but I think you'll love this anyway.
tw: blood, swearing
batfam x reader [platonic]
[previous]
Stephanie and Damian find the private jet easily enough. It’s in a private hangar at a New York airport, hidden away from public view. From the outside, it looks normal. Not a thing out of place - no signs of forced entry, of a struggle outside. It isn’t until Damian activates the biometric scanner and opens the door that they find anything wrong.
The smell of rotting copper and iron hits them full force. Stephanie is grateful her mask muffles the smell, Damian doesn’t have her luck, and as used to the smell of blood as he is, still finds it too much. However, it’s not just the smell that is too much, it’s the amount as well.
Brown blood, well oxidized, is soaked into the carpet, into the curtains, into the chair by the far window - where it has not soaked in, it has splattered. There are still bright red spots, but only where there is so much that it hasn't yet dried. It is not simply a crime scene, but a horror show.
Damian moves quickly to look for clues, even if it means stepping into a puddle of your blood, he is determined to find anything he can that may lead to you. The chair at the far window is your favourite place to sit, he knows, from your many snapchats from that exact place. No doubt it was where you sat when the attack began, as the blood outlines a body of your size. Beneath that seat he finds his first clue, your phone.
It’s dead, likely having been for several days at least, but if he charges it, he may find some sort of idea or hint as to what may have happened. It’s unlikely you wouldn’t have at least tried to call for help, and he hopes you may have tried to describe your attacker in such an emergency plea.
Stephanie has moved towards the cockpit, the jet is pilotless, fully automated, but there are cameras aboard - just in case. They’ve never really had reason to look over them until now, and she hopes that whoever took you didn’t know about them. Her hope is dashed, when she realizes the cameras had failed. The few moments of footage were of you, sitting quietly as the plane landed and pulled itself into its dedicated hangar. You were on your phone, texting or scrolling, just getting ready to unbuckle and stand when it cuts off.
It’s a clean cut, no static, just a cut to black. There is no sign of who approached the jet from the outer camera, and no sign of you being assaulted on the inner one (which is both a relief and a pain, she didn’t want to see you getting hurt, but then, at least, she would know who did it).
Damian is still in the rear of the plane when she hears it - sirens. All approaching quickly to their location. They need to move quickly, lest they be caught, and investigation hindered. They move as quickly as they can, taking with them your phone, and leave, disappearing into the night - back to Gotham.
Stephanie can’t help but wonder, how, or rather, why, the police were only showing up now. At this exact moment. Why had they not come earlier, but rather once the scene was disturbed? Had it been a trap? A trigger of some sorts they had unknowingly pulled, that had called them? She doesn’t know, but she will find out.
Tim has no idea who you are. He knows of you, knows about you, but knows nothing of who you are as a person. It’s usually an easy job, finding out who holds a grudge against who, but with you it’s nearly impossible. He follows internet trolls, paparazzi reporters, your fellow celebutantes, trying to find anyone that may have hated you, may have held even a drop of enmity - but there’s nothing. He’s used to stalking people, it’s what landed him the role of Robin, after all. He’s able to find out anything, about anyone.
You… you are a perfect mask. Even better than Batman, he surmises - because he was able to track down and identify Batman. He cannot identify you.
There are no scandals, no rumours, no drama or fights or fallouts. You seem to be exactly what you appear. A wealthy philanthropist with a side job of modeling for haute couture brands. He tries to dig deeper, moving on to shitty celebrity gossip blogs that exist only to throw mud - and still, there’s nothing. Perhaps Babs did her job too well, and wiped a little too much from the internet regarding you.
Speaking of Barbara -
Oracle: Check the news
The ping drives him to do as she commanded, and he is overwhelmed immediately.
“Wayne Heir Missing!”
“Gruesome crime scene at centre of Wayne Heir disappearance!”
“Cover up? Wayne family silent as Heir missing for days.”
The headlines are flooding in, and with them come your fans, your friends, your coworkers - all saying the same, that they miss you, hope you’re found safe, that they haven’t heard from you in days but thought it was just a brief get away. In minutes, your pages are flooded with concern - and Tim knows immediately he’ll be in for a long night when his own social media starts getting attention. So does Bruce’s, Dick’s, Damian’s - everyones is starting to be overrun, but unlike the kindness that pours onto yours, he sees the vitriol first hand.
The public is demanding to know why nothing was found earlier, how you could be gone for so long before they noticed, how could they go about their daily lives without a shred of despair regarding your disappearance. Did they not notice? Or did they not care?
Wayne Enterprises and Drake Industries stocks are already beginning to plummet. He’s getting calls from every member of the board of each company, the free-fall and ramifications are piling up, and he’s doing his best to ignore the outside world. He’s trying to focus so hard on finding you, that he almost blocks out the alarms.
Reporters are flocking to Wayne Manor, newspapers and tabloids, from The Daily Planet, to the sleaziest of sleazy mags. He tosses his phone aside, and rubs his hands on his face. He and the others had hoped to keep this under wraps, out of public scrutiny for as long as possible and yet, in the 24 hours they had known you were gone, the secret had already been blown.
Tim groans as he pushes away from the Batcomputer, and heads up out of the cave to the main Manor - he’ll have to change, something dark to impress how seriously he was taking your abduction. Bruce is with Dick, dealing with the Red Hood stuff, and Damian is still heading home with Stephanie, so Tim will have to be the one to release a statement.
What will he even say?
“Yeah, no, we had no idea they were gone, and could be dead??” Especially if that amount of blood in the pictures Damian sent over was all yours. “Sorry, I know we look like besties online, but I have no fucking idea what happened?” Not like he had actually laid eyes on you in the month leading up to this. “Half the time I forget they even exist, so how was I supposed to notice???”
Alfred waits for him in the foyer, as Tim puts the finishing touches on his suit. Best to play this as formally as possible, best to lie his ass off and hope no one calls him on it.
Alfred’s eyes are rimmed in red, he hasn’t cried, but he wants to. A stiff upper-lip, Tim thinks, is expected of the man. He wouldn’t blame him, however, if he did cry. Alfred was the closest to you, and everyone knew there was a special bond there. The older man was always extra gentle with you, gave extra care and attention - perhaps to make up for what the rest of them didn’t give. Tim does feel a little guilty in thinking that Alfred’s distress will make whatever snake oil he’s about to sell easier for the press to buy.
They walk side by side down the long drive that leads from the Manors front gates to the actual building itself. The crunch of their footsteps slowly being overwhelmed by the chatter of the reporters waiting for them, and Tim is temporarily blinded when they finally spot him and start snapping pictures. He keeps walking forward, until finally he is in front of the grand gates, with only a few feet between him and them.
He waits for the rapid fire of first questions to die, for the cameras to start rolling and pictures to stop clicking, before beginning his address.
“We were made aware yesterday of the disappearance of one of our own -,” Tim starts, “We have since been made aware that they may have been gone for longer than initially thought. Currently we are working with the police and investigators as they work towards finding them. We are certain they will be found soon, and brought home, and only ask that whoever did this comes forward and releases them.”
It’s an automatic speech, one he’s practiced, but never thought he’d have to ever give. Sure you’d been taken before, they all have, but usually that was solved and you were home within the day, long before any of this sort of attention was demanded.
“We ask that you give us our privacy at this time, and allow us, as a family, to work through this. We appreciate your concern, and please rest assured, that the police are doing all they can.” He finishes his statement, and the flurry of questions and cameras starts up again. It’s only polite to answer a few questions, and will project a better image of the family to do so. He scans over the crowd, trying to decide which reporter he will answer when his eyes land on a familiar face.
Lois Lane stands beside a cameraman for The Daily Planet, her face set in a frown as she listens to Tim speak. She’s met you several times, mostly in passing, but enough to know that whatever happened to you is bad, really, really bad. You’ve always been kind to her, and sweet to Jon whenever he visited Damian. Clark had even brought you home once for a meal after a kidnapping, she remembered how you laughed and smiled, how polite you had been - so when she learned that you had been taken, violently, she had immediately volunteered to be the one sent to Gotham. She studied everything she could on her way, including your latest posts and had only one question -
“Drake, according to their post history, you were the last one to see them -,” She began, but she knew the truth. You and Tim hadn’t spoken in weeks, despite what you had posted. Lois had left her phone number with you the second or third time you’d met, so had Clark, mostly just in case - but you messaged back and forth frequently about little things.
You’d often send her clips of Jon and Damian together, running about in the back of the grounds, but sometimes you’d ask her questions. Questions that let her know everything wasn’t as it seemed. Questions about what to do when you felt ignored, or unwanted. Things a mother or father should have talked to you about, not an almost, but not quite, stranger.
Tim ended up dodging her almost-question, made an excuse about how you had met up shortly before getting on the plane but he hadn’t heard from you since. It was enough to plant a seed in the rest of the reporters though. That maybe you weren’t as close as your posts made you seem, that maybe Tim was lying, or you were. It was enough, Lois decided, and she turned back to her cameraman. They’d leave as soon as this impromptu Q and A was over, and she’d be contacting her husband. Maybe he’d be able to help find you, or at least try and convince the Batman to let him help.
—----------------------------
Jason and Red Hood.
Red Hood and Jason.
His son is alive, alive and filled with rage the likes he has never seen before. Perhaps that is why he took you? For revenge? Another way to throw Bruce’s failings back in his face, to hammer home the point that Bruce has done nothing but hurt those he was meant to protect. He hopes at least that Jason has been kind to you, that your brother may have still held some warmth towards you, despite how he had tried to drive you apart. That Jason may recognize you for what you are, a civilian, an innocent caught in the line of fire.
He has followed his lost son, to a warehouse where the freshly beaten Joker lies, where his son points a gun at his head, and where you, thankfully are not (but where are you?).
Jason lashes out, demands his pound of flesh, demands he kill Joker - but Bruce knows he cannot, that if he were to kill, even once, he would be lost in a flurry of violence and death.
There is no perfect time to ask about you, to demand Jason send you home safe and sound - but he does anyway - forces out the words, demands to know where your brother has taken you, and in doing so, he’s made another mistake.
“The fuck you mean Bruce?” Jason demands, “You think I’d hurt them? That’d I’d go after them just to get to you?” He sees Jason get angrier as he talks, as he realizes that Bruce has lost another kid. “You did it again, didn’t you? You fucking lost another one of us! But unlike me, they’re untrained, they’re weak, because you left them defenseless, and now look at what you’ve done!”
Jason doesn’t have you, never even thought of using you against him. Joker didn’t take you, he had been in Arkham up until this final confrontation. He doesn’t have time to ask anything else about you, not when the clock is ticking. Bruce refuses to kill the Joker, and Jason escapes, leaving him alone.
Joker is brought back to Arkham, and he turns his comms back on, and is overwhelmed immediately by all that has occurred outside his crusade.
You are still gone.
Joker doesn’t have you.
Jason didn’t take you.
The police are swarming the jet.
Reporters are flooding his driveway.
The internet is rife with speculation, with rumours and tales, some of them pointing towards an inside job.
The ocean is warm this time of year, the sand almost burns with the heat. It’s unfortunate you can’t get in the water yet, not until the doctor clears you completely. The scab on your stomach itches as it heals, but at least you can go outside with it covered.
