Summary: Bat!sib isn’t a vigilante like the rest of the family and gets insecure about how they look
All pics are from pinterest!
Asks/requests are open! Masterlist
You loved your family. That had never been the problem. The problem was that loving your family also meant learning how to disappear beside them. Camera flashes burst like tiny explosions across the front steps of the Gotham Museum as Bruce stepped from the limousine, effortlessly slipping into the polished smile the city adored. Dick offered his arm to an elderly board member before she could even ask, earning a chorus of delighted laughter from the crowd. Tim was already halfway through answering a reporter's question about Wayne Enterprises' newest scholarship initiative. Damian stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back, posture impossibly straight despite looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else. Jason arrived fashionably late. Of course he did. The crowd seemed to love him for it.
He rolled his eyes dramatically before flashing one crooked grin that somehow made every camera flash twice as fast. Beside you, Bruce chuckled under his breath. "You'd think they came to see him."
"They probably did," Jason replied without missing a beat.
Dick bumped his shoulder. "Your ego's showing."
"It's always showing." The family dissolved into easy laughter. You smiled too. Because you were happy.
"Waynes! Right here!" The photographer waved everyone together. Bruce stood in the center as always. Dick slipped naturally to one side, Jason to the other. Tim adjusted his tie while Damian muttered something that made Dick snort. Without thinking, everyone fell into familiar places.
You hesitated. There wasn't really anywhere for you. Dick noticed first. "C'mere." He rested a hand lightly against your shoulder, pulling you into the space between himself and Tim. "There."
Another photographer shouted. "One more!"
By the tenth picture your cheeks hurt from smiling.
The articles were online before you made it home. You hadn't intended to look. You never intended to look. Yet somehow your thumb always found its way there.
WAYNE FOUNDATION RAISES RECORD DONATIONS AT ANNUAL GALA
The first photo showed Bruce. The second showed Dick laughing with donors. The third was Jason shaking hands with firefighters. The fourth caught Tim mid-conversation. The fifth was Damian standing beside Alfred. The sixth...
You stared at it longer than you meant to. Everyone looked... effortless. Dick somehow smiled with his whole face. Jason looked like he'd accidentally wandered onto the cover of a magazine. Tim's suit fit like it had been stitched onto him. Even Damian, who had complained about attending the gala for three straight hours, looked composed. Then your eyes drifted toward yourself. Your smile looked too tight. Your posture seemed awkward. Your hair had fallen strangely around your face. Had your shoulders always looked like that?
You barely noticed the article anymore. Instead, you pinched at your reflection in the dark computer screen. Maybe if you stood straighter...
Maybe if you lost a little weight...
You should've closed the tab. Instead... You clicked.
"Dick Grayson somehow gets more handsome every year."
"Jason Todd needs to stop looking this good in suits."
"Tim Drake has literally never taken a bad picture."
"Damian looks exactly like Bruce."
Your chest loosened. Then you kept scrolling.
"I always forget Bruce has another kid."
"Everyone else won the genetic lottery."
"Imagine being the least attractive Wayne."
You stared at the screen. Not because they were right. But because they had noticed the exact thing you'd spent years trying to convince yourself no one else saw. A knock sounded softly against your bedroom door. You hurriedly clicked the laptop shut. "...Come in."
The door opened. Dick leaned against the frame, still wearing the same suit from the gala, tie already loosened around his neck. "You disappeared."
"I was just getting ready for bed."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the still-warm laptop. Then back to you. "...Everything okay?"
You smiled automatically. The same practiced smile from every family photograph. "I'm fine."
Dick held your gaze for a long moment. He didn't believe you. But he also knew you well enough not to push. "Okay," he said quietly. "If you change your mind..." He left the sentence unfinished before gently closing the door behind him.
The room fell silent again. Slowly... You opened the laptop. The comments were still there. Waiting. And despite everything, despite knowing better...
The comments should have faded. People on the internet were cruel. You knew that. They didn't know you. They'd never met you. So why did every mirror suddenly feel like it was proving them right?
You found yourself lingering in front of the bathroom mirror longer than usual. At first it was innocent enough. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Turned your head to the left. Then the right. Maybe your nose looked better from this angle. Maybe your jaw would look sharper if you smiled less. You sucked in a breath.
You turned sideways. Your sweater clung to your waist. Had it always done that? Your hand drifted to your stomach before you realized what you were doing. A knock startled you. "You alive in there?" Jason called through the door.
"You've been in there like twenty minutes."
"I was just getting ready."
Jason laughed. "Unless you're secretly Bruce putting on eyeliner, I don't know what takes that long."
