#bruce wayne after having kids: peace

[rosemaryhoney27]

Phantom Manor

Danny had been through a lot. He’d been half-killed in a lab accident, gained ghost powers, and then been chased through the multiverse by a government that would’ve loved to dissect him like a frog in eighth-grade biology. So when the portal spat him out into this dimension—one packed with capes, cowls, metas, and aliens—he figured he’d finally caught a break.

No GIW agents. No Fenton parents shouting about ectoplasmic anomalies. No Skulker showing up to hunt him down in the middle of English class. Just... peace.

Well, almost.

The major snag? He was homeless. Again.

No ID, no money, and the last place he tried to haunt had been a warehouse with exactly three raccoons who did not appreciate his presence. He couldn’t go back to school, didn’t know how to get a job, and sleeping on rooftops got old fast, even for a ghost boy.

That was when Danny heard the most ridiculously useful rumor ever: Billionaire Bruce Wayne had a habit of adopting black-haired, blue-eyed children like it was a competitive sport.

And Danny? Well, he had black hair and blue eyes... at least half the time.

Good enough for government work.

So one night, in the dead of moonlight, Danny phased through the locked gates, passed the high-tech security system, and slipped straight into Wayne Manor. The place was huge, quiet, and oddly comfortable despite its bat-themed overtones. He didn’t even try to sneak around like a spy—he just floated through until he found an empty bedroom with a made bed, thick curtains, and a view of the garden.

He claimed it.

No one said anything.

So Danny just... stayed.

Danny didn’t mean to con anyone. It’s just that no one noticed him. He figured maybe there were already so many black-haired, blue-eyed kids around here that adding one more didn’t even make a blip on the radar. And since Jack and Maddie Fenton may not have taught their kids about interdimensional politics, they did make sure their kids had proper manners.

So, the first time he ate in the massive kitchen, he washed the dishes afterward. Alfred showed up just as Danny was drying the last fork, his sharp eyes watching from the doorway.

“...I see Master Grayson’s taste in midnight snacks has rubbed off on someone,” Alfred remarked.

Danny froze. “Uh—yeah. Sorry. Just thought I’d clean up after myself.”

The butler narrowed his eyes. Then nodded. “A rare instinct in this household. Continue.”

And from then on, it became a routine.

Danny helped in the kitchen. He helped clean the manor. He weeded the garden (phasing out any actual creepy-crawlies). He carried laundry baskets. He repaired a broken picture frame. When one of the Batmobiles needed a patch-up job on a fin, Danny phased into the engine and fixed it from the inside out while humming along to an old Ghostbusters theme remix.

Alfred was absolutely delighted with the newest, polite, respectful, and hard-working “Wayne.” Even if he had no earthly clue when exactly this young man had joined the family.

It took a few weeks before anyone realized something was off.

“Alfred,” Bruce said over breakfast one morning, “why is there an unfamiliar teenage boy pressure-washing the back patio with what looks like... green plasma?”

Alfred sipped his tea without looking up. “That’s Master Daniel. He’s been most helpful.”

“…We don’t have a Master Daniel.”

Alfred finally looked up, deadpan. “Master Bruce, I have tolerated you bringing home orphans like stray cats in the rain. The boy helps clean. He gardens. He fixed the coffee machine. I will not be chasing him out. Adopt him, give him a room, or be quiet about it.”

Bruce blinked. “...Fair.”

Meanwhile, Danny was just glad he hadn’t been blasted with a Batarang on sight.

He had a bed, food, quiet (well, relatively), and access to the Wayne library’s wi-fi. He was pretty sure Damian glared at him more than necessary and that Jason kept trying to figure out if Danny was secretly a zombie, but otherwise?

He was kind of fitting in.

At least until someone walked in on him halfway intangible while reaching through the fridge for leftover pie.

“…Master Daniel,” Alfred said from behind him, entirely unshaken. “If you are going to help with the silverware later, do remember to phase after you wash your hands.”

Danny, still half inside the fridge, stared.

“…Yes, sir.”

And thus, somehow, without anyone signing a single form or asking too many questions, Danny Fenton became the most ghostly Wayne sibling yet.

And honestly?

He was kinda cool with that.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Can we have more crazy antics of Oldest Batkid Danny!?

In particular order, here are ten things Danny "The Mence" Fenton-Wayne has done after being adopted by Bruce when his parents sold him to a lab:

1. Danny once flooded Wayne Manor before he found out Bruce and Batman were the same person. He thought Batman was a vampire and the running water would stop him. If they all drowned in the process, they at least would not suffer being vampire food.

2. Alfred has a rule that every Wayne needs to work part-time to be humble and appropriate working class. Danny created his own business of leading people on ghost tours and made SURE they always saw one. He purposely pointed at people in school after word got around and whispered, "The spirits want you." Everyone freaked.

3. Dick made ONE comment of people being mean to him in school for being raised in the circus. Danny cut the power in Gotham Academy and released laughing clowns animatronics waving chainsaws into the hallways. They were programmed to avoid "Fellow Circus folk" painting Dick as a hero when he walked his terrified classmates out .

4. During a live interview, Danny twisted the questions on the host, who was attempting to make Bruce look like a bad Father. He then painted Bruce as someone showing severe signs of depression (overly drinking, too many smiles, giving people too many gifts, vanishing from the public eye, and searching for comfort in someone's arm) and then making the host cry by psycho-analyzing him.

5. Organized a protest for affordable housing and kept kicking the gas grenades back at the cops when they were called on him. It took seven people to get him into a cop car in handcuffs, and he was hissing the entire time. When Bruce attempted to bail him out, Danny moved the funds to get the innocent people out and refused to get out of the cell until the cop who punched him cried.

6. He shaved Clark's head because he couldn't scare him with a knife. Clark was more impressed that he did it without him waking up. He left oniomous messages written in what Clark thinks is blood on his walls, saying, "Stay away from my Dad. Keep it in your pants."

7. Armed with a clipboard, Danny habitually throws people out of Bruce's galas. He doesn't even explain himself; he just pops up, points at someone, and shakes his head. A security team swarms the person and tosses them out before they can get a word in. Bruce did not hire that security team. (Danny throws out people flirting with Bruce)

8. He was accused of being Batman or working with him once. He responded with a smile and a gentle, "If I were Batman, I wouldn't have let any of them live." Everyone agreed there was no possible way he wouldn't go for the kill if he had the chance and never questioned him again about it.

9. He Got the words "Peace was never an option" tattooed on his back by a Crime Alley tattoo parlor. Bruce had to then bail him out again when Danny fought off a gang who attempted to mug him as he was leaving the alley with his new tattoo. He had proof it was self-defense and spent the entire news coverage gushing about the tattoo artist's skills instead of the mugging.

10. Every time Bruce brought a new kid after Dick to the house, they were under the impression Danny was a violent, unreasonable person. They were shocked to learn he's the most in touch with his emotions, regularly does self-improvement, keeps up with his therapy, and is so soft with them; he is the walking embodiment of Doting Big Brother. In his hero persona, he is just as gentle and fondly looked upon by the masses. It took them a moment to realize that Danny had copied Bruce's idea of keeping his hero and civilian ID separate. The only difference is that his Hero version is the Brucie, and his Civilian version Is the Batman.

[deadsetobsessions]

The Gotham Academy staff and teachers would very much like to thank Bruce Wayne for his current spawn. Granted, they’d thank him more if he’d stop acquiring children and then sending them to the Academy, but the good teachers of Gotham Academy has learned to be grateful for what they get.

Damian Wayne, compared to his elder siblings, is a downright charmer of a young man. There was, of course, a period of adjustment. But other than some mild threats of bodily harm- they lived in Gotham, a stabbing was considered minor- and that incident with the sword, Damian was a well behaved student who adjusted admirably to the change in scenery.

Not like the other Wayne and Wayne sponsored spawn. Dick Grayson will go down in history, nay, he will be engraved in infamy after the month of hell he put the custodians through. Their chandeliers and railings were not meant to be used as gymnastics equipment. The headmaster had to give them a raise after they cried about wiping footprints off of the ceiling. Not to mention the fights this kid got into.

Jason Todd, rest his poor soul, had terrorized the librarians for months! Sweet kid, really, but the librarian had to go on break because he kept hearing Jason’s “excuse me, could you find-” ringing in his ears. A sweet kid, really, until he got mad enough to slip back to that Alley mouth. The amount of complaints the headmaster got after the PTA heard him swear around their “sweet, innocent children” was the stuff of legends, even if the PTA kids definitely swore more and did more drugs than the Alley kid’s ever done.

And nobody, NOBODY, ever wants to mention the fact that Tim Drake had ever haunted these hallways again. Skipping class, hacking into the system to give himself good grades, and inciting a minor lunch room riot were the least of his crimes. His attendance was atrocious. The teachers swore up and down that he’d missed their classes, but then they’d see the checked mark- that damned mark- on their attendance sheet next to his name and felt like they were losing their damned minds.

Stephanie Brown? Sponsored by Bruce Wayne? Not only did her chaotic energy synergize with Tim Drake’s like a monsoon after a magnitude 8 earthquake, her colloquialisms spread like a plague. If her teachers had to hear “swing that knife sock, sadman,” one more time, they were going to tear their hairs out. Somehow, she’d even started an underground sticker trading market that had to be stopped once it escalated to motorcycles being traded for a super rare minted edition sparkly Spoiler sticker.

Duke Thomas, on the other hand, was reluctantly deemed as a good kid. But only on the basis of the teachers being unable to prove anything. A particular bully here and there got pranked to high heavens. Chemicals were stolen from the chemistry storage- the administration nearly had a heart attack thinking they had another rogue in the making- and returned with only a bit taken off from random containers. Duke was spotted near the crime scene but one innocent look later and innocence was declared. Honestly, by the time he arrived at the school, the teachers decided that as long as they had plausible deniability, Duke was innocent. And no, they don’t know who used the glass inside of the art rooms to create a school wide hazard in order to shut it down for the week. They don’t.

And so, Damian Wayne was automatically selected as the favorite Wayne scion. Not because of blood- the headmaster remembered Martha Wayne, thank you very much- but because he was the most well behaved child they’ve ever had from the Wayne bunch. He gives them a peace none of them have felt since Dick Grayson first graced these halls.

They do NOT talk about Bruce Wayne’s days. The more buried those days are, the less likely Gotham sees a new host of teacher-turned-supervillains.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Spiritual Siblings

Bruce: My assassin kid can't be that normal!

Damian: Well, I’m completely emotionally stable by Amity Park standards. The problem is with you. Obviously.

~~~~~

Damian had long found peace and home in Amity, so he did not worry that the new family and Gotham might not accept him.

Sure, Al Ghul had lived without any contact with his biological father all these years but he could safely say that he had a happy childhood. First years were hard and he was raised more as a weapon than a human being. Even so, after that a ghost who decided to become his brother appeared and everything changed.

Damian still does not know what Ra's owes Phantom but Danny has a right to take him, without prior notification, to live with Fentons, to visit Aunt Alicia at her farm, and to make Vlad’s weekends much less calm and boring. Danny jokes that he just steals him as a hostage when Al Ghul does not pay taxes for using Lazarus Pits. Whatever the reason, he already has a family that loves him.

However, he still wanted to make an effort to fit in this one too. The model of conduct certainly was his older brother. No, not the oldest, of course. To be honest Dan wasn’t the kind of a man that could charm you from the first minute. But Danny, in Damian’s experience, had a calming effect on people. So he tried to act like him.

And, yeah, for lack of experience, he was more fun!Danny at home and super!Danny on patrol but he also really tried not to get any of his own assassin personality in his new-self and was tired of it. He couldn’t get a 100% match. Fine. Still doesn’t look like anyone in this house really likes him, so whatever.

Damian understood why Bruce didn't like his company. Jazz had long ago explained to him the importance of voluntary consent. His mother did a terrible thing. Al Ghul was not a child and therefore he was ready to admit it. However, he also understood that children were not responsible for the actions of their parents.

As a biosocial being, he wanted to be more than just a painful reminder of what had happened to Bruce. Wayne's ignoring of his existence was rude. But Damian wouldn't force this man to spend time with him just because he was legally obligated to take care of his well-being. He wasn't going to prove anything to Batman, and he definitely didn't need his attention. The care of his real family is enough.

But Damian really tried to get along with new potential siblings. He even shared Sam's and Danny’s special jokes with some of adopted kids 'cause he didn’t want them to feel like he put himself above them. He wasn't good at showing emotions but he was as open as the assassin could afford to be to strangers.

But they all obviously expected something from him. And it reminded him of the League in an unpleasant way. It was easier with Fentons. Almost everyone in Amity Park was saying what they thought, and Damian didn’t have to waste time decoding potential conspiracies.

Damian missed movie marathon nights with Sam, Tucker, and Danny. And he hoped Dani had time to bother Vlad in his absence.

It was so weird here. When Danny and Valerie were fighting, they would gather at the dinner table anyway. When Damian wanted to have combat training with Drake here, he was forced to stay in his room. A very strange punishment. And undeserved one too.

Al Ghul felt quite calm and fine sitting at his easel and painting the people he left behind. An unusual subject for his paintings. But, Ancients, he missed Amity.

He missed Jack's bone breaking hugs, Maddie's Ecto-Contaminated food, arguments of Sam and Tucker, cozy art class with Mr. Baxter and even Vlad's done look. He missed Danny telling him about the stars. He also missed sword practice with Dan's boyfriend Fright Knight and he missed Dan's stories about his other youth. He missed literary evenings with Mr. Lancer, Clockwork and Ghost Writer. He even missed the hours-long Jazz lectures. He missed the dance of death and life. He missed being looked at without expecting anything from him. He missed the crowd. In the league, he was never at one with himself and in Amity he was always surrounded by people who were not afraid of his fate as the heir to the said League. This Manor was full of people, but for the first time in his life he felt lonely. Damian has to admit that he felt left behind. Of course, he understood that people needed time to build relationships, but he could have sworn that even he didn't need that much time to connect with Fentons. Maybe this is one of the tricks of the Clockwork? Then this one is not funny at all.

~~~~~Phone call~~~~ Damian: Mom, I want to go home. Maddie: I'm so sorry to hear that, sweetheart. What happened? Damian: Just…Nobody likes me. Why was I sent here? I'm not weak. And my brothers are quite capable of protecting me from Raas. I don't need Batman for this. Maddie: We'll figure it out, champ. Moms love you, remember? I'll talk to Talia, okay? Your brothers and sisters are already on edge and ready to steal you right during the patrol. Damian: It would be nice, but it would put a bat on their tails. So lock them in thermoses if they bother you too much. Maddie: But that won't stop Jazz. Damian: I missed the part where that's my problem. Maddie: Well, it will be your problem if she comes to your doorstep with your childhood photos and moralizing.

~~~~~~~~

It's his birthday. And he was always excited about it. But now, looking at the pile of gifts, he realizes that these people don't know him at all.

And this is the family of the best detective in the world? Maybe yes, but none of them bothered to really find info about him or ask him about his likes. Damian's a stranger here, and that's obvious.

The lunch container, which he will obviously give to the Boxing Lunch when he's in the right time interval, tennis rackets that Youngblood might like, The Graveyard Book…

Valerie had already read it to him and Dani before it was published. Thanks to Clockwork for his little miracles. The book reminded him of home.

Obviously this one is from Jason. And well, Damian doesn't think it was a pun on his life in Amity, more like Hood's inside joke about death but Dami will definitely leave this thing in the room at the Manor and maybe take it with him to the GZ or Amity Park.

~~~~~~~

When they gather at the festive table, Damian realizes that he has to make some kind of speech. He tries to be as brief as possible in his report.

Damian: Todd, your gift is appreciated. And I found a potential use for items that were given by others, Bruce.

Damian never called Batman his father. With Maddie and Talia, calling both moms wasn't weird, especially when Jazz explained to his biological mom that he wasn't trying to replace her. But with Wayne, it was different. Both women took care of him, they deserved this title. Wayne provided for his needs, but his core heart didn't feel like they were close. Surely there's nothing wrong if they're just Bruce and Damian? Obviously, they both don't enjoy each other's company.