The drink in your hand is sweet, fruity and fresh, just as you like it. A brand new phone, registered in a fake name, in your other hand scrolling rapidly through news site after news site.
A smile plays at your lips.
“Damn,” you whisper, “If I knew it would be this easy, I would have gone girl’d them years ago.”
Morgues are cold to slow down decomposition and preserve bodies until they are needed for autopsy or other procedures. Refrigeration helps to reduce bacterial growth and enzymatic activity, which are the main causes of decay.
Jason hated the cold. And morgues.
But he was sucking it up for the sake of finding answers.
That encounter with her had left him with questions. Many questions.
Jason hadn’t expected Dick’s rambles of delirum to be true, just some exaggerated tantrum over not having attention him for more than a five minutes. But now, he was starting to understand some of the fuss running rampant amongst the family.
He knew she’d be different, that she would become angry. Resentful. Full of spite.
Just like him. Finally. Someone who knows the same pain. The same resentment. The same anger.
But it wasn’t like that with her. It wasn’t the same.
Jason had some expectations set the moment he found out about the murder attempt. That all of those involved would be killed by his hand (because it’s what he she would have wanted). That he would shove it all over Bruce’s face (what he should have done for him her). And that he would be the only person to truly understand him (because she thinks like him, feels like him, she needs him-)
He had accomplished the first two.
The third one, however, was coming on a bit more complicated than expected.
Jason expected fury, fists flying, screaming, crying, yelling, biting. He expected fingers pointed at the old man, claims of revenge, a need for blood and justice to be served.
Instead, he got a sleepwalking fugitive who looked at him with the same fear as before.
That same weary look was on the corners of the manor whenever he visited. That tremble of shoulders whenever he spoke, as if his voice spooked her. Those flinches whenever he stepped a bit closer in her direction.
The only thing that was gone was the quietness of her voice, now replaced by a firmer, louder tone that lessened the boiling frustration underneath his skin.
Where was the anger? Where was the thirst for revenge? She was supposed to be like him now. Broken and hurt. He was supposed to pick the pieces and rebuild. Be like him. Because she is like him now. They are the same, and he wants her to act out and yell and stop lookiNG AT HIM IN FEA-
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Red Hood?”
…That’s right. He’s here for answers.
And for those answers, he had to get them from the only person who was able to provide them.
Dr. Rio Vidal was an unsettling woman and more. She had been the one to do the autopsy on the bastards that bullied his sister (after dumping what was left of the bodies right in front of the station with incriminating proof tapped on their chests), and just one small talk was enough for Jason to decide that he would not spend more than it was necessary around that woman.
He didn’t like how every hair underneath his armor stood up when he crossed looks with that woman.
Something about her wasn’t… right.
But he would ignore the knot in his stomach that twisted tighter and tighter with every second that passed in her presence until he got what he wanted.
“I need a medical file on one of your patients.” His modulator hid very well the tension in his voice.
The doctor turned around, locking one of the small metal refrigerator doors in the wall with a fake smile. “And instead of taking it from my office, you came straight to me? I am very flattered, Red Hood.”
He did not like the dark glint in her eyes when she drawled out his name.
“Didn’t find the patient that I’m looking for.” His fingers gripped the holsters strapped to his belt.
“And that would beee?” She blinked repeatedly with a sharp, unsettling smile.
Jason felt cold sweat dripping down his temple, the longer he continued to keep direct eye contact with the woman. He could feel the smugness coming out of her when he diverted his gaze towards the fridges.
“The Wayne girl.” He uttered, ignoring the exaggerated gasping of Dr. Vidal as she clutched her hand to her chest.
“How silly of me! I was carrying it with me today!” She boasted, turning back around towards a table that had neat, clean files. Flipping through them until she grabbed a thick file and waved it eagerly at him. “They were requested to be taken out for comparisons of blood analysis.”
That got his attention, grabbing the file, but Dr. Vidal’s grip on it caught him off guard. “Who requested such a thing? Was it the commissioner?”
He tried to take the file from her, but she held onto it with a tight smile. “No, that would have been me.”
“What for?” Jason didn’t like the fact that this person, in particular, was going around doing tests with his sister’s samples.
“Easy, Red,” she eased, finally letting go of the documents and crossing her arms. “I was just curious about how advanced her healing was coming along. Not everyone heals from a deadly head wound that fast, and I’m sure you are well aware of that... due to your line of work, hm?”
There. That was it.
Healing. His sister had sleepwalked from Wayne Manor to Chinatown in the middle of the night while barefoot and in pajamas, and there wasn’t a single scratch on her feet, nor woken up the next day sick (because last time he checked, she got sick easily. He remembered the various times she got sick for staying outside in the rain for a bit. It was ridiculous-) by what Alfred told him when he called to check up.
Most people would have put it as luck, but Jason knew better than that because of various reasons.
One of them being how the hell did she make 12 miles in less than five minutes.
He had a theory, multiple ones, actually.
One of them being that the water of the pool she fell into when she was attacked was lazarus’ pit water. It was far fetched and proved wrong when he ran some tests with the samples he had gathered from her old school bag.
There was another one that it could be related to the pool as well. That it could have some odd chemicals and had altered her or something amongst that line. But it was also discarded when all the test showed that it was just old still water that could only have given her a nasty virus.
Which lead to the next theory that none of what was going on with her was happening because of outside elements or sources.
But it could something more internal.
Bodily kind of internal.
And that was just a whole new pipeline he wasn’t sure he was ready to go down by.
“Any changes I should keep an eye on, Doc?” he pried, gloved fingers tightening on the edges of the file.
Rio hummed out loud with pursed lips, before shrugging. “Nothing special. I’m pretty sure all of her progress is tied to her bloodline. She certainly has quite the strong family. Strong genes, if you catch my drift.”
‘Definitely from Old B’s side,’ he thought bitterly, nodding at the woman and making his way out as fast as possible without bringing attention to himself from the cold freezer.
The green witch simply shook her head, grinning from side to side as things finally started to get more intense.
She needed to plant that small seed of doubt so everything could start to grow and stretch out some roots of chaos on the too comfortable Maximoff. It was very exciting for her to see how her new favorite pet would be able to manage the new obstacles coming on her way.
But nothing that the girl couldn’t handle, she even had some help on her side without noticing.
And, Rio still needed her to find her things.
All according to the plan.
──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────
“I’m honestly surprised he’s still standing.”
Conner scoffed, scraping out his food plate in the trash can. “More surprised that Damian didn’t hose him down the moment we got here.”
Barbara smiled as she sipped her coffee, sitting at the main table that was low enough for her wheelchair, letting her gaze wander off to the young man who began to clean up his dirty dishes in the sink.
Both of them had arrived early in the morning at the manor, with Barbara getting there first and then followed by the younger titans.
She had gotten asked by Dick yesterday to meet up for a relaxing outing that day in the evening along with his sister, thinking it would be a great way to bond and spend more time with the younger girl.
Since said girl seemed to prefer talking with Barbara over Dick himself, judging by their last interaction earlier that week. Barb found it hilarious how Dick was clearly trying to get her attention just to get ignored by a very talkative girl that was set on asking Barbara tons of questions.
If Barbara was being honest, she thought Dick was making the wrong move.
He couldn’t just force her to spend time with him, especially if he was using Barbara as a middle ground, which pissed her off to no end. Did he honestly believe he wasn’t being that obvious?
Was she going to follow along with his plan? No, obviously. If he wanted to fix his relationship with his sister, he would have to do it on his own and earn her trust back with his blood and sweat.
She was not helping him out in this, not this time.
Besides having sent Dick a text saying that she was going to be busy during the day, Barbara had also come to the manor with other intentions.
Something was up with Cass, and she was worried.
The girl had been acting odd on patrol, something that seemed to only be detected by Barbara and Bruce.
Looking over her shoulder every minute. Her vitals spiking on the screen whenever a noise was heard in the background. Hearing the sharp breath intakes as she heard a group of girls passing by on the street. Sudden moments of stillness on her tracker, and when Barbara pulled on the body camera, Cass’s position showed her the view of a music store where a soft piano melody played to attract customers.
Maybe she needed a break, to get some time out of the house. And Barbara was more than willing to offer that if it meant avoiding strangling Dick by the neck.
“Don’t you think the case has been taking too long?” Conner’s voice got her attention, responding with a hum. “Usually, they would have been done with it after a few days.”
The young Kryptonian had gotten here about half an hour after Barbara, with a muttering Tim in tow, going directly to the Batcave with most of the recently made coffee in his giant mug and leaving his friend without another word in the kitchen.
To which Alfred extended him the invitation for breakfast, trying to excuse his master’s rude behavior. Conner refused at first, knowing the dark knight wasn’t exactly fond of his presence, but the butler had already served him a plate and disappeared into the halls without another word.
Barbara shook her head, a wry smile on her lips as she leaned back on her chair. “They’re a bit… focused on other issues at the moment.”
Conner gave her a short look before biting inside his cheek, eyes focused on the sink. His fingers flexed on the edge of the counter. I took a few moments of silence before he decided to just be straightforward.
“Is it about their sister?” his tone was hesitant and low. Taking a glance towards the hall and looking back at Barbara with expectation.
“Did Tim mention anything?” She asked, shifting her body a bit towards Conner.
The boy shook his head, drying his hands by wiping them against the rough material of his jeans (like a heathen-) and walking towards the table. “No, but he seems to forget that I have sharp ears, and he has a habit of muttering to himself out loud.”
Barbara nodded, sighing softly as her fingers wrapped around the warm cup while Conner leaned his crossed arms on top of the back of one of the chairs.
“It’s complicated,” she offered with a shrug. “I’m not sure if I should say it, but she was recently in an accident. It has been a bit tense, as to say-”
The squeaking of sneakers running down the hall made both of them look towards the source of the noise. An understanding look between them, making it clear that their conversation would have to wait.
Then, the same person they had been talking about made her appearance, her excited manner settling down for a moment when she realized there were people in the kitchen.
Connor’s first thought, from the moment he set his eyes on her, was that she looked completely different than what he had pictured in his mind.
There were very few articles on the internet about the blood daughter of Bruce Wayne. Most of them were from tabloids that made sure to put her in a bad light for the public. He had heard many rants from both Lois and Clark about how unprofessional and cruel it was for Gotham media to hound such a young girl from an early age. And he had heard even more angry rants from Lois about Bruce’s lack of action on the situation.
Most of the pictures taken of her were either blurry, unflattering, or showing a spooked expression due to the flashes of the cameras.
Much of what Conner imagined about her was a very socially awkward girl who probably preferred to avoid the spotlight.
The girl in front of him was brighter than the spotlight.
Wild, long curls pulled in half-up style with a few strands purposely framing her face on the sides. Her roots with faded black hair dye, letting him wonder what her true hair color was like. A white short top, accompanied by an open green track jacket and wide-leg pants. White old sneakers that stood out because of the silver tape surrounding the bottom and edge of the shoes.
“Didn’t know we had visitors today.” She muttered, a smile returning to her face once she realized Barbara was there. The redhead returned her smile, motioning for her to come closer, and both of them hugged quickly.
“I like the style! Going out today?” Barb asked, holding back a tick in her eye as her mind began to put some pieces together.
