what if after dying your reborn as a five year old and later learn after a tragic event that leaves you orphaned that you're the daughter of Bruce Wayne? What if you're aware of the neglected batsis trope and want no part of it?
Trigger Warnings: emotional neglect, reader is suicidal and has depression, suicide attempts, mentions of death, regression themes, toxic and unhealthy relationships, dysfunctional family dynamics, toxic mentality. no one knows how to treat a grieving child that doesn't want to wear spandex and fight crime
PART 1— The View From Halfway Down.
PART 2— Fear Never Fixed Anything.
PART 3— A Great, Good Place.
Interlude— Beast of Burden.
PART 4— Up The Down Trench.
PART 5— A Bit Of Tin.
PART 6—The perverse little lies they tell their children.
SYNOPSIS; “To them you were an outsider, not apart of their gang of cape crusaders, just a civilian, clueless and innocent. ”
Or You attend a funeral
Chapter Six|| The perverse little lies they tell their children.
Warnings: Death, Depression, if i miss anything please tell me.
“ Sometimes it feels like you're a lot older than me.” Tobey told you once. It was recess, you were sitting under the shade of a tree, watching the other kids play. He leaned against the tree.
“Huh?” you looked at the boy with wide eyes. Has he figured out that you’re a transmigrater? That you died and took possession of this body?
“Maybe it’s because you're so smart, you help the teacher grade homework and stuff.” The boy shrugged, and you relaxed your body. So he hadn’t figured it out. You don’t know why you were so worried Tobey never knew the original, he only knew you.
“You’re smart too! Don’t think I don't know about you winning that robotics competition.” You said. Tobey puffed out his chest, he looked smug. You smiled, he’s such a cute kid.
“ It doesn't matter,” Tobey said, moving to sit beside you. You looked at the boy questiongly. “ you’re super smart, and you’ll live a good life.”
“ How do you know?”
“I just do, besides I'll be by your side.” He pulled you into him, and you melted into his embrace.
“ Yeah…”
“For everything there is a season. A time to be born and a time to die.” The funeral officiant began, his voice steady deep and somber. A practiced timbre that was professionally indifferent about the person he spoke about.
“Rosetta Carter was a kind woman, a dedicated mother and was always the life and soul of the party.” You wondered if this was just a repurposed speech, just changing the name and profession of the deceased. You wondered how many times this withered old man gave such a speech.
“ Rosetta Carter is survived by her nine year old daughter ” Your breath hitched, and in the background you heard the overdramatic wailing of a woman. You wondered who she was, or what her relation to Mama was..
“And although we cannot know what God is planning for us, we must trust he is and will always be one of God's children.” Rain pelted off your umbrella, and you buried your face into his shoulder, your tears soaking into the fabric of his gray shirt. He placed a hand on top of your head, shielding you from the sight of the casket lowering down into the grave.
“As you, her loved ones, her community, mourn this tragic loss, seek comfort in each other and in Rosetta’s goodness.”
You never realized how well known mama was, you knew that she was an extroverted person, always taking to thieme to talk with a cashier, or a random stranger. And everytime you went out with her she was always stopping to say ‘hi’ to a friend.
At the time it was annoying, because everything a parent does is either annoying or embarrassing, but now you’ll miss it. Mama’s funeral wasn’t a big ordeal. Just a handful of people. Some of her coworkers, a few neighbors, but the funeral was over, people were leaving and then you’d be alone.
“...Hey,” the voice was small, choked and nearly drowned out by the downpour of rain. You looked up at the black haired boy. There was Jamie, he was dressed for a funeral, all black, his arm in a cast, besides him was Nettie she too was dressed in her white hair pulled back with a black ribbon she was holding an umbrella over her and Jamie.
“Hi.” you muttered, you sounded so hollow. His eyes were red and puffy, and he took hiccuping breaths. You knew he was crying too, Nettie wasn’t any better, as her face was also swollen from crying.
“Thank you for the Rabbit.”
You don't know why but you were crying again, big loud sobs that had your body shaking. You pulled the boy into a hug, he hugged you back. “ I missed you.”
Jamie was crying too, hugging you back with equal intensity. You felt like the child you were. Nettie hoved to the side awkwardly, but you could hear her hiccuping breaths. They were children. Tobey, Nettie and Jamie, all three of them were children, all three of them were putting on a brave face for you. You were (physically) the youngest of the group, and although you, Nettie and Jamie were in the same grade their birthdays were before yours.
They were children and you were just pretending to be one. This wasn’t fair. You were mentally 25. You should be the one comforting them, holding them and drying their tears. You pulled away and whipped away the remaining of your tears.
“ I’m okay, sorry…” you sniffed.
“ You don’t have to apologize…” Nettie trailed off, you could hear the uncertainty in her voice. Tobey placed a hand on your shoulder.
“She’s right, you’re allowed to cry,” he said. And you felt your eyes water once more. But you couldn’t, you couldn’t spend the whole day crying, no matter how much you wanted to. In your first life when Mom died, you didn’t cry, you simply stared hollowly at her grave. You were dissociating then. You were only eleven then.
You don’t know why you were crying now when you couldn’t cry then. Was it the way they died? Mom’s death was so… impersonal, she killed herself when you weren’t home, but you saw Mama die. Seen the bullet enter her head, seen the way her blood and brain matter splatter across the gymnasium’s floor. Perhaps it was its own kind of cruel to compare the deaths of the two women who raised you.
Death was a daily occurrence for the people in Gotham. In every broadcast, news report or in every new paper was something about death; a family of four died because of the Riddler’s scheme, a socialite died by the hand of two faces. It has gotten to the point that the majority of these deaths don’t even make the headlines.
But the death of Mama, did. You saw an article about it once.
BRUCE WAYNE…. BABY MAMA…. SECRET DAUGHTER.
You didn’t read the article, just glimpsed the headline and decided that, you wouldn’t go on the internet.
“...I’m moving,” you heard Netie say and you snapped out the bubble you were in.
“What?”
She bit her bottom lip and a flash of frustration crossed her face. “ My mom and step dad decided to move to Metropolis, and said that the money they got from the attack was enough to move there.” she huffed.
“You’re leaving?” you didn’t mean to sound so broken, but it just came out that way. And you hated yourself for it. Nettie looked like she wanted to cry too.
“I don’t want to! But they said it’s safer in Metropolis, and that we can still have sleepovers, but how can we have sleepovers when I'm in a different city?” she stomped her foot and, oh, she was a child, an upset child, who doesn't understand that her parents are doing what they think is best for her. Metropolis is safer than Gotham, that’s a fact. And you know once she’s older she’ll understand that as well.
“You… You can start our library- cafe.” You said. And from the corner of your eye you saw Toby nod.
“Yeah, You can start the cafe, practice your baking and when the rest of us grow up we can open our business faster,” Tobey said. Nettie looked less angry, less like she was going to cry from frustration. She still looked upset, and what child wouldn’t be?
“Yeah! And our Birdie is the daughter of Bruce Wayen, with that kind of money we can have like four library-cafes!” Jamie said. You knew that he was trying to cheer Nettie up, lightened the mood a little, but still you flinched. Because you were Bruce Wayen’s daughter, that was real.
The DNA test proved it, at first you wanted to deny it, demand to take another one, but why would Bruce Wayen falsify a DNA test? You know how this story goes. You knew that you were only taken in out of a sense of responsibility Bruce felt. And you knew that nobody in that manner would be open to you. To them you were an outsider, not apart of their gang of cape crusaders, just a civilian, clueless and innocent.