Jason: So, do you like books, little demon? Damian: Sometimes reading is quite relaxing, I should point out. I'm not indifferent to Stephen King and Lovecraft. Jason: Personal recommendations? Damian: Cujo is one of my favorites. Jason: Not a common opinion, huh. Damian: It reminds me of my family. Damian tries to smile like Danny does, but Jason's twitching eye clearly indicates that he screwed it up.

~~~~Dick and Jason synchronously drop their forks as an excuse for a conference under the table.~~~~ Dick*whispers*: How's the situation? Jason*whispers back*: If the boy asks for a dog, don't be fooled. He will be happy to dance on our graves.

~~~~Cass knocks over their heads, urging them to return to their seats.~~~~

Damian: So how good you are at fading and sliding,Todd? Jason: Why did you ask? I can't, of course. Damian: Because you're dead. It seemed to me that this was a completely understandable interest. Jason: Wow, what a jerk. Damian: I wonder why your own incompetence makes me a jerk? Even my sister could do this when she wasn't dead for even a month.

Jason, for some reason, looks awkward, although he has never been embarrassed before by the idea that a girl could be stronger than him.

Jason: Your sister? How old was she when... So it's all about age. Damian rolls his eyes.

Damian: We're the same age. It seems like it was four or five years ago. To be honest, I don't remember. I wasn't around then. I'll ask Danielle the next time I go to the cemetery to visit her. Dick: I'm so sorry, Dami. Where is she buried? We can take you. Damian: There's no need. She has no grave, as there was nothing to bury. Bruce sighs loudly and covers his eyes with his hands. Damian: It's just easier to contact the afterlife in places like this, you now? Duke: We are very sorry, dude. Damian: Don't be. People come and go, and then come back if they haven't finished annoying you. There's no point in regretting the past. Her creation was not the most ethical thing but everything is going as it should. At least that's what Grandpa says. Considering that the old man is older than time, I prefer to believe him. No one plays with fate without his permission unless they want to get hit by the clock. Tim now looks like he's going to throw up and Damian hurries to move his plate closer to him. Jason: Yes, Bruce, this is definitely your son. Damian: Did I say something wrong? Dick smiles faintly at him but still doesn't find anything to say. Damian shrugs and goes back to eating asparagus. People outside of Amity are so weird.

Signal looks at Damian suspiciously as he carefully rearranges the plate of soy sausages away from himself. Did he take him for an idiot? Everyone knows that even vegetarian sausage bite and fight no worse than those with meat when they come back to life. It's not Damian's fault that he doesn't have an ectoblast with him and wants to have extra distance from the opponent.

~~~At the same time, in the walls of Wayne Manor~~~ Dani: The operation codenamed "Get Haunted Idiot" is declared open. Danny and Dan *salute*.