“Yeah,” she answered, glancing at Conner for a moment and going towards the kitchen to serve herself a plate before Alfred appeared to do it for her. “I’m gonna hang out with my friends today.”
Connor could hear Barb’s heart rate going up, her smile tightening. He could only imagine what was angering her so much that it made her act like that.
That was when his ears picked up a sound similar to the fluttering of the wings of a hummingbird. Fast paced, almost like a buzzing sound.
“Any plans you guys have?” Barbara’s question snapped him out of concentration, his eyes landing once again on the girl as she took a seat with a serving of eggs almost as big as his daily meals.
She shrugged, taking a few quick bites from the plate as if it were her last meal. “Shopping at the mall. Bobby and Warren are picking me up in a few minutes.”
“Which was why I insisted on getting you up early, my dear,” Alfred’s voice took their attention. An amused look towards the girl’s plate as she grinned at him with a shrug, diving once again into her food. “I would prefer you go out with a full stomach, since who knows what ungodly hour you plan on coming back.”
“I promise to be here around ten, Al.” She recited as if it had been something she had heard multiple times, making Barbara and Alfred chuckle.
“As long as you give daily updates, I don’t mind the hour.” He said, bringing her something to drink as she finished up her plate. “Just be mindful and careful of your surroundings.”
“Will do,” She nodded, giving him her plate and drinking from her cup of juice.
“Didn’t take you as the shopping type…” Conner muttered, gathering the girl's attention, her eyebrow quirked in confusion.
“And you are?” Her tone wasn’t hostile, but it was sharp enough to make Conner adjust his posture, flushing as he took his arms off the seat and offered his hand.
“I’m Conner.” He uttered, smiling when she took his hand. Ignoring the sudden rush under his skin when she let go, that hand went directly to rub the back of his neck. “I’m Tim’s best friend.”
“Huh,” she nodded, getting up from her chair. “Thought you were new sibling, since you kind of fit in all the requirements…”
She gestured at him, making Barbara snort and Alfred call her in an exasperated tone to which got a laugh out of everyone. The girl took her drink and walked to the sink.
“No offense, but I think this family has enough testosterone for a lifetime.” That made Conner snicker, avoiding the pointed stare from Barbara by getting closer to the kitchen counter.
“I’m not exactly Wayne material.” He offered, noticing the short and quiet scoff under her breath. Along with the muttered lines ‘neither am I’ that got him frowning and intrigued to ask her more questions.
But that was pushed aside when the sound of beaten-up speakers blasting some Ariana Grande song from the outside was heard pulling up to the front of the manor.
“I believe that would be Mr. Drake, my dear.” Alfred pointed out after a moment of silence, handing her a small towel to dry her hands.
She quickly dried herself, giving Alfred a short hug and then giving Barb one as well. “I’ll text as soon as I get to the mall,” she promised, starting to walk towards the hall.
“Remember,” Alfred pestered, his voice rising. “Be mindful and be-”
“And be careful, I got it!” She laughed, turning around and walking backwards and blowing him a kiss. Alfred shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Then, she waved at Conner. “See you around, Conner. Don’t become a Wayne while I'm gone.”
Conner looked at Barb in disbelief, sputtering before speaking in a higher pitch. “I’m actually a-”
The sentence died in the air because she was already gone from the hall. The front door closing echoed on the walls, just as the loud music from the outside started to pull away, along with some laughs and cheers.
“...Not sure what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting that,” Conner muttered, making Barbara sigh with a smile.
“She is like a whirlwind now.” She mentioned. “It wasn’t like this before, it's a new development.”
‘Yeah, so I figured.’ Conner’s mind exclaimed.
She just came in, ate, made an impression that Conner was sure would stay in his mind for a while, joked around, and left without another word.
A tornado would be a more accurate description.
“Word of advice?” He nodded at Barbara, shoving his hands in his pockets as Alfred cleaned up the kitchen, pretending he wasn’t listening to the conversation.
“Keep your eyes to yourself. Especially for now.” Barbara’s gaze became serious, making Conner tighten his jaw.
He tried not to feel offended at the implication of her words. He knew he had a reputation of being a bit of a flirt (all in fun! He had never actually gone beyond flirting with anyone. Not enough time for commitment to relationships.), but he had respect. And he respected Tim a lot. He was his best friend and trusted him completely (No matter how odd he had been behaving lately), and Conner wouldn’t dare mess around with his sister of all people.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about her. Intrigued, even.
Why had Tim never talked about her? They were around the same age, if he was judging well. They probably shared something in common.
Was she in the family business? It didn’t seem like it, she looked like a normal civilian from his point of view.
Why wasn’t she in the family business?
Now that he thinks about it, the whole family barely mentioned her in the past.
Barely, as to say never at all.
Something was up, but he was smart enough to know that it wasn’t his call to make.
“I'd rather keep my eyes in my head for now, thank you.”
For now.
──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────
Around 1:30 pm, Maximoff had decided that the mall was one of her favorite places to hang out.
Gotham Mall was like a time capsule, stuck in the glory days of the eighties, by the state of the artificial lights and that distinctive smell of cherry cola and bubble gum that got stuck on your nose and made you dizzy until you got used to it.
Stores of all kinds: clothes, shoes, high-end and low-end brands, jewelry, sports, toys, swimwear, video games, and even movie rentals. There was also a movie theater, a roller skating rink, a few music and record shops, an arcade, and a whole top floor filled with food places.
Warren had taken the role as their guide since Bobby had only gone to a few stores, and Maximoff… well, she was another case.
Wayne had also decided to stay back at the manor once again, malls were not really her thing. And, she had another ‘unfinished task’ that she had to do by herself.
Maximoff knew exactly what that meant, and she was more than okay with staying away from the manor while her companion did her own thing.
Just because she was friends with a ghost, it didn’t mean she liked being around spooky, haunting stuff.
Wayne had her hobbies, and she respected them… from afar.
“What about Aquaman? He’s kind of cool.”
Warren gave Bobby a deadpan stare, who was sipping on his milkshake with an expectant look. “Do I look like the type of guy that would be a fan of Aquaman of all people?”
Bobby shrugged, stealing fries from Warren’s plate to dip them in his sugary drink. “You’re asking the wrong person to judge by appearance.”
“Right,” Warran nodded, dragging his plate closer to him. “Should have known by your horrible taste in pants.”
That got him a pout from the freckled boy, “I have good taste in pants!”
“You only wear jeans, Bobby.”
“They’re comfortable!”
After visiting stores for almost the whole morning, the trio finally decided to eat at the food court. They settled on Bat Burger. Sadly for Bobby, Chili’s was way too full, and Maximoff was halfway through a low-sugar episode and needed food fast.
They sat in a booth, all their bags shoved on the corner of the side where Warren had taken his spot, plastered against the crystal window that gave a view to the sidewalk of the mall just by the electric stairs, while Bobby and Maximoff sat on the other side of the booth.
She had dozed off by staring at the view, her headache settling after scarfing down around ten orders of burgers and fries, two jumbo sodas, and three vanilla milkshakes.
The boys could only stare in amazement and disbelief while she basically inhaled the food as if someone was going to steal it away from her.
They started some small conversations about mindless themes. About school work, the current films in the theater, the amount of clothes that they bought (well, more like Warren bought for everyone. The moment he found out Bobby was going to use the savings from his scholarship, and that she forgot to bring her credit card [Apparently, Wayne did not have a credit card. Alfred was the one doing all of her money transactions, which was… weird. He had given her some cash for the trip, but she had forgotten the money back in her bedroom.] Warren had slammed down his black card without another word and even dragged them to the high-end stores and went nuts with paying them new sets of clothes.) and many other things.
Which led to their current subject.
Favorite superheroes.
Bobby had brought it up first. Since he was from New York, Metropolis, to be specific, he had a very obvious preference for The Man of Steel. He had even gushed about getting to see him fly by once because of a nearby fire in his neighborhood.
It would fall short to say that Bobby was a huge Superman fanboy. (As if those ten minutes of probably the longest description ever heard about the hero’s appearance weren’t clear enough.)
This put Bobby on the hunt to figure out who Warren’s favorite hero could be, since the blonde wasn’t interested in giving out such information so easily (meaning, he was making Bobby guess).
“We already discarded the local heroes,” Bobby groaned, “and Flash, Green Lantern, and Aquaman are also out. You’re giving me nothing, War!”
“Get creative, Boo,” He snickered, drinking from his soda with a smug look.
The brown haired boy sank into his spot with a grumble, crossing his arms and glaring at Warren, who winked at him with a cocky grin while biting the plastic straw of his cup.
Bobby then gave his attention to the now food-coma girl beside him, sipping on her milkshake absently with a faraway look as her head lay back against the red cushion of the booth. “Give me something to work with, babes. I need content!”
She rolled her head towards Bobby, still sipping from her drink. “What could I possibly offer?”
“What about your favorite hero?” Warren asked, his eyebrow quirking while Bobby jumped on his seat and grinned with expectation, his attitude switching once again.
He did not wait another moment to begin listing off heroes. “Any of the Bats? Maybe a Supe? Oh, how about Wonder Woman?!”
She stayed silent for a few moments, humming to herself while biting on the plastic straw with a frown.
It hadn’t crossed her mind. The whole hero thing.
Her mind was still very muddled. She knew certain things. Basic stuff. And even more, because of all the show references and quotes she says on a daily basis. But where did she learn them from? It came and went, however, it felt like it. Most of the time, it sat on the tip of her tongue. So close to saying it and acknowledging it, but never fast enough to process it. Letting slip right past her.
Which was why having Wayne as a guide was extremely helpful.
Even if she omitted certain information.
Maximoff would never push her to say anything Wayne didn’t want to share. That girl had had enough of shoving and pushing for a lifetime.
Part of that missing information was about heroes.
Wayne was…avoidant about them when the subject was eventually brought up by Maximoff. It was expected, since she had considered that Batman could be of help in some way. He was a hero (vigilante, but it’s basically the same, right?), and heroes were good guys and helped out people. It was logical.
The hellish screeching and crashing of Alfred’s old Chinese teapot was a clear indication that going for Batman’s help was a big no-no.
Maximoff still tried to research them (she wasn’t going to go around Gotham without knowing about its protectors), and she found their whole dynamic unique and that they somehow still made it work to keep the city protected from bad guys and criminals.
Kudos to them and their work, but she wouldn’t place any of them as her favorite hero.
Don’t get her wrong. They were doing good work, and their suits looked sick and cool, judging by the pictures going around the internet, taken by bystanders throughout the years whenever any of the vigilantes let themselves be viewed by the public.
But, they didn’t strike a chord with her. None of them stood out to her enough to catch her attention.
“I don’t know,” She mumbled, finally taking out the disfigured straw from her mouth. Her gaze moved towards the view of the mall, fingers tapping around her empty cup. “No one calls my attention.”
“C’mon,” Bobby insisted, “There has to be at least one that is your favorite.”
Warren hummed, giving her a furrowed look, “Are vigilantes not your style?”
“Are they yours?” Bobby quipped back, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Yeah, nice try. Still not telling you my favorite.”
“Ughh, you’re so boring! Just give me a hint! A tiny one! Anything, ple-”
“Flash.”