“ You think I could sneak in and live with you? I’ll fit right in with my big blue eyes and black hair.”
“Dude,” Tobey sighed. And you smiled, it was small, and you doubt that they noticed it.
“Jamie’s right, he’d fit in more than I do.” you said. Jamie smiled and Nettie laughed.
The car ride was awkward and silent. Alfred Pennyworth, had introduced himself when he came to pick you up, and you gave him your name in return. You didn’t ask about the people who lived in the manner, what they were like or what to expect. You were going to live in a house filled with detectives, and maybe they would figure out that this wasn’t your body or that you weren’t always Birdie or maybe you were over thinking. They never met the original before you took over, all they would know is you…
But you would rather be safe than sorry, after all it was Tim who discovered that Bruce was stuck in a timestream and not really dead, wilder shit has happened and discovering that you were a transmigrater wouldn’t even breach the top ten of the shit they figured out.
But then again you doubt they've been around civilians before, and maybe they’ll chalk any odd behaviors you have as a symptom of grief.
The city was dark and moody, like it always was. Gotham was a beautiful place once you took the time to admire it. Every building follows the theme of gothic ornateness, while having modernity to balance it. It was a place that could only exist in a realm of fiction. The cityscape faded into the smog, with only its shadow visible, and in place of the arching building that neighbored the road were stone walls and ornate gates teasing lush greenery.
The wealthy, Gotham’s one percent lived in a different world, each manner, had its own road, with valleys sepering each plot of land, resting high on top of hills with an abundance of rich green gardens and an excess of clean air.
Alfred passed many of them until he paused as large black ribbon gates, watched with an identical gold encrusted ‘W’, opened wide enough for the car to pass through. Inside the gates territory, the car drove down a smooth dirt road, surrounded by prim flower bushes and ponds. Even the trees seemed perfectly placed.
The car came to a stop in front of a mansion bigger than any mall you've ever been in. with stone gargoyles protecting the extravagant stares to the ornate double wooden doors that must have been a Victorians architect’s masterpiece.
The Victorians needed a lot of room to stray away from each other, to duck tuberculosis and scarlet fever, to avoid ravenous lust, and to wall themselves away from sticky emotions. The extra space is good, considering America's most dysfunctional and emotionally constipated family dwelled within its walls.
You were mature enough to admit that you were intimidated. This was such a blanted show of wealth, and it felt like you were taken out of the kiddy pool and thrown into the ocean.
Trying to act as normal as you could, you reached for the car door, but it opened on its own. Alfred stood perfectly by the door. “After you Young Miss.”
SYNOPSIS; “ “ Rosetta Carter, that’s her name right?” he asked and you froze, how did he learn her name? Dread swelled in your stomach, you were three for three. please, you begged— don’t let this be what i think it is. ”
Or You find out that Bruce Wayne is your father…. What a fucking cliche.
A/N: also to anyone that wants to be included in the taglist please leave a comment on this fic's masterlist. Sorry to those I didn't add when I said I would.
Chapter Five|| A Bit of Tin.
Warnings:Death, depression, if I'm missing anything please tell me
The day started off simple, you woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast and was introduced to your caseworker a man named Gilbert— your only thought about him was that his parents must have hated him to name him that. Come on Gilbert? Really? — then with nothing better to do you made a call.
“Yeah, he had some internal bleeding, he was shot, his arm was broken. I think Jamie had the worst of it… not including your mom, I'm sorry Birdie.” Nettie said, her voice grainy over the phone.
“It’s okay, I’m happy that he’s doing alright… he looked so small ya know? I’ve never seen him like that, it was…”
“Scary? Everything about that night was scary, I think we were safer in our neighborhood, we should have never gone on that field trip. Everything was fine before that. Jamie wasn’t in the hospital, your mom was alive and you were like down the street from me.” She ranted, she sounded like she was about to cry.
You wrapped the phone’s cord around your finger. You should’ve called sooner. You should have called as soon as you made it to the youth shelter. “ What difference would that make? We live in Gotham, we go to school in the Narrows, we’ve walked by like ten crime scenes on our way to and from school.”
You took a deep breath. You knew that this wasn’t comforting, you weren’t trying to be. But you just wanted her to stop with the ‘what ifs.’ “ If it wasn’t the Joker, it could’ve been the Scarecrow or the Penguin or Two Face or the many nameless gangs that run rampant, this was always going to happen, so don’t say that… no matter if we got on that bus or not something like this was bound to happen.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I know— it’s just that…”
“ I know.” you cut her off. It was quiet again. “When did you get out of the hospital?”
It was a clumsy and blatant attempt at changing the subject, but you didn’t care.
“ Last night, though we got home late because a few streets were closed, a building caught on fire or something.” She said, You hummed in response, your mind idly returning to last night. Nightwing, the roof.
“ At least you made it home. How’s Jamie and Tobey?” You asked. You tried calling Jamie first, but he didn’t answer. You hoped it’s because his phone was turned off or something along that line and not… not the alternative.
“Tobey is doing okay, we're supposed to meet up later today. Jamie’s still in the hospital, but I overheard my mom talking to his grandma and he should be getting out soon.”
“ That’s good.”
You listened to Nettie talk; school was still out for the next two weeks. Her family is being hounded by a few media outlets to do an interview on the events of the field trip. Her mom is considering doing it, more for the money than anything. Eventually Nettie had to get off the phone. In the background you heard Nettie’s stepfather call for her.
“ I have to leave, call me later?” You could hear the uncertainty in her voice.”
“ Yeah, of course.” You tried to reassure her.
“Also you should call Tobey, he’s like, really worried about you.”
“Okay I will.” You and Nettie said your goodbyes and then she hung up. You slumped in the chair, heaving a sigh of relief. Your fingers flexed around the handset of the old rotary phone. This was going to be a long day and tiring day.
Welp, one phone call down, one more to go.
Calling Tobey was a lot more nerve wracking than it should be. Tobey was different from Jamie and Nettie; he was the first friend you made in this world, the first person that knew you and not the original Birdie. Tobey was yours and not something you inherited from Birdie. Nettie and Jamie were in the same class as the original, they interacted with her before you took over her body. And although they weren’t friends with her at the time they still had an impression of her.
Tobey was purely your blank slate. A kid you grown attached to. He was in some sense like an older brother. Not really since you're mentally older than him, but there were times when your mind slipped and your mental age matched your physical age. Tobey was the oldest of the entire friend group. He was a fifth grader, he was eleven years old compared to your nine.
In your first life you didn’t have any siblings, or aunts or uncles or any cousins. You didn’t have many friends then either, you’d used to but you were deep in the throes of depression and let your self-sabotaging and isolating behaviors take over. Back then as a depressed twenty- something your excuse for not reaching out— for not talking to someone was: ‘ if they cared they would check in on me.’
The few friends you had, always invited you to hang out with them, they never kicked you out of the group chat even after you went months without responding. But it was never enough. You wanted them to notice your absence, to text you or stop by unannounced and ask you ‘ what’s wrong?’
They never did, and you couldn’t fault them for that. They knew you were a private person, they knew you were a homebody. Maybe they were just doing what you told them to do, maybe they were doing what they thought was good for you. After all you never truly opened up about your mental health besides the off hand mention about your depression diagnosis and the occasional grumble about needing to refill your prescription.
Back then you had let yourself believe that you were a burden, that you were useless and everyone who ever met you was better off without you.