~~~Several Days Later~~~

Damian: So, this is Dan. Danny says we keep him as a GIW repeller. Dick: And Danny and Dan are.. Jazz: His brothers. I'm Jazz by the way. Elle and I are his sisters. Damian: I feat the criteria to participate in their name cult, so they took me. Dan, Danny, Dani and Dami. Dan *ruffles Damian's hair* : I prefer to call this biting threat Damn, to be honest. Dami: Shut up, DaNtE, they almost wrote Dark in your passport, you idiot. I can't believe I thought I missed you. Danny: Wow. Rude. Your grandpa would be disappointed. Great job, lil one.

~~~Several years later~~~

[witherby]

If the last fic takes place before the Batfam knew about Conners existence, I just wanna see Mouse explain to them that a Superman cosplayer saved them lol

I love that. "Yeah some cosplayer saved my life. 10/10 would let him do it again."

Littlest Wayne: Information Gathering

Masterlist is Here!

"You and Superman need to come straight to the Cave when you return to Earth."

"I miss you, too, babe," Hal smirks, gliding just above the ground on a planet he and Clark are guarding for a major diplomatic conference. "Tryna get the debrief out of the way so we can get me out of by boxer briefs right after?"

"Mouse was in a hostage situation in Metropolis today that was too overcast for them to get out of."

Hal's good mood plummets. He almost shouts for Clark to get his ass over to him so they can immediately head back.

"Are they —"

"Alive, and relatively unharmed considering the severity of the event."

"What does relatively mean in this context, B?" Hal snaps. "Relatively unharmed by vigilante standards or by civilian standards? Are they in the hospital?"

"Some bad bruising to the temple and a low-grade burn on the right arm. They're safe."

Bruce's calm tone and steady cadence helps relax Hal. His shoulders un-tense and he lets out a sigh.

"Alright. But there's more to it, otherwise you wouldn't have contacted me."

Bruce hums in that quiet way he does when he's pleased by Hal's deductive reasoning. It makes him smile and miss him that much more, and he's only been gone two days.

"They were rescued by a new Meta. Called himself Superman."

"Look at you, crackin' jokes on an official League line. Never thought I'd see the day!"

"..."

"You're not joking. There's a second Superman flying around?"

"A Superboy, by the looks of it. He's the real deal — the flight, the strength, and the suit all points to another Kryptonian. This will make three, after Supergirl."

Hal furrows his brow. He lets his feet hit the ground and starts to pace, kicking up little bits of purple dirt. This planet is ridiculously fragile. It's part of the reason he and Clark are protecting it during these peace talks.

"Is it a baby? Don't remember either Kara or Lois looking pregnant."

"A teenager. Around Mouse's age, by the looks of him, and very inexperienced from what scattered footage I can find of the event."

"Which makes no sense. There's something up if he's a teen but still can't use his powers right. Supes told us he could hone his almost perfectly before he was old enough to drive a car. A new scheme by Luthor or Waller, maybe?"

"I knew I married you for a reason."

"Keep praising me like that and there won't be time for a debrief when I get home."

Bruce hums again. His considering sound. The Green Lantern suit feels very constricting, all of a sudden.

"You don't need to rush your mission to get back. There is one more thing you need to know prior to return, however."

"I'm all ears."

"Mouse described the Superboy as... handsome."

Hal falls to his hands and knees, kicking up a small cloud of purple dust.

"No, no, nooo! They're just a baby!"

"Well. They're seventeen."

"Well I say they're too young for romance! Yesterday they were afraid of Cooties!!"

"Time flies. It's inevitable."

"We're gonna wrap these peace talks up tonight."

Bruce sounds amused on the other end of the line, like he hasn't just crushed Hal's entire world three sentences ago.

"You aren't due back for another week."

"We're wrapping it up tonight!"

"Okay. Agent A will know to set your plate tomorrow."

"Can he make some of those mini quiches? I'm gonna need comfort food to get over this."

"I'll pass the request along."

"And can you wear the see-through robe you were given after you shot that Dior commercial?"

"...if you slick back your hair, yes."

Hal grins. He's still not happy about his youngest kid growing up so fast, but this is a nice consolation prize.

--

True to his word, Hal and Clark get the peace talks concluded by nightfall and head back to Earth. Clark is given the general run-down of what happened on the way, and his curiosity and insistence on getting answers lets Hal know it'll be a long night. He's gonna slick his hair back anyway. He misses his husband, dammit.

You sit at the meeting table in the Bat Cave, feet propped on top exactly like Jason does it, with your hands stuffed in the pockets of your hoodie. You stare groggily at Hal and Clark as they fly in from their trip, shuffling to your feet to give them both sleepy hugs.

"Welcome back," you yawn. "Dad said you have questions?"

"Hey, Mousey," Hal grins, ruffling your hair. You grumble and wave his hand away, then grumble louder when Clark does the exact same thing. "Just got some follow-up questions about the field trip, then we'll let you get back to bed."

You go back to your seat and slump into it, rubbing your eyes. "Kay."

"Did the boy you met tell you his name?" Clark asks, sitting to your right. There's a dossier sitting on the table that he flips open, glancing over the information Bruce collected with Tim's help. He frowns at a still image pulled from his interview on TV.

"Just called himself Superman," you explain. "He had a version of your suit on. It looked legit. I'm guessing he's not your son, based on the way you're looking at the file."

"He is not. Did he seem to be acting maliciously or under someone's control? Was he flesh and blood or robotic?" Clark asks. "Did he hurt anyone? Did he try to hurt you?"

"No," you say, "he was warm. He's flesh and blood and definitely saved us from that fire. In fact he seemed...uh.."

You wave your hand around vaguely and pick over the best way to phrase this.

"Okay! There's a boy at school named Rory. He transferred to Gotham Academy this year after being homeschooled."

"Mousey," Hal speaks up, "I know you're tired, but we kinda gotta stay on track —"

"I am!" You insist. "I am, I swear. Look, it was obvious Rory was homeschooled because he didn't know how to, like, socialize properly? He asked a lot of questions that feel like common-sense if you're used to going to public schools and talking to people outside your family. The Superman cosplayer kind of acted like that."

"Cosplayer?" Clark mouths at Hal, who waves him off.

"So you think he's never been out there doing any hero stuff before that day?"

You shrug and nod. "I think he's never been out at all before that day. He reminded me a lot of Rory on his first day of school."

"But he didn't hurt you?" Hal asks.

"I promise, he didn't. He spoke to me like twice and then brought me to the EMTs to get looked at. Then Jason showed up and brought me home after making sure the school knew I wouldn't be taking the bus back from Metropolis."

"Last question," Clark promises, recapturing your attention. "Can you find him right now? With your shadows?"

"Uh, I can try."

Your gaze becomes a little distant. The shadows cast from one of the overhead lights shifts and dissolves into the ground, zipping out of the cave. Hal and Clark wait silently as you work, feeling for the presence of the boy that saved you just a day before.

"... M e t r o p o l i s..." You mutter, voice taking on that faint, echoing quality it does whenever you speak through the darkness. "...A r o o m...c o n c i o u s...k n o w s I s e e..."

"Come back, Mouse," Hal says, urgent. You take a moment to get your bearings, yawning and rubbing your face. "He knows you used your power to find him?"

You nod. "He saw my shadow move in the corner of his room. Guys, it's so bare and dark. He's got a cot, an alarm clock, and one blanket in there. It looks like some room you'd stick a sick person in to quarantine them."

"Where in Metropolis is he? That doesn't sound like the Solitary Confinement cells in the prison."

"It's not a jail. It looked like a lab, I think?"

"Lex Luthor," Hal and Clark state at the same time. Clark stands up, drawing you into another gentle hug, then heads for the exit.

"Thank you for your help, Mouse! Sleep well."

"Bye, uncle Clark. Have a good night," you call after him. When Hal stands, you rise with him, stretching. "Can I go to bed, now?"

"Yeah, hon," Hal nods, pressing his hand to your back and guiding you to the stairs. "We'll head up together. I'll tell your dad what we learned when he comes back from patrol."

"Kay," you mumble, climbing the steps with another wide yawn. "M'sleeping in tomorrow. Being up at two am sucks."

Hal chuckles. "Yeah, it does. We'll put your breakfast in some Tupperware for when you get up, then."

Once the two of you climb through the grandfather clock and reenter the manor proper, you give Hal one more goodnight hug, then excuse yourself to go to bed. Your eyes are closed as you shuffle into your room and nudge the door closed behind you, navigating the space from memory. It's not until you start climbing back into bed that you feel a dip in it that shouldn't be there.

The dip of another person's weight.

You snap your eyes open and you inhale to scream. A hand presses itself to your mouth, and you find yourself staring at those brilliant blues from yesterday.

"Waitwaitwait-" the boy gasps, whisper-shouting. "Please!!"

You push his hand off and he lifts them both up in placation, floating off the bed and several feet away from you.

"What do you want!?" You whisper-yell back. "Why are you in my room!? That's creepy!"

He grimaces, knees curling towards his chest. In the low light, you can see color painting his cheeks.

"I wanted to come see you," he murmurs.

"Why?"

"I don't know your name."

You're completely flummoxed. You shake your head and shrug.

"Do you need to?" You ask.

The boy floats a little closer, his gaze intense. He looks at you like...he looks at you like you're the most important thing in the world right now. It makes your stomach swoop.

"Yes," he says, completely sincere. "I'm...I can't...there's this..."

His brow furrows. He's exceptionally easy to read, like he's never known how to be anything except fully, authentically himself. It's a welcome change in a family of vigilante detectives with emotional intimacy issues. It'll help you know if he's trying to deceive you, too.

Quietly, you give him your name. His eyes snap to yours and he repeats it, lips shaping the vowels and consonants with an unusual reverence. You can feel your own face getting a little warm.

"I'm...Conner," the boy says. His eyes dart to your mouth. You oblige.

"Hi, Conner," you mutter. His whole body un-tenses, looking like a puppet with his strings cut as he almost dangles in the air.

"Can I —" Conner cuts himself off. He drifts closer to you. You shift back, feeling cornered from where you kneel in your bed. "Ah. I wanted... I don't know how to say..."

Exhausted and confused, you gesture at him to hurry it up a little. You know you should probably alert someone that the new Meta boy is literally floating four feet away from you right now, but you know he isn't here to cause harm.

"It's late," you speak up. "Can you try a little harder to get the point across so I can sleep?"

"Yes," Conner says quickly, obediently. "Call for me."

You blink heavily. Your mind feels like sludge. "Elaborate."

"When you need something," he specifies. "If you're in danger, or lonely, or just...or just want to. Please. Call for me and I'll come to you."

"Why?" You yawn. It's getting harder to stay conscious. You let your body fall over until you collide with the pillows, eyes slipping closed. "Why me?"

Conner floats above you, reaching down to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with more reverence than is appropriate for having barely met. His fingers brush against the bruise on your temple, featherlight.

"Because it's you," he says, as your consciousness fades. "Something in my heart is yours... I hope that's okay."

You hum, managing a barely discernible "kay," in your last seconds of awareness before sleep pulls you under.

In your subconscious mind, you register warmth wrap around you for a moment, and then you're alone with nothing but a cracked window as evidence anyone had ever been there.

[onmyyan]

hi again i'm the Anon who asked if you take commisions only or requests as well. I love your writing style<3

Soo could you write about Batmom reader, where reader took care of bruce's children as her own. But then bruce gets a mistress, reader still stays becuz of the kids but when everyone started to become cold to her and insult her ' X (mistress) is better mom then you ever were' she leaves gonthem. Then everyone realises she (mistress) was just after their money. They go to batmom's room to apologize only to find it empty. They try to find her everywhere but couldn't. And finally when they do, reader rejects them since she was having the time of her life without responsibilty but gets kiddnapped by the batfam?

Honestly i wanted to commision but i'm flat broke and i'm too busy studying to work and on top of that i don't have my own phone (i use my dad's old laptop) soo yeah... I hope you consider this.

A/N: Loooove this request thank you for sending it in <3 fem reader yandere themes lmk if you want a part two

The (L/n)'s were a wealthy and prominent family in Gotham, right up there with the Wayne's when it came to power over the city, the two families were in business together which is why when Bruce Wayne personal attorney came to you with a marriage proposal, you weren't surprised.

A marriage of convenience. You thought you knew what this would entitle, you knew this wasn't out of love, that this was required of you, it had nothing to do with what you actually wanted, but you were dutiful and signed, inking your name on the paper felt like a deal with the devil.

Bruce hadn't bothered to officially meet you until the day of the wedding, it was beautiful and well done but lacking any form of love of affection, CEOs and other rich folk you didn't recognize filled the pews, the ring felt cold when he slipped it on, his vows perfectly rehearsed, and not an ounce of warmth in his eyes, you knew that night you should have annulled the marriage, but something made you hold on, something your mother had said to you as the makeup artist turned you into the visage of a bride.

"You'll learn to love each other, your father and I did after all." And she wasn't lying, your parents married for convenience as well but had grown to love one another, so maybe you could do the same?

A year after the nuptials Dick Grayson is thrust into your life. Haley's circus was famous in Gotham for its incredible death defying shows, but on this night death would walk the stage, taking with them Dick Grayson's parents in a horrible display, You and Bruce had consoled the boy for only a moment before Bruce was talking to the officers, he'd decided Dick was coming home with you, of course without asking your opinion, but it didn't matter, you felt such pity and grief for the boy, it made perfect sense to you, he was shut down for the first few months, he called you by your name and you had no problem with it, making it clear you never wanted to try and replace his mother, the ice between you two melted one day, one kind word at a time, he couldn't help but confide in you about school or his friends, because you were more emotionally there than Bruce was.

Like the night you caught him sneaking out, a packed bag in hand and the keys to one of Bruce's many cars in his hand. Instead of yelling for Bruce or Alfred you simply smiled at him, "you should take the audi, it's the safest car here."

"..You're not going to try and stop me?"

You shake your head no, still offering that kind smile.

"You know yourself best Dick, if you're unhappy here I won't stop you from finding your peace." He took a moment before tossing you the keys and reluctantly making his way back inside.

You find out about Batman because of Dick. He'd come home with some nasty bruises and it wouldn't take long to put two and two together. Them both being missing at the same time, Dick started to pull away from you, one night, after hours of trying to get to sleep in a bed much to big for one body, your legs decided a walk was necessary, the halls were dark and quiet, giving the manor an eerie air, quietly you walked the long hallways intending on stopping by the library, as you turned the corner you seen Dick in a hidden elevator, the doors just slamming shut as your eyes tried to register what was there. Seconds after the doors close a wall appears, as if nothing was ever there. It's not long after that you see a brief news clip of the caped crusader and his new sidekick, because the longer you stared at the screen, the more familiar they began to look, that dead tight lipped scowl on Batman's face, it was one you'd had the pleasure of looking at for the past few years.

That night you confronted Bruce, he seemed surprised you'd figured it out, but he didn't deny it. Simply saying, "It's late (Y/n), get some sleep."

You nearly divorced him then and there for endangering a child the way he was, but after a moment of thought, you realized Dick would need a real parent around so you stayed, making Bruce swear to be careful.

Jason comes next and he takes to you a lot faster than Dick. He craved the warmth you offered, you two had inside jokes and a closer relationship than him and Bruce, but that all changes the day he dies. You're broken, a ghost haunting the manor with your presence, and Bruce is no comfort throwing himself into the Batman role, you begin to hate him a little with this particular betrayal.

Tim was another hard egg to crack but you were desperate after Jason's death, so you took his verbal lashings with a smile, were always there to offer a helping hand with any of his projects despite the help never being accepted. Tims wound from losing his father is too raw, he takes a lot of his anger out on you. And you weathered the storm with a soft, warm smile.

Damian hated you, from the moment he arrives, which is bitter enough as is because it meant Bruce was unfaithful, he's spitting out insults and comparing you to his 'perfect' mother.

Things weren't great in your life, but one day they started getting noticably worse. Dick no longer responded to your check in texts, Jason (now reanimated which was a heart attack in and of itself) saw you as the enemy, you didn't leave Bruce after what happened to him, so in his eyes you betrayed him, Tim ignored your existence as best as he could, and Damian? He'd started staring at you with this smug look on his face, like he knew something you didn't.

Bruce had all but ran from you, he didn't sleep in your shared room anymore, he barely spoke to you at breakfast, if it wasn't for the cameras he wouldn't touch you.

And it's all because of a woman named Rachel.

Apparently Bruce had introduced this woman to the family, bringing her around when you weren't, slowly replacing you, it was no wonder they started to pull back.

Alfred is the only reason you find out, having enough of the blatant disrespect, he calls you to come home early one day saying it's a dire matter. Of course you comply, and walk in on a discomforting sight. The whole family was gathered at the dining room table, plus a woman you'd never seen before, she sat close to Bruce, toying with his hand intimately. Her green eyes lock with yours and the smile she gives you forms a pit in your stomach.

There's silence before Bruce stands up, he walks over calmly, "Can we take this in the other room." But it wasn't phrased as a question.

"No" you licked your lips, a nervous habit from your youth. Bruce seemed taken back by your sudden backbone. He nods silently.

"I want her gone Bruce. I am your wife. You will show me that semblance of respect."

"I- of course." You don't wait for the words to settle instead, you calmly walk to your room, face unreadable.

Locking the door behind you, your body slides against the frame, a silent sob wracks your frame, your hands covering your mouth, you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing your cries.

The next morning you wake up to breakfast in bed, a generic yet elegant spread of food lay on a tray in the empty spot Bruce used to stay. The man himself sitting in the chair beside the bed, staring at you with that practiced smile he used to appease people.

"Good morning."

"What's this?" You sat up straight, sleep evaporating from your form as you took in the threat before you.

"An apology. I never meant for yesterday to happen."

"What a comfort that is." Your piercing (e/c) eyes stare at him blankly, unreadable. "How long."

"A year." You scoff pushing the breakfast away from you like it was poisonous. "But its not what you think, Rachel is a childhood friend, a year ago our relationship, evolved into what it is now, but I was never intending to go behind your back."

"Ah of course, your intentions were pure." The words dripped venom, grabbing your robe you quickly dress before standing and walking to the door, "Thank you for the wonderful talk Bruce, really your people skills are top notch." Your hands gesture to the door. He leaves without a word.

The rest of the day is as usual, Bruce avoids you like the plague, the rest of the family acted as if you weren't there. Which made leaving all too easy.

Your lawyers had the divorce papers ready and hour after you called them, signing them felt like the first act of self love you'd done in years. Slipping them into Bruce's study you took the time to analyze the room you never entered.

It matched Bruce that's for sure, pictures of every single person in the family. All except for you.

Walking out the door, wrapped in your ankle length black faux fur coat, the garment whipped in the wind, the designer sunglasses on your face hid your eyes from the world, hair in a slicked back bun, your heels echoed against the pavement, a sleek black car was waiting for you, you look back at the house that had caused you so much misery then got in the back of the car, never looking back.

Life goes on for about a week, your absence goes unnoticed, that is before Rachel is trying and failing to blackmail Bruce out of a billion dollars, she'd collected evidence he was cheating on you with her and presented it to Bruce with a grin, it was only as he went through the pictures of himself and Rachel, did he notice the yellow envelope with his name written on the front.