The boys turned their heads, both looking at her, confused at why the sudden mention of the speedster hero. She wasn’t even looking at them. Her stare was fixed on the outside view, her eyebrows twisting in a frown as she adjusted her slumping posture to an upright one.
Bobby was the one who talked first, taking advantage of Warren’s diverted attention to steal more fries. “The Flash? Guess it fits you! Fastest man alive, you like to run, and you’re rather fast while doing it too-”
“Not The Flash,” She interrupted him, getting up from her spot and sticking her face to the glass. “I meant a flash.”
Warren got up from his seat, going around the booth to see right behind her point of view, while Bobby scarfed down the leftover fries and looked over her shoulder.
From the first floor of the mall, a series of camera flashes pointed at the food court floor stood out from their view. It was almost impossible to see the people behind the cameras due to the numerous flashes popping up quickly.
The moment a few of those flashes started to move towards the electric stairs, Warren cursed and quickly began to pick up their bags, shoving a few in Bobby’s hands and pulling him out of her way. She instantly moved and picked up the last bags, leaving their discarded trash on the table.
There was no time to clean up, sorry!
“Dude, what is going on?” Bobby questioned as Warren ran out of the fast food place with the others following him closely behind.
“Of all the things that could have slipped my mind,” The blonde muttered angrily as he guided them in the opposite direction of the electric stairs. Some yells and calls of the people with the cameras made Maximoff look over her shoulder, glaring at the annoying flashes as those people continued to take pictures of them while taking the stairs.
The words began to register in their ears.
“It is them!” “It’s Worthington!” “Quickly, they’re getting away!” “Just a few pictures, sir!” “It’s that Wayne?!” “Miss Wayne, look this way!” “Please, let us ask as few questions!” “Wayne, what are you doing with Worthington? Are you friends? Is it a setup by your fathers?” “Who is the other boy? A friend of yours?” “Miss Wayne! Mr. Worthington!”
“Oh god,” Bobby gasped, suddenly accelerating his step as a mob began to form. “Are those paparazzi?!”
Warren took a right, their shoes squeaking against the polished floors and yelling over his shoulder. “Bloodhounds without souls would be more accurate, but yeah!”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” She repeated over and over again, easily taking the front of the group, with Warren just behind her and Bobby at the end as they skipped the passersby with excuses and apologies.
Now it made sense why Wayne didn’t like malls.
“Go for the normal stairs! Left side of the hall!” Warren yelled, looking over his shoulder to make sure Bobby was still with them.
Bobby was struggling with switching the bags to his left hand while running, glancing back at the paparazzi, and cursing when he noticed how close they were. He finished moving the bags, his right hand now free as he searched in his jeans pocket and pulled out his car keys.
“War, catch!”
Warren caught the keys, pulling the girl back by her jacket before she took the wrong corner, hearing Bobby’s yell and making her look back at the chaos.
Everything suddenly moved in slow motion.
The mob was almost catching up to them, the cameras flashing slowly, and the people moved as if it were zero gravity, and slowly. So slowly, to the point they almost looked like those stop-motion figures for films that were still getting put together for a scene.
Bobby had stumbled with a rack of fabrics that was on display outside a store, the cloths floating around the air and blocking a few cameras from their view.
Bobby, who was with one knee on the floor and a hand about to touch it, looked panicked and pale.
It made her sick to the stomach.
Without thinking too much, she ran.
And it was like never before.
Warren’s grip on her jacket slipped off with ease the moment she took off. It almost felt like floating when her feet made contact with the ground, a sharp ringing in her ears getting pitchier and pitchier, but she put no mind into it. Her free arm shot out to the front, reaching towards Bobby’s arm that was near the ground and lifting him with ease. His weight was almost paperweight in her hands.
Still cold, even colder than before, but still very light.
Once she got him upright, she almost dragged him towards Warren, linking their elbows together without looking back at the paparazzi.
Reaching the stairs was like walking on the moon.
Going down them felt like jumping on a trampoline.
The parking lot was right in front of them, the moment everything came back to normal.
It took a few seconds for Bobby and Warren to fall to the floor and heave out so they wouldn’t throw up their food. Panting and groaning with their eyes closed, faces pale, and fingers trembling.
Maximoff was on some kind of euphoria, skin tingling, and ears blocked by the ringing that grew quieter little by little.
She felt so fucking good.
“Oh. My. God.” She uttered, a cackle of disbelief slipping out of her grinning lips.
The adrenaline. The motion. The ringing. The blood pumping. It all felt so good. It felt so right.
“Did you guys see that?! Did you see it?!” She turned towards them, eyes glinting in excitement and glee.
“I think I went blind,” Warren babbled, on his hands and knees with his bags scattered around him.
Bobby wasn’t any better, all sprawled out on the asphalt, tummy up and taking deep breaths. “Where am I? Am I dead? Is this hell?”
“That was fucking insane! Everyone was moving so slowly! Everything was frozen, and when I moved, it felt like floating! It was so freaking cool! I don’t know how, but- Ow!” She began to explain, hands moving around in exaggerated and fast movements and gestures, until she winced out loud due to a sharp pain in her right hand.
Her palm felt like burning. A cold type of burn. It was cold to the touch, the skin was numb and a bit red. Some flakes of frost began to melt down her hand, making her shiver from the freezing sensation.
Warren had gotten up from the floor, stumbling a bit with his long legs before reaching her, taking her hand carefully and looking at the skin with a frown. Bobby had sat up, looking at her with wide eyes, concern, fear, and confusion on his face as he held his right arm close to his chest.
His arm was blue.
Ice cold blue.
It looked like it was made of glass. Of Ice. Transparent around the edge and deep, cold blue in the center.
That had been the arm that she had grabbed.
“It’s an ice burn,” Warren muttered, disbelief written all over his face, looking between Bobby and her. “But it’s speedrunning through the healing-”
“Are you okay, Bobby?” She asked, taking her hand back from Warren and stepping towards Bobby, who looked spooked and on the verge of tears.
He gasped shakily, not being able to choose between shaking his head or nodding. His shoulders were trembling as he got up from the floor, stumbling a bit and flinching when she grabbed him by the shoulders to help him settle.
“...you’re not afraid?” He stuttered, eyes not moving from her hands, still remaining on his shoulders.
Maximoff frowned, shaking her head while Warren came closer to them, looking around to make sure nobody was watching them.
“Why should I?”
“I hurt you.” Bobby took a shaky breath.
“You didn’t mean it. It was an accident.” She said, reassuring him softly, fingers gently grasping his cold arm. It had changed back to his normal pink skin, still cold but not like before.
Bobby just looked at her before nodding slowly, gulping down some saliva. They stayed like that for a while, until Warren rattled their scattered bags while picking them up, gathering their attention. “We gotta move. The paparazzi are still around, and they’ll love getting their hands on this news material.” He gestured to the three of them.
Somewhere back on the mall, a complaining mob of paparazzi was questioning how they could have lost view of the kids for just a few seconds, get tangled on a bunch of fabrics, and slipped on a random patch of ice.
──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────
Patrol night did not go so well Dick Grayson.
He had gone to Bludhaven earlier in the week, having to commit to his day job despite the current family crisis happening back at the manor. If it were for him, he would have stayed in Gotham and spent more time around his little sister, had some heart-to-heart talk with her, made sure those boys bothering her remained far away, and everything would go back to normal.
But reality had to strike him and make him go do his work back at home.
Hours upon hours, paperwork after paperwork. Days dragged on and on, boring him and making him lose his nerve more than once around his coworkers back at the police station.
Why should he be around these idiots when he had a bigger issue going on?
He was very tempted to turn in a small leave. Just for a few days. He was confident that in just a few days would be enough to solve the issue.
Nothing beats a good quality time with his precious sister, so she would let down her guard and confess that all she needed was her favorite brother to give her some care and attention. Beg him to take her away from those mean boys and that dreadful school with even more dreadful teachers.
And he had gotten that leave! Two beautiful, long weeks back in Gotham sounded heavenly to him.
If it weren’t for Bruce dragging him back on patrol because ‘crime never takes a break’.
And God, was last night’s patrol just awful.
The comms were failing, pure static was heard, along with the channels getting switched around every five minutes. He tripped so many times on bare air or sudden wet patches on the rails and edges of buildings. Not to mention the absence of the two younger vigilantes of the clan, who apparently were off that night by their own volition and command, if Bruce’s scowl was enough of an answer. And lastly, Jason finally decided to make an appearance the moment Dick fell flat on his back from a firescape.
He still felt sore, no matter how much ointment Alfred passed over his back before he fell dead asleep in his bed.
The deep tiredness in his bones didn’t let him get up from his bed until the afternoon of the next day came around. Sleeping right through Barb’s calls and texts without a care in the world.
His sight was blurry, still heavy with sleep, slipping closed, and unaware of his surroundings. The silk sheets cool against his skin and limbs. The soft cushion of his pillow made it harder to lift his head and finally get up from the bed. The cold drops of water, hitting his forehead every once in a while-
‘…Drops of water?’ His mind supplied quietly.
A quiet moment passed by until he felt another drop hit his skin, sliding down his temple and sinking into his dark hair.
Then another.
And another.
And three more followed, one after another.
Dick tried to move his head away from it, but for some reason, his head remained on the same position.
More drops fell over him.
Starting to get annoyed, Dick tried to lift his hand to wipe away the water just to find out he also couldn’t move it. With a knot in his stomach, he tried to move his other hand, but the result was the same as before. It felt like they were pinned to the bed by weights.
The next drops dragged out grunts and whimpers out of his throat, a pressure on his jaw similar to the grip of long fingers keeping him shut.
His body felt so heavy, it was suffocating. As if boulders kept his lungs trapped under their weight. His legs and arms were constricted by cold hands with sharp nails that scraped against his skin and gave him a very unpleasant sensation, breaking shivers and goosebumps all over his body.
‘Get off Get off Get off Get off Get oFF GET OFF GET OFF GET OFF-’
As if his thoughts were heard, an ear-piercing shriek that seemed to resemble a butchered laugh got him snapping open his eyes.
Hanging upside down from his headboard, a shadowed figure hovered over him. It’s pale, wet hand gripped his jaw closed, nails digging into his cheeks. Long, drenched, black hair covered its face, the tresses making him yelp as they made contact with his skin and soaked his sheets.
It tilted its head to the side, showing a gaping head wound dripping with deep red blood and a grey eye that stared deeply into his own eyes. The blood continued to drop down it’s face, falling off and staining Dick.
Falling right into his forehead.
It crept closer, the air cold and dead around it while Dick felt tears going down his cheeks. His chest was about to burst in fear, his body drenched in his own cold sweat.
“I thought you liked physical contact, Dick.” It whispered with a horrifying skin-splitting grin right in his face.
Then, the door of his room slammed open.
In the blink of an eye, it was gone.
“Grayson, we need you downstairs right now,” Damian ordered, his frown deepening as he watched the pale man lying on the bed.
Dick sat up quickly, feeling nauseous and head pounding along with his heart beat. He began to pat around the bed, his other hand going over his face as he looked around for it.
All that he found was dry sheets and sweat on his skin.
No blood.
No water.
No it.
“Get dressed, Drake and I require your thoughts on an important subject.” With that, the boy closed the door and went down the hall.
