Yandere!Batboys x Neglected!ReaderΒ
Are you always alone because you enjoy solitude? Or did you grow to enjoy solitude because youβre always alone?Β
Wayne Manor has been your home (prison? hotel?) for roughly twelve years now, with you having arrived at the ripe age of five. Gothamβs shining hope, billionaire Bruce Wayne, had taken you in, not out of kindness, but rather out of some obligation.Β
Youβd spent the first five years of your life in an orphanage, even then less alone than you are now. But your life changed when Bruce Wayne walked through those metal gates. Even now the details are a little blurry, but from what you can gauge it seems like your adoption was some sort of publicity stunt. Or maybe he wanted a friend for Jason with Dick out of the house so often. Who knows.Β
That was the first one you actually met, Jason. He was around twelve at the time and the first real friend youβd ever had. He was full of life. The two of you would run around the manor, exploring new rooms and annoying Alfred. You built pillow forts spanning the manorβs massive hallways. And Jason never complained about how you clung to him, terrified of losing a tether to your new life.Β
βJay!β You would call out, chasing him across the marble floors.Β
Even though heβd give chase, the older boy would always let you catch him, wrap your little arms around his waist and bury your face in his stomach. You were especially persistent when he began his new Robin duties, practically begging him not to slink off in the middle of the night with Bruce.Β
βDonβt worry, Birdie,β he would sooth, patting your head, βIβll be back before you wake up. Promise!βΒ
He kept that promise, for the most part, until one day he didnβt.Β
Dick Grayson has always been sort of an absentee, but that got even worse after Jason died. Before then, he would at least lie about wanting to spend time with you. Whenever heβd visit, the eighteen year-old would scoop you up in his arms and plant kisses all over your cheeks. Dick would always make promises to take you out for ice cream or to the park just to escape the dull gray of the manor for a little bit, but Nightwing always had other plans.Β
It wasnβt uncommon for the two boys and Bruce to do things just the three of them. That didnβt surprise you, of course, with them being vigilantes they had something in common that you didnβt. But you canβt lie and say it doesnβt sting to think back to your early years and remember dinners by yourself and the resounding emptiness of the manor.Β
This too got worse after Jason had died. He had been your advocate, if you could call anyone that. Without him there, nobody reminded Batman and Nightwing of the other Wayne. Dick grew more and more despondent, the light never quite meeting his eyes anymore. When he visited then, you were lucky if he would even ruffle your hair before disappearing into the bat cave. Bruce just retreated into himself. Throwing himself into work. Putting more distance between himself and you.Β
As for you, the news had felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest. Jay, your Jay, wasnβt coming back. Now you were more alone than you had ever been, having known and lost a bond of that magnitude. Grieving was something that had been done completely internally, as nobody in the manor made themselves available for you to lean on. You wish you could say that was the darkest time of your life.Β
Then Tim showed up. You were around nine then, which put him about four years older than you. He was nice enough, you guess, when you actually saw the guy. He was your average recluse. Always glued to one screen or another. The lack of natural light made him almost translucent, save for the dark bags typically under his eyes. The two of you had some casual conversation about computers, but as soon as he realized you werenβt really into that (and were nine) he quickly lost interest.Β Β
What hurt most was how immediately the boy was accepted into their little crew. Bruce had spotted his usefulness a mile away, and clearly you hadnβt shown the same potential. How could you compare with a genius after all?Β
Either way, the lonely duo became a well-oiled trio once again, and you were resigned to your continued solitude. Vigilante work had never appealed to you, but a family sure did. It was unbelievably difficult to watch the three of them work closely, develop little inside jokes you werenβt a part of, retell stories you hadnβt been there for. At some point, you just stopped showing up to family gatherings, and everyone seemed better for it.Β
Somewhere around eleven is when you decide to get it together a little bit. They think youβre useless because youβre not a vigilante? Fine. Make yourself useful in other ways. Easy, right?Β
Youβd approached Alfred early one morning, peering into the kitchenβs open door until you built up the courage to walk in. Your relationship with the butler had always beenβ¦alright? He certainly didnβt dote on you as he did the boys, but he didnβt flat out ignore you either. He made sure you were fed. Made sure youβd had lunch for school each morning before the driver picked you up. Because you werenβt a genius like Tim, you attended regular Gotham public school like everyone else. No fancy home school training for you.Β
βYou may enter, Young Master,β he called out, not even looking up from the vegetables he was expertly cutting.Β
You should've known there was no sneaking up on Alfred. Getting out of your crouched position, you approached with caution, little feet making light noise on the tile.Β
βDo you require something?β He asked, poised, professionally.Β
You shook your head, swallowing down your nerves. βN-no, I just, uh, I wanted to help.βΒ
This finally made him look up from his tasks, judgemental eyes sweeping over your disheveled appearance. βHelp?βΒ
You nod. βWithβ¦help with breakfast,β the words stumbled out of you.