Hey puts the heartbreaking matter of Rachel's betrayal on the back burner, Bruce opened the envelope and felt his heart completely stop at the word divorce written in bold lettering across the top, your signature was already there, waiting for his to join it.

Ignoring Rachel completely now he turns in his chair, turning the paper over and over as if it would magically change. But it remained the same. Alfred knocking on the door of his study broke him from his trance. "Master Wayne, miss Rachel." He says the latter's name with no warmth. "Escort Rachel to her car Alfred."

"Bruce have you heard a word I've said? I'm serious I'll go to Gotham daily right now if you don't -"

"Now Alfred."

That was all it took for the screaming woman to be firmly escorted off the premises. Bruce all but ran to your room, he didn't bother knocking, and despite knowing in his heart you were already gone, he couldn't help but check anyway.

Your room was empty and cold, he couldn't believe the date he'd read on the divorce papers, it was dated a week ago, meaning you'd been gone for a week and he hadn't noticed. No one had.

That is until Bruce remembers there's someone in the house nothing gets by.

"How long have you known she was gone Alfred?" He asks leaning on his knuckles the divorce papers stared back at him taunting him. "Since the moment she left." The older man replied simply his hands behind his back. "Why didn't you tell me immediately?" Bruce felt himself tense, "Because you've hurt that woman enough Bruce. She deserves at least this." He gestures to the daunting divorce paperwork before turning to leave Bruce with his thoughts.

The news of Rachel's betrayal shook the manor each member feeling violated by their trust being broken. But it was nothing compared to their reaction once they finally realized you were gone.

"That was rough." Jason says after watching Rachel being dragged out of the manor, he blew air out of his cheeks arms crossed over his chest, he looked towards the hallway that lead to your room, you had to have heard that he thought to himself.

Dick sighs through his nose, "Someone should check on (y/n), Rachel was screaming so loud she definitely heard that." No one volunteers so Dick rolls his eyes and heads towards your room.

He lifts his hands to knock but noticed the door was open, pushing it further he's met with a baren room, his brow furrowed in confusion before he makes his way to Bruce's study. "Hey B, have you seen (y/n)? Her room is like weirdly empty."

Dick found his Father where Alfred left him, leaning over the divorce papers silently a storm in his eyes.

As he steps closer and reads the paperwork Bruce was staring so intently at, his heart stopped.

"Holy shit- are those real?"

"Yes." Bruce finally spoke his voice horse. There was a moment of silence before Dick left the room practically running down the stairs to alert the others.

"(Y/n) left Bruce." He said still processing the information, "No fuckin' way." Jason says pushing himself off the counter he leaned on. "Her room is empty and he has the papers, she's gone."

Each member of the family had different reactions to this information.

Dick tries calling you only to be met with a disconnected number, his heart hammering in his chest, he wasn't as close to you as when he was younger sure, but you were a constant in his life, always had been, a pillar of support, and suddenly you weren't. It felt like the floor had gotten pulled out from under him.

Jason curses under his breath, his mind working a mile a minute, he had barely spoken to you since his Resurrection, something he deeply regretted as the information of your leaving sinks in like a brick thrown into a river.

Tim, ever calculating is trying to figure out where you went, you were a figurehead in his life, someone that was literally never not there, sure he wasn't close to you in the slightest but that doesn't mean he wants anything to happen to you, someone as quiet and soft as you on your own in Gotham? It didn't sit well with him. Not one bit.

Damian didn't know what he was feeling at the news, he supposed he should feel nothing, after all you were nothing to him, but there was this nagging feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite place. And he hated it. How dare you leave and upset his fragile ecosystem?

Meanwhile in the Bahamas, far from Gotham and the neglectful family you'd left behind, you sat lounging on a private beach, a knitted hammock cradles your body, a designer baby pink bikini covers you, a matching sunhat protects your face from the hot sun, you can't wipe the smile from your face, humming a tune from your childhood you barely flinch when someone takes the seat besides your hammock.

"Do I want to know how you found me?" You ask, eyes still closed as you bask in the warmth. You knew only one person had the sources to find you on your own island, and despite how much you resent the man, even his presence can't ruin your shine in this moment.

"You're my wife (Y/n), I'll always know where you are." Bruce speaks softly as if trying not to startle you. "Former wife." You correct cracking an eye open, a small smirk curling on your lips.

"Not until I sign those papers- which I never will."

"huh, I thought you'd be thrilled." You muse to yourself before folding your tanning mirror and setting it aside, you take off your Louis Vuitton sunglasses, blinking your pretty (e/c) eyes up at him, "Figured you and your little Twinkie would have tied the knot by now." You laugh softly, the sound, unfamiliar to Bruce, sent warm shivers down his spine, it causes his lips to quirk up in a small grin.

"She's gone."

"Well, I don't care."

There's a beat of silence before he's offering you his hand. "Will you walk with me? I know I don't deserve it."

You sigh before getting up, ignoring his hand, you nod your head reluctantly, "Well? Hurry up I've got dinner at six."

His smile remains as he begins leading you along the shoreline. It's relatively quiet between you two as you walk side by side, a peace between you both you hadn't ever felt. "The manor isn't the same without you." He breaks the silence, "I sincerely doubt that." You laugh at the very notion. "It's true- it's colder, quieter, I want you to come home."

"That was never my home, you made that abundantly clear."

He winces as if your words cut him, "I know I haven't been a good man to you, I know I've failed you time and time again but I..I looked at those divorce papers and my heart stopped." He admits running a hand through his hair.

"You can't leave me."

"I can't?." You scoff, your movement halting, "I'm a grown woman- I'm taking responsibility for my own happiness, you can't stop me."

"I wasn't asking." He says softly, his hands in his pockets, he had this fond look on his face, like he was staring at you for the first time, in a whole new light. "You can't make me." You say, brows furrowed, "You belong back home, you're supposed to be with me, till death do us part, remember?" He steps forward making you step back, your eyes wide, hands shaking, you back into a wide chest, spinning to face Dick, who's grinning at you, he's in his Nightwing costume, he gives you a small wave of his hand, you scrunch your face in confusion, "What the hell-" your thought is cut off by a small pinch in your neck, the needle in Bruce's hand is empty in seconds, he's cradling your stumbling form, holding you tightly, "Don't worry - I'll fix this."

Your sleeping body is gently carried to the batplane, Bruce holding you close to his chest as Dick pilots the plane, he whispers promises into your hair, rocking you against him as he swears on his life to make things right, weather you liked it or not.

[rin-may-1103]

Biggest Regret. (Part Two)

Previous | Master Post | Next

Bruce had finally found a peaceful moment to sit down and go through his work emails; there were no sibling homicide fights, prank wars, and thankfully no vigilante-related headaches.

Just a peaceful afternoon; normal polluted Gotham skies, the usual city ruckus of honking horns and shouting, and the constant footsteps back and forth past his closed office door.

taking a sip from his old mug, Bruce opened his laptop. Quickly typing in his password for the hour, he made his way to his email. surprisingly, less than 90 emails were waiting for him. Usually, he had hundreds to go through.

hmmm. Another check for this being a suspiciously good day then, it just made him more anxious for when the other shoe would fall.

peaceful for Gotham, for him, never meant anything good. It always happened right before a tragic event or large-scale Arkham breakout. he could hope for it to just be a peaceful day, but he knew wishful thinking was useless.

taking another sip, Bruce started scrolling through his emails, reading the subject lines to sort through which ones were more important. After a few minutes of reading, Bruce stopped and reread the second to last email's title, his eyebrows furrowing:

A Video From Your Son.

Now, Bruce was truly confused; Why would one of his kids email him? let alone through his public work email? They've been told multiple times to email him through the bat-email if it contains anything important or time-sensitive. Heck, they've been told to just text him it if it was important, he always answers a text faster than an email.

His Bruce Wayne email was notoriously ignored for multiple days; mostly for his cover story, but also because he spends most of his time doing Batman stuff. (Reading Wayne Enterprises emails usually wasn't something at the top of his list, the kids know this.)

so, then why would one of them email him?

hmm. maybe? maybe one of the boys set up a long-term prank or something. They know how long it takes for him to read his emails, so maybe they sent it knowing it would take a while, which means they had plenty of time to set something up.

yes, that's it. it makes total sense.

Clicking on the email, he was greeted with a boy (who looked a lot like Damian, but who most certainly wasn't) sitting gravely on a wooden box in some dark warehouse.

sitting up straight, Bruce set his mug down and studied the paused video. the boy looked so much like Damian that Bruce almost wanted to believe he was a clone. but his bright stern blue eyes and and apparent freckles pushed the idea away.

Yes, clones can have imperfections, especially when made in a rush, but never something as drastic as the wrong eye color or a genetic quality the one being cloned didn't have. Unless, the one making the clone had no idea what they were doing, but Bruce doubted Talia would have allowed someone to take Damian's DNA before he was given to Bruce.

and the boy on screen had scars, lots of scars, meaning if he was a clone then he was made before Bruce even knew of Damian.

hmm.

there were no clues provided in the kid's surroundings; the warehouse was surprisingly empty of anything important or telling. the kid had even chosen a spot where Bruce couldn't tell if it was day or night, or if the lights were on. which took away the usual ways of figuring out where the boy was.

No sky meant he couldn't calculate the general area based on season and celestial bodies. And because he couldn't tell if the light was from industrial lighting or daylight, he couldn't cross out warehouses with electricity. The kid was smart. smarter than the average citizen at least.

he was also wearing discreet clothing; which meant Bruce couldn't trace him through that either.

leaning forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees, Bruce pressed play and gave the video his full attention.

The boy on screen sat in silence for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts. his hands rested in his lap, his poster rather relaxed as he sat on his wooden crate.

"This is video eight." the boy spoke, his voice rough with sleepless nights and yelling. Did he yell at people often? or had he gotten into a fight previously? there were seven other videos, but this was the first one Bruce saw. he'd have to go back and see if he had somehow missed them.

"don't worry, you didn't miss anything." the boy chuckled humorously, running one of his hands through his hair. Bruce noted that it shook, the kid was probably nervous, or hungry. the kid looked too skinny to be healthy...

"no, this is just the eighth time I've had to record this." the boy continued, dropping his hand back into his lap as he slumped forward, his black hair falling into his face.

"this video," he continued, not glancing up, "is for Bruce Wayne's eyes only."

there were still no visual tells on where the boy was, not even audio cues for Bruce to study. frowning, Bruce rested his head on his hands, taking in everything the boy said.

"Hi Dad," Bruce sucked in a breath, tensing up as the kid finally glanced back at the camera.

"I'm Danny. you likely don't know I exist, and if you're receiving this; I'm already dead." he chuckled like the thought of his death was laughable. "well, more dead than I already was." he snorted, shaking his head in a way that reminded Bruce of Damian when he was exasperated or disappointed.

"Maybe it's cruel of me to send you a message post-mortem," Danny, the kid's name is Danny, looked away. He rubbed his neck awkwardly as he continued, "But you deserve the truth, and telling you earlier would've put you in danger."

Danny let out a breath as he pulled his legs up onto the crate, "this email is set to automatically send if I haven't opened my laptop for three days. I sometimes set it longer if I'm expecting trouble or going to be away for a while, but I've most likely been away from home for a bit over three days if you're receiving this."

Danny looked so tired as he looked back at the camera, the dark bags under his eyes worse than even Tim's after a week-long investigation.

"I don't know who killed me. Obviously, I'm recording this in advance... I have my suspicions though. it was most likely either the GIW or my adoptive parents, the Fentons." Danny reached beside him and held up a two pictures, "This is Maddie and Jack Fenton, and this," another picture, "is some GIW agents."

Danny snorted as he glanced at the GIW agents, their startled faces slightly blurry as Danny stood in front of them and took a selfie. bruce wasn't sure if he was amused or not that the kid took a selfie with his potential murderers but then again, Bruce could see all of his children doing it too. (Bruce could also see himself doing it.)

"i half-died at 14," Danny suddenly added, tossing the pictures to the side. "became the local ghost superhero..."

he stared off to the side for a moment, "but they never realized I was trying to help and kept talking about tearing ghost me apart molecule by molecule." Danny glanced back at the camera before his eyes widened, "my parents! I mean, my parents and the GIW wanted to tear me apart, not the town! though they probably wouldn't have disagreed with it if asked..."

"anyway," Danny shook his head, "my money's on that being what happened..." Danny looked down at his hands like he was seeing them for the first time, "there will be nothing left of me to bury..."

"Sorry about that!" he suddenly added, a bright smile on his face. Bruce could tell it was strained, forced in hopes of not upsetting him.

"you'd probably have to cremate me if there was, it'd be a waste of wood to get me a coffin... though I'd really prefer if I wasn't set on fire," Danny chuckled, trying to hide a full-body shiver.

He sat in silence for a moment before Danny continued, "The rest of the story is this: I was raised in an assassin cult, eventually escaping at the age of nine. they sent me on a mission and I just had to take the opportunity. I successfully faked my death."

Danny sat up now, fully focusing on the camera, "My biggest regret is that I escaped alone. And that's the reason I'm reaching out to you."

Danny let his feet fall off the edge as he grabbed something from next to him, keeping it out of view for now. "you're a civilian," Danny stated like it was a fact he knew to be true.

Bruce clenched his jaw, trying to keep himself still so he could focus on what Danny was telling him. he wished he could reach through the screen and hold the boy, whether he was his son or not, he obviously was talking about the league which meant Talia hadn't told him.

Talia hadn't told him, and if he was anything like Damian, then he would have no reason to believe otherwise.

"If you know too much about the League of Assassins you'll be in danger, but I need you to save my twin Damian." Danny's words were like a final nail in the coffin, the final straw to keeping his heart from breaking again.

it was true, it had to be. How would Danny have this information otherwise?

"he's likely still there after all these years. he never wanted to escape; he took pride in being the heir to the league. he's probably going to be stabby: he's an assassin after all, but it's not his fault. Ra's, our grandfather, indoctrinated him a lot more successfully than he did me. Damian was more susceptible to it... it's not his fault." Danny repeated, clenching the object he had grabbed.

"Please," Danny pleaded, "save him. I'm begging you. My biggest regret is leaving Damian in the league. You have a chance to save him. Please, please take it."

Danny bit his lip and glanced down at his lap, "I w-," he quickly glanced around before shaking his head, "I long for a time when it would have been safe for me to get to know you. You seem like a cool dad, from what I've seen of you on the news with your oldest kids."

he looked up with a water smile, "I bet you're like that with the youngest you hide from the public too. I still don't know how you managed that, it's been six years." Danny chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"This is my, um, my old league sigil." Danny held up the object he had been holding, revealing a golden disk with thick rope connected to it. it had the demon head's symbol on it.

"A coat of arms. I'll leave it somewhere for you. hopefully, you can use it to get to Damian." Danny gently placed it back on the box. "I'm keeping it in a box in the walls of my room. You should be able to find it."

"I wish you and your family the best," Danny sniffed, looking back at the camera. "thank you for listening. From your long lost almost certainly dead by now son, Danny Fenton."

Bruce stared at the paused video for a minute, just trying to process everything he just saw. he needed confirmation, he knew it was true, it had to be, there's no way Danny could fake this. but Bruce needed to confirm. make sure he isn't seeing things.

absently, Bruce pulled out his phone and dialed his youngest's, was he still the youngest? or was Danny? number.

the tone didn't even ring longer than five seconds before his son's voice echoed into the silent office, "Father."

"Damian, did you have a twin named Danny?" Bruce asked, not cutting around the bush.

dead silence, he couldn't even hear Damian's breath.

then, "...Who told you?"

Damian's voice wasn't angry or fearful, it was sad and confused and wavered like the last leaf on a tree clinking on for dear life in a blizzard. it cemented the break in Bruce's heart as he stared at the tearful face of his son, his son who claimed to be dead already.

hanging up, Bruce quickly sent the video to Damian and waited. he needed a minute to process what just happened. Clicking play, Bruce rewatched the video, hoping to find another clue.

Damian called back a few minutes later, the sound of Danny's voice echoing in the background telling Bruce his son had watched and rewatched the video just like he had.

"Father. I do not care what state he is in, even if there is only a single molecule left. I'm going to bring him home. We must discover exactly what happened to Danny, the truth."

"I couldn't agree more, Damian," Bruce grunted, standing up. Pushing his chair in, he turned his laptop off and made his way to his office door. "I'll be home soon, gather the others. tell them all hands on deck."

"yes, Father," Robin replied, hanging up not even a second later.

Shoving his phone in his pocket and opening his office door, Batman started making his way home.

Next

[4mrplumi]

( crow choir. entry two) ── ravens hiding in a shoe ( m.s | prev/next )

IMPORTANT author’s note at the end.

note: this entry is entirely re-written. you can read the first, now “non-canon” version here. events there do not apply to the current story.

crashed out on the couch with some abysmally boring show on the tv and the filthy humidity of your apartment is exactly how you expected to spend the week. your phone’s acting all funky while you scroll through a net-tabloid about oliver green with a plastic pen in your mouth, the cracked blue paint on it crumbling onto your lips.

you’ve long since tuned out the annoying buzz from the faulty lights in the corridor, the sound of them breaking through your door like the thieves that take cover at your place often, and you have to set your overheating phone down for a moment before you get up and wipe a hand against your face.

shortly after turning nineteen, you’d moved out with less than a word to anyone, figuring they’d piece together your whereabouts if they really needed to. and you doubt they do, since you’ve been living in genuine, peaceful, boring simplicity for a few months now. as peaceful and boring as it gets in gotham anyway.

you don’t have many friends, have a side job at a corner-store that gets robbed habitually on tuesdays and fridays, and have to shoo away loud kids playing at the front like an old man. it’s absurdly mundane, and you can’t help but calm down from your raucous everyday doings.

you’re finding peace in the silent shadows that you used to fear as a little kid, basking in them to make up for the lack of sun in the city. the more you grow older, the more you change. it’s expected of course, but it must be odd to not have anything really stopping you from ever-continuous change. some kids had parents doting over them turning into teenagers, teasing mood swings and scolding more often. some parents teared up when their kid turned old enough to be called an adult, feeling eighteen years slip through their fingers like sand. you don’t have a mother to wipe your tears or a father who wants to pat you on the back for a job well done.

growing up in the wayne manor is an experience envisioned as boundless privilege, written about in absurd fictions by wealth-worshipping teenagers from other cities, and scorned by the angrier lot of the unfortunate here in gotham. and you suppose it is. it is a privilege, and much different from the life you’d been living before. you guess you’ve payed your due for living so selfishly in that luxury by being ignored all your time there. you know your siblings also pay for that privilege, in more difficult, harsher ways, with fists and feet and rods and ropes.