Dick put a hand against his chest, panting as he stood up in shaky legs and stumbled towards his bathroom to throw up all the contents in his stomach down the toilet.
Dark hair disappeared behind the door of his closet.
──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────
“Down the hall, take a left. Room 374. There’s supposed to be a guard outside the door.” A bored nurse said while handing the girl a lanyard that said ‘Visitor’ in bold, dark letters.
Bobby and Warren sat in the waiting area, both dozing off from tiredness after their earlier escapade, and still unsure of how to address the whole success that had happened at the parking lot.
She nodded and began walking down the long white halls of the Psych Ward of Gotham’s General Hospital. It smelled of disinfectant, sterile and cleaning chemicals, making her try not to take big breaths through her nose so her eyes wouldn’t water from the strong smell.
Bobby had been quiet the whole drive, no matter how much she tried to reassure him that she was fine. Her hand had healed in record time, too! She had shown it to the two of them, but Warren stressed that it wasn’t about that at all.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
“I don’t get it! I am fine!”
“It’s more than that! You have a mutation! And it awakened in public! Do you know how much trouble that could bring to you?!”
Bobby took a deep breath, driving his truck and muttering to himself while focusing on the road. Maximoff turned to look at Warren, with visible confusion in her expression.
“What mutation? What is that?”
The truck screeched to a stop, rattling everyone inside and making them scream and hold onto something.
Bobby whipped his head towards her, a dry gulp echoing from her throat at the serious expression on his face. He took a deep breath, fingers gripping the wheel before letting go of it, leaving traces of frost where his hands used to be.
“I am your friend,” he began to say. “And we haven’t known each other for long, so I don’t expect you to tell me everything about you the same way I haven’t told you everything about me.”
He waited until she nodded slowly back at him to continue.
“And I know you’re hiding something. Something big, and I won’t push you to say it until you’re ready to do so.”
Warren bit his tongue, switching looks between the other two as she sank into her seat with an uncomfortable expression. Bobby then gave a heavy sigh, his hand going through his hair.
“But not knowing what a mutation is? I’m sorry, but I know for a fact that we have discussed it in class months ago. So I will ask you for only this time to explain to me what is going on.”
The silence reigned over the three of them. The boys patiently waited for her to respond, noticing her shaking leg and wide stare, fingers rubbing harshly on the cuffs of her jacket as she took a shaky breath and closed her eyes.
“...I’m not even sure you guys will believe me.”
Warren came up closer, right behind Bobby’s seat, so he could stare at her directly. “Try us.”
She looked at them, lip trembling and shoulders tense.
“I’m still looking for answers. I’m not even sure if I’ll get them. That’s why I’m going to visit Bianca.”
Bobby furrowed his eyebrows. “You mean your mom?”
She shook her head, wrangling her fingers as they began to sweat. “Not my mom. She is someone else’s. She can help me out.”
“So, if we get you to Bianca, you’ll explain what is happening?” Warren asked, voice softer than expected.
“If she gives me the answers that I need, then yes.”
Bobby started up the car once again and drove without another word.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
She was so excited to explain the brain-numbing story of what she had been dragged into.
(She wasn’t)
Maximoff was filled with so many thoughts. It was meant to be a relaxing day! A normal hangout! Disconnect from the reality of her situation and enjoy life a little before heading right into finding answers and get the hell out of Gotham and find Billy, for fuck’s sake-
“Room 374, Miss?” A deep, gruff voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
Looks like she reached the room without noticing. That was fast.
Maximoff nodded at the guard, showing her visitor tag and taking a step back as he indicated to do so. He began to put in a digital code on a lock by the door, the thing beeping loudly twice before a hissing mechanical sound echoed down the hall and opened the door.
“Knock three times to get out. You got twenty minutes.”
That was a weird warning, but she still walked inside the room.
There was a small window that barely let any natural light in, the sun starting to set to give start to the evening and extending the shadows of the trees outside into the floor of the room. A small light bulb on the wall, just above a small and messy bed, made her eyes hurt from the artificial lighting. Her gaze wandered around, taking notice of books scattered around the floor, with pages ripped off and lying all over the place. Odd markings, some scratched on the walls and others made with a black marker, surrounded the whole room.
Kneeling on the floor with her back turned, as she mumbled to herself, a woman in grey scrubs.
‘Yeah, I’m out,’ She thought, about to take a step back and walk out.
But the door closed right behind her, the metallic hiss making her almost tear up on the spot.
“I expected you to drop by sooner.”
A melodic voice said, the woman getting up from the ground and patting her clothes down with a sigh. Long loose curls going down her back, turning around to face the frozen girl by the door.
Before Maximoff, a thin and beautiful woman stood before her. Tall, bronzed skin, a mole on the corner of her left eye, and deep brown eyes that held dark eye bags beneath them.
Wayne’s Mother. Bianca.
She could see all the resemblances between them, with the exception of the height. Since Bianca easily towered over her by two heads. Hell, she was probably around the same height as Bruce.
“Come closer,” Bianca demanded, eyes stuck on the young girl as she took a few steps forward.
Maximoff tried not to step on the symbols on the floor, not wanting to piss off the woman that did not seem in right space of mind.
When she stood a few feet in front of her, Bianca began to walk around her in circles, Gaze calculating and unshakeable, as if Maximoff was some type of fascinating artifact that appeared in front of her.
Long fingers touched her hair, Bianca humming with a frown. She suddenly leaned forward, getting right in the girl’s face and making her flinch out of reflex. The woman stared at her face, taking in her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, and her lips.
“...Fascinating. You have the same face, but it’s so much different now.” She muttered, eyes softening suddenly around the edges.
Bianca’s hands cradled her cheeks, cold fingers tracing the features with gentleness and delicacy. A sharp breath intake and her eyes watering, the more she continued to look at her.
“Was it painful for her? For you?”
Maximoff made the decision to lie to the woman.
She shook her head, a tear slipping down both of their cheeks.
Bianca took a moment to hold her for a bit longer, letting her hands slip down slowly. Maximoff wiped away her tears quickly, clearing her throat as she scratched the back of her neck with a rough sigh.
“We need your help,” she said. “ We are looking for-”
“You’re looking for Rio’s vessels.”
The woman sat down on her bed, fingers going through her hair and making the curls bounce around with a weird smile on her lips. “She is making you get them to fulfill the deal I made with her, right?”
Maximoff was caught off guard, nodding slowly with a shrug. “Kind of. More like she wants to make the Waynes miserable and gets her precious retribution… or whatever a mafia boss wants, I guess?”
“Rio as a mafia boss? Mother, you’re cute,” Bianca chuckled. “You've got no idea of who is pulling all the strings, are you?”
“I don’t care as long as I can go to my real family.” Maximoff declared, lips thinning.
“It doesn’t work like that, Maximoff.” The woman drawled, crossing her legs as the girl bit her tongue.
How did she know her last name?
“You need the bigger picture to understand what you are getting into, so sit down and listen.”
Since she did not have any other choice, Maximoff sat down on the floor with a grumble and crisscrossed her legs with a frown. Bianca ignored her attitude, moving her feet in circles as she leaned back a bit.
“What exactly do you know about witches?”
“Like Harry Potter?”
Bianca sighed and shook her head, “No, but we don’t have the time to explain all of that. So, let’s summarize a-”
“I was joking! Your daughter gave me the gist of it already!” She quickly butted in, getting a glare from Bianca in return.
“Fine, then,” Bianca rolled her eyes. “Anyway, sixteen years ago, I made a deal with death.”
Before Maximoff could interrupt once again, Bianca gave her a pointed stare that made her shut her mouth closed. With that done, she continued.
“I was expecting.” A nostalgic glint in her eyes. “Twins, actually. A boy and a girl.”
This time, Maximof stayed silent.
“My family had been through a rough path at that time. My parents were no longer with me, and my twin brother had also gone into a life of crime.” She let out a sarcastic, short laugh. “He used to be a lawyer, and I would always say that this city would drag him down with it… and I was right.”
“I was alone, well established in my career as a singer in the opera. And money wasn’t a problem either, my folks left me a good sum, and my brother took care of me from afar. What I lacked was security.”
Bianca uncrossed her legs and leaned forward with a tired expression. “I didn’t want Bruce to know about the pregnancy; he had his problems, and I didn’t want anything to do with his name. The Wayne name is a cursed name.”
Maximoff took note of that last part. Something to look up later.
“So, I summoned Death with a deal. The safety of my children, and she would get her own apprentices.”
Bianca rubbed her eyes with a groan. “That didn’t work out, since one of the twins didn’t make it. He was stillborn. I cremated him.”
“But she survived, that’s like half the deal, right?” Maximoff stuttered, mind reeling with the fact that Rio was apparently Death? How does that even make sense?
Then again, she was not exactly normal either, and she also had a ghost companion, so she should really stop questioning stuff when her day-to-day life was straight out of Casper, the friendly ghost, if it were a teen drama.
“Almost,” Bianca muttered. “In exchange, she gave some vessels to guard while I taught my daughter the basis of witchcraft so she could become Death’s apprentice. And that also did not work out.”
“Why?”
“Because I tried to break the deal.”
“Oh.”
Bianca got up with a chuckle, a weird look in her eyes as she walked around the room. “And Death did not like it one bit. She cursed me, drove me insane, insane enough to make them lock me away in here!”
She began to yell, a maniacal grin on her lips. Maximoff got up from the floor, stepping far away from the woman until her back met the wall.
“You got what you wanted, Rio! You got it!” She screamed out, banging on the walls with cries and yells and claims.
It continued for a bit, scaring Maximoff shitless as she moved towards a corner, dragging herself to the side of the wall as Bianca dropped down to her knees with sobs and laughs. Hugging herself as her nails scratched at the material of her clothes.
“My baby, my baby,” she sobbed. “She was never meant to be for the Wayne name. She was mine, all mine.”
Bianca snapped her neck toward the pale girl, still gripping the wall with shaky legs and trembling fingers. The woman let out a cracking sob, face stained with tears.
“I was never going to be able to see her grow. Not like she was meant to be. Not with my last name. Not with me.”
“But,” she shuddered, “If it was not going to be me, it would be with family. My family.”
In the back of her head, despite the scary situation at hand, Maximoff connected a big, important dot in this whole conversation.
Wayne was never supposed to go with Bruce Wayne.
She was supposed to go with her uncle.
“I signed it. I know I did.” Bianca muttered. “It took a while for me to sign it, but I gave it to Harvey, I know I did! He knew I didn’t want my baby with him, but she was still there and she wasn’t meant to be there-”
What happened next was straight out of a horror movie.
Bianca’s eyes rolled back into her skull, showing only the white part of it. She threw her body back in an abnormal arch as the light bulb began to flicker as if it were a throbbing light. Groaning and moaning words that were either in another tongue or completely gibberish.
She suddenly stood up on her feet, standing on the tip of her toes as she pointed a finger at the screaming girl, following her as she scattered to the door and tried to force it open with her body weight.
Bianca’s head snapped forward, looking directly at her despite the lack of pupils.
“Wheel of fortune,” her voice sounded distorted. “Find the ashes of The Moon beneath the Four of Wands, get The Sun its Hierophant, and reunite with the Reversed Tower.”
‘Oh, fuck this and everything else. Get her out of here!”