You learned from your suicide about the value of life, and you learned from Tobey. You remember when Tobey got into a fight with a boy much older and bigger than him because the kid was picking on you. You remember asking him why he did that as you pressed a towel wrapped sandwich bag filled with ice to his swollen face. Tobey had told you that he wanted to protect you.
He said it as if it was the most simple thing in the world, and perhaps it was. He wanted to protect you and he did. There was no alternative motive, Tobey is a child, his thinking is simple and so is his sense of justice.
That simple childish-line of reasoning had you crying, because life is so complex, but children are simple; they do what feels right or what makes the most sense in their limited world view. And when you started to cry Tobey pulled you into his chest and hugged you— because to him you were younger and he needed to protect you.
So when the other end of the line picked up and you heard Tobey’s voice over the receiver, you had to blink back tears.
“Hi,”
“Hey,”
It was cold inside of the coroner’s office, though that is to be expected. So you bundled yourself in Tobey’s jacket and you brought Jamie’s bunny for comfort and Nettie’s glasses chin was looped around your wrist. You trailed after your social worker a guy named Gilbert – you think. He was very generic looking, nothing to write home about. He was kind when he introduced himself, all soft and gentle voiced with kind eyes to match.
He was talking to a medical examiner in low hushed tones. Adult stuff that really didn’t interest you. If you had to guess what they were talking about it was probably something about paperwork. You're a minor, a nine year old girl, legally you couldn’t sight anything and you were far too young to emancipate yourself.
Eventually the three of you stopped in front of a glass divider, Gilbert placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and pushed you forwards.
“ You got this.” He says. You know it is supposed to help you feel more confident in this situation, but this isn’t going to be the first body you’ve had to identify. You had to identify Mom’s body after her suicide— a fucked up formality you assumed and you had to do the same with your grandfather. This body–Mama’s body would be no different.
The morgue attendant pulled back a blue sheet, her skin was ashen and she was naked. You felt unsteady and you hated that you did. Because you should’ve been used to this, you’ve seen dead bodies before, for fucks sake you seen your mom’s body hang from the ceiling fan, this was nothing compared to that.
She looked like she was asleep, as if at any moment she’d wake up and pull you into her as she smothered your face in kisses and raspberries. You stepped forward, you knew what to do next, ask them to look for an identifier on the body, just to make sure. “She– she has– Mama has a tattoo of my name on her right shoulder. Is it there?”
Birdie’s real name, the one that you stopped responding to because it wasn’t your name. It’s one thing to take a nickname, because there are millions of people nicknamed junior, but you couldn’t take the real Birdie’s name, you couldn’t. You’re already possessing her body, you can’t take possession over her name too.
Gilbert left you in the hallway, he’d suggested that you sit in the waiting room until he’s done with the paperwork but you didn’t want to. So there you were staring at the covered body of your Mama. The sheet was pulled back over her face.
You wondered how you’re gonna deal with the funeral arrangements. Did Mama have something already planned? Did she set money aside for it? This was Gotham. It made sense if she pre-planned her funeral. But at the same time most people, even those that lived in Gotham don’t plan for their deaths, they’re too focused on living, and surviving to the next day.
Maybe — on the off chance Mama didn’t plan for her death—there was a program you can qualify for, some government funded, or nonprofit that would cover the funeral cost.
Someone was standing next to you. You had heard their footsteps, the sound of polished shoes clicking against the linoleum floors. At first you thought it was Gilbert, but it wasn’t. The man standing next to you was taller than the social worker, he had a border frame as well. Stunning blue eyes with his inky black hair slicked back. He looked like a model.
You wondered why he was here? Was he some socialite whose partner died? Was he also here to identify a body? But why was he here, next to you?
You took a few steps away from the strange man, and you made no effort in hiding it. The man noticed and he smiled, it was a little tug of his lips. He looked almost bemused.
“Hi?” you said tentatively, after a few minutes of standing in silence. Where was your social worker or any of the people that worked at the coroner’s office? This is how children go missing. You thought blandly.
“ Hello, your name’s Birdie, right?” the man asked.
There was an exit behind you, like there was an exit behind the man. The building looped back to the waiting room, if this stranger tries anything you’ll run.
“How do you know my name?” you asked, you’re voice soft, maybe you could use the stuffed rabbit as a weapon? The man didn’t move, his analytical blue eyes looked you over, maybe he noticed your apprehension, maybe he realized how fucking wired he’s being.
The man cleared his throat. “ I’m Bruce Wayne,” and just like that he gave you an award winning smile.
What?
What the fuck?
But there was Brucie Wayne– Batman– standing in front of you, his blue eyes were soft– paternal almost as he looked down at you. Oh no. no. no way, nope. You weren't even going to entertain the thought, there has to be other reasons as to why Bruce Wayne was here, at this specific coroner’s office.
Maybe it was a murder case or an illegal organ smuggling ring and a lead had brought him here— why does he have to come in as Brucie Wayne, billionaire playboy and not the great detective batman? You don’t know, you're not some super genius.
“ Rosetta Carter, that’s her name right?” he asked and you froze, how did he learn her name? Dread swelled in your stomach, you were three for three. please, you begged— don’t let this be what i think it is.
“Yeah… did you know mama?” You asked, forcing your vice to be a little bit more childish. In that moment, something real took over his expression, that vapid party boy persona cracked.
“No… I met her once."He didn’t sound sad, but you could hear the underlying grief in his voice, like he was mourning a life, a possibility that long since passed him.
“Ah,” silence settled uncomfortably over the two of you. And that feeling of dread came back with a vengeance. The man then knelt, getting on your level and your heart lodged itself into your throat.
“ Birdie, I have reason to believe that I'm your father.”
The world tilted on its axis, and suddenly you felt like a bug being poked with a stick. This was real, this was happening, the scenario that took place in hundreds of fanfics was unraveling in front of you. Your mouth went dry.
“No you’re not.” your mouth moved before your brain could process what was happening. Bruce looked at you with wide eyes, clearly taken aback. And in all honesty you don’t know why, sure he was Bruce Wayne and sure there was an ongoing joke about how he adopts every orphaned child he comes across. But realistically he should’ve expected some push back.
You may be in nine-year-old body but even a real nine year old would be suspicious of strange men claiming to be their father.
“ I don’t know you!” you shouted and your voice bounced off the walls. “ Mama never said anything about having a dad!”
You could hear footsteps and maybe– hopefully– it was Gilbert.
warnings: blood, referenced child trafficking, I'm plied violence. If I missed anything please tell me!
Crime alley was a lost cause, it’s where petty criminals and the poorest of the poor and other unwanted members of society lived. There was always something happening, always the wails of police sirens, or the sounds of a crime happening.
Gotham was a dangerous place, especially at night. Petty D-list villains liked to roam about, knowing the local heroes won’t stop them. It’s not because they didn’t care, it’s because there was too much crime, too much corruption, and not enough of them to thwart it. Besides, some things are bound to be swept under the rug or overlooked altogether.
A domestic dispute, cat burglars, or a murder, if it didn’t involve putting the larger than life villains in Arkham, or unraveling a large scale crime ring. You wouldn't see hide nor hair of the city's vigilantes. That was just how life worked, someone was always being screwed over.
Drunk people stumbling down sidewalks, some laughing in groups, some alone, others muttering strange things under their breath. Rats darted out of the alleys and scurried into the gutters, looking like blurred shadows under the flickering streetlights.
Strange things happened at night, if it wasn’t a druggie going on a paranoid rant about the second coming, or the sound of a gun going off in an apartment. It was something else, less dire but equally strange.