changing, changing, changing. you think that for now, you’ve stopped changing, thinking back to the numerous times your mentality morphed to your surroundings like an asocial chameleon. when you were very young, freshly twelve and thrown into a house with your real father and a permanent family, you hated them. detested them even. you’d scowl and hiss at any glance from a brother, any dignitary waving at you at a gala and even the greenhouse plants that withered upon your arrival in dismay. you hated your fathers ploys at power and sauntering smiles, the skin with which he shook official hands and the pearly teeth with which he grinned. you hated richard’s comforting nod, and the way tim talked to guests, the way alfred always knew and the way bruce never did.

but you softened. you matured, is that the word? you saw them in a warmer light after hearing a girl squabble and wail at her patient father at the park and thought with a surging need, you wanted that too. so you smoothened out your frayed ends, stitched together competency. it would be hard to raise yourself to your brothers’ level, but you could try. among the chaos of being bruce wayne, being batman, being father and being vigilante, you’d resolved to be a beacon of peace for them.

but what beacon could you have hoped to be, if your light was so dull?

they didn’t ignore you, no. your father’s eyes glazed over you, like the block of your body was an insignificant dot among many others. like you were a clear champagne glass, like the ones served at his galas, to be nursed all throughout the event, but never indulged. you’re lucky others loosen themselves at drinks though, because you’d manage to craft quite a respectable social image among his associates and guests. grayson junior, an old lady draped in large, large pearls, had laughed, a charming little thing with only half his enthusiasm. a washed out, non-temperamental, unfeelingly warm version of your eldest brother. a stain of what he was, and a poor attempt at following his example.

but you twitched smiles through backhanded compliments about your inheritance in the family, the ushering prods at you to speak to your father about a deal (you’d never even dream to) and various vain offences made a speciality by gotham’s elite class. you’d endured all of that with half the mind to sock those prudish grins right off, so that your father would recognise your discipline and nod at you. he never even looked.

and after attempts after attempts after attempts at harbouring their favour, to grasp onto this life and make the best of it, never let go, you destroyed the little smudge of any real anger you ever had. you were reduced to a plain slate, an unused blackboard, a project in the making. you had no end goal, however, no final version. ever-changing.

you began to resent them, once more. miserably sulking over “how could they?”s and then, “how dare they!”s. you took to meaner methods of nagging for their attention. always being at the scene of some altercation at school, having prodded or initiated a fight between people was just a perfect look. you could justify any slight guilt at seeing bleeding lips curved into bruised scowls directed to you by thinking, your friends were much worse! so there’s really nothing wrong. those guys are odd anyway, they had it coming. but even that changes, and you once again erode to nonchalance.

your friends, however, do not change, redirecting their focus from messing around at school to sneaking into bars and clubs with comically fake ids, slipping into petty crime and street-fighting, racking up tickets on their profiles like medals. but you didn’t leave them, no, you were attached. forget rose-tinted glasses, yours were bright, hot, pink, finding a way to justify just about every brawl they stuck up, every man they mugged and every shot they downed while being well under the right age to. but gotham’s an odd place, it’s not too absurd to see a bunch of scrappy fifteen year olds running about with forks and foxes in their hair.

and you stayed this way, morbidly going through long, lonely days of watching your siblings live a life entirely parallel to yours. an ache that carved down from your chest and across the first bones of your ribs became a permanent one, and your throat would sting far too often to be considered normal. you’d kick and scream and fight with anyone you could, breaking into gushing tears the second they looked away. always conflicted and always changing, it messed with you, especially with no one to tell.

your family would be out at night, fighting the very same thugs that your friends are turning to become, all while you languished through the day counting bills and reading licenses off the wallets they pocket. after particularly violent exchanges, you couldn’t even look at the warmth that radiated off of bruce’s hand on damian’s shoulder, dick’s grin at tim or cassandra’s strange card game with duke. you couldn’t want to be a part of them, because you knew that maybe, you never would be.

yes, they have bigger problems. and yes, you blend perfectly into the blur of all the hooded and masked faces of gotham, and yes, you never do any real harm. but you can’t imagine being caught, returning to such unpleasant ways of life despite being given a hand at the one offered to you on a gold-plated platter. guilt and pride fought with their fists in your head, the second beaming at the idea of their surprise and notice if you ever made a mark, and the first ashamed at the thought of it at all. but you couldn’t live this life.

so when it got too heavy, you made the quick decision to leave. you’ve been changing so much, doing so much. moving out of the manor with all the necessary legal requirements was the tamest of them. you made all the proper requirements, choosing to call alfred after you moved out with just the slightest hesitance, worrying that he’d snitch you out in a way that doesn’t seem right. doesn’t justify your decisions.

and it’s after your budding malevolence for the lame-vigilantism stream of gotham’s legality is relocated from the estate’s concrete, and into the plywood of your apartment, can you really feel satisfied with yourself. when you hide a scrambling girl with a gun in her sleeve from the officer that knock on your door a minute later, can you feel satisfied.

admittedly, it is petty to be harbouring the same small-time criminals your family tries to turn over, but who cares? your friends are among the lot, those who couldn’t escape gotham’s gravity and leave, coming through your door with botched noses and empty barrels, and you wouldn’t turn them over. especially not to people who turned you away. there’s an ebb of sadness, a doubt that asks if you could have turned out different, and you squash it with the joy you get at seeing the vexed silhouettes of the caped crusaders perched on terraces from your window.

and with a tremendous stretch and a yawn, you pull yourself and your stiff joints out of thought, going to open the main door after a squealing notification from a regular visitor asking you to open the door. the people behind the door change, but at least they always come back.

-

it was troubling to say the least, when alfred informed bruce of (name)’s relocation. of course, he’d expected at least a little knowledge of it from the kid themselves, but didn’t dwell much on that. according to his accounts and alfred’s motionings, (name) was well and enough the age to own an apartment, own it legally and without trouble, and sludge through the days just fine, since they’d speak regularly with alfred.

he does bristle at your unsaved contact number, noting it from alfred and resolving to call you later. he does however send it to the kids as well, asking them to check in on you incase they haven’t recently. he doesn’t know if they met up with you after you left.

right now, he’s more focused on a little branched out gang that the commissioner, gordon, was troubled with. the week had been relatively quiet, spending patrol through stopping little crimes and such. offering a little assistance wouldn't take up any time, and was a productive way to spend little time too, according to him.

he went through witness files, the crimes all regular, as regular as they get. robberies, violent fights, keying cars (bruce purses his lips at the immaturity) and more. one case however, sticks out. the members of the gang, group even, considering their lower than low presence in the crime world all seemed to disappear right after making turns outside an apartment owned by an elderly estate manager. bruce deduced that it must be their hideout, but couldn’t really risk chasing them in, since the building was well occupied by civilians too and it’d be difficult to figure out their exact residence without prior investigation. not to mention, a little background check assured him that the man running the place was not affiliated with the people gordon was motioning at, other than the fact he presumably (and unknowingly) was housing them.

but what caught his eye was the disappearance of a girl near the same place. a profile by another victim of the gang’s mugging described her as somewhere around twenty years old, or just an exceptionally old looking teenager. according to the poorly kept case files one of GCPD interns, she was not identified among the regulars, and did not leave the building like the rest of them.

the whole thing was very mundane, low-profile, and her disappearance could also be swept away as just a reconsideration of career choices on her behalf. a new member, who decided quickly she didn’t want to be a part of it all. of course, that’s rarely ever the case in gotham, and could very well set a stage for a suspected murder, kidnapping.

first things first, simply a checkout of the place should be enough to confirm any further decisions that he’d tell gordon to carry through. in the meantime, he ought to check in with the league, the asylum, crime alley and nightwing. bruce can be described as paranoid, even if very few people can say it to his face.

he prefers being prepared. if not the strongest or the fastest, he can be the most prepared. maybe, he was prepared for this too.

“(name),” tim sighed, “won’t answer my message.”

bruce had put him to reaching out to his older sibling, over a number he’d spent a few minutes memorising before texting. dick, present at the time, insisted he called, but quit after getting a look.

he leaned over the back of the couch to see, staring into the chat. “let me see,” he prodded, “maybe you’re being too blunt,” tim raised an eyebrow at him, “not everyone can be as persuasive as me, you know”.

tim drake - 21:32

hi

where are you

(name) - 21:43

?

tim

you moved out right

where’s your address?

(name)

why are you asking?

tim

can’t i?

dick cringed at the screen, exasperated as he asked “really? right in the face like that?”. tim just rolled his eyes, frustrated, a little embarrassed. “just scroll.”

tim - 21:45

sorry

where are you

(name) - 21:56

dude

why do you want 2 know.

tim

bruce wants to know

read

(name)??

read

“very suspicious,” dick proclaimed, poking his shoulder, “i can’t imagine why they wouldn’t tell you. so surprising.” tim frowned, taking his phone back and frowning “look, i tried didn’t i? but if they’re not responding, i’ll have to tell bruce,” he ran a hand through his hair, “i don’t think he’d be much less conspicuous about (name) not telling us their address.”

dick nodded. when he first moved to bludhaven, he’d wanted a start as his own man, without the help of the batman or bruce. maybe (name) wanted the same? tim shouldn’t have said bruce wanted to know, he thinks, could’ve played it off as a “i want to visit". he suggests the thought, only be faced with an awkward smile on tim’s face.

“i don’t know if that’d work,” a short reply, “me and (name) never really talked much. it’d be strange to just butt in like that.”

dick hummed, resting his chin on the couch’s head in thought while he spoke “me and (name) have… talked a bit. send me their number, i could ask,” he elbowed tim’s head gently, joking, “one-up you.”

“you don’t have (name)’s number?”

…

“never had the chance to get it.”

your thumb grows numb from pausing at an awkward position on your phone. stuck on the same chat for about six minutes. two new numbers messaging you on the same day, both from your brothers. you’d assumed it was a new phone from one of the girls, but the first was from tim’s saved contact, his personal one. of course, since you’d read the message, you had to respond, sending in an aloof question mark to dismiss him.

when the second one, an unsaved contact, messaged you with a whole lot of exclamation points after a waving emoji, you’d assumed it was a rebooted number of one of your guys. but no, of all people, it was richard grayson, your older brother. you weren’t daft when he sent in a message asking the exact same thing, your address, saying he “wanted to visit”.

did he take you for an idiot? you know it’s bruce who wanted to know, as stated so bluntly by your little brother. even if he did want to visit, you’d go five floors down hell before letting him come over. a thumbs-down reaction and shutting your phone off did what you wanted it to, slamming a figurative door in his face.

but what makes your whole body go numb and buzzing is when your bell rings. it’s out of habit of course, not a lot of people ring the door unless it’s the landlord or a visitor’s family member, with prior notification first. it could be just one of them, if it wasn’t nine in the evening. the only people who clocked in at this time were your friends, and they never rang the bell.

you peek through the keyhole, and your breath stills. it’s then when you back up from the door, cursing as an unnamed objecy clatters to the floor and miraculously, doesn’t break. you can hear the wooden plank of the floor outside tense, and you just know the person outside heard it. you can’t play off a “no one’s home” game this time, and considering who’s behind the door, you don’t assume she’ll leave peacefully.

you have to gather yourself, level your breathing, skim through quick backups depending on whether she’s looking for (name), her sibling, or (name) a crime affiliate. it’s been a minute, and you quell your nervousness, wiping your lips after biting them so hard, to open the door.

cassandra cain looks surprised, and her narrowing eyes make you nervous, even as you lean against the doorway. you pray she doesn’t read through that, giving her the blankest look you can, the same one you give to the neighbours when they come to complain about the noise.

silence. you speak up first.

“cass… andra,” you add, a slight hesitancy when you remember yourself, “hi?”

she tilts her head at you staring up with a look that could be described as innocent, if her lip didn’t unconsciously twitch when you glanced away for a second. gosh, even after having knowledge of her intellect, you’re still messing up. get a hold of yourself.

she drops her arms from where they were crossed, giving you a knowing look. yes, cassandra, i’m here, you want to say after deciphering that glare with a little trouble, holding it back. what’s she here for? you didn’t give anyone even an inkling of your whereabouts. did alfred snitch? but you never told him either. did bruce figure it out? no, you think morosely, you don’t think he’d do all that.

you try to play it off, a hand to your head, staring down with just the slightest feigned frustration, hoping she takes the hint. “look kid,” you say, voice carefully dry, “i’ve got shit to do, you need something?”, with a seconds’ hesitation, a little demeaning comment slipping out of your mouth before you can stop it, habit, “or are you girl scouting for bruce?”

nice. great way to go. not only does she know that you’re purposefully avoiding him but also that you don’t want him to know. your sister is incredibly adamant to being loyal to him, worryingly so, and you know she won’t let it go. you’re no trained mind-reader like her, if you can call it that, but even your heart rate spikes at the subtle tensing in her jaw.

she points at your apartment, careful, slow. and you frown, obviously. no, she can't come in. she drops it, looking away.

silence stretches on before she exhales sharply through her nose, taking a step back. she’s leaving, you understand anxiously. you know she won’t listen to you if you ask, know she won’t answer any of your questions either, but you try anyway.

“going off to tell bruce are you?” she pauses, turning around to face you again. you’re put off, straining the rest of the sentence so it doesn’t sound odd. you want to say, beg, don’t tell him, you want to say, snarl, get out. instead you just draw your shoulders in and return inside, shutting the door. man, you messed up.

bruce is only momentarily distracted by tim and dick’s hushed talking, weary of what they’re up to, before quickly focusing back to the apartment layout he’s handed by the owner of the building, a mister ford, after requesting for it through a burner account. cassandra’s there too, dressed in gear to leave for patrol in a bit, getting a head start before bruce does the same. he’d sent her out to check the place out, maybe set sights on figures she could suspect to be a part of the trouble he was reviewing earlier, time-pass assignments to sludge through the dullness of the evening.

and she comes back with results, circling an east facing room on the third floor on the flat plans. he can’t help but notice a slight moment of hesitance before she does though, turning to bruce with her grimacing full-face cowl, a silent statement. he thinks about asking her, but decides against it. if she’s worried for their safety, thinks them to be innocent, or doesn’t want them caught, she must want it for some reason. he’ll make sure the GCPD knows after sending gordon's intern the file later, in hardcopy via an open window or softcopy through yet another burner account.

but it’s then when he catches a stray hiss from tim, a “just tell him later,” and pulls away from the screen for just a second. “tell me what?” a brief sombre octave to his voice, he knows it’s not wise to leave tim, of all people, hiding something. especially not moments before patrol.

the boy just shrugs, shaking his head, “nothing important,” he lies, “err… bludhaven stuff.” dick blanches, gesturing in a “what the hell?” manner and cassandra inclines her head. bruce sends in the file, before turning around with the slightest frown to his face. if you have something unimportant to say, the unsaid message floats through the room, say it now, before patrol.

before tim can though, dick gets to it first, a hand to his head in perplexed motion; “you know how you told us to check in on (name)?”.

bruce responds plainly, “i asked tim.” dick’s lip turns downwards just a hint as he lets his arm down, “i’m getting to that.”

“(name) didn’t respond to his,” dick jabbed a thumb in tim’s direction, “message, so i tried. won’t answer mine either.”

“so, you don’t know where they are?” bruce finishes for him, a hand yo his chin in thought, “it’s fine, tim, dick, i’ll see to it later. carry on with patrol, and if you have the chance to, look for robin and tell him to return to the cave.”

it’s funny to dick how easily he slips between proper names and aliases, even if the surroundings are occupied only by associates. paranoid, he thinks, uselessly so. cassandra clears her throat, causing everyone to turn to her, glance in her general direction since she's so well hidden.

she points at the screen, the file sent to a contact with the police department’s logo as its profile picture. her voice is soft, but holds a small, uneasy reluctance to it.

“(name) was here.”

oh.

oh?

INTERACTIONS, REBLOGS AND ASKS VV APPRECIATED!!

- woah. re-written entry?? whatever for?? i overestimated myself.. got carried away and derived way off my ideas.

i have plenty things to add and a hollow head full of things to talk about which ill eventually get onto depending on everything. don’t take my characteristics VERY seriously and dont shy away from feedback.

thank you for reading!

# taglist: @cxcilla @strwberryglass @c4xcocoa @yaoizee @secretsandwriting @sirenetheblogger @charlenexoxo1 @mirabilis-polaris @jsprien213 @tfimherewhy @yuyuzi-ling @crazycaoticsimp @m0na-lis4 @trashlanternfish360 @thehammerx4 @ninihrtss @kaitense1

[novelistwriter]

Reborn Phantom

DP x DC Prompt

This prompt was inspired by a story where Danny reincarnated as Dick

Danny, who was bored out of his mind after a few centuries of peace he made in the Infinite Realms as Ghost King, wanted to do something new, so he decided to be reborn in a dimension, leaving Jazz as the Queen Regent while he is away. But he wasn't reborn as anyone. He was reborn as Jason Todd and with no memories of his life before.

There is nothing much that changes for the story of Jason. He loses his parents, becomes homeless, tries to steal the tires of the batmobile, gets adopted by Bruce Wayne, becomes Robin, witnesses the arguments between Dick and Bruce, learns about his biological mom in Ethiopia, goes to reconnect with her, get killed by the Joker in the warehouse when his mom gave him to the Joker.

After his death, Jason becomes Danny again and remembers everything before his rebirth. He goes to Jazz, the only family that he can trust, to be comforted by her, and talking to her about the struggles he had when he was alive again.

Danny was about to take back his role as Ghost King when the reality warping event happened, which caused Danny to be put back into the body he left behind, where he dug out of his Grave as Jason Todd again, but instead of being a revenant, he's a Halfa again, but lacking ectoplasm to function, so he's catatonic until he's dunked into the Lazarus Pit.

While in the League of Assassins, he's blinded by Rage most of the time because his core was adjusting to being in a human body again and couldn't filter out the Lazarus Waters influence, but he does remember bits and pieces. He became the older brother figure to Damian, got the All Blades, was taught by Talia herself because she had seen his connection to the Lazarus Pit and kept it from Ra's, and then he learned of Tim. The replacement to him as Robin, the boy who took his place half a year after he died, the newest soldier to Bruce's crusade.

He's still blinded by Rage when he leaves the League of Assassins, but he did say goodbye to Damian and told the kid to look for him in Gotham whenever he's having trouble or wanting to be with him again.

Jason attacks Tim in Titans Tower still and then confronts Bruce about the Joker. He got his answer with a Batarang cutting his throat. He was revived by Talia again, but this time, he wasn't consumed by the Rage inducing waters of the Pit, as his core is now fully functional again.