With the three bangs against the door, Bianca dropped to the floor as if a puppet whose strings had been cut, groaning and whimpering while the light stopped flickering. Maximoff could hear people yelling outside, recognizing Bobby and Warren’s voices, which made her cling to the door with desperation.
The sudden hand on her shoulder made her scream and jump to look at a completely normal-looking Bianca, despite the scowl on her face.
“Stop yelling,” she growled. Maximoff, feeling a bit dizzy from the whole ordeal, shut up.
Bianca took out a piece of paper from her back (how the fuc-), and shoved it in the girl’s hand, closing it in a tight fist. “I had it written down before you came in. Follow it to the letter and don’t skip any steps.”
Maximoff nodded with a weird sound, feeling lightheaded as the door behind her hissed open.
Before she got dragged out by the guards, Bianca whispered to her an important name with a request.
“Harvey Dent. Find him. Find him and he will make sure the Waynes never interfere with you ever again.”
Find Harvey Dent, huh?
That should be easy, right?
Right?!
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
Author's note: I lied, this became over 9,900 words lol.
Hope you all enjoy this bc chapter's will not be this long again, I just got really inspired for this chapter and couldn't stop writting. Started summer class last week so hopefully I'll survive.
Many things happened and I can't wait to see what are everyone's comments and thoughts!
Remember to follow the asks rules and to be respectful!!
Lots of love and hugs,
GG✨
I wanted more for this chapter, but apparently I'm travelling this weekend so it's all I could do.
batfamily x reader {platonic}
[first] [previous] [next]
Alfred thinks he may rival any of The Flashes in how quickly he moves. Any aching joints or stiff knees that may slow him down are forgotten in his hurry. He does not call Stephanie back to inform her, throwing all his attention into getting into the Batcave as soon as he can. There is no time to waste, for if Stephanie is right - you haven’t been heard from in at least a week, a week too long. If the laughter at the end of your voicemail is real, then you’re not just missing, you’ve been taken.
‘It’s all too familiar’, Alfred thinks, punching in the access code before stepping into the elevator. ‘It’s happened again, another child - gone’. The past replays in his mind, over and over again. Jason, gone, dead, killed by the same grotesque creature that now holds you.
Alfred is forced to wipe his eyes, clear away his forming tears, so that the retina scanner works. And as soon as he is able, the emergency alert goes out. He knows it will wake Bruce and Tim, and he knows it may take a few minutes for Dick and Barbara to join virtually - but sure enough, his family fills the cave.
Batman, Robin, Red Robin, Batgirl and Spoiler are all gathered within a half hour. Nightwing’s and Oracle’s faces each on a monitor. Spoiler, Stephanie, is pale, her face twisted into a look of guilt, eyes staring into Alfred’s as he begins to speak.
The words are slow to form, and choke him as he forces them out-
“I was made aware not long ago that,” Alfred pauses, not purposely, but long enough to give a shuddering sigh, “The young master has -” His eyes settle on Stephanie, who has yet to divert her eyes from him. It is a slight movement, but her head is shaking, back and forth, a silent prayer for him to not finish. “Has been taken.” He finishes.
Stephanie shrinks into herself, it was not the answer she wanted, but the one she received nonetheless. Alfred shuts his eyes, refuses to look upon the others as he provides more information, the only information he had. He forces the words out, as if speaking them is carving them into stone. He knows he will have to say them, no matter how little he wishes to. He will have to open his eyes, and bear witness to a world in which you most certainly have been harmed.
He tells them all he knows.
He tells them how Stephanie had noticed your lack of online presence, how she had reached out to him, and he had tried to contact you, and how your voicemail had been…altered. How the laugh at the end could belong to only one person. He finishes, and silence takes over. The only sound he hears is his own heart pounding in his ears - waiting for someone, anyone, to tell him that he was wrong. That you were in fact safe and sound, that you were upstairs in your room, wrapped tightly in blankets and securely asleep.
Barbara is the first to speak, her voice coming from the speakers, bouncing around the cave with a slight echo.
“They failed to check in with me today, but they did yesterday. It’s unlikely they’ve been gone that long - “ she explains, Alfred can hear the tap-tap-tap of her keyboard through the surround sound system. She remotely takes control of the computer, various screenshots of conversations popping up as she does. The very latest is dated yesterday, 5:15pm for its final message.
The picture above your final message (‘Your last words’ Alfred thinks) is cut off, but he catches the end of a runway, and the top of your seated legs.
K.
That’s it.
5:15pm: K.
“According to their schedule, they should be in Milan for fashion week - huh. Strange -” Barbara stops mid-sentence. Her brow furrowing as she types rapidly, “But the jet’s in New York, and has been for-” she cuts herself off again. Typing getting faster, a frown overtaking her expression. “Three weeks - what? They’ve been sending pictures from all over the place?”
Stephanie’s eyes widen, and she steps forward.
“That picture is from last year,” She pulls out her phone and pulls up profile, scrolling back through a years worth of content, “See! It’s the same one!” She claims. She sends it wirelessly to the computer, and it pops up squished between Babara and Dick’s faces.
Even from what little he could see of your messages from Barbara, he can tell it’s the truth. The lights are the same, the runway and laying in your lap are identical, down to the tiniest of stains on the knee of your pants.
Barbara proceeds to pull up more and more of the pictures you have supposedly sent her these last few days, and sure enough - each one is a duplicate to an earlier post. Panic and fear bubble in Stephanie’s chest as she confirms each one, and Alfred watches as the rest of his family begin to realize -
You were gone.
Someone had your phone.
That someone had been pretending to be you.
If the laugh at the end of your voicemail was any indication -
Joker had you, had had you for a week, at least.
And no one had noticed.
It’s only when Bruce steps forward, that Barbara and Stephanie fall silent, and back into line. His eyes are steel, cold and hard, flickering over all the presented information.
“Nightwing, come back to Gotham, you and I will focus on the Red Hood case. Spoiler and Robin, I need you to investigate the Jet, check it over, see if anything is out of place,” He pauses, deep in thought before continuing, “Oracle, track their digital movements. Phone records, previous posts - everything. Red Robin, Batgirl, try and see if they have any enemies. Anyone who may have wanted them hurt, or wanted to hurt the Wayne family.”
Bruce stops, and looks over his team, his family, as he gives his instruction. Splitting their attention at a time like this, with a new violent vigilante on the loose in his city, wasn’t ideal. He would make it work - he had to. Red Hood was targeting the Robins, Red Robin in particular, this gave him both an excuse to get Tim off the Red Hood case, and onto your disappearance. He hopes they aren’t connected, and hopes he can keep the rest of them from realizing they might be.
It would be easier for him to take Red Hood on with Dick alone; and if it means letting the rest think Joker - who is still firmly locked in Arkham - took you, then so be it.
Bruce dismisses his team, his family, his children, and watches them all flit off into the night. Oracle signs off with a flourish, but Dick remains behind - the computer automatically adjusts so that his face, and his face alone takes up the entire monitor. Bruce is turned away from the monitor, and despite the distance between them, he can feel his son's eyes burn into his back. He knows that Dick is frowning, knows what he will say when he turns to face him. He lets out a sigh, there is no preventing what is to come, his shoulders fall slack, and he finally turns to face what he knows is coming - as if he is the son to be scolded by his father.
Dick is angry, is disappointed, and frustrated. He may not have been as close to you as he could have been, but you were still part of his family. He was once told that keeping you at arms length meant keeping you safe, but he learned long ago that was a lie.
He was already Nightwing by the time he had met you, but he had known of you for far longer. He learned of you from bits and pieces, crumbs dropped by those who barely let a thing slide. Written reports on a desk that he was technically forbidden from reading, early morning phone calls between Alfred and some secret stranger - everything pointed to a secret, and Dick was really, really good at figuring out people's secrets.
He discovered you, and then, to his regret, left you alone. He was gone by the time you finally came home, and with Jason arriving nearly the same day to replace him - his attention was diverted to the most pressing matter. He did visit occasionally, and met you through those visits.
You didn’t know about the Batman thing, and he was fine keeping that from you. He also didn’t think he had to make sure Jason knew about keeping the Batman thing secret from you, but maybe he should have. There was such a clear divide between you pre-knowing, and post-knowing.
Dick can’t help but think that if he had tried just a bit more, things may have been different. He appreciates all that you do, really he does - it’s just, he doesn’t know you the way he knows everyone else. Doesn’t know what makes you happy or sad, doesn’t know your favourite foods, favourite colours, or even who your friends are ( do you even have any, outside of those you work with?). Now it may be too late, he thinks. If Joker has you, and you’ve really been gone for as long as they think - it’s Jason all over again. He wonders if he’ll see you too, in the dark corners of his mind. If an apparition of you, molded by his own mind, will taunt his failures as Jason’s ghost does.
It’s not even the first time you’ve been kidnapped. They all have, at some point or another, but they all had training to get themselves out. You hadn’t, and yes, most of the time it was some low ranking organization or crook looking for a quick buck, thinking you an easy target (and you were an easy target), it didn’t change the fact that it’d happened.
Didn’t change the fact that after the first time, Dick had promised he’d spend more time with you (and then didn’t). Then it happened again, and this time you weren’t even rescued by a family member, by a familiar face. Maybe it was one of the Supers? Or maybe a Flash? You were brought home by a Green Lantern once (twice). Each time he’d promise himself, he’d treat you better, each time he promised you’d be safer and it wouldn’t happen again - and then it did.
It ate at him, how you’d shrug off each incident without a word. Perhaps, he thinks, he convinced himself that it didn’t affect you, that even if you were snatched up, you’d be saved in the end, so the fact that it happened didn’t matter. But it did matter, it did. He swears it did, and staring down at your shared Father, who had swore time and time again that you’d be kept safe (and being proven wrong, time and time again) it sinks in that this may be the last time. That those promises he made to himself were never going to be kept, that he was a liar, that for all his bravado about being the best big brother , he was possibly one of the worst.
“Bruce,” he forces out, words dancing on the tip of his tongue, “You said this wouldn’t happen again.”
‘This’ being either you being kidnapped again, or having another of his siblings taken away by the clown prince of crime. He isn’t sure which one he means, or maybe he means both - and judging from the look on Bruce’s face, he takes it as both.
“It hasn’t, “ Bruce starts, and Dick thinks he may have finally lost it. You definitely were taken again, and a good chance it was - “He’s still locked up.”
What?
“Joker’s still in Arkham, the others will figure that out soon enough,” He continues, and Dick stares open-mouthed at him. If Joker is still in Arkham, then who? Who has you? Harley? Is it an attempt to bust Joker out? To continue his work while he cannot? Dick can’t help but wonder what is worse, thinking Joker or Harley may have you, or not knowing who does. He runs over all the possibilities in his mind, for surely this must be one of their known enemies. Someone who wants to target them, because there was never a reason to target you specifically.
But there’s a new player on the board, isn’t there? One that’s started cropping up everywhere they look.
“Bruce, you don’t think it’s him do you?” Dick waits for an answer, and all he gets is the slightest nod of Bruce’s head. “I see. I’ll be back in Gotham by the morning, and then, we’re tracking Red Hood down.” With that, Dick dismisses himself, logging off and finally Bruce is alone.