He raised an eyebrow. βI have been preparing breakfast for the Wayneβs for decades. Iβm afraid I donβt need any help.βΒ
Your shoulders slumped, and you tried to wipe the disappointment off your face. βAl-alright. Sorry for bothering you.βΒ
But when you turned on your heel to skulk back to your room, you heard him sigh and call out, βWait, Young Master,β you freeze and slowly turn back, βI suppose thereβs no harm in allowing you to observeβ¦β There was no stopping the excited squeal that left you, and you ran to perch yourself atop one of the stools and watch the master at work.Β
By the time youβre almost twelve itβs as though youβre completely self-sufficient, some may even say to a degree children your age shouldnβt be. You pack your own lunches, help Alfred cook meals for the family, clean your own room, do everyoneβs laundry, etc. etc. All of this gives you an immense sense of pride. Sure, you canβt knock a man out with your bare hands, but you have yet to see Tim Drake make a soufflΓ©. This is enough to bring you joy, fulfillment, for a while. That is, until Jason comes back.Β
Nobody thinks youβre important enough to tell directly, but theyβre also so used to just speaking around you that you find out anyway. Jason. Is. Alive. Butβ¦they also say heβs different. Aggressive. Violent. A killer. Everything you thought Batman and his batlings stood against. You donβt believe it until you see him for yourself.Β
Youβd overheard Tim say that things with JasoβSorry, Red Hood, had made a little progress. But even so, that he would not be moving back into the manor. He and the bat were working on the same side(ish), which is different from working on the same team. Even if it may be for the best, you canβt help the wave of sadness that fills you at the news, knowing your friend wonβt be coming home to you. Which is why youβre thrilled when he finally does.Β
The scones are about halfway done baking when you hear the kitchen door swing open. Youβd gotten up early to get started on breakfast and clear your head a bit. Nothing made you more happy than solitude in the kitchen. The brute force with which the door hits the wall, however, shatters your tranquility and makes you duck under the countertop. Could there possibly be an intruder in Wayne manor?Β
The sound of heavy boots along the tile fills the room, and you hear the thud of weight landing on the counter above your head. You see the boots approach the oven, and the legs of a hulking man come into view as he leans down to look at the contents.Β
βAlfred,β the man grounds out, extending back to full height, βthat you in here?β Does he know Alfred?Β
You try to regulate your breathing as the boots approach the countertop once again. βDrake?β He pulls out the stool nearest to you, the sound of the legs dragging against the floor almost drowning out your whimper. But not quite.
And then he leans down, and you come face to face with Jason for the first time in years. So it is true. βBirdie?β He asks, stunned.Β
You can only nod numbly and grab the calloused hand he reaches out to you, allowing him to pull you out from underneath.Β
As he takes you in, eyes traveling down and back up your flour-ridden pajamas, you observe him too. He definitely doesnβt look like the boy you knew. His arms are corded with muscles and decorated with scars. A jagged line tears through his face, pulling up at the corner of his lip and making him look like a comic book villain.Β
βWhattre you doinβ here?β He asks sternly.Β
You raise an eyebrow and answer dumbly, βI live here.βΒ
Jason shakes his head. βYeah, thatβs what surprises me.β His large hands come down to lift you onto the counter, so that now the two of you look eye to eye.
βWhatβs so surprising about me still living here?β You ask defiantly, crossing your arms at your chest.Β
βThe bat just never mentioned it. Figured he shipped you off somewhere else after I left,β he admits sheepishly. The bat. He says it with almost no familiarity.Β
βWhat do you mean left, Jay? They told me you died.β The tears are bubbling up in your eyes now. The shock of seeing him again, and so different, is too much for you to take. You donβt understand whatβs happening.Β
His jaw tenses at your question, all the kindness that had shone in his eyes drops out, leaving pits of nothingness. βYou donβt know what the fuck youβre talking about, and neither do they.βΒ
His coldness practically slaps you across the face. Youβre staring into the eyes of a killer. Of an adult that you donβt know anymore.Β
βI-Iβm sorryβ¦I only know what Mr. Wayne and Red Robin told me.βΒ
The mention of Tim or maybe Bruce, or maybe both, seems only to piss him off further. A cold bark leaves him, βOf course you do,β he growls out, his voice steeped in patronizing mockery.Β
Unsure of what to do, and looking for evidence that this is not a dream, you reach your little hands out to cup his face, only for him to jerk back the second your fingertips graze his cheek.Β
βDONβT FUCKINβ TOUCH ME!β He practically roars, making your body shut down in response to the fear coursing through your veins. He leans in close, hot breath on your face. βIβm not your Jason anymore, Birdie,β your nickname sounding like an insult for the first time, βthe Joker killed him. And if you donβt stay out of my fucking sight, Iβll show you just how much Iβve changed.βΒ
With that he grabs the bag heβd set down besides you, along with a handful of muffins youβd baked the other day. βAnd Iβm taking this shit,β he calls out, exiting the kitchen without sparing you a second glance.Β
The oven timer dings as the door swings closed, but all you can do is collapse, hugging your knees to your chest as your shallow breaths turn into deep sobs. You drown them out with a dish towel, so as to not wake up any of the other bats.Β