You forced a laugh back. "Coming."
You flicked the bathroom light off before giving yourself one last glance. Somehow... You looked worse than when you'd walked in.
Breakfast was louder than usual. Dick was animatedly recounting some ridiculous encounter he'd had with a donor who'd mistaken Jason for a bodyguard. "I swear she tipped him twenty bucks."
Jason stabbed his fork dramatically toward him. "I should've taken it."
"I considered it." Everyone laughed. Even Bruce smiled over the edge of his coffee mug.
Alfred placed another stack of pancakes on the table. "Master Jason, perhaps five is sufficient."
"Alfred, It’s bulking season.”
"You said that yesterday."
"You also complained your suit no longer fit."
Jason looked personally offended. "It shrunk."
"It most certainly did not." More laughter. You smiled. When Alfred set a plate in front of you, you stared at it for a moment before cutting a small corner from one pancake. Your appetite had vanished somewhere between the bathroom mirror and the dining room.
Dick noticed first. "...Everything okay?"
"You've been pushing your food around for like five minutes."
"Oh." You glanced down. "I guess I'm just not that hungry."
Jason leaned back in his chair. "You sick?"
Bruce looked over briefly. "If you're feeling unwell, you should stay home today."
"I'm fine." Your answer came a little too quickly. Bruce watched you for another second before returning to his newspaper. No one mentioned it again.
By the end of the week, it had become a habit. You found reasons not to eat breakfast. "I'm running late." Lunch became coffee. Dinner became "I grabbed something on campus." Sometimes that was true. Usually it wasn't.
"Movie night!" Dick appeared in the library carrying enough snacks to feed a football team.
Jason followed behind him with three pizzas balanced precariously in his arms. "If one of you drops this," he warned, "I will beat you.”
"You've been saying that for years," Tim muttered.
Steph wandered in, immediately stealing a breadstick.
Cass drifted quietly into the room a few moments later, settling cross-legged on the couch beside Damian. She looked toward the doorway. Waiting. Dick followed her gaze. “…not everyone is here.”
Tim frowned. "They said they'd be down."
"They've been saying that for twenty minutes." Dick jogged upstairs. A soft knock echoed through your bedroom. "You decent?"
You minimized your laptop so quickly your finger slipped across the trackpad. "Yeah."
Dick poked his head inside. "You coming?" Your bed was covered in clothes. A black sweater. A cream sweater. Two pairs of jeans. Three different jackets. He frowned. "You changing?"
"I can't figure out what looks okay."
"You've already changed?"
Dick laughed softly. "You've got more outfit changes than Jason."
"Hey!" Jason shouted from downstairs. "I heard that!"
Dick grinned before looking back at you. "I like the green one."
"It makes me look..." You stopped yourself. Dick waited. "...Never mind."
He picked up the sweater from your bed. "It makes you look like you."
You looked away. "I don’t…really like how I look." The words escaped before you could stop them. Silence.
Dick's smile disappeared. "What?"
"You've never said that before."
"No..." His voice softened. "You weren't." For a second, he looked like he wanted to ask more. Instead he simply handed you the sweater. "We're starting the movie whenever you're ready." He smiled again. Gentler this time. "You don't have to impress anybody downstairs."
After he left, you stared at the closed bedroom door. Then down at the sweater in your hands. Slowly... You folded it back onto the bed. You never went downstairs.
Cass found you nearly an hour later. Not in your room. Outside. The gardens behind Wayne Manor were quiet at night. You sat on the stone edge of the fountain, knees pulled against your chest as the water rippled softly in front of you. Cass didn't announce herself. She simply sat beside you. For several minutes, neither of you spoke. You watched the koi glide beneath the water. Cass watched you. Finally, she nudged your shoulder. A gentle bump.
You glanced over. She pointed toward the fountain. Your reflection shimmered across the surface. Then she pointed to herself. You looked confused. Cass spoke quietly. "When I was little..." She searched for the words. "I hated mirrors."
She nodded. "I thought..."
Another pause. "...I looked like a weapon."
Your chest tightened. Cass's eyes remained fixed on the water. "I couldn't see..." She rested a hand against her heart. "...me." Only then did she look at you. "What do you see?"
Your reflection trembled with the movement of the water. You looked at it anyway. For a long time. When you finally answered... Your voice was barely louder than the fountain. "...Someone who doesn't belong in family pictures."
Cass's head turned so sharply it almost startled you. Her eyes, always so calm, filled with something unmistakable.
Not because she believed you. Because she knew... You believed it.
The first person to really try was Dick. He never made it obvious. He simply started inviting you everywhere again. "Coffee?"