He is not a good father. He knows this. He has never pretended otherwise, despite what some may say. They may say he did his best, he did all that he could. They praise him for the way his children have turned out, the ones that survived, as if he is the reason they did so. He knows he is not, especially not when it comes to you.
There is nothing he has done right for you, not once, except perhaps try to set you free from the darkness. But even that, he thinks, he has done wrong. To let you grow in the sun, he severed your roots. Refused to let them take hold, that someday you might leave him, and his shadows behind, and start anew. Yet he sought to tie you to him, that you might never find that sun, may see it, but never feel its warmth for yourself.
He is a selfish man, who drags those around him down, he poisons the well from which you drink long before you could find another. In wanting to keep you close, he has driven you away. In wanting to drive you away, he may have killed you.
You are his first born, one that he did not want, but was no less dear to him. He has never shown you this, never let you know, and now that may be another great failure atop the pile of other great failures.
He was not there when you were born, didn’t even know you were to be, but when the hospital called, he felt his heart swell. A family, a father in a way that Dick didn’t really need him to be. He didn’t rush, couldn’t rush. It wouldn’t be the first time he was declared the father of an illegitimate child. He pushed for tests, just in case, and when they came back and you were his, he felt himself hope.
Hope is a fickle mistress, and he found it lacking soon after. He had you placed in his childhood room, the nursery, the one in which all Wayne children had resided in at some point or another. He thought he could keep up with raising a child and being The Batman. He was young, he was capable, he was, he was doing so very very wrong by you.
A baby was different from a preteen, he soon learned. Dick was easy, because for the most part, he could care for himself. He did not need someone to watch him at all hours, didn’t need nappies changed and bottles warmed. It was not care he nor Alfred could give.
He did what he thought was best, and though it haunted him, he sent you away, and promised he would bring you back when you were older, when it would be better, easier.
A better time, an easier time, never came. Something always came up, always held him back on bringing you home. He didn’t think that time would ever come, doesn’t know if it truly had. But you came home, the woman he had personally hired to raise you was retiring, and he figured it was the only chance he had to bring you in.
The date slipped his mind, and on the day you came home, he found Jason. Instead of greeting you, welcoming you, embracing you, he opened his arms to another, letting you slip into the manor like a phantom.
You were finally home and despite all that you may have needed - Jason needed more. He passed you in the hallways, sometimes at meals, never really stopping to connect with you the way he should have. He learned of you indirectly, through Jason.
How glad he was, that you held no animosity towards the boy he had taken in. You never gave any inclination towards the idea he may have stolen your place, even if Jason sometimes thought he had. The boy was sensitive, empathetic to a degree Bruce hadn’t known before. And Bruce, for the moment, encouraged it.
Until you found out about Batman.
He had done what he could to keep you separate. To keep your life and light safe from the dark and dirt that encompassed all he did. It was Jason’s mistake, and Jason would be punished accordingly. But that left you - sitting alone in the study, eyes cast aside until he began to speak and you looked up and oh-
Your eyes.
His mothers eyes.
He had never looked you in the eyes before, never noticed, how could he not notice? You had her eyes. Your eyes, looking upon him in fear, reminding him so clearly of his mothers eyes on that night. His mothers eyes, frightened of him.
He panicked. Lashed out, locked you out of the loop and threw away the key. If it meant you hated him, feared him, so be it. He would keep you safe, he would do all he could to keep those eyes in his life.
And then he failed. Again. He thought by letting you go into the world slowly, he could at least try to keep you safe and content.
Again, and again, and again, and again. He watched you suffer as he failed you. Then when you finally seem to be escaping his failure, leaving behind all his mistakes, he refuses to let you go. Forces you to play pretend, to put a metaphorical mask on and lie to the world about how perfect he is -
Sometimes he lets himself believe it, lets himself get lost in the fairy tale, that you are a happy child and he is a good father, that he has never abandoned you, that you and he are a team, taking on the world together. He pretends that he has never missed a ceremony or award, that ‘family night’ includes you, that he doesn’t see only your back walking away from him, that he has never walked away from you.
‘This is the last time,’ Bruce thinks, going back over all your accounts, comparing the recent ones to the timeline of Red Hood showing up in Gotham. ‘After this, I will let them go.’
He knows this is another lie, and chooses to believe it anyway.
aw hell naw the jonkler's got us 😭😭😭 bruce get yo shit TOGETHER
bruce when his plans to keep us away from the batman thing and neglecting his child backfires horribly on him and makes it even worse cuz NOBODY knows where the kid is due to him isolating them from everyone:
He was already Nightwing by the time he had met you, but he had known of you for far longer. He learned of you from bits and pieces, crumbs dropped by those who barely let a thing slide. Written reports on a desk that he was technically forbidden from reading, early morning phone calls between Alfred and some secret stranger - everything pointed to a secret, and Dick was really, really good at figuring out people's secrets.
He discovered you, and then, to his regret, left you alone. He was gone by the time you finally came home, and with Jason arriving nearly the same day to replace him - his attention was diverted to the most pressing matter. He did visit occasionally, and met you through those visits.
You didn’t know about the Batman thing, and he was fine keeping that from you. He also didn’t think he had to make sure Jason knew about keeping the Batman thing secret from you, but maybe he should have. There was such a clear divide between you pre-knowing, and post-knowing.
HI OMG I JUST READ SPINNING AND I CANT BELIEVE IT WAS POSTED YESTERDAY??? LIKE IT’S SO BEAUTIFULLY DONE!! I’M SO EXCITED. I cried, it was written to well and the pacing is chef’s kiss. Also I love it when neglected fics are in the POVs of the other characters instead of the reader because yes. Show me how you failed me. It hurts so good. You stole my heart and it’s just the first chapter!! Will be looking forward to this every week >:)) take your time though, no pressure! Loveee your work!
:> thank you, thank you. I was super nervous about posting it, so I'm glad to see people like it. Especially since it's mostly going to be told via third person (although, you the reader will be present soon hehehehehe). I was also worried I was moving too slowly with my pacing, but I ~love~ world building and character studies
Just read ur batfam fic and that's got a LOT OF KICK UUUUGHHHHHJSJDJDJD yn get behind me I'm gonna beat some ass!!! Oh my God. Literally sending them away. Literally isolating them and then demanding so much work from them. They should be hit with hammers. So good I can't wait for more pain
hehehehehehehe the pain train has barely left the station!!! Stay tuned, it's gonna be a hell of a ride
Please help me, this is far longer than I expected it to be lmao.
Batfam x Reader {platonic}
[Previous] [next]
Barbara Gordon is simultaneously the first to notice, and the sort-of last to know.
It begins as most nights do for her, preparing for her shift as Oracle, waiting for you to send over the photos of the day. Scanning through the reports, planning out the routes each Bat would take, keeping an eye on any sort of forum, social media, police report, etc - that might drop a hint for what criminal activities may be planned for the night. It was a familiar pattern, one she had held to for years, even before she joined The Family.
She’d known for as long as she could remember that she wanted to be in law enforcement, and since she was strictly forbidden from joining the GCPD by her Dad, what better way than this?
First as Batgirl, fighting along Batman and Robin - being brought into the fold, into the family. She even remembers the first time she was brought into the batcave, and became aware of the men behind the masks; The Bruce Wayne, The Dick Grayson. She was going to work with the legends she modelled herself after. The ones who inspired her to take up a mask, to hit the streets of Gotham, and fulfil her dream. But it wasn’t just the two of them, was it? There was their butler, Alfred Pennyworth, former military, hyper-competent, and a master of what he did. And then…there was you.
Barely a toddler, not able to comprehend what was going on, even if you wanted to. You were a cute kid, for sure, but she didn’t really know much about kids, and wasn’t interested in learning either. She had more important things to do, and yeah, she felt kind of bad brushing you off whenever she stopped in during the day, but that’s what Bruce told her to do - and at the end of the day, he was your dad, and had the final say. If she ever was curious about who exactly was watching over this child while She, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred were all preoccupied, then it was only a fleeting thought before refocusing on the job at hand.
She watched you grow in glimpses and glances. Sighing a breath of relief when Bruce told her you were in on the secret, and letting another when he mentioned you wouldn’t be involved. By the time you were told, she was already Oracle, and balancing another vigilante would be stretching herself a little too thin. You learning the secret, also led to her seeing you less and less. And if she were completely honest with herself, it was a solace, a weight off her shoulders - one less person she needed to lie to.
It became so much easier once you started leaving The Manor, she didn’t need to worry about running into you, and the awkward greetings that would follow. Barbara could get right to work, without needing to censor any discussions or plans. Anytime you were home, you seemed to get the hint quickly and make yourself scarce. The contact was minimal, until Bruce came to her with a request.
You were getting popular on social media, and with that popularity came risk. Risk of people getting too curious, of not just your safety, but the others safety being compromised as well. So a plan was put into motion.
Every day, at 5pm Gotham time, you would send over any pre-planned posts and pictures, and Barbara would scrub them clean of meta-data. She would cross-reference any details regarding the rest of the family, making sure the timelines of events stayed consistent (though, she admits, you were pretty good at that already - and getting better at covering your own digital tracks. It seemed almost redundant to have her backtrack over everything, but who was Batman without redundancies?). Then, once satisfied, she’d send them back, and you would post at predetermined times.
For the last five or six years, this system worked. You were always punctual, provided the few times you were late due to scheduling conflicts with the regular time, but even then, you always let her know ahead of time. Until this time, that is.
5 pm, 18:00, 5 in the evening - came and went, and not a text, or dm, or email in sight. Maybe you were busy, maybe you were sleeping? You were in Hong Kong, possibly on your way elsewhere at the moment, and time zones could be tricky at best - but you never missed the 5pm cutoff.
And honestly, she may have been the first to discover your disappearance, if she hadn’t been immediately distracted by a new thread on the Gotham subreddit. An unconfirmed source, one she needed to follow up on asap, claiming a grumbling in the underground - a rumour, unsubstantiated, but all rumours regarding any of the rogues needed to be followed up on.
Thus, your lack of contact went unappreciated, and unheeded.
The second to notice, and the first to inquire, was one Stephanie Brown.
Steph - as she insisted to be called - was probably just as active in the realm of social media as you were, even if she wasn’t quite as popular. She never really got the invites to collaborate and create as much branded content as you did, but she didn’t really want that. She was okay with being “Gotham famous”, where people who were chronically online may recognize her out and about, but she wasn’t being hounded. Not like you were, and that was perfectly fine.
She didn’t want to be as famous as you, hell, from the few times you actually made conversation, you didn’t want to be as famous as you are. The first time Wayne Enterprises pushed for a collab between you and her, you had been so... so…something.
You had been sat beside her in a boardroom, the company PR team presenting why it would be so great for You, at the time the only known biological Wayne heir, and Steph, at the time girlfriend to their youngest ever CEO, to run a series of posts together online to promote brand engagement and blah-blah-blaaaaaaaaaah. Meanwhile, Bruce and Tim sat opposite her and you, nodding and agreeing with whatever business talk came out of the team's mouth.
She also remembers nodding along, even if she didn’t understand what they were saying. It wasn’t like either of you were going to turn down the proposal, especially since it was coming directly from Bruce. She “uhuhed” and “okay’d” at all the right times, and you…you just sat there.