But this current situation wasn't one that you had ever hoped to come across.
You've been taking the closing shift at some seedy bar( that really shouldn't have hired you) and you had long since gotten used to the strange shit you saw on the walks home. You were convinced that you saw everything this side of the city had to offer.
However, finding one of the city’s most famous juvenile hero, bleeding out in an alleyway wasn't something you had experience with. Now, you have seen people get stabbed before. Found some poor sod beaten up and left on the side of the road, and every time you’d called the cops and stayed until you were told to leave.
It was a miracle that you even noticed him at all. You had been walking down the sidewalk, pausing to snap a photo of a mangy black cat and its kittens when you heard a ‘thud’ come from the alley beside you.
This wasn’t a horror movie, you’d usually wouldn’t go investigating the strange noises you hear in alleys at night. The smart thing to do was to continue walking and mind your fucking business.
But… You wouldn’t call this impulsivity, nor a call to adventure, but the lingering voice of your dad telling you to check, to see if someone was hurt, and to do the right thing. Be nice, and someday it might be paid forward. So you turned on your phone’s flashlight and stepped into the alley.
Which is how you ended in your current position, kneeling in some dark corner of the alley, hidden by a nasty smelling dumpster, staring dumbly at the unconscious body of Robin.
“Oh fuck.” You said a bit breathlessly. You had recognized him the moment your flashlight landed on him. You hadn’t had many run-ins with the local vigilantes, or their villains for that matter, no close encounters with the Riddler for example, besides having the train canceled because he planted a series of bombs in the subway station.
When you realized that the unconscious person was Robin you wanted to walk away, not even bothering to call the cops, just pretend that you hadn’t seen a thing. Not because you didn’t care, but because you’re sure that one of his brood would find him. Nightwing or Red Hood(since Crime Alley was his turf) or even Batman himself.
And you didn’t want any fingers pointed at you. You didn’t want anyone to assume that you were responsible for injuring the youngest of beloved heroes. You bit your bottom lip eyebrows furrowed in contemplation, you could help him…
The cops in Crime Alley were crooked at best, corrupted at worst, if news of one of Batman Brood was found bleeding out in an alley almost were to reach news outlets… You weren't stupid and you weren't going to get on Batman’s bad side by calling the cops. So the logical thing was to let fate run its course, turn around and go home. After all, he wouldn't even be the first Robin to die on the job.
This wasn’t your circus, he wasn’t your monkey, he was a problem, one that you don't have to solve. Normal people like you shouldn’t get involved with people like him. You needed to stay far, far, very far away from his kind.
But as you approached the unconscious Robin, you heard a splash and realized you stepped in something wet. Shining the flashlight on the ground, your jaw clenched when you saw you were standing in a pool of blood.
Robin’s blood.
He was hurt, badly so. There was a gaping hole in his stomach, and although this Robin strayed from the bright traffic light colors his predecessors wore, his suit was a light gray, and you could see a dark spot blooming out from where you think he'd been stabbed.
You had no idea what happened. You hadn’t heard anything about a fight going on while you've been at work, and usually, the news made sure to keep citizens updated on any hero-villain altercations going on so they would know to avoid the area.
Maybe it was a fight that would break news in the morning, like a cartel or trafficking ring. It would happen sometimes Batman and Co™ Would work on a case and then would turn over all information to the proper authorities. It happened with that one school teacher who was involved with child trafficking.
Robin’s dark hair splayed out behind his head in a mess of knots. His lips that were always seen curled into a smirk weren't smiling for once. Instead, his mouth was slightly open, with shallow breaths coming out.
If the blood pool wasn’t a dead giveaway, Robin’s skin was deathly pale. You knew that if you left now, He would bleed out very very soon.
“C’mon just walk away,” You muttered to yourself, unable to tear your gaze away from the giant wound in the boy's abdomen.
You willed your feet to move. To carry you to the end of the alley and go back to your apartment where your dad was waiting for you.
But you couldn’t. You were frozen. Robin may have been a hero, placed on a pedestal and deemed unstoppable but he was still a person. A boy who had family and (probably has) friends. A boy not much older than you. People who would miss him if he was gone.
While you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a good person, you knew that no one, no matter who they are, deserved to bleed out in a dirty alleyway.
“Well, shit,” You cursed, dropping your bag and kneeling down next to the teen hero. If you were going to do this, you had to do it fast before someone else showed up.
While you didn’t think there was anyone around, it was clear Robin had been in a fight, and whoever had inflicted this wound might want to finish the job. Or Batman might swoop in. You definitely didn’t want to be around if either one found Robin.
You unbuttoned and took off your only clean work shirt and stuffed it into your backpack along with your phone. Now in your black tank top, you cracked your fingers and gently tried to lift the fabric of the boy’s shirt away from the wound. The dark fabric clung to the blood, and you winced as it tugged at the raw skin, nervously glancing over to Robin to see if he stirred.
Thankfully, he stayed unconscious.
Once you lifted the shirt, you sucked in a breath at the sight of the wound. It was nothing short of a literal hole in the gut, as if he’s been impaled with something. You didn’t see any spear-like object that could’ve been used as the weapon nearby, meaning Robin likely didn’t pull it out himself.
If he did, he was an idiot because the one thing a person should never do is try to pull out the thing that stabbed them. Either way, it didn’t seem like he had been the one to pull out whatever had gotten him this good, so you couldn’t fault him too much.
You narrowed your eyes, noticing the ragged edges around the wound itself. It wasn’t a clean slice, meaning it wasn’t a knife. It was more likely something not meant for stabbing but was going at a high enough speed and force to slice through him anyway. A pipe maybe? You weren't sure, but it didn’t matter much now.
Taking a breath to steady yourself, you put your hands on the edges of the wound, doing your best to push the skin together. Then you closed your eyes, and concentrate.
For the longest time, you were completely unaware you were a meta. You had always thought it was just plain luck how you healed slightly faster, or how injuries that usually took weeks to heal for others would only last a few days for you.
Then one day your dad sliced his palm open while trying to open a box. You had run to the bathroom to find something to wrap it, dragging your dad along, when you noticed a strange warmth coursing through your body. Then, you watched with wide eyes as your hands began to glow green, and the cut on your dad’s hand knitted itself back together.
That was when you learned you could heal, and that's when your dad made you promise not to show off this ability of yours. You understood why, you were a meta with the power to heal, not only yourself but others as well. If the wrong person were to find out…
Well, you didn’t like thinking about that.
A wound like this though… This was way bigger than anything you had ever tried to heal before. It didn’t matter though. If you could ease the pain in your dad’s joints then you could fix this.
As soon as your hands began to glow a dull green, you could tell this was going to take a lot more out of you than any other wound had healed before. You kept your eyes closed, focusing on the energy flowing from your hands.
Underneath your fingers, you could feel his skin knitting itself back together. But as the seconds ticked on, your head began to pound. There was a throbbing behind your eyes that you’d only felt when overusing your powers, and it was getting worse with every second.
You grit your teeth, struggling to keep focus. It fucking hurt healing this wound. The pain behind your eyes was like being bashed in the head over and over again, and it was getting hard to breathe. You just needed to get the wound to stop bleeding.
Finally, when your head felt like it was going to explode, and you tasted the blood drip from your nose you lifted your hands from Robin’s stomach.
You breathed a sigh of relief, the pounding in your head fading almost instantly, but the blood was still flowing from your nose. You took a few moments to catch your breath, shoulders shaking with exhaustion, before opening your eyes to see your work.