Jason got his answer from Bruce. He chose the Clown over him. And he hates the man for it, but not the Birdies he has picked up, and he regrets ever attacking Tim. He was about to leave the dimension and be back into the Infinite Realms to be the Ghost King again when Clockwork appeared before him and Talia after he emerged from the Lazarus Pit.

"My King, Jason Todd must keep living in this dimension to keep the timeline stable, and without him, you will be the cause of many innocent people dying before their time, please, keep living, my King"

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hii 👋 i really love your works i would eat it if i can, especially freelance inventor, will you ever countinue writing it? (Sorry if it sound rude, English is not my first language)

"So what's the deal with them?" Steph dares to ask when Bruce and Mr. Fenton finish passing out the souvenirs the inventor brought back. She wasn't sure why she was included in the gift giving, as she never even met the man before, but she now had a bowl from Irland tucked in her purse.

She's heard about Mr. Fenton through Tim and a bit from Jason. Both boys practically worshiped the ground the man stepped on. She understood that, on some level, they owed him their lives.

Jason, after being rescued from the Joker and Tim after Mr.Fenton found him on the rooftops all those years ago. She won't lie. How they spoke about Mr.Fenton painted a completely different image in her mind.

She expected someone regal, with a cold, calculating glance, who could figure out what she was expecting with a mere glance. Someone that she wouldn't be surprised if he was found tucked away in a pure white lab, working with glowing chemicals. She knows that they never claim Mr.Fenton was terrifying, but she had personally witnessed Dick threaten to tell Bruce to the man.

If he could make Batman cower by his mere mention, Steph had been expecting someone closer to what an evil version of Alfred would be.

Instead, she got a man in faded jeans, beat-up boots, and gentleness that hurt her teeth with how sweetly he smiled. If Bruce was a Bat, then Mr.Fenton could be a flower.

Gentle. Pretty. Unassuming.

Steph had logically known Mr. Fenton was a civilian. But she thought that he would be a scary one, at the least. Maybe someone in the justice system, a personal fighter like a boxer or hell, someone good with firearms.

"Hmm?" Damian glances up from his painting. Steph noticed that he has been doing a lot lately. Leaving his room to paint around the manor. She hasn't known the boy for long.

Steph had only recently forgiven Bruce for the whole Robin stunt he pulled (making her think she was his partner only to be used as bait for Tim, burned), and she wasn't around when Bruce's bio kid was found. Based on the stories Tim, Jason, and Dick shared, though, she thought he was a little more bloodthirsty.

He is more prone to violence after his upbringing, but he seemed to be shimmering down the last few weeks. Damian had apparently been given a talking to by Mr.Fenton, who took him out of the manor into the city for some "undercover training."

Steph hadn't been in Gotham then. She was busy helping a few teen titans with a mission that had her traveling to the other side of the world. But apparently, whatever harsh training Mr.Fenton had forced Damian to undergo had brought back peace to Wayne Manor.

Or as close as it could be.

He still referred to himself as the actual blood son.

"Bruce and Mr. Fenton," she repeated, nodding to where the pair could be seen conversing in the hallway. However, it looked more like Mr.Fenton was the only one talking. Bruce was too busy staring at him like he was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "They seem really close, but in a weird way."

Damain's intense green eyes snap at her. She raises a brow, unwilling to let the brat see he made her flinch. "Do you have a problem with Father getting close to another man?"

It takes her a few seconds to understand why he sounds so guarded before she gasps. "It's not the gay thing! I don't care if their gay!"

"I should hope not. You come into our home and eat our food, Brown." The boy clicks his tongue distastefully. Steph has never seen someone look down their nose at someone two heads taller than them, but Damian proved it could happen. "I would not allow for homophobia to enter these halls. It is not within the rules of social justice."

"Social justice?" She repeats a little surprise that Damian was speaking to her without an insult so far. The only time the brat had bothered to talk to anyone besides Bruce had been to insult them. At least in the two months, she had seen him wander after her Teen Titians mission.

"Danny has pointed out that Father's civilian reputation is tied heavily with social justice. It would not due for his heir to cause trouble in his affairs." Damian places his paintbrush back on his canvas, sneaking glances at the window.

Curious, Steph creeps closer to take a peak and finds herself memorized by the water painting he is working on. It's Bruce and Mr.Fenton. In the painting, Bruce is staring lovingly at Mr.Fenton, who seems to be in the middle of laughing. Though neither have arms- Damian is working on those- it doesn't detract from their loving expressions.

"If it is not due to their gender, what do you find weird about Father and Danny?"

Steph considers the question before slowly getting closer, wanting to oversee the young boy splash some white into Mr.Fenton's eyes, making them appear glowing. "It's just.....weird how Bruce likes someone so normal. No training. No big fancy money. No ties to the capes. Just a man who's really good at science."

Damain shoots her a complicated glance over his shoulders before he slowly replies. "Yes. An average Joe, as you Americans would say. That is Danny."

"Right? Isn't it weird? And besides the fact Bruce is so obvious with his crush, Mr. Feton has no idea. But he can pull apart a toaster in ten minutes to curl Babs hair for her dance? Don't you think it's odd?"

Damian hums. "A true master does not need to show who they are until the blade is at their opponent's neck. But I will admit that Danny's appearance can be rather deceiving."

"Damian.....do you know something?"

The boy's face turned more complicated before returning his attention to his painting. He taps his paintbrush against his palate before he mutters. "I knew only Danny did not treat me like a rabid animal. He took me to the zoo. I haven't been outside the manor since his last visit and grew wary of these walls."

His words hit Steph like a brick. Her first instinct is to explain why it was essential to keep him here, but then she thinks more about it, and her teeth slam shut.

Crude, has she been acting like Bruce? Had she really allowed him to convince her that a child should be locked up like it was nothing? Then again, Damian isn't a prisoner here.

Even if he was, she helped break him out.

"Say, kid, you want to come with Tim and me to the mall this afternoon? I think they have an art store."

Damian twists around to stare in utter shock. For all his training, he really is just a kid because Steph can see the genuine yearning in his eyes as he tries to casually cover up his reaction with a regal shoulder shrug. "I suppose I will have time for more undercover training."

Strange, Steph thinks while texting Tim about Damian joining them. Mr. Fenton hasn't even spoken to me that long, and he already changed how I viewed Damian. Is this why Bruce is into a civilian?

[dontbesoweirdkira]

I just imagined if batchild who favored Tim being Bruce bio-child. Damian so jealous and angry because his blood sibling chose Drake over him? This is too personal. Poor Tim will not have peace. I can imagine Damian trying to prove himself to his little sibling.

But the question is, does Damian even really give a flying fuck about this kid? Or does he just hate Tim and wants to destroy any ounce of happiness this boy has? Questions. Questions. Questions. lol.

Idk I love Damian being a little shit,,, he's something a little silly

Yes, Damian will terrorize Tim over this. He has such bad emotional regulation and he doesn't fully understand why he's so angry. He doesn't particularly like children and all their crying and babbling..they're stupid and useless...

But it peeves him so much seeing Tim take on such a prominent older brother role in their life. Tim is tainting the kid, he's not teaching them properly. A child should be held this way, it should be taught this, you need to do this. That is what his mother did to ensure his proper development so it must be right!

I can just imagine Damian cringing at all the baby talk and stupid games Tim plays with them. At first he's such a hate watcher of them. He'll be in the corner of the room, glaring daggers into them. "hmph they're perfect for each other. Dumb and even dumber. Guess which is which..." He snickers in his mind

Then he resorts to insulting Tim and micro-managing him. His baby siblings doesn't need to play with rattles, they need to be doing more intensive activities....Ughh.. They're being so stunned right now.

Then...slowly when no one is watching, he might speak to it. He doesn't get down on the floor with his sibling, he's just looking down at 'em and low-key shit talking. They piss him off so much but still he's at a lost for why?? Why does he seem to care about them and their upbringing so much when he hates them?

It isn't until Tim leaves for a mission or something when Damian *attempts* to hold and play with batchild. The child just looked so pitiful that he felt compelled to entertain them. Batchild starts to unexpectedly grow on him...eventually he starts kind of...loving them...? He feels warm when they smile at him...and an intense passion to protect them...

He's shy about it but Damian is obsessed with that damn baby. He won't try to draw attention to it but that is his baby now.

He can't help but to feel so possessive over them too, he'll cross his arms and huff when someone picks them up...he's stealing them back after five minutess...

But here's where the issue arises, Damian finally is feeling super close with batchild and has created this secret bond that no one else understands. He's done this oath with them in a pillow fort and everything, he's confidently believes that he's the new favorite sibling.

"Okay, Now we will drink this grape juice as we are solidified as true bloods of the Wayne bloodline..."

*intense babbles and clapping*

"Yes, our superior lineage is something to celebrate."

But then Tim comes back and batchild completely forgets about Damian and rushes to Tim. Even refusing to be held by Damian later on. His heart is crushed and to him this is the ultimate betrayal.

If Tim didn't have peace before, he really won't have it now. Like Damian wants to duel over this, it's that serious to him.

The pure venom that Damian spews is so fucked up that I cannot even repeat it. Like Tim is worried for his safety at this point.

Damien would definitely steal batchild out of their crib at night and take them into one of the unused rooms in another wing of the manor. It's fully decorated with tons of things batchild loves, all necessities...even has tons of snacks and a fridge with goodies. Damian is fully prepared to be the sole provider for this baby. lmaoo. He's hiding this kid out there for a good couple of hours before everyone realizes where the two of them are.

Damian is fighting hard to keep from them taking batchild...but is defeated when batchild sees Tim and goes

"Timmy!!" and tries running to him. It's so hilarious. Damian is at his wits end. He's never going to stop though until he's number one. Even if "Timmy" has to go.

Dami is the most un-serious-serious person on the planet.

[demonic0angel]

Dc×Dp prompt

The batfam were having a relatively slow night. They all meet up to report in, even Jason, and suddenly they hear a motorcycle roaring towards them and then Johnny 13 speeds by actively having Shadow drag a very beat up Danny behind his bike by his leg. Only problem is that Danny is Fenton and not Phantom

“It’s so boringgggg,” Spoiler whined. She hugged Black Bat and hung off of her in misery. “There’s nothing to doooooo…” Black Bat patted her head and just hummed.

“You can patrol,” Batman deadpanned. “Or write a report.”

Red Hood booed him. “Lame!” He turned to Spoiler and asked, “Wanna come with me to go and TP Bruce Wayne’s house?”

Spoiler perked up. “Great idea!”

“You are a bunch of lazy idiots,” Robin groused, while Nightwing patted his head and cooed.

“Aww, little bat, lighten up! I think it’s a great idea! Let’s egg his house too!”

Red Robin hid a snicker through a cough, as Batman sighed heavily, shaking his head and wondering why his children were planning to vandalize their home. The night was peaceful, and even Oracle was taking a break. They all chatted with one another, joking and bantering, when they heard the roar of a motorcycle nearby.

Nobody really paid attention until it passed by them, with a kid attached to the back and flying through the air, clearly in some weird sort of kidnapping since he wasn’t fully seated. Said kid was dressed in dark clothes that looked visibly torn and battered, but nothing else could be noticed as the motorcycle zoomed by with the kid dragged behind it with only a leg.

All of the Gotham vigilantes paused, just staring.

Then in one burst of motion, they all leapt onto their bikes or into the Batmobile to furiously chase after the speeding motorcycle with the kid dangling from the back.

Danny, meanwhile, crossed his arms and scowled when he noticed the yelling and vehicles trying to catch up to them. “Look what you did! Now the heroes are chasing after us!”

Johnny sneered. “If you stopped being a party pooper, we wouldn’t have to fight!”

“Let me go, idiot! If they find out that you’re actually a ghost, we’re both going to get in trouble!”

Johnny clicked his tongue and his shadow then let go of Danny, who tumbled from the sudden loss of anchor. He rolled onto the ground, groaning, and was promptly picked up by several hands. He flinched from the sudden touch and froze like a deer in headlights when multiple vigilante eyes landed on him with scrutiny.

Fuck.

“Uh. Hi?”

[a-lurking-fae]

Thinking about the reader being Focalors/Furina's grandchild. What if they adopted a child, and let's say that the kid could have been transported between worlds, they end up in Gotham, taken in by Martha and Thomas Wayne.

Now, after a couple of years, readers mom ends up with Bruce. He takes in Dick, then Jason, after your mom gets pregnant, and during childbirth, she dies. Instead of Bruce neglecting the reader because "They were the reason why my love is dead." type of neglect (っ- ‸ - ""), which is always pretty stupid if you ask me,

He can't look at the reader because you look like a mix of both the two women he has truly loved in his life. His mother, the one who sang him bedtime songs, the one who brought him to his love, your mother. The one who accepted him for his faults, the one who was there during rough times, the one who gave him the greatest gift of all time— you.

But instead of treasuring the precious diamond he was given, Bruce ends up throwing you away. A shame, really, after all, how can he look at you without being reminded of them? How can he look into your eyes, which took the shape of his mother, and held those (e/c) eyes that used to look at him with so much love?

Dick would also have a hard time acknowledging you. After all, you were sort of the reason why his mother had died (reader's mom), but you were her child too. You can't experience what he and Jason got from her, bedtime stories and all.

But at the same time, he can't help but look a little closer, enamoured by the same eyes that saw him, acknowledged him, loved him. He really doesn't know what to do, so he avoids you when he has the chance.

Now, Jason— he's a good child before he died. He's definitely your best friend before he died. How can he not love you? The child of his parents, how could he possibly turn away from you? So imagine his surprise and disappointment when both Bruce and Dick actively ignore you.

Oh, he is angry. How dare they! He argues with them during meal times, but they shut him down! Let's time skip a few years now, Jason is dead, then he turns up alive, apparently?

You try to approach him, hoping he was still that big brother you once knew, even though he looks a bit scary and big right now! He avoids you like the plague, you don't recognise your big brother anymore...

When Tim was taken in by Bruce, you hoped that you'd form a bond with your new brother, and he's very smart too! You hope he can help you with homework, but he says that you're not really worth his time. That stung a bit!

Then Cassandra, Barbara, and Stephanie are in the picture. You still had a bit of hope that you'd bond with your sisters! They might be different from your brothers! Ah— it's the same thing over again.

Finally, Damian, he's your younger brother. Clinging on to your last hope, you approach him, hoping— but to no one's surprise, he rejects you. He hates you so much. He hates that you were so weak, how, although he is strong, forced to cater to his mother and grandfather's wishes, robbed of the childhood he dreamed of, you ended up with a peaceful childhood, the one thing he always wanted. (He didn't know you were robbed, too.)

It's honestly your last straw, so after packing your bags, you head to your mother's home— Fontaine, and it's a hell lot more nicer than Gotham. The fresh breeze of the sea, cute adorable sea creatures, and a whole lot more things you could explore!

Your grandfather, Neuvillette, adored you, both of your grandmothers who loved you so much, the friends you made in Fontaine, even adventures you went off to. It's no surprise that you didn't want to go back. Yeah, Alfred would miss you a lot— but you're sure he'd be happy to know that you're in a better place, safe from the crime-filled-gotham!

Now, enjoy the last days in Teyvat because they want you back. How could they not? Bruce and Dick never hated you— no. They'd kill themselves before that. It's just that it hurt too much to see you! But, they've realised their mistakes now, they'll make it up to you, don't worry! Bruce will throw you lavish parties anytime you want! He has deep pockets, after all, and that old room of yours? Your new room will be next to him, to make sure you're safe.

Dick will be there for you. Even though he wasn't there before, he'll be next to you every step of the way this time and make no mistakes. He won't let you out of his sight, not anymore. You can count on the best big brother in Gotham to make sure you'll be safe. With a little help from Tim, who'll place trackers on you when you get home. It's for safety precautions, you'll understand.

Jason blew when he realised you've been missing for weeks— and none of them have noticed! He was the best big brother to you, right? Won't you come back home to him? He knows you, and both of you could bond by the things you guys used to love, right? You probably still like the colour (f/c) you don't anymore. He'll cook your favourite food with you, and all you have to do right now is to come back home.

Casandra, although a perceptive person, she never realised the small figure that trailed behind her grew up, not to be seen in weeks. She knew something was missing. The small figure that she'd see in the kitchen during ungodly hours, who'd leave her little notes of praise time-to-time, was not there anymore.

Every time Barbara and Tim had migraines, you'd be there, handing a tray with two cups and medication. They wondered where those always came from, and then it suddenly stopped. To think it was their sweet baby sibling all along! Those little hints that you were there weren't really noticed, but they appreciated you and the small actions you did for them. They want to repay the favour, don't you wanna play games with Tim? Or get ice cream with big sis Babs?

Damian will demand attention from you. How dare you give your love to those good for nothing children of lower breeding, he's your blood brother! Sure, he said he hates you— but he really didn't mean it! He didn't know you were robbed of the same childhood as him. And without his older sibling, how can you expect a complete family? You don't have to worry about being weak. He'll protect you. He's strong enough for both of you.

Neuvillette is having trouble closing the multiple portals they tried to create. With the help of the Justice league, of course. Don't worry they'll get you back sooner or later.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ

This was already posted!<33

[jscrawls]

Bite your lips

Neglected children don't always take their pain out on the people around them.

(one shot neglected Wayne gn! reader, has some hints of Conner Kent x reader)

❗Warning, contains mentions of an ED, child neglect, poor mental health, character death, please read with caution if any of this bothers you!❗

🔹🔹🔹

You don't know what you're doing wrong.

Two years, two. Whole. Years. You've been clawing at the chance to be involved in their lives, to be part of their tight knit family group. From the day you were led out of that car - shivering in the snow - to standing here now in the hearth. it's as if they've all forgotten you're not still standing on the stoop as a stranger.

At first you didn't want them, they were too different, too old, too not your mother. You wanted to grieve in peace, to curse out loud and scream in your pillow and draw bad pictures of that man with the gun getting beat up by Batman. But you were just a kid, you didn't know any better.

Weeks turned into months and suddenly you weren't locking yourself away and insisting you eat in your room, but it felt like the damage was already done.

That didn't mean you wanted to be alone forever! The Butler was alright, well he wasn't acting like you didn't exist anyways. He wasn't exactly going to your school plays or anything, but he took you to appointments, took you clothes shopping when you needed uniforms or outgrew something, hugged you when you told him you wanted to go home…yeah he was alright.

You were twelve when you watched Batman drag a limping Robin through the manor from the top of the steps in the showing room, you were excited, scared, confused? Why were they here? How'd the kid get injured? If they're here instead of wherever they live does that mean there's bad people nearby? That last thought nearly had you jumping down the stairs and into their field of vision, that is until you heard Alfred speak up from somewhere in the heroes path.

“Master Bruce.”

That one single sentence had your entire body locking up like a gearshift.