You never even really looked at her, and Steph recalls how angry that made her. How you glanced over her once before looking away (before looking down) and never really looked back at her (never looked back up). She thought you to be stuck up and rude, some bratty kid living rich off their daddy’s money. It wasn’t until later, when you actually were working together for a supposedly “candid” photo opportunity, that she realized you were just quiet and a little awkward.
In person, you were a complete 180 from how you presented yourself online. Online, you were confident, bold, clever and witty. In person, you shrunk into yourself. Shoulders hunched, eyes looking anywhere but forward - until the camera started rolling and then, then you transformed. Shoulders back, eyes forward, smirk playing on your lips. You went from random nobody, to someone who couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the child of Bruce Wayne.
It made her curious, and for Stephanie Brown, curiosity was dangerous.
She started by asking Tim about you, but he couldn’t give any more information than she already had, and even then, some of it seemed to just be about the online you - not the real one. When pushed, he got frustrated, and ended up starting a small argument.
“Does it matter? All you have to do with them is pose for some pictures - it’s not like they do anything else.”
And didn’t that set Stephanie off. You were a person, more than an online presence - so she and Tim didn’t speak for a week, until you had left town again, and the reason behind the argument semi-forgotten.
Then she made the mistake of asking Bruce - and fuck, wasn’t that one of the most terrifying conversations (could it even be called that?) of her life. She tried to play off her questioning as small talk -
“Man, they’re completely different in person y’know. I expected them to be just a rich kid, but -”
Bruce cut her off. He hadn’t even been looking at her at first, but the moment he realized she was talking about You, his head had whipped around at her. His eyes hardened, his face twisted into one she’d only seen before aimed at lowlife thugs. Stephanie could feel the fear creeping in, her palms starting to sweat. She had made eye contact for just a moment, before casting her eyes elsewhere. Why had he reacted like this? She just wanted to know more about his kid. She didn’t think that was wrong - how could it be?
“All you were to do was a job. They’re to be left alone outside of that.” She tried to defend herself, mostly out of surprise, but Bruce wasn’t having it. Anything she spoke was met with a cold and stern:
“Drop it.”
So she did. For a bit. The next time you were in town, and you were asked to work together again, she tried to bring it up again - and Bruce got even angrier. She ended up benched, and if she had to choose between you and Spoiler?
Well, she didn’t know you that well. And Spoiler, Spoiler was always going to be more important.
Even after she and Tim broke up, you played the part of her digital bestie - and she would catch glimpses of the real you, the you no one else had seen, whenever she could. At one point she realized she knew more about you then the ones purported to be your siblings, and it sent her into a spiral. At best, you were coworkers, and she knew more than the people who were supposed to know everything.
It helped that you posted several times a day, everyday. And sure, a lot of it was the fake influencer bullshit, but sometimes you’d sneak in the truth. Those were the posts she went out of her way to like and repost. She learned your favourite colour and favourite hot beverage in the same post, and made sure the next time you went out together for content, that it was prepared correctly, in a mug of your favourite colour.
The small smile that lit up your face was perhaps the first real smile she had seen you make. And if it made her heart flutter, well, she kept that secret close.
So it became a habit of hers. To scroll through your posts everyday, except today -
You hadn’t posted anything. Not a thing. Nothing on twitter, on instagram, on snapchat, on tiktok - nothing. She refreshed each one multiple times, just in case, and kept switching between platforms, just in case.
It set her on edge. Made her stand a little straighter - and then - the panic set in as she recalled -
You queued everything.
You queued your posts for up to a week out at a time - meaning while there was nothing made public today, you hadn’t posted anything for the last week.
So Stephanie did the only thing she could think to do, and went to the only person who might know more and be willing to share.
Alfred.
Thus Alfred became the third to notice, and the first to know.
He remembers when you came to the manor. How little you were, the power of your lungs as you cried out into the world. A cry that would, if he were honest, barely ever be answered.
Barely two weeks old, and already being forced to learn how cold the world is - he tried to apologize for it, but how could he? Nothing could replace what had been lost, nothing could replace what would never be given.
Your mother had died in childbirth, or shortly after. The timeline wasn’t quite clear, but she had enough time to list one Bruce Wayne as the father on your birth certificate. Something neither he or Bruce had expected - let alone the call that came from the hospital, requesting someone come pick you up, lest CPS get involved. Bruce eventually relented under that threat, wanting to avoid any sort of government digging, but only if a DNA test proved you to be his child.
The Hospital agreed, and two days later, the results came back positive. You were his, and he was all you had. They refused to allow Alfred to collect you, no matter how hard Bruce pushed - he had to be the one to pick you up. So Bruce brought Alfred with him, and the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was yours. You were, in Alfred’s opinion, the most valuable thing in the world.
Bruce, his ward, his son in every way but blood, to Alfred’s disappointment, did not agree. There was no time for an infant, not in his crusade. Despite trying his best to care for you and Bruce at the same time, Batman’s schedule made it impossible.
An infant needed around the clock care, and if he was in the Batcave watching over Bruce and Dick (who hadn’t even been told about you - didn’t even know you were there in the manor, having been put in the nursery wing at the far end, where your cries were only to be heard by a nanny no one had bothered to hire), then there was no way for him to watch over you - there was more than one morning you woke covered in your own mess.
Alfred at least got Bruce to agree to hire a Nanny after the second week. He refused to have the Nanny in the main house, however. And how was that supposed to work anyway? Another person, poking around Wayne Manor with all its secrets? Bruce would never stand it.
The solution broke Alfred’s heart, even if he agreed it was for the best.
A country house, unused since the days of Thomas and Martha Wayne, and a Nanny, paid an ungodly sum and handpicked by Alfred himself for her silence and skill. Off you went, nearly two hours away, out of the grasp of Gotham and its shadows. The Nanny they had hired was instructed to send reports every week - written and verbal. The written reports went to Bruce’s desk, with any requests for new furniture, clothing, toys and other expenses were signed off on and sent back. The verbal reports? Those were Alfreds.
He was kept up to date with every milestone, from learning to turn yourself over, to your first words and steps. The Nanny mentioned more than once she was worried about how quiet you were, how hesitant to ask for anything, from physical needs to emotional ones - and it hurt him to hear. You were a Wayne, the world would be at your fingertips, nothing should be out of reach - except, perhaps, your own family's affection.
He assured the poor woman that the quiet was normal, that Bruce himself had been a quiet baby before exploding into a vibrant child (until reverting back after the alley). He did insist, as you grew older, that you would be brought into the phone calls. How delightful it was to hear you, even if it was just a few scattered words.
Years passed like this, until suddenly you were at the cusp of puberty. And Bruce had no choice but to bring you back into the main house. The Nanny who had raised you, who you clung to for all your needs, was ready to retire. Alfred was the one to convince him to let you back, Dick was leaving, and he couldn’t imagine the Manor without some sort of childish light. Perhaps you could even get to know your father, grow close to him, and never be sent away again.
How futile a wish.
You never stood a chance.
Alfred went himself, to collect you. Your sparse belongings had been sent ahead, having arrived in the Manor two days before you had - and had been placed once again in the nursery (though the crib had been removed, and replaced with a large four poster bed - curtains in your current favourite colour, and ready to be replaced when you changed it).
You were polite and proper in your greetings, exactly as you were raised and taught to be. A firm handshake, your tiny hand in his - something you should have learned from your father, but was taught by a stranger. You remained silent the entire way home, looking out the window as the countryside changed. And Alfred couldn’t help but look back in the mirrors, and try his hardest to memorize everything about you.
He should have known better. He spoke to you, as you approached the grounds, how your father was waiting to meet you (and held back on speaking about Dick, if only to ease the blow on how your father would rather raise a child that wasn’t you). He had thought Bruce would do the right thing and be waiting to greet you, as he had been raised to do whenever family arrived, so when he finally pulled up to the front doors and Bruce wasn’t there, he felt ashamed. He apologized for your fathers faux pas, and you just brushed it off - claiming you understood how busy he was.
He would later find Bruce in the Batcave, with Jason Todd in tow. He would scold Bruce privately later, for doing all the things he had expected him to do with you, with Jason instead. A tour of the manor, showing you your room, introducing you to the history of your great family - all things Alfred had done instead.
It was Alfred who helped you adjust, who prepared you for your new role as a Wayne heir. It was Alfred who introduced you to Jason, upon escorting you to the library and catching him there as well. And it was Alfred who went and yelled at Bruce for allowing you to assume you were like the others, an orphan taken in by a wealthy patron.
It was an innocent question on Jason’s behalf, one he apologized for immediately after -
“Did Bruce take you in too?”
And you turned to Alfred, unsure how to answer - he could see the words of affirmation forming in your mouth, the questioning furrow of your brow, before he cut you off -
“Young Master is Master Bruce’s child by birth, sir.”
“Oh! Sorry! I’m really sorry, he just didn’t mention anything and I just assumed, and I’m rambling, I’m sorry.” The embarrassed blush that bled onto Jason’s cheeks was probably the only thing that saved him from a scolding for asking such a question, along with your own response:
“It’s okay, you didn’t know - “ and thus your introduction was awkward and stilted, but at least you might finally have someone else by your side.
He should have known better.
He told Bruce of your meeting Jason, of the conversation you’d had, and how for a moment (perhaps much longer) you had thought yourself another ward, hadn’t been assured that the Wayne family was, in fact, your family. And While Bruce never addressed your feeling of lack of belonging - he did stress that you and Jason were to be kept separate, as much as could possibly be done.
Alfred verbally agreed, and mentally decided to make sure you and Jason spent as much time together as possible without Bruce noticing. Which proceeded to blow up in his face when Jason, in the midst of a visit from Dick, inadvertently blew the whole secret sky high.
You never told him of what happened that night. Never looked at him again with trust in your eyes. Never reached out to Jason, or Dick, or even Tim when he arrived. You locked yourself further away, kept to your room outside of meals and school. And Alfred, if he ever heard you crying to yourself, pulled back; never acknowledged the damage done. How could he? In supporting the others, he had failed you.
You lived as a ghost, and when you started leaving the manor more and more, he hoped you would move on. That you would grow into a person all your own, without the shadow of your family. But you never completely broke away - how could you? When they started finally pulling you in, in a grotesque semblance of a relationship that was never really real. It made him sick to his stomach, seeing you on the cover of Teen Vogue , purporting an interview about how great your siblings were. Siblings you hadn’t spoken to in months, hadn’t seen in even longer.
Then Stephanie Brown took an interest, and Alfred, remembering how badly things had gone before when Jason had taken an interest, kept it to himself. Passed on what he could recall of your likes and dislikes, of your habits and rituals. So it wasn’t necessarily surprising when she called to ask about you. He paid no mind to Stephanie pushing for him to call you, gave the excuse of wondering when you’d next be in town, and that she’d tried to text you but had gotten no response. So he did. No answer, straight to voicemail - your phone was apparently turned off.
“Please leave a message after the beep - “
Generic, he was hoping you had changed it by now, but clearly, he’d have to remind you again. But before the beep could go off, his blood chilled.
A laugh.
Not a laugh, a cackle.
Familiar, and cruel - on your voicemail message, on your private phone, and one all too recognizable.
romaincrisis
andulkaphoto
discoholicmusic
annaxmalina
