hell he called a home, to be better, could at least try.
“Don’t think it’s too safe for a rugrat like you to be loitering around,” he speaks up, willing, because it always comes down to will, his hands not to shake.
The kid remains quiet.
“I’ve,” he struggles for a moment, “I’ve got some cake in the fridge if you stop acting like a mouse caught in a trap.”
He turns around, leaving his door open. Why is this so hard for him? The words he really wants to say, trapped in his chest, it’s hard to believe he once spent his days in a classroom. It feels like a lifetime ago.
He hears some shuffling and the door closing, yells blissfully muffled again. He sends a quick thank you that Tora’s been dropping off various meals and treats, her worry in him leaving the Corps and League more than clear.
He cuts into buttercream and yellow sponge cake, firmly throwing any thoughts of Tora and her pity out of his head for a moment.
He sets the kid up in his messy living room, a slice of cake and glass of milk on his shitty coffee table, some colourful cartoon blaring on the TV.
He leans back on his couch, wondering how he got here, watching how small hands made a normal fork look gigantic. The kid, eyes still glued on the TV, reaches for the glass, only to accidentally knock it over with their elbow. The kid shoots up, panic clear from the tension in their little shoulders, meeting his gaze with apprehension.
He raises his hand placatingly, moving to grab some paper towels. “Hey, no harm, no foul, it’d be a new low for me to cry over some spilled milk.”
The kid watches him wipe down the table, moving the glass aside, “See, good as new! No need to sweat it.”
The kid relaxes and he wonders how someone could berate that chubby face over something so minuscule. Was he so clearly small and scared once?
The kid opens their mouth for a moment before staring at the door, the silence now apparent. They run to the door, stopping to look back for a moment before rushing out.
He resolves himself again. He’s no hero, but he can be a warrior, violent and monstrous, especially for a kid that can’t even cry for help.
But, to his surprise, the next day, he sees the mother pack the kid into her car with whatever else she could fit into it with an angry asshole breathing over her shoulder. He hadn’t even considered she would have just left. His own mother never could. Seeing the woman ignore the shouting coming from her former partner, Guy realizes he’s never respected a person more than in this very moment. Leaning against the wall, he looks out his window, watching the father make a fool out of himself.
The kid doesn’t need a hero, clearly.
Rather than the emptiness or agitation he’s felt since losing the ring, he’s relieved. Probably the best he’s felt since his fight with Hal. He’s glad the kid will get a chance to live in a house where they won’t cower at raised voices.
Any positive emotion he feels is quickly overshadowed by anger when he sees the man push the woman down onto the ground, voice reaching a near roar as the kid scrambles out of the car to reach their mother.
He moves, shooting out of his apartment, down the stairs, barely registering when his feet meets concrete, too focused on the man he’s about to kill. He’s barely able to turn around before Guy’s fist is slammed into his face, a loud crunch filling the air, the man crashing against the pavement, body limp.
For a moment, he only pants, blinking. Unconscious just like that?
“That…was surprisingly easy,” he comments, almost speechless for once in his life. And, of course it was easy, he realizes, abusive shit he is, this was just another man, another father.
The kid stares up at him, blessedly not with fear, but with wonder.
“One punch…one punch!” The kid laughs, childish mirth clear, face transforming into someone without fear.
Now, he’s speechless.
He begins to laugh too.
“Yeah, it is pretty funny, huh, pipsqueak?”
But hopefully this gets at least one person to read up on Guy (Guy Gardner 1992!!), I know a lot of people label him as nothing more than an ‘asshole character’, but there’s a story behind his demeanour. Also mandatory ‘one punch’
And for the readers that never had anyone intervene when you needed it most, I’m sorry.
I think leaving the kid obviously unnamed feels right, sometimes strangers are kinder than your own.
This is kinda self indulgent but can you do platonic Riddler with a teenage fan of his that sends him fan mail while he’s in Arkham?
@artisticdoofusxx
Of course <33 here you go
Platonic Riddler with Teenage Fan Reader
Edward rarely got any mail, so it was a good surprise when he did. He only ever got letters from his lawyers and his doctors, so when he sees a green envelope with hand drawn purple question marks on them, he’s a little bit excited.
He looks over the envelope, flipping it over as he looks at it. His name is printed on the front in messy handwriting. Who sent him this letter?
He carefully opens the seal, making sure to be extra careful so he doesn’t rip it. He wants to keep the envelope, it’s the brightest splash of colours he’s seen in months.
He slides out the folded piece of lined paper out of the envelope, he unfolds the paper and he starts to read.
‘Dear Mr. Riddler,
How are you doing?? I’m such a big fan. I really like your work so much. It’s so inspiring. I was watching the news when you were robbing that bank on Main Street and it was so fun! Your jokes are always so funny and I always love your outfits!
Did you make your jacket yourself?? I love it so much. I tried making one that matches yours but I messed up on the measurements by accident :(
Do you still have the measurements from when you got yours? I could probably make it smaller for me so we can match.
Anyway, I hope you get my letter. I used up the last of my allowance to send it to you. Make sure if you do send a letter back you address it to me secretly! My mom would get so mad at me if she found out I was writing letters to you. She would ground me forever :((
From,
Y/n’
He puts the letter down. Since when does he get fan mail? Especially one decorated with way too many stickers. He supposes it's rather adorable, having someone fawn over him like this. He doesn’t have that many devoted fans like the Joker does.
He hangs the letter up by his bed, the stickers shining in the light of his lamp. He sighs, thinking about if he should respond to this kid or not. He’s not exactly the best role model for a child.
He caves in, he’ll write a letter back in the morning with some of his commissary money. It’s not too expensive to send letters out of the jail.