"Walk around the gardens?"
Every answer came with a smile. Every smile looked just convincing enough. Dick accepted every excuse. Until he realized you'd stopped saying yes to anything.
Jason's approach was considerably less subtle. He cornered you in the kitchen one afternoon while digging through the refrigerator. "You mad at somebody?"
You looked up from your mug. "What?"
"You've been avoiding us."
He snorted. "You skipped movie night."
"You skipped game night."
"You skipped dinner with us yesterday."
Jason shut the refrigerator with his hip. "...You know your tells suck, right?"
You looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You scratch your thumb whenever you're lying."
Your hand immediately dropped from where you'd been absentmindedly rubbing the side of your thumb. Jason noticed. Of course he noticed. His expression softened. "Hey."
You wouldn't meet his eyes. "If somebody said something to you..."
He sighed. "I don't believe you."
Tim noticed something different. One evening he walked into the library carrying a stack of papers only to stop short. You were asleep on one of the couches. Your laptop rested open on your stomach. Your phone had slipped from your hand onto the carpet. Tim quietly set his books down. He reached to move the laptop before it slid off and accidentally brushed the trackpad. The screen woke. A dozen tabs filled the browser.
"How many calories should I eat?"
"How to know if you're attractive."
"How to stop looking ugly."
Tim froze. His stomach dropped. He looked over at you. You looked exhausted. Not sleeping. Collapsed. He quietly closed the laptop before you woke. When he left the library twenty minutes later, he didn't head toward his room. He knocked once on Bruce's study door.
Bruce listened without interrupting. Tim rarely cried. But his voice cracked anyway. "...I think something's really wrong."
Cass didn't wait. The next morning she found you folding laundry in the sitting room. Without saying a word, she sat beside you. She folded towels. You folded shirts. Minutes passed in comfortable silence. Then Cass held up one of your sweaters. She pointed at it. Then at you. "Cute."
You smiled faintly. "It's old."
She shook her head. "No."
She tapped your chest. "You."
Your hands stopped moving. Cass smiled. "You."
You swallowed hard. "...Thanks." She could tell you didn't believe her.
It became impossible not to notice. You stopped appearing in family photos unless someone dragged you in. You wore oversized sweaters even on warm days. You flinched whenever someone tried to hug you around the waist. You laughed less. You looked down more. By the end of the month... Wayne Manor felt quieter. Because you were quieter.
Bruce finally called everyone into the library. Dick. Jason. Tim. Cass. Damian. Alfred lingered near the doorway. Bruce looked at each of them. "Has anyone spoken to them?”
"They insist they're fine," Dick admitted.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. "They're lying."
Cass nodded once. "They hurt."
Tim looked down. "I found something."
Every eye turned toward him. He hesitated. "I wasn't snooping."
"No one thinks you were," Bruce said gently.
Tim swallowed. "...Their laptop.” His voice became quieter. "They've been looking up..." He couldn't finish.
Tim finally forced the words out. "'How to stop looking ugly.'"
Dick's face drained of color. Jason stared. Damian frowned in genuine confusion. Cass closed her eyes. Bruce...
Bruce felt something inside him crack. Because all this time... He had been looking for some enormous, hidden problem. When all along... His child had simply been looking in the mirror.
That evening Bruce insisted everyone eat dinner together. No excuses. No disappearing upstairs. No work. No phones. Just family. For a little while... It almost felt normal.
Dick told another ridiculous story. Jason and Damian argued over absolutely nothing. Tim corrected both of them. Cass smiled quietly from beside you. Bruce watched you laugh once. Only once. It disappeared almost immediately.
When dinner ended, Bruce spoke softly. "Stay for a minute."
Everyone paused. You frowned. "...Am I in trouble?"
"No." Bruce looked around the table. "We're worried."
Your stomach tightened. "I'm okay."
"You've stopped spending time with us."
Bruce's voice remained impossibly calm. "...Look at me."
"You don't seem convinced."
Dick leaned forward. "Whatever's going on, we're here."
Jason nodded. "You don't have to deal with it alone."
Cass reached over, gently taking your hand. "You’re safe."
Something inside you snapped. You pulled your hand away so quickly your chair scraped across the hardwood floor. "You don't get it!" The room fell silent. "You keep saying that!"
Jason blinked. "Saying what?"
"'We're here.' 'We love you.' 'You're fine.'" Your breathing grew shaky. "You don't understand!"
Dick stood. "Then help us understand."
"No!" Your voice cracked. "Because you can't!" Tears blurred your vision. "You all keep acting like it's nothing because none of you know what it's feels like!"
"What what feels like?" Bruce asked quietly.