…. That explains a lot actually, your biological father's Batman. holy crap your dad's Batman! As soon as you'd reentered your room you'd jumped up and down like a little child, your hands shaking as you'd grabbed your Batman themed stuffed animal you'd kept under your bed it was embarrassing to have stuffies all over your room at your age, but this one had always felt special. Now you have a reason!

This is why he and the others always say they're tired! They're up at night doing crazy karate stuff! Maybe you've been putting too much expectation on them all this time, after all your father's much busier than you ever thought.

The next day school felt like it lasted an entire eternity, you just wanted to ask your dad questions! Maybe you could finally get to know the man now that you know this terribly amazing secret, you could start to integrate yourself into his life just like Jason before you. Your classes were a blur, your teachers voices melded together in your brain until they all sounded like the same monotone droning sound, you even skipped cooking club to go home early!

The house was empty by the time you trudged up the long winding driveway, panting slightly in the soupy humidity that still lingers despite it being well into autumn. Only one thing was on your young mind though, as you hurriedly fished your keys out and dashed in as soon as the door was cracked, your hip catching a corner of a display table. Even the bruise forming in your side didn't damper your excitement as you ran to your room to change and finish your homework as you excitedly waited for your family to come home in time for dinner.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway has you feeling elated but you need to chill, no bouncing heels and giddy grins. you can't look too excited when you ask them!

You find Jason already at the dining room table when Alfred calls for you to come down, his left leg is wrapped in a cast from the knee down and sitting at an odd angle as he has to stick his leg far out to rest in the chair. He's got a busted lip and a bruise that disappears up into his dark curls on the left side of his head, stopping just short of his cheekbone. He wears a surly expression, though it seems to be aimed at Dad more than anything else, he must be Robin, right? ……Did something happen to Jason last night?

He must feel your eyes on him as you fumble to help set the table, because he glances right at you with a pointed furrow in his brows. His lips thinning when you quickly chance a look down at his leg.

“quit staring at me.” he grumbles unhappily, rolling his eyes when Bruce clears his throat at the head of the table.

You huff at the tone he uses as you drop down in your own seat, what? You're not a total pushover, he's being a jerk for no reason. “shut your face, What even happened to you?”

Even if you're irritated at Jason's clear bad mood you can't help but get excited again at what you found out last night, your feet swinging under your chair as you stare at him impatiently. Come on they've gotta spill the beans sometime!

Bruce shoots a look at Jason - which you happen to catch out of the corner of your eye - and the teen boy sighs and throws his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Rude.

“It's nothing you need to worry about.” He mutters lowly, and for a moment he looks tired as his head rolls forward to properly dig into the food Alfred put in front of him.

The strange attitude shift nearly makes you drop it right then and there, but you just want them to admit it! You're family, you deserve to be told of their own volition, not because you have to drop that you already know. Why are they hiding it from you after all this time!? “Come onnnnn Jason, you look like you tried to fight a car and lost! You've gotta tell me what happened, was it cool? Or lame?”

You gesture at him with your fork, your feet swinging wildly under your chair. You're surprised Alfred hasn't scolded you for all your behaviors yet, but then again the look Bruce is giving you is scolding enough so maybe he's hoping Bruce will tell you to?

Jason sighs as he avoids your eye as his voice dropping quieter and gruffer as he rebuffs you yet again. “I said it's nothing, drop it kid I don't wanna talk about it.”

“….. did you do something dangerous?”

your mumbled words seem to make Jason snap, he drops his fork and shoves his plate away from himself so he can lean forward on his elbows.

“Do you know how annoying it is to have someone questioning you when you've made it clear they're bothering you? Can you just shut. up.”

Your eyes widen, but before you could say anything or apologize He's pushing himself up and away from the table while Bruce also stands, the older man quickly tries to circle around the table to scold the teen.

“Jason don't talk to the kid like that! Come on just….sit and finish your plate. Okay?” Bruce snaps out with grit tooth calmness, the kind of barely constrained feeling that'd make you feel he actually cared to defend you. if he didn't just refer to you as ’the kid’.

“Give it to (name)! They'll obviously eat it.” He shuffled out of the room with as much irritation as his teen body could allow to come through while his leg was in a cast, which was still a lot.

You just sat there quietly in stunned, embarrassed silence, his parting words rattling around your head as you tried to make sense of the meaning. Your feet were no longer swinging excitedly under the table and you couldn't even bring yourself to look at the man you called your father, ’they'll obviously eat it’ why did that make you feel so….. opposite of small and unnoticed? Everyone's looking at you now, they're paying attention to you. and you can't even lift your gaze from the plate in front of you. the resounding silence from both Alfred and Bruce left you even more confused in Jason's wake.

You didn't dare touch Jason's plate, and you didn't find yourself hungry enough to finish your own food that night.

In the end they never told you their secret, and you? You stuffed your Batman themed stuffie back under your bed, far out of sight.

🔹🔹🔹

*”Aww, look at the newest Wayne added to the list! I could just pinch your puffy little cheeks!”*

The strange woman's words have been bouncing around your head for the past hour, you thought a gala would be like something out of a movie. beautiful outfits and soft music, quiet words exchanged in accents that promised generational wealth and wisdom that comes from the best educated. You'd see real refinery. Not….. This. Scathing smirks and drunken rowdiness seemed as interchangable as Bruce's nightlife. The expensive outfit you wore wasn't at all comfortable, apparently luxury fabric and high end designer labels don't mean soft and breathable. It's stiff, folds awkwardly when you slouch or sit so you've been forced to stand stiff as a board in uncomfortable shoes ever since you got out of the back of that limo.

The people were disappointing near moreso than the outfits, they stare, stare at everything and everyone that moves like T-Rexs from Jurassic Park. Did they have no manors? Or is it on purpose, a tactic to sniff out the squeamish. Like you.

Maybe that's all that the strange woman was doing, with all that tightened skin and cold thin fingers that pinched your face until your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, the scent of strong perfume still stuck in your nose as Bruce and Dick disappeared into the crowd with practiced ease. What were you supposed to do? Stand here and wait for them? You're too close to the crowds! What if you look like a weirdo who's watching them all silently, you feel like a freak, a total loser who doesn't even know what you're supposed to do in this situation. the longer you're alone in that brightly lit, crowded room the more alone you feel….

Only after working yourself up even more until sweat started to dampen your brow did you finally start nudging between bodies to look for your should-be chaperones, this place is claustrophobia inducing in the worst of ways. By the time you spot a familiar face you feel like you're about to puke, or maybe you'll go lock yourself in the bathroom until you inhale all the oxygen and pass out - some ladies leaning on Bruce while he smiles at another next to him. What the heck? He left you by your lonesome to go womanize?!?

You try to approach your father, you're about to have a freaking panic attack here and you'd rather do it near your dad than all these strangers who're leering at each other like unblinking snakes. But a very poorly contained whispered conversation next to you catches your ear and slows your stumbled steps when you realize two middle aged people are talking about you.

”You see them? The little tubby one, you think they're actually Wayne's biological kid?”

You freeze in place as soon as you hear the man whispering to the woman in stage tones, his voice carrying clearly in the little corner area you're all tucked into. Your widened eyes dart towards them to find they're already looking at you, the amusement in their eyes makes you quickly duck down and try to carry on towards your father as the woman replies to the man's theory.

”Could be, might just take after whoever the female was. then again Wayne might be stupid enough to not get them checked himself, can you imagine the scandal if they're some random skanks-”

You make eye contact with you father just as he tilts his head towards the pair, so he must have heard all that….. Why is he just looking away? Why has he been ignoring you this whole night? You couldn't take their words anymore, your mother wasn't ‘some female’ and she wasn't a skank! They don't even know you and they're belittling a child right in front of Bruce Wayne and he only glanced at you for a moment. You were only worth a brief look.

You're not sure what they said next, as you quickly turned and darted through the nearest door to get away. You couldn't even trust your dad here…

It was cold outside of the charity banquet this late at night, at least you felt like no one would question your little shivers as you curl your arms around yourself. You couldn't exactly hide the sniffles though, your cheeks burning as you angrily wiped at your eyes every time a tear rolled down your face. Why are these people so nasty? Is this what money does to people? Your own biological father looked at you like you needed to shut up in there and not utter a sound….. Well he can stuff it just like the rest of those snobby pricks!

“whatever….. They probably all hate themselves more than anything anyways.” Your words were self soothing and bratty, mumbled under your breath so quietly no one'd hear even if they were standing over you.

“Yeah tell me about it, they're all jackasses in there huh.”

The voice coming from directly behind you made you scream.

You turned around so quickly you slipped off the step and landed on your ass and elbows on the damp, gross ground, not that you're particularly worried about a little grime and old leaves sticking to your clothes at the moment.

Behind you still on the steps is a boy, maybe roughly your age? his dark hair is slicked back with visibly too much gel, it looks like it was an attempt to hide the clearly self-inflicted undercut?…. His hands are already up placatingly as an awkward smile stretches over his lips, his grey eyes darting all around like he doesn't know where to look. “I…. Are you good, dude?”

…

He slowly rubs at the back of his neck when you don't immediately respond, at least you weren't screaming anymore? He winces at the thought of a certain someone coming to investigate the shrill sound.

After a moment of shock at someone so thoroughly startling you in the middle of your little pity party, you shakily stand up and attempt to casually dust your clothes off, you end up wincing when you feel the damp muck on your back and now on your hands, gross.

“…yeah, I'm fine.” You wince again when your voice cracks, and here you'd hoped the dark would hide your disheveled appearance enough to play it off…

The boy frowns at you and actually steps closer, ignoring your attempt to put some space back between you to set a hand on your shoulder. “are you hurt?”

His behaviors so weird, he must watch too many cop and hero shows or something. “I said I'm fine! I fell while sitting down, how's that gonna hurt me?”

You cross your arms over your chest once again while he looks at you like a confused dog, head tilting and everything. actually now that you're this close you can't help but notice he's wearing smudged eyeliner….

“Well how am I supposed to know - never mind, if you're not hurt then……was it those people in there?”

His question snaps your focus back to his words and away from his emo boy look, blinking stupidly before turning away in embarrassment. Did everyone talk about you in there? Or were you unlucky enough to be followed out by someone related to those people. Where else would he have heard all…that. “doesn't matter, doesn't matter at all. Okay?”

You roughly sit down on the steps again, you're already dirty and disgusting anyway.

But then the scrawny kid just had to sit down with you, he drops close enough for your knees to brush together and you have to resist the urge to tell him to get out of your space. He seems a bit….. Socially inept or something, maybe he's homeschooled?

“I mean, it does matter if you're out here alone instead of sitting with your family, you know they're serving a little tiny dinner thing right now right? Don't tell me you're gonna let a stinky perfume lady get in the way of eating expensive food.”

He nudges your shoulder with the gentleness of a linebacker tackle, but still his words get a quiet snicker out of you. Even if the thought of going back in there and eating in front of those people makes your stomach churn. You just shake your head and tuck your arms around your legs, your chin sitting on your knees.

“I'd….. Prefer not to go back in, I'm dirty anyways. Not exactly acceptable on white chairs and couches.” You shrug awkwardly and look away, studying the far wall like it's very interesting. Hey those big cracks in the bricks kinda look like the letter S. You wonder if a therapist would find that interesting.

The mystery boy goes quiet for a moment, making you think that maybe your little visit time is up. He probably came out here to be polite or something anyways, you're just waiting in silence for him to start mumbling about his parent looking for him soon.

He glances at you, and then around the alleyway and back, then looks back at the door behind you. You know it has to be coming - “how about I bring you something then? I mean, it'll be a peace offering since I made you fall anyways…”

Your head snaps towards the boy, but before you could even question him or politely reject the offer he's jumping to his feet with surprising spryness for someone in a fitted suit. Quickly yanking the door open and slipping back into the noisy hall before you can get a word out.

After seven minutes pass you start to think he pulled one on you.

He's probably laughing with someone right now about tricking some muddy kid outside, that or he already finished mocking you and he's now forgotten you exist.

You're up against the building now, head tilted back against the rough concrete blocks as you stare up at the sky in a vain attempt to distract yourself from the frustrated tightening of your throat and the dull stinging behind your eyes, you're not a little kid anymore, you can't just cry Everytime something happens that you don't like…. It's only an embarrassment at this age…

Suddenly something yellow fills your entire vision, you nearly scream again but the snickering beside you has you scowling and shoving the….. Can? Away from your face.

The boy is back, two Styrofoam takeout boxes in one hand and a yellow can of some kind is in the other. An amused grin lights up his face as your frown deepens at him.

“Heyyyy I'm back! Didn't know what you'd eat so I grabbed a few samples, then I realized you might have allergies so I dumped those out and got something else, then I went and got you a drink…. And some wet wipes for your hands and clothes.” He sets the can and the takeout beside you and fishes a packet of wet wipes and an identical yellow and brown can out of his back pockets. Where does he get his pants from? You want pockets like that.

That's….. You stare at the mystery kid as he drops down beside you like he did before and starts shaking his can. The casualness of his kindness has your throat tightening again but for a different reason now, you're actually speechless. You slowly pick up the one beside you to see what it even is he brought you, something called a ’yoohoo’? It was a chocolate drink? Where did he even get this from?

“I…. Where'd you find this? I didn't see any canned drinks inside….”

He pauses his movements at your random question, but only for a second before he continues peeling his takeout box open. “I went across the street to the convenience store.”

He throws you a smile, then he quickly grows awkward and looks away from you. “…. Wait do you like yoohoo’s? Shoot I should've asked first sorry - !”

“No it's fine! I've…. Never tried one before, but who doesn't like mystery chocolate drinks, yeah?”

🔹🔹🔹

The mystery boy made you smile that night, his many attempts to cheer you up were awkward and rough, but also so genuinely kind that you could almost forget the rest of the awful things that happened. Almost.

The words stuck, being left to flounder in a setting that didn't want you stuck, maybe it was Bruce's way of discouraging you from asking to go again, maybe it was a punishment. Either way you couldn't seem to shake everything off, maybe it was the words used, or the looks, maybe it was entirely Bruce.

But mirrors aren't your friend right now.

The fullness of your cheeks that years ago were kissed and poked by a loving mother, the softness in your jaw that once would've reminded you of your grandma, it all caught your eye now. Brushing your teeth or washing up now felt like you were avoiding eye contact with a stranger.

It wouldn't hurt to work on yourself right? Maybe you could join a sport or something, maybe you'll be great at it! It could run in the family…..

“Your dad needs to change.”

You nearly choke on your lunch as someone whispers creepily behind you, you have to cough to avoid inhaling rice before you can even turn to look behind you. Though you don't have to as you hear a sigh and then a boy steps in front of you and sits across from you like you're friendly. You barely recognize the dark haired boy with the pinched expression on his face, light eyes focused on you as he props his head up on his fists.

“….um, hi?” What's even happening here?

The boys expression twists even more as you greet him confusedly, what did you do wrong and why is he here? He sighs again and speaks up. “Hi. Your dad needs to change.”

Well that's helpful and informative. “I heard you the first time? Who even are yo-”

“Call me Drake. Your dads getting out of hand at night, he's losing his stuff since…. Robin.”

Your spoon falls out of your hand as this stranger not only talks about no-no Batman stuff, but he's talking about your dead….. “Dude can I help you?”

You kinda wanna leave, you've completely lost your appetite and now this kid's talking about your dad's greatest secret like it's common knowledge. You're out of your depth here, And, you're just…. Rattled.

Unfortunately he keeps going, disregarding your discomfort and uncomfortable reactions to continue on like he's lecturing you, like you've personally disappointed this guy. “Yes, Batman needs a robin. You need to tell him that.”

Your eyes widen and you quickly lean in closer, trying to shush him. “okay, can you drop the weird act and just be normal? You can't just walk up to people and talk about…. Crazy stuff like that.”

He purses his lips and drops his gaze for a moment, yet clearly doesn't reconsider his approach. “It's not crazy, I know what I'm talking about. I remember the flying Grayson's and I remember the first robin, they had to be the same boy. Batman needs that again, he needs his partner back.”

You stare at him in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. This…drake guy is so blase about the second robin, your recently deceased brother. The boy that despite all the turbulences and petty fights, was still the reason you're back to eating alone in your room again. “…. No he doesn't, the second robin is proof of that. Can't you just…drop whatever this is, maybe go conspiracy theory somewhere else? I'd like to finish my lunch break in peace.”

You start to push yourself up from the cafeteria table, but he grabs your wrist before you can gather your tray and other items.

“Look Wayne, you can't just ignore your dad's issues, he's hurting people more and more and you could find the first robin and-” you interrupt him before he can finish. “and what, tell him to knock some sense into Batman? Do you even have any empathy for what might be happening to those two? They're grieving you jerk.”

You instantly regret snapping at him like that, you are a dumbass. You just indirectly confirmed everything he was spewing. Bruce and Dick are gonna kill you.

Drake's eyes soften, his expression falling slightly bashful and he loosens his grip on you to instead fiddle with his hands. He cracks his knuckles one by one and tries to start up again.

“….I didn't mean-” you again interrupt him before he can spew empty apologies, he doesn't even know you or anything about your family! “I've got class in two minutes. Have a good day Drake.”

You'd think you looked cool as you walked away from him, if you weren't a ball of anxiety and tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. which would be really embarrassing since you're in the middle of the lunch hall.

🔹🔹🔹

“You look tired, are things still awkward with the new kid in the house?” Conner nudges your shoulder with a gentleness he's finally learned after all the times he's nearly knocked you on your ass, it only took five years. a familiar yellow can is in his hand as you both stare down at the crowds far below the rooftop you're occupying.

“You could say that, he got a dog recently so that's actually kinda neat. I think he likes it more than the rest of the family.”

The drink tastes like bile on your tongue as you sip it, it's too sugary, too thick, it feels like choking down butter just so you can smile at your friend. Things have been even weirder in your house ever since Damian arrived and you've kinda made it Conners problem with all your complaints, the kids not exactly the problem or anything, he's just…. Quiet. It's everyone else filling his silence that bothers you, the kid straight up had to ask who you were in the middle of dinner when you were walking through the hall to grab an apple. You don't eat at that table anymore, too many eyes too much judgement in every bite you managed to choke down.