The wound wasn’t fully healed. Healing a wound as massive as that wasn’t something you could do in one go. But the gaping hole was much smaller now and had stopped bleeding entirely. Along with that, color was added back into the boy's cheeks, and you wondered briefly if your powers had helped fix some of his blood loss.
Either way, your work here was done. Looking at your hands, you winced when you saw they were slick with blood, and ended up using the edge of the boy's cape to wipe them off. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind. It was his blood anyway.
As you wiped at the blood from under your nose with the hem of your skirt, you didn’t notice the way Robin’s lip twitched. Nor did you notice the way he flexed his fingers.
No, you didn’t notice any of that until Robin was bolting upright and lunging for you. You yelped as the villain grabbed you by the neck, slamming you into the hard dirt and blood-covered floor.
“Hey! What the fuck?!” You croaked, clawing at the hand around your neck.
“Where am I?” Robin hissed in a scratchy voice.
“Crime Alley.” you said. You watched the boy's lips pull into a frown, his green eyes were swirling with emotions that the pain in your head wouldn’t let you decipher.
“ Yeah, that sounds right,” he muttered, nodding to himself. “What happened? How did I get in this alley?”
“I don’t know! I was walking home when I found you in a pool of your own blood!” You told him, still trying to remove the hand on your throat.
“Blood?” As if he had been too confused by his situation to feel any pain, Robin winced and glanced down to his stomach, pulling his shirt up to see the partially-healed wound.
He stared at the wound for a moment, pursing his lips, before he whipped his head back up to you. “I should be dead right now. How am I not dead?”
You attempted to shrug, but it was kind of difficult with Robin pressing you onto the ground. “ I healed you! I saved your life! you’re welcome.”
“But there’s no bandages. What did you do?”
Removing your hands from his, you let your hands fall limply beside your head. “ I guess you’re just lucky, that I’m a meta.”
Robin was frowning again as he glanced at your hands. “You have healing powers?”
“...Yes? But don’t ask me to do it again, healing you hurts. So you're welcome.”
There was a beat of silence as the boy considered you, a faint dripping noise echoing through the alley. Robin stared down at you for a moment, the confusion practically radiating off of him. Even so, after a few tense seconds, the grip on your neck loosened and he backed off. You didn't sit up right away but when you did it was slow as you rubbed at your neck.
“Shit, man it’s a good thing I'm not a villain.” you muttered. You hated pain and discomfort, did everything to avoid it. But as a dull warmth ached through your body you knew you’d be sore for the next few days.
“ Why did you help me?” Robin asked, sitting on the opposite side of the alley from her.
“Humm... I dunno. I didn’t really have a reason. I just didn’t think it was right to just leave you to die.” You paused, slumping against the brick wall behind her.
“Besides, I figured it would’ve been really embarrassing for Robin to bleed out in a random alleyway. I’d thought to save you the humiliation.”
It was quiet for a moment. “Does anyone know about this?” ‘This’ as in the situation? or ‘This’ as in you being a meta? You weren't sure but you’d answer the ladder.
You grimaced, partly because your nose started to bleed again and… “No, besides my dad, I'm just a normal civilian.”
Robin pressed his lips into a thin line. You didn’t answer the question he wanted you to answer, but oh well he should’ve asked a better question.
“Thank you,” He said in a low voice.
You glanced over at him blinking in slight disbelief. This Robin had the reputation of being abrasive and quite prickly. You weren't expecting thanks.
You should've said ‘ your welcome,’ or ‘ no problem, any decent person would help you.’ You wanted to, you were going too, but you didn’t.
“ I wanted to leave you there, I’d thought that if you died, you died. It was too much of a risk to help you— but…”
You weren't a good person, you didn’t deserve his thanks. And if Robin was another person you’re not sure if you would’ve helped him. Maybe you would've, maybe you wouldn’t, but there was no point in dwelling on that now.
“... Don’t tell Batman.” You knew meta’s weren’t welcomed in Gotham. Batman implemented that unofficial ban out of fear of another superpowered villain going to his ever expansive gallery, but then there was Signal, the daytime hero. It was easy to come to the conclusion that a meta in this city was either working with or against Batman. You wanted to stay under the Bats radar and live as normal a life as you can.
The boy grunts at you, a curt ‘hm’ that shouldn’t have made you smile, but it did. You decided to take that as ‘ yes I wont tell my boss.’
“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly.
You gave him your name, with little resistance. After this you're sure Robin would look into you, after all you were a meta with a healing ability. And the Bats had this all–seeing all knowing ‘ big brother is watching you’ image to uphold. Therefore you couldn’t lie even if you wanted to.
There was a lull in the conversation. It was quite in the alley, well it was quiet as an alley can be; the sound of dripping water echoed and noise of the cars zooming past the mouth of the alley was loud and abrupt. It is getting rather late.
Gripping the edge of the wall, Robin pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he held a hand over his stomach. “ Do you need help getting home?”
“ Do you? Besides, are you gonna be able to make it back to your lair or whatever like that?” You asked, standing up as well.
You met his deadpan stare with your own.
“ Lair?” He questioned.
“I dunno where you Bats live! You guys have lairs and fuck of towers, right?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “For the record, that’s classified information,”
“ So you guys do have lairs and huge fuck off towers.”
“You're such… huh…so strange.” Robin muttered, slurring his words and shaking his head.
You were worried for a moment, you didn’t want him to pass out and you’d have to call the police or something, because then revealing your biggest secret would be a complete waste.
But before you could ask again if he was alright, Robin was limping out of the alley with one hand over his stomach, waving at you with the other.
You watched as the shadowy figure turned left out of the alley, disappearing from sight. When you followed, you looked down the street trying to see where he went, but only saw empty sidewalks bathed in the orange glow of the streetlights.
He was gone.
While it felt a little strange to just go back to her apartment after saving the life of one of Gotham’s heroes, you didn’t exactly have much else to do. So you ignored the way your legs shook with fatigue, swung your backpack over your shoulder, and continued down the street like nothing had happened.
It was a cool night out in the city. The air was thick with the promise of rain, the stars blotted out by the dark clouds that hung overhead. By the time you got back to your neighborhood, you breathed a sigh of relief you hadn’t even known you were holding.
Trudging back into your apartment building, you slumped against the back wall of the elevator and closed your eyes as it began to go up. The vibrations of the elevator reverberated through your head, and all you could think of was how excited you were to pass out in her bed.
“ I’m home,” You announced as you swung open the door to her apartment. The stained carpet crunched under your shoes as you stepped inside, the door slamming shut behind you.
There was no reply, so dad might have picked up an extra shift at work. You dropped your bag and tossed her keys into the punch bowl at the foot of the door, you walked down the hall and peeked into the only bedroom of the apartment.
You walked into the room and headed straight for the pile of clothes that was folded and placed in a swivel chair. Pulling out a black bleached stained t-shirt, this would have to do for the night. Walking out of the room and heading for the small bathroom that was across from the bedroom.
Hot water was a rarity in this shitty building and more often than not when it was time to bathe you had to boil water to use. And tonight wasn’t any different; the water was freezing, and your apartment was cold, leaving you hating everything more than you already did.
Bundled up in a thick wool blanket you sat at the rickety coffee table doing the rest of your homework that you started on your breaks at work. Besides what happened in the alley the day was ending like it usually did.
Monotonous, that's how you’d describe your life, the same thing rinse and repeat.