You laughed. A broken, humorless sound. "Looking in the mirror and hating what you see." No one moved. "You all..."
You looked around the table.
"...You're all beautiful." The words spilled out faster now. "Dick, people literally stop him on the street. Jason could wear a garbage bag and people would still stare. Tim looks perfect without even trying. Cass is gorgeous. Damian somehow has a jawline carved by God." A watery laugh escaped you. "And Bruce Wayne has been on magazine covers for thirty years."
You wiped angrily at your face. "I'm not like you." Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I never will be." Another tear escaped. "I'm the ugly Wayne." The words echoed through the dining room. "I see the comments." Your shoulders shook. "I see people asking who I am. I see them wondering what happened to me. I see them saying I'm the least attractive one."
You pressed a hand against your chest as though trying to hold yourself together. "And the worst part..." Your voice broke completely. "...is every time I look in the mirror..." You squeezed your eyes shut. "...I think they're right."
Not the uncomfortable kind. The devastated kind. The kind that settled over a room when no one could find words big enough to hold what had just been said. You stared at the tabletop, unable to look at any of them. Shame crawled up your throat. You shouldn't have said it. You shouldn't have cried. You should've just gone upstairs. You pushed your chair back. "I-I'm sorry." Your voice was barely audible. "I didn't mean to ruin dinner." You stood too quickly. "I'll just—"
Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gentle. Not enough to stop you. Just enough to ask you to stay. You looked down. Cass. She hadn't said a word. She simply looked up at you, her thumb brushing softly across your knuckles. Her expression was so heartbreakingly gentle that your chest tightened all over again. She gave one tiny shake of her head. Don't go.
Your knees almost gave out. Then another chair scraped across the floor. Dick. He didn't hesitate. In two strides he was beside you. Without asking, he wrapped both arms around you. Not tight.
For a heartbeat you stood stiffly in his embrace. Then everything you'd spent weeks holding together unraveled. Your forehead dropped against his shoulder. A sob escaped before you could swallow it. "I'm sorry," you whispered.
Dick's arms tightened. "Oh, kid." His voice cracked around the words. "You never have to apologize for hurting."
Behind him you heard Jason clear his throat. "...Move."
Dick glanced over his shoulder. "What?"
Jason shoved him sideways just enough to wedge himself into the hug. Dick laughed through suspiciously watery eyes. "Seriously?"
"You absolutely did not."
"You just shoulder-checked me."
Despite yourself... A tiny laugh escaped through your tears. Jason immediately pointed. “See.” He looked triumphantly at Dick. "I got a laugh."
"You bullied your way into a hug."
Tim sighed from across the table. "You two are unbelievable."
But thirty seconds later... It was no longer a hug. It was a pile. Dick still had one arm around you. Jason leaned against both of you with absolutely no regard for personal space. Tim awkwardly tried to participate without crushing anyone. Cass quietly slipped beside you again, resting her head against your shoulder. Even Damian approached. He stopped beside the group, clearly evaluating the situation like it was a tactical problem. Jason looked over. "Well?"
Damian frowned. "This appears... excessive."
"I most certainly have not."
Dick lifted an arm. "Invitation extended."
Damian sighed the long-suffering sigh of someone burdened by incompetent relatives. "...Very well." He stepped forward with all the enthusiasm of someone accepting a prison sentence.
Jason immediately hooked an arm around his shoulders. "There he is."
"You love us,” you laughed weakly, looking over at Damian.
Damian looked at her. "...Perhaps."
Jason gasped dramatically. "He admitted it!"
"You basically wrote us a sonnet." Dick laughed.
"I have done no such thing."
By now, you were crying and laughing so hard you couldn't tell which was which. Bruce had remained at the head of the table the entire time. Watching. His children. All tangled together in one hopeless, lopsided embrace. Alfred appeared quietly in the doorway with a dish towel over one shoulder. He took one look at the scene and smiled. "I was wondering why no one had begun dessert."
Jason lifted his head. "We're occupied."
"So I see." Alfred disappeared for a moment before returning with a large carton of ice cream and a stack of bowls. "I believe," he said, setting them on the table, "this constitutes a chocolate evening."
Jason's eyes widened. "...The emergency ice cream?"
Dick looked scandalized. "You've been hiding emergency ice cream from us?"
"Approximately twelve years."
"I have found it prudent to maintain certain strategic reserves."
Even Bruce let out a quiet laugh. You looked around the room. At Dick still refusing to let go. At Jason arguing that emotional support entitled him to the biggest bowl. At Tim insisting he would portion it fairly while Jason loudly accused him of communism. At Damian secretly accepting the bowl Cass handed him despite claiming he didn't want any. At Alfred pretending not to notice Jason stealing spoonfuls straight from the carton.