Damian arrives about two years after that night. In some ways things are quite different, in others nothing has changed at allβfor you at least. Red Hood has been reintegrating into the family, repairing his relationships with his brothers and with Bruce. You, however, have not spoken more than a handful of words to him since that night.Β
Him, Tim, Dick, and Bruce have a pretty good thing going, which is why it is so surprising when Damian Wayne enters the picture.Β
Itβs Nightwing you see first. Heβs covered in a bunch of small cuts and walks by you without any acknowledgement. You swear you hear him grumbling about βthat little shit.βΒ
Then Bruce enters, and while his stride is solid you can see the exhaustion weighing him down. And walking right behind him is a boy youβve never seen before. Heβs wearing some sort of uniform, and you canβt help but notice the red-speckled katana strapped to his back.Β
Bruce looks around at the nearly empty room before his eyes land on you. His brows lift a little bit in surprise, as if seeing you for the first time in a long while. βAh, Y/N, come here please. Iβd like to introduce you to someone.βΒ
This is the first time heβs asked you for something that wasnβt to pass the salt in what feels like years. An awkward second passes of you not moving, literally frozen in shock.Β
When you finally step forward, you just stare at Bruce blankly, waiting for his next request. βY/N,β he continues, βIβd like you to meet Damian, my son.β He turns to the boy, βDamian, this is Y/N.βΒ
You awkwardly nod and hold your hand out for him to shake.Β
He just stares at your palm, looking rather disgusted. βAnother false sibling I must dethrone for my rightful place, I presume?β He asks suspiciously.Β
βUhhhβ¦β youβre not really sure how to answer that.Β
βWell youβre clearly less intelligent than Drake,β he sneers, βbut no matter.βΒ
Quicker than you and even Bruce can react, his katana is drawn, and he slices a clean path straight through your outstretched palm.Β
You howl in pain as an arc of blood splatters on the ground beneath you. You instantly move to cradle your injured hand to your chest, and you look to Bruce in a desperate plea for help.Β
Heβs grabbing Damianβs shoulders firmly and lecturing: βSheβs not like us, Damian. You shouldnβt go swinging that sword at anyone, but especially someone who canβt defend themselves. Apologize.β It all sort of turns to mush in your pain-riddled mind.Β
They both turn back to face you. At this point you donβt want an apology. You just want to get away from this little demon.Β
Damian gives you another once over, taking in the fear painted clearly across your face and the fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Heβs clearly not impressed with what he sees because he just scoffs and stalks off.Β
For a second Bruce looks torn between helping you with your wound and chasing after the boy, but he ultimately chooses Damian. In all fairness who knows what the little devil child could do if left to his own devices in the manorβ¦
After he leaves, you slowly make your way back to the west side of the manor. As you walk down the hallway you call out βDick?β, but heβs too busy licking his wounds after his own run-in with Damian. βTim?β But thereβs no chance he hears you through those fancy headphones of his. And finally, barely a whisper, βJay? Pleaseβ¦βΒ
Your efforts are for not, and youβre soon slipping into your room. After digging out the supplies you need to sterilize the wound and stitch it up, you take a moment to rest on your bed. Youβve never given yourself stitches, but youβre pretty sure itβs not gonna be a pleasant experience.Β
Using your good hand to grab one of your throw pillows, you move to press it tightly against your damp face. Then you scream into the void.
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Youβre seventeen now, just over halfway done with your senior year of high school. The past few years of home life have been more or less the same. The bat and his four boys have become a completely enclosed system. A unit in which you are totally unnecessary. Jason is over more often. Dick too. And Damian has been taken in as one of their own, but unfortunately thatβs only mellowed him out a little bit. The manor is full of life once again, youβre just not part of it.Β
But thatβs alright, because youβve been building a life of your own outside of those walls. Kinda. Everyday you complete the same routine. First you make breakfast for yourself and the others. Alfred is in charge of their lunches and dinners, so you donβt have to worry about that. You take the bus to school now instead of a private driver because Damian complained about being seen getting out of the same vehicle as you. No problem though, because thereβs a bus stop a short twenty minute walk from Wayne Manorβsafe neighborhood, to be fair.Β
Then you do all the school things. Go to class. Eat lunch in the library. Go back to class. After school youβve started picking up shifts at a local diner. You serve excellent burgers and shitty coffee late into the night before taking the bus back home.Β
It isnβtΒ the most ideal situation but the tips are good, and your coworkers are cool. At the end of the day you work there for the money. You are saving up to go to college somewhere far, far away from here. In a few months you will be eighteen and a high school graduateβi.e. you will no longer be Bruce Wayneβs little burden.Β
Youβre going to leave and never look back.Β
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A/N: Iβve been reading a lot of these lately, so I wanted to try my hand at one. Do you guys want part two?Β