You woke up with your body aching and the smell of smog lingering in the air. Pulling yourself up and looking around, it was early. Early enough that the morning traffic noise hadn’t started, the sun wasn’t even up. you tried to sink deeper into the shitty second hand couch. It probably was too early to get ready for school, and too late to go back to sleep.
Dad still hadn’t come home, he’d usually carry you to your bed so that he can have the couch. But since rent had increased, dad decided to pick up another job.
You wondered what Robin is doing. You hoped that he got home safe.
as we near the end of the first act of The Kitchen Sink
i should make it clear that the MC is an unreliable narrator, she suffers from depression, has low self esteem, has impostor syndrome, knows she's been isekiad and believes she in a certain subsection of batfam fanfics. she also tends to isolate her self, if people don't reach out to her she wont reach out first.
not to mention that hardly any one in the bat fam ( except for Alfred and maybe Dick) have emotional intelligence. sure they're smart and can read body language to an absurd degree but they tend to value logic over emotion and the reader is mostly emotion over logic.
really thought my laptop killed itself. last night my computer was overheating so I turned it off to cool down and went to bed, It to day it wouldn't turn on untill like right now.
SYNOPSIS; “ You were on the roof out in the open with Nightwing, Richard Grayson, Nightwing. The first Robin, the original Boy Wonder.”
Or you have a late night talk with Nightwing.
Chapter Four || Up The Down Trench.
Warnings: Depression, implied Suicide, the reader makes a joke and references to her Suicide from the first chapter, a character assume the reader is trying to commit Suicide, she not it’ a misunderstanding.
You may have had a few oversights in your rush not to be placed in Gotham's foster system. In your defense, you were panicked, just lost Mama and two of your three best friends were in the hospital, and that whole thing in the library. So smaller details were bound to fall to the wayside.
Said details seemed to create the woman in front of you, who was currently staring you down from across a cluttered desk. The woman was brunette, middle aged and visibly exhausted. When she had came in, at 9 fucking a.m You had been dragged into the tiny room that was her office.
Literally dragged in.
This woman had tugged you after her by the collar of your shirt as if you were a disobedient kitten. Pulling you from the bare cafeteria, where you noticed that there were probably ten other children, all scrawny with paranoid hollow eyes. Not that you can judge, you knew that you weren’t doing any better. Though you had to look away when you noticed that you weren’t even the youngest of the bunch.
Ms. Shari— Sharon? Cheryl? Cheyenne? Shannon? You weren’t exactly listening when she introduced herself and she didn’t have a name tag for you to check— was this no-nonsense social worker what partnered with the Youth Shelter. Her job she had explained when you toned back in was to determine the severity of your case, to create your file, help you get assigned to your own social worker, and track down any living relatives.
Much to Ms. Cheryl exhaustion, you weren't making a single aspect of her job easy. She tapped her pen against the paper sitting before her, a rhythmic tapping that created the only sound in the small space. If you were to look at the paper in front of her, you’d see written in neat handwriting the only information you had willingly offered your name and age.
“ Uh, Ms…. Can you help me identify a body?” You asked. The women suddenly looked alert, as if what you said was unreasonable.
“What do you mean?” She asked. You shrugged and slumped down in your seat. Deciding to stare down at your hand, picking at the frayed skin away from your nails.
“ My Mama died yesterday, she’s probably at some morgue, but I know if she’s left unclaimed she’ll just be incinerated.” You muttered.
The social worker leans a little over her desk, you felt her eyes bore into you. “Is that how you got your injuries?” She asked almost soothingly.
Again you shrugged. “You know that failure of a field trip that happened yesterday? The one the Joker crashed? Yeah… I was there.” it had gone silent after that then in a small voice Ms. Cheyenne said;
“I’m sorry no child should have to go through that.”
She sounded genuine, but all you could do was humed in response.
“I’ll see what i can do, about your mother i mean, but to do that i’ll need you to cooperate with me.”
“I’ll be cooperative as long as I'm not placed in a foster family.” That sounded harsher than you meant it to be, but the social worker didn’t seem offended about it. Instead she looked like she understood where you were coming from. Some foster parents and social workers were a part of child trafficking rings, Most foster homes were just abusive, and although there were a few foster homes that were good, like genuinely good—that had the kids well being in mind. But the good homes were few and far in between and you rather be safe than sorry.
The women merely nodded.
After reaching some kind of unspoken understanding with Ms. Cheryl, you were much more cooperative. Willingly telling her your previous address, your mother’s name, your name, middle name, last name, birthday, even social security number.
You were in the office for a little over thirty minutes.
“And that’s time.” Ms. Cheryl said, checking her watch and then heaving a deep sigh. You got up quietly, simply nodding your head in her direction.
“You’re a smart girl ya know.” She said, You cast a look over your shoulder. She was slumped in her chair, and her eyes were closed. She looked tired.
“I’d figured that I would get better help in a place with the Wayne name attached to it.” You knew what she was talking about. A lot of children distrusted the foster system– with good reason– even when the Wayne name was attached to it. Gothamites were prideful and stubborn people, they hold little trust in the systems in place.
The women hummed in response. “ I’ll get back to you about your mother.”
With that you left the office.
You were in the room the youth shelter provided, there were two beds, two dressers, and no closet. One bed was bare, just fitted with a simple gray sheet. The bed May assigned you had a cream cover and matching pillows.
It was a rare sunny day, which was unexpected considering how much it rained yesterday. You planned on going out today, just wander around and not get caught by the truancy police, then later on try calling your friends to tell them you’re safe. You didn’t have to worry about school, the social worker said so. Apparently the schools that were invited to the publicity stunt gone wrong have the next few weeks off.
The other kids still had to go to school, a local public school. So you were by yourself for the time being.
Your fingers traced the patches on Tobey’s jacket, the one under your finger was a cluster of goombas from the Mario games, on the right sleeves was a line of the ghost from Pacman. There were more, mostly on the front and sleeves since Red Robin’s logo was on the back and Toby would never cover it.
You didn’t even like the Gotham vigilantes— well not any more. Maybe it was because you're in the DC universe, In Gotham and not just a passive reader who can just close the comic book and disengage anytime you want. This was your life now, you were stuck in Gotham and if you played your cards right and remained a wallflower maybe one day you can make enough money to leave this cursed city.
You’d talked about it a few times. The first time it came up was at the third sleepover you had with Tobey.
You were five, lazing on the rug in the living room of Tobey’s apartment. You watched the ceiling fan blades spin. The sunlight – a rarity–from the balcony would dance with each turn, and the boy was laying next to you. The soft buzz of music drifting from the kitchen and the smell of breakfast had your stomach growling.
“ What do you think Metropolis is like?” Tobey asked, propping himself up on his elbows. You hummed and inclined your head to look at the fat faced boy. You haven’t read much Superman focused comics, mostly following the super sons or Tim drake’s young justice. You mainly hand interest on anything Bat Fam focused.
“Bright, and safe and sunny, imagine meeting Superman.” You said. Tobey smiled.
“Would you want to live there?” Tobey asked and you rolled onto your stomach.
“Duh, who wouldn’t?”
The second time was at the first sleepover with Jamie and Nettie. With them simple musing about living in Metropolis tuned into owning a cafe-library hybrid— where the first floor was the cafe and the second was a library.
“ The library would be like a loft!” Jamie said, a smile already splitting his chubby face. “With a huge window so that we can look down into the cafe!”
Nettie nodded. “ And we’ll have spiral stairs to get to the library, and an escalator!” she added.