At Bruce... Who had been watching you all evening with quiet, aching eyes. When your gaze met his, he smiled. Small. Soft. Proud. Not because you were smiling again. Not because the hurt was gone. But because... You had let them help carry it. And for tonight, that was enough.
Eventually the kitchen emptied. Dick insisted on helping Alfred wash dishes despite being repeatedly told he was "helping incorrectly." Jason and Damian resumed arguing over who had eaten the last brownie. Tim disappeared upstairs after promising everyone he absolutely was not going back to work. Cass squeezed your shoulder as she passed. "Goodnight."
One by one, the voices drifted farther down the hall until Wayne Manor settled into its familiar nighttime quiet. Only you remained. Your spoon traced lazy circles through the melted ice cream at the bottom of your bowl. You weren't really eating anymore. Just thinking.
The chair across from you scraped softly against the hardwood. Bruce sat down. For a while neither of you spoke. The grandfather clock somewhere down the hallway ticked steadily through the silence. Bruce folded his hands together on the table. "I've been trying to think of the right thing to say."
You managed a tired smile. "Have you?"
He nodded. "I've had about six different speeches."
"They were all terrible."
A quiet laugh escaped you. "I figured."
Bruce smiled faintly. "I was considering beginning with a quote."
"I dismissed it immediately."
"I also briefly considered statistics."
You stared at him. "...Statistics?"
"The percentage of edited photographs in fashion magazines."
You couldn't help it. You laughed. "What?"
"I told you. They were terrible." The laughter faded, leaving behind something softer. Bruce looked down at his hands. "When you were little..." His voice was quieter now. "You used to crawl into my office almost every afternoon."
You frowned slightly. "I did?"
"You'd color." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Usually on documents I needed."
"I wasn't." He looked up at you. "You'd ask me every few minutes if I thought your drawing was good."
You felt heat creep into your cheeks. "I don't remember that."
His smile lingered. "And every single time..." He paused. "...before I could answer...You'd already decided it wasn't." Your smile slowly disappeared. Bruce continued gently. "You'd point out every mistake. 'The clouds look weird.''Batman's ears are too big.''I messed up the cape.'" He looked at you for a long moment. "I remember wondering how someone so small could be so hard on themselves."
Your eyes dropped to the table. "I guess some things don't change."
"No." His answer came immediately. "They don't."
Silence settled between you again. Then Bruce reached across the table. Not dramatically. Not with a speech. He simply rested his hand over yours. Warm. Steady. "I wish..." His voice caught. "I wish I had noticed sooner."
Your eyes lifted to his. "I thought I was protecting all of you."
His thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles. "I taught you how to be cautious." A sad smile. "How to read people. How to expect the worst from Gotham." He swallowed. "I never meant for you to start looking at yourself the same way."
Your throat tightened. "You didn't."
"You shouldn't have had to." For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then Bruce stood. You looked at him in confusion. Without a word, he walked around the table. He stopped beside your chair. Opened his arms, just slightly. An awkward invitation. The kind he probably hadn't offered since you were a child.
You smiled through fresh tears. "You're asking?"
"I've been informed," Bruce said with the faintest hint of amusement, "that asking is important."
You stood. The moment you stepped forward, Bruce wrapped you in his arms. He held you carefully, as though you were still the little kid who used to color on Wayne Enterprises contracts. One hand rested against the back of your head. The other rubbed slow circles between your shoulders. "I'm so proud of you."
The words were almost whispered. You frowned against his shoulder. "For what?"
You closed your eyes. "I was scared."
"I thought..." Your voice trembled. "I thought if I said it out loud..."
Bruce leaned his cheek lightly against your hair. "...It would become true?"
A shaky nod. His arms tightened. "My sweet child." There was so much grief in those three words that it nearly broke you all over again. "You have spent weeks believing the opinions of strangers." His voice remained impossibly gentle. "But if there is one thing I hope you eventually believe..." He leaned back just enough to look at you. "...Believe your family instead."
A tear slipped down your cheek. Bruce reached up and brushed it away with his thumb, just like he had when you were little. "You don't have to see yourself the way we see you tonight." He smiled softly. "I'll be patient. As long as it takes."
And somehow... For the first time in a very long while...
Looking at yourself tomorrow didn't feel quite as frightening anymore.
A/N Please if you are feeling insecure, sad or just need someone to talk to, my inbox is always always always open <3 Ik it's scary but I will always be an open ear if someone needs it
DC taglist: @theall-seeingone