“Elevator.” you had corrected her. Nettie had stuck her tongue out at you.
“Tobey and Birdie can run the library part and me and Jamie can run the cafe!”
Jamie nodded long and Tobey because he was deemed the better artist was drawing out the future plans.
“ Why do I have to manage the library?” you asked. Nettie puffed out her chest, a smug expression painted on her face as she patted her chest.
“My Ma is teachin’ me how to bake and she’s the best at it so our cafe will have the world's bestest sweets.” she said.
Everything was so simple then, it was fun to just sit at a coffee table and imagine that cafe-library. Bickering about the menu or talking about what books to add to the library, though you guys never could agree on a name.
You saw the tear soak into the sleeve on the jacket and you blinked in surprise.
Oh, you were crying.
You wiped at your eyes, you couldn’t cry now there was still too much to do. You couldn’t cry until Mama’s body was properly dealt with, you couldn’t cry until you knew that Jamie, Nettie and Tobey were okay. You couldn’t cry, not now at least.
You had to give Tobey back his jacket, you had to buy Nettie a new glasses chain and you had Jamie still alive, he had the worst injury out of the three.
So no you couldn’t cry, because if you cried now you wouldn’t stop.
You’re an adult, you remind yourself, you’re 25 years old, just because you spent the last four years in a child’s body doesn't mean that you're actually a child. But physically— physically you're nine years old and everyone treated you like a nine year old girl… sometimes it’s easy to forget that you're an adult when everyone treats you as a child.
Miss May had told you to stay in the shelter until school was out so that you wouldn’t get caught by the truancy officers, she had also told you that the shelter had an open door policy– that there wasn’t a mandatory curfew but she would prefer it if you came back before 9.
That was reasonable, although you were in a better part of Gotham doesn't mean that you were safe. There was no part of this city that could be called safe. You roamed the streets of the university district, it was clean, nice and smelled of something other than blood and alcohol. On every street was some kind of bakery, clothing store, chain restaurant and fast food joint that wouldn’t dare open in the Narrows.
You wandered into a few, buying a couple of new patches for Tobey’s jacket, found a cute glasses chain with little cats hanging off of it for Nettie, and a simple black stuffed rabbit for Jamie. He was always fond of cute things, and rabbits and bunnies according to him were the cutest animals to ever exist.
Two days passed, the social worker woman had managed to locate Mama’s body and set up an appointment so you can claim it. You haven't called your friends yet — it's nerve -wracking to do so, but you promised yourself that after you claimed Mama’s body and properly put her to rest that you’ll call them.
You dreamed of your apartment, the one you had with Mama, the one you lived in when you were that 22 year old college student and the one you lived in with mom and later grandpa. It was a strange fusion between the three, a cat tree in the corner, a fish tank blocking the balcony door the old couch mama would lay on after work.
The carpet changed between brown, tan, and gray. The apartment was quiet, it was disconcerting quiet. And you were home alone, you knew it, but it was quiet. Even quiet places were filled with little white noises. The buzz from the kitchen, the thrum from the fish tank, the footsteps from the apartment above, the honking of car horns, the bits of loud conversation that would drift up to the windows.
Your apartment was filled with little white noises, outside of the apartment was overflowing with little white noises that would seep and mix with the white noise inside the apartment.
But this quiet was quiet. No noise whatsoever, just you and your thoughts and all of your little observations. You could feel the goose bumps form on your arms.
Bile rose in your throat, and you shot upright, throwing back the chair as you rushed to get to the bathroom.
You barely made it in time to empty your stomach in the toilet. You coughed, spitting the last of the foul, burning liquid from your mouth, and wiped the back of your hand over your lips. You stayed there for a full minute, hunched over the bowl and waiting for your stomach to settle, before standing and flushing. You slowly stepped up to the sink and raked your fingers through your hair, breathing deeply.
Huh, what brought that on?
Usually there were signs of nausea before throwing up, lightheaded, a twisting of the gut, difficulties to breath.
But this was so sudden, with no build up, and no way to prevent it.
Fucking gross. Leaning over the sink and staring at the mirror intensely. A solemn-looking reflection gazing back at you.
That’s not what you're supposed to look like, you’re supposed to have the face of a nine year old girl who has yet to fully grow into her features.
You looked like a mess. You looked like you were 22 again.
You looked so tired, your eyes were sunken in and dull and lifeless as if someone plucked the eyes off a corpse and put them into your skull. And wow Birdie was prettier than you.
You left the bathroom. At the end of the hall was a figure, it was small and vaguely person shaped. Narrowing your eyes you took a few cautious steps forwards.
“ Hello?” you called like every dumb horror movie character. Your hand brushed along the wall until you found the light switch, you flicked it up.
Oh, there was Birdie. She was standing at the end of the hall, her head was bowed and she was wearing that penguin printed nightgown, the same nightgown when you woke up in her body.
“Thief.” She muttered. Your heart hammered in your chest.
“What?”
“THIEF!” The girl snarled as she snapped her head up, her eyes burning with hate.
You startle awake, unnerved by your dream. The images and words fade away within seconds of waking, the way all dreams do, and you're left puzzled and ill at ease. you rub your eyes, as you sit up — the covers pooling around your waist.
It was raining earlier, but the rain has stopped now and the sky is cloudy and dim. You can only stay in one place for so long. You left the youth shelter– you wrapped Tobey’s jacket tighter around yourself, and held tight to your chest was the stuffed rabbit you’re going to give to Jamie.
Ever since being it you had gotten attached to the thing, maybe it was the color but it reminds you of Jamie. It’s late--you doesn’t know how late--and the city is lit up below you. You’re not standing on the tallest building in the district; it’s only about twenty floors tall. And it gives you a good view of this part of the city.
You’re on the roof of an abandoned industrial building, something a street kid showed you a few days ago. You stroll along the edge of the building, hands tucked into the pockets of Tobey’s jacket, leaning over the edge to look over the city. You can see and hear over two dozen red and blue lights and sirens lining the city streets, each moving in different directions. A distant spotlight shines against the clouds with the image of the bat signal.
You can hear the distant crack of gunfire nearby. It seems to come from every direction. The whole city was a constant war zone. It reminds you of the Narrows. In the Narrows at least the crime didn’t stop once the sun rose, people would be mugged in broad daylight and that would be the average Tuesday.
A building erupts into flames in the distance. More sirens begin, and you can see helicopters fly towards the fire. You focus on that area of town. What villain is attacking? Was it the scarecrow? The penguin? A group of nameless goons? A drug cartel? The longer you look, the more you lean over the ledge, as if that would help you see who’s responsible for the fire.
“ Hey, can you step away from the ledge?” A voice said from behind you, it's calm and gentle as if trying to sooth a feral animal. You jumped in place, as you whirls around to find yourself staring up at a masked man in a black suit with blue, stylized wings spread across the chest. You tensed.
Aw fuck it’s Nightwing.
“ When did— where did you come from?” You asked. You were two for two when it came to meeting batfam members. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence and three times is a pattern. You hope this isn’t a pattern because then you somehow ended up in their orbit.
“The building to the right.” Nightwing says carefully as he walks over to you. He stands an arm’s reach from you and offers his hand.
“I’m Nightwing.”
“I know.” you said, eyeing the outstretched hand. There was no way you were going to touch him, that would make things too real. When you spoke to Babs( can you call her that?) you had the reception desk separating the two of you. But here you had no such luxury. You were on the roof out in the open with Nightwing, Richard Grayson, Nightwing. The first Robin, the original Boy Wonder.
Still it would be rude not to take his hand, and both Mom and Mama raised you with manors. So you reached out to grasp Nightwing’s outstretched hand. The man pulls you from the edge of the building and spins you around so that he stands on the ledge and you stand where he was– near the center of the roof.
“What the fuck?” You gasped. What the hell just happened?
“There! All better!” Nightwing holds your hand a little too long. You frowned and pulled your hand from his.
“Are you Alright? Actually, scratch that, that’s not the best question, if you were fine you would be on a roof at three in the mourning.”
You wiped you hand on Tobey’s jacket, did he think you were going to kill yourself? Your frown deepened. If you were going to kill yourself(again) than you would’t jump(again) you’d try something different.
“ I wasn’t going to jump.” You said, hugging Jamie’s rabbit to your chest, your fingers idly playing the one of its felt ears. “ I had enough of jumping from high places…I couldn’t sleep so I came up here to clear my mind, then I got distracted by the fire.”
Nightwing frowns at you. “ Many people come up to tall buildings to think. Do you want to talk about it, at least for a little while?”
Nightwing frowns again, as he brings a hand up and presses it against his ear. A comm? Maybe, most likely. His focus, however, remains on you.
“ Mister Nightwing sir, I'm fine, truly. No need to worry about me, I do all my best thinking on bridges anyways.” you said. You didn't want to keep him away from his superhero work, and you didn’t want him near longer than necessary.
“ I was about to leave soon anyway, I don’t want Miss May to worry about me.”
The vigilante sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced at the fire then trunks back to you. “ Let me take you home at least.”
“ I’m staying at the Martha Wayne Youth Center.”
“ Why’s that? If you don’t mind me asking.” He pulled out a grappling hook, spinning it in his hand before tightening his grip on the handle. He held it out to show you.
“What are you a cop?” You deadpanned. He smiles.
“ That’s not far, I can drop you of and make it in time” He points the grappling hook at a higher building.
“ You’ll have to hold on tight though.” Nightwing opened his other arm, inviting you to hang on. you glanced at the shot, then up at the ledge Nightwing was aiming at.
“Just, don’t drop me, I've never done this before.” You said, awkwardly shuffling over to throw your arms around the vigilante. Nightwing wrapped his arm tight around your waist, making sure he had a good hold.
“I’m a natural at-”
“Dropping children?” You cut in.
“Ha! No. Carrying them. Even if you did fall, I would catch you.” Nightwing chuckled, as he fired his grappling hook.
“I don’t want to fall again.” You glanced downward, while they were reeled across rooftops. You missed the concerned look and frown from the hero holding you in his arms.
“You never told me your name.” You looked up at the man. You understood why he was being so clingy, any normal person would. He thought you, a (physically) nine year old, was about to take your own life.
“You can call me Birdie.”
“ It’s nice to meet you Birdie.”
That night, before you fall asleep, you pray it’s not a pattern.
sometimes I rush myself when I write and then loss all motivation to write. I think that what I was doing when I first wrote kitchen sink I was reading other fics like and and felt like I was lacking when they got to the batfam sooner than I.
i realized that I'm more of a character focused writer I cant just skip the the good parts with out the proper build up so although my writing process is slow I'm happy with the pace I'm setting.
moral of the story I got more motivation to write when I became more self-indulgence.
Or because the batfam hasn’t been introduced yet have this.
Interlude || Beast of Burden.
Warnings: mentions of death, implied child abuse, the reader is described looking like martha wayn but appearance is still vague. The reader is described as having her mother’s “coloring” sill no skin color is specified.
Barbara had seen a lot in her life. And unfortunately ‘ a lot’ includes what most couldn’t even fathom. Evil is spread thick through the streets of Gotham, tainting the air, water and dirt. It seeps through the cracks of the pavement overcrowding what could have been a beautiful place.
But a kid?
That Kid?
She had worked cases where children were involved, used as drug mules, or even as the product themselves. She has seen some things that the majority of people could even stomach.
But that kid. That girl was Bruce’s daughter, the child he didn’t even know he had, not only that but she looked like Martha Wayen, not in skin color, eye or hair color but in facial features. It was how Damian looked like Bruce, because Bruce looked like his father Thomas. But nobody looked like Martha, until that girl did. The girl was soaking wet, shaking from the cold and visibly bruised.
Gosh, the girl couldn’t have been no older than ten, seven if she had to guess, It was one thing when she noticed a stranger shuffling through the pamphlets— she had the card holder that come to her library memorized, and considering that hardly anyone ever comes to Gotham Public Library, that girl was easy to spot. But when Barbara finally saw her face, her heart broke.
She looked tired, too tired for a girl her age and she was scared. Maybe of her or just in general, or that she’d contact someone. The girl was jumpy, about to take flight at any second. She was standing with her weight leaning forward— one wrong word and the kid would be out the door.
Barbara had tried to get the girl to stay because she knew that form of trust would help her when she inevitably had to ask why the girl was at the library and not at a hospital or in some emergency housing. Did she run away? Did she feel unwelcome at the place she was at? Barbara’s blood boiled at the thought.
But she ran before she even said anything. And now she had to do things the hard way.
Because there is no way she’s just going to let this go. She knew that Bruce was going to do things the legal way– or close to legal, because as soon as the girl was put in the system he was going to pull strings to get her in the manor. But that girl, if her hunch was correct, was going to the Wayne funded youth’s shelter, and that was going to make things complicated. Barbara took a minute to regain her composer before sending a message in the group chat
BAT CHAT
Babs: hey guys, i met the girl, she looks around seven years old, and carrying two bags.
Timbers: what girl and how is this relevant to this chat?
Babs: because she’s B’s DAUGHTER the one he just found out about after finding the body of his former hook up? Not only that but she was at the library and not in a hospital.
Timbers: Yeah, that sounds important.
Babs: i noticed that she was looking through the pamphlets after I helped Hood earlier, she was lingering on the Martha Wayne Youth Center so she might be there.
Babs: at first i didn’t recognize her, idk i thought that she was with a parent or something then i checked the cameras and she was the only one there. She had a couple of bags with her so then i thought that she was a runaway. Then she said that she was on a field trip.
Babs: i recognized her then, but when i gave her my name she looked terrified and ran, so she’s either on the streets or at the youth center i mentioned before.
Dickie: in this weather? Sounds bad.like what if she gets sick?
Babs: At the very least i'm more worried about why she looked so jumpy when we talked. She sounded like a sweet kid, if not a little awkward. But what if her mother was abusive?
Timbers: that or she survived a joker attack and her mother died all in the same day, not only that but to her she’s an orphan, idk but im sure tha can fuck up any kid.
Babs: that is most likely, however we don't know what her home life was like.
Dickie: guess we just have to keep an eye out 4 her and take her somewhere safe if we do find on the streets
Barbara sighed in relief despite knowing that Dick wouldn’t even think about hesitating to help out. After all, once the shock and teasing died down ( cause really bruce another kid?) He was the most excited to have another younger sibling. She is also aware that Jayson was paying attention to the chat, even though he deynes it. He and the others would keep an eye out.
A shiver ran down your spine. You're sure that you weren't sick, but you felt a shift in the universe. Something happened, or is happening or is going to happen and it’s going to involve you.
That or this is the remnants of the hectic — for a lack of a better word— day. But you were too tired to linger on the day’s events, so instead you hugged the backpack that had your money to your chest and tried to go to sleep.