He smiles encouragingly at you like you just told him something fantastic, he's probably the only one who could do that while you're stuffing your face in front of him. “yeah? The way you talk about him I'd assume he'd want a cat….. Maybe I'm just used to y'all being emo over there.”

You can't hold in a snort at his expense. “Y'all?”

You set the can down on the ledge of the building and move to prop yourself up on the concrete, feet swinging childishly as you study the less familiar skylines of metropolis stretching before you, it might just be across a river from your home yet somehow the city feels less…. Heavy.

“Yes, y'all. Sorry I don't speak with enough grandiloquence for your taste. I'm just a boy.”

He leans close enough that for a moment you think he's gonna lean into you, all teeth and gums bared and for just a moment you feel like a teenager. then he snatches your drink from you and takes a long drag. “Damn, you've barely touched this-”

You roll your eyes and push at his shoulder in an attempt to look mad that he stole from you, to pretend anxiety didn't just roll over you the way cold water at the beach does. at least you don't have to force yourself to drink more for a moment. “Shush! ‘just a boy’ my ass. You're a hick and a thief with no morals! Stealing from a poor billionaire heir, for shame Mr Kent, for shame.”

You shake your head in mock exasperation as he just giggles harder, taking one final sip of your drink before he passes it back to you and pushes himself up on the concrete ledge with too much ease. “Oh I'm shameful alright, hey are we still on for the black Canary concert?”

For a moment you don't even know what he's talking about, mind drawing blanks as you open your mouth to answer, and then close it as it clicks. “…yeah, yes I mean! Sorry, stuffs been slipping my mind more lately. School finals and crap…”

Your eyes drop to the yellow can held between your fingers, you try to ignore his concerned stare as you idly rotate the yoohoo and swirl the remaining liquid around. You just need something to do with your hands. His silence makes you want to fidget and that'll just make him concerned.

He hesitantly speaks up while you're trying to act normal. “(name) are you-” you quickly speak up before he can start questioning you. “It's getting late dude, I've got gym in a little while.”

He remains quiet for a moment after you cut him off, you just can't bear to hear it from him. The powdery concern and baby talk and the…. Difference. You've heard it before from the school nurse and old friends you've long since stopped talking to. You're just sick of feeling different.

Eventually Conner shifts, turning himself to be facing towards you and sits crisscross on the ledge, his hands flatten against his knees as he leans towards you a bit more. “…you know I'm not gonna be….weird about the memory thing, right? You've just…. Been forgetting more stuff lately, I've noticed….”

He looks uncertain of himself as he hesitantly speaks, unsure if he should vocalize the question clearly written all over his face.

“…I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, but…. What's going on (name)? This feels like more than school stress or family image stuff.”

You just shake your head and grin easily at the boy, countless hours in front of cameras and mirrors has hammered it into your muscle memory until you can fool even the observant Batman. Is he actually fooled or does he just not care. “It's just study stress dude.”

“I think you should talk to someone if schools stressing you out for this long.”

You don't like the implication of that, who likes being reminded that people think you're failing. You snap at him without thinking. “i think you need to mind your business.”

The venom in your own voice surprised you, so much so that you quickly spoke up again when you saw his expression tighten. “….I didn't mean that.”

He doesn't look like he believes you.

“….y'know, last week I saved someone who fell off a boat.”

The random topic switch throws you for a loop, but the look he's giving you keeps you frozen in place. He leans back on his palms and looks down at the street far below again, people watching until he continues his odd spiel.

“Do you think I was wrong to do that?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you find yourself staring at the side of his face like it'll help you make sense of this. “…no? You're a superhero I'm pretty sure it's in the job description to save people.”

He turns his head and gives you a pointed look. “Well that person could swim, they didn't need an extra hand at the moment. I could've just waited until they were actually drowning to give them help. I could've minded my business until they were in real danger.”

The now-blatant analogy slashes through your previous defense so quickly that it almost embarrasses you, heat rising to your face as your look away. He can no doubt hear the panicked racing in your chest…

“…so I fell off a boat, in this instance. You're here to tell me I need to be saved.” You don't know if you sound bitter, or resigned. Maybe something between somewhere the two, all you can focus on right now is the inevitable pity party and acts of disgust disguised as just giving you your space when they pull away-

“No, I think you're the driver in this instance. You need to steer yourself out of trouble, and maybe just find someone who can actually teach you to not fall in the damn ocean like a drunk.”

The words are meant to make you laugh, they don't. Your nails tap against the side of the metal can without rhythm as you desperately study the different buildings, now catching the light of the descending sun like maybe you could find a way to escape this situation if you just avoided his stare for long enough. You don't need a ‘teacher’, someone who doesn't even know you acting entitled to your memories and thoughts. Does he want you to go check into Arkham or something? The media would never leave you alone if they saw the Wayne name anywhere near a shrink office, they'd think you were in rehab again.

No, you just need to work through this yourself. For the family reputation. It's just for the family image….

🔹🔹🔹

You're eighteen when you see your mother's name on a piece of paper.

Finding out you inherited anything from your mother was jarring, just an envelope slipped under your door by Alfred with some official looking stamp on it. Opening it up you were shocked to see anything addressed to you from a conservator…

There wasn't much, an account with a bit of money in your mother's maiden name, notes about the division of property and assets conducted by distant relatives, a storage unit with some of her belongings. That last one caught your attention enough to make you look the place up and call the conservators number about getting the key. It takes a few days but It gets you out of the house, an oversized coat dangling off your frame as you shuffled out to a car while trying to put in coordinates on your phone's GPS. You don't know what you expect, or what you'll even remember. It's probably all moth chewed and mildewy clothing and throw pillows, but you have to look.

Dew sticks to your skin as you slowly trudge past the rows of storage units behind the disgruntled old man with an obvious limp, his cane tapping loudly on concrete in the early morning silence. He didn't ask much, just what lot number you were looking for and if you knew where to find it. When you'd reluctantly said no he'd sighed loudly and hauled himself up, and now you're trailing after him as he slowly moves through the rows of lots.

Finally he stops in front of a lot, red metal garage style door just like every other neighboring storage lot. There's nothing special or noteworthy about it at all. Yet the thought of anything belonging to your mother being right here has your throat tightening, clammy hands shake as you pull the plain looking little key out of your pocket to find out what's in literal store for you.

The old man quietly disappears back towards the front building after turning one of the outside lights on for you, but you don't pay him mind as you examine the bagged up cardboard boxes. You can only silently wonder who went through the extra effort of wrapping up each box in protective plastic.

The first few boxes you get open are kinda what you expected, clothing, blankets, curtains and tablecloths. You pause and giggle with misty eyes when you find an old roller set that you vaguely remember seeing your mom wearing in the mornings as she cooked breakfast and sang along to some forgotten song on the cranked up radio. Dropping little bits in that mangy cats bowl while you tugged at her bathrobe and asked for your own nibbles.

You wipe at your eyes and continue.

You clamber over some furniture and nearly step on a smaller box half tucked under a stained up coffee table, when you regain your balance after nearly falling flat on your face, you test the integrity of the coffee table and sit down on it. This box is lighter, and when you shake it something hard rattles inside, well you know it's probably not an undergarments box anyways.

When you get the bag off and peel the box open, the first thing you see is your mother. This box is full of pictures. An old wooden frame finds it's way into your grasp and you examine the little forgotten piece of your past. You stared down at the photo in your shaking hands, you couldn't believe this was even still intact after all these years….

Your mother's face is staring up at you with a smile from within the frame, a baby you balanced on her knee. Who even took this photo? You recognize that tiny kitchen, the stains on the countertop from too much bleach cleaner, the old dining table that had a few scratches in it from your mother's wayward cat. It's a flashback to a whole different life, back when you only worried if you'd be on time to watch your cartoons or cried in the middle of class because your friend didn't want to play potion making with you on break.

Conners words from months ago repeat in your head as you study the face you'd nearly forgotten, was she always so…soft? A soft jaw, no jutting collarbones, she looks….. Peaceful. The fullness of her cheeks accentuates her barely-familiar grin, her hands, you remember they were always so warm, smooth back the baby you's hair with a tenderness you can see even in an old still shot. You lift a hand and press it against your own cheek, the digits are cold against your flesh.

What would she think of you if she could see you now?

Disappointed? Angry? Disgusted? No, she'd probably just be sad. Your thinning limbs and sunken eyes would've made the woman weep.

Your thumb sweeps over the photo frame, trying to remember every little moment with her you can pull up from the depths of your muddled memory. Did she ever make herself sick to feel beautiful? Did she ever look at the mirror and see a grotesque monster looking back? Did she ever look at you and sob at the happiness in your eyes, just as you're crying now and trying not to mess up her picture?

You'll never really know.

🔹🔹🔹

It's been two years, two whole years since you left that city.

The weeks stretched into months and longer between contact with the Wayne's, no texts or phone calls, no letters, not even an email. It used to bother you how easily they disappeared from your life, or rather that you disappeared from theirs. Now you're just numb to it, why should you waste anymore time on people that never saw you as one of their own? You've only got one life to live and you've wasted enough of it being in miserable company.

The metropolis skyline is still one of your favorite sites as you sit at your apartment window in relative silence, the quiet doesn't bother you anymore. Not like the manor did anyways. Here in this little place nothing disturbs your peace besides the little dumb orange kitten who keeps batting at your face whenever you're too relaxed.

Said nuisance is currently in your lap, acting like your thighs are biscuit dough it's shaping as it purrs and chuffs up a storm. It's a far cry from the pitiful little beast you'd pulled out of a dumpster, scrawny and scared but even then it'd purred when you'd gingerly tucked it under your arm, That's the main reason why Conner kept calling it boat.

Months ago it would've bothered you more to feel something press at the fat of your thighs, to bring attention to parts of yourself you still couldn't stand to look at.

Your therapist told you it was a sign of progress.

You finally peel your eyes away from the window pane when you hear keys jiggling in the lock and the door cracking open, you watch as Conner strolls in the door and quickly kicks it shut with his heel. He's already starting to awkwardly peel his leather jacket off with one arm by the time he looks up and catches your eye, he grins and holds up the two bags occupying his left elbow and shakes it like it's a cat treat bag. It's a takeout bag and a convenience store bag that you can already see The familiar yellow cans through.

“Hey, i brought some dinner home.”

🔹🔹🔹

| m.list |

A/n: If any of this is too insensitive please let me know, I based this off my own struggles with self image but I don't want to hurt anyone in anyway. That said, I was also inspired by @viilan and @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue their neglected reader fics were really inspiring and I love how they write their works💜

[m3vl0vesu]

╰☆☆ 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ☆☆╮

A/N: I don't really have any tw but it's probably gonba be sad, so be warned. I'm writing this with no hours of sleep and the worst mood in a while :). Also a oneshot, I was asked to write something gut-wrenching but I don't know if it is. Batsis!reader is 15-17 Your thoughts

@moraxussy I don't think it's as gut-wrenching as you hoped, sorry!! I hope you like it though :)

One of a bats closest relative is a puma, ironically they have nothing in common. Bats come in big groups, there always surrounded by at least one other bat. Pumas are solitary animals, they don't share their territory. They're recluse, and more viscous than bats.

You were more vicious. You didn't control your anger and grief, it controlled you, but you had to find a way mange it. Tomorrow was a special occasion after all, well that's what everyone was saying but...it didn't feel like it. Tomorrow, Bruce was bringing Selina Kyle over. The famous kleptomaniac aristocrat, also known as Catwoman. The thief turned...bat? You weren't exactly sure but it'd be nice for her and Bruce to finally clear up what they were. It must've been serious if she was going to have dinner with the family. Then again, you never really saw your dad be in a committed relationship. ... 'Dad'...nope still didn't sound right. Even after all the years living together he didn't deserve that title, at least not from you. The daughter of Bruce Wayne? it sounded so foreign to you, people saying that-it sounded wrong. No, you were your mothers daughter. It didn't matter if you couldn't picture her face anymore...yeah.

.

.

. For this special occasion you needed something special to where! You chose a vest suit, an off-white shirt underneath the brown, tattersall patterned vest. Paired with some old, black palazzo pants. It was a similar outfit your other had worn a while back, you saw it an old magazine rotting in the corner of your room. It felt nice to be dressed up for once, it'd gave you a reason to finally take a shower. With everyone making a big deal out of this you had a little hope that they would acknowledge you today. Maybe Selina could change things around here.

But as people ran chaotically in the hallway and different aromas travelled into your room, you realised something. Jason wasn't here. What. No, no...you couldn't survive these without him. Your leg shook as you waited for the phone to pick up. He was the only one that properly acknowledged your existence without being cruel. He was your favourite brother, favourite sibling. I mean the bar was low but, favourite nonetheless!

"What's up Star?" His voice sounded hoars, had he just woken up? Your irritancy only growing when he used that nickname. It was usually nice when he called you it, but right now it was the last thing you needed. "Don't call me that Jay. Where are you?" ...

The silence was deafening, he cleared his throat and it made you want to cry. "I'm sorry...I'm not coming kid." No. That wasn't fair. "Tch-Then can you...pick me up?" Your voice desperate as you hated all of it. A room full of people that don't even know you, and a stranger. It was personal hell. "Look, Star, I really think you'd benefit from thi-" You ended the call, scoffing, you pushed yourself off your bed.

.

.

.

She's so pretty She sat on the right side of Bruce. Who was, per usual, at the head of the table. Soon the peaceful moment turned loud. The sounds of knives scraping against plates, Steph's nails tapping the table, Tim an Damian bickering back to hell. Huh, the chicken was just out of your reach, usually Alfred would put it closest to your seat. After a few embarrassing minutes of reaching for it, and no one helping you, your just grabbed whatever was closest. At one point you swore you locked eyes with Tim while you were still reaching for the chicken and he just flat out ignored you. Maybe it was time to speak "uhm...can you pass...can you" why was this always so hard? "Can I...Can you pass the chicken please?" Now you were sure people heard you. You watched as Grayson picked up the plate and gave it to...Selina. Of-fucking-course.

"What am I, chopped liver?"

Shit. Your shoulders tensed up and your hands balled into fists on your lap. You were in so much- "Ha." Huh? Did she...laugh? Whatever. "Sorry...can you pass the chicken please?" She nodded, was it getting hot in here? Or was it just everyone looking at you?

"You never told me she had a sense of humour." She said, her soft smile shining as she turned to Bruce, the her eyes squinted. "I don't think you told me much about her at all actually." That sounds about right. He probably doesn't even know much about you. Her elbow leaned on the table and her chin rested on her fist. "Your Mother...she was a model right?" With those words she instantly got your attention, with your eyes shining you nodded. "Yeah! She was"

With the nod of her head she leaned back in her chair. "That outfit...she wore something similar to it." Oh you definitely like her.

Before you could respond, someone had to open their mouth. "She wasn't a very famous one." Damian said, his annoying voice once again ruining your mood. "Damian." Bruce muttered. You scoffed, usually these comments would be ignored. "privileged asshole." You poked at your plate, not really hungry anymore. In fact it felt like you might throw up, or break something. "What did you call me?" He said sitting up in his chair. "I called you a privileged asshole." You banged your fork onto the table, no everyone's attention was on you. From the corner of your eye you could see Tim's scowl, it was surprising him and Bruce weren't related. You couldn't take it when he slandered your mother, but for some reason you were the villian. "Star. Don't be like that." Dick nudged you, only making you recoil with disgust. "Who said you could call me Star? Don't call me that, dick." You heard your name being called, Alfred standing to the side. He was warning you. "Sorry-" "No need to be a bitch about it." Of course Steph had to join in, you felt your mouth open, ready to spew an infinite amounts of insults when you heard your name being called a second time. Pushing the chair and table hardly you walked behind him, being led to the kitchen. "I apologise for her behaviour." Bruce's voice rung in your ears. Fuck this. .

.

.

You stood, arms crossed out tapping your foot. "You need to have some decorum-" "Decorum? Me? What about Damian?" You hated arguing with the old man, you hated when he was upset at you. The tears were already pouring, could they here this? The door was slightly ajar after all. "Master Damian has been through a lot-" "Okay?" Your voice shook, it was so wrong. But it felt right, right screaming like this. "Yes. Yes he has, and? So have I."

Alfred, mouth was agape for a second, he hadn't seen her this upset before. "Now Miss...you can't compare-" Great now you lost first name privileges. "Right. Everyone's been through tough shit, guess what? So have I!" Your voice getting louder, the anger pulsing through your veins. "I've been hurt and I'd never treat them like how I've been treated!'' Your arm extended out to the door, your other hand slapping your chest. Where your heart would be.

"WHY!...Why is their pain different from my pain?"

The question hung in the air, you held back sobs. Alfred looked tired now, almost guilty. His composure wilting slightly. "It...that's not what I mean-" Now that you had started you couldn't stop. "Do I not deserve the same amount of recognition, the same amount of love?" You felt yourself taking a step back, your whole body shaking. It's like it had a mind of it's own. "You do deserve it, please calm down..." Calm down?. Calm down? She wanted to shout at him, this wasn't fair. "You know what Alfred?" The breaths getting shorter. "What Miss.." "I wish I had stayed inside that day, I wish I burned with my mother." He looked visibly shaken for a moment, his voice gave it away. "You don't mean that." "I mean it. That way I would've died with her, knowing she loved me." Your voice got quiet at the end, barely above a whisper. Why was it always this way? What did you ever do to them. You hated this, you weren't their family. With every similarity there was difference, not a Wayne and not a Bat. But even so why couldn't they accept that and accept you.

.

.

.

The butler placed whatever he was holding down, you didn't know what it was and didn't care. The sobs were too hard to control, it made your body ache. He stepped closer, arms wide as you fell into them. Clinging on like you were going to fall apart.

A/N: Why does this suck lol

[batexon]

Petty high school love

normal highschool au with batfam as your childhood family-friends and dick grayson as your “secret” crush growing up

pairing: dick grayson x reader? jason todd x reader?

You were born in a relatively good family. a loving mom and dad, and a typical younger, annoying brother.

Life was peaceful, predictable, in that childhood sort of way.

But one day, your family moved to a new place, and it was next to a rich neighbourhood.

You were 8 when you first met the Waynes.

Specifically, Richard “Dick” Grayson (8) and his younger brother Jason Todd (7). Two boys adopted by the reclusive but famous billionaire, Bruce Wayne.

And you seemed to click with them seamlessy.

It was so natural. So easy. Like you were meant to meet them.

Soon enough, you met their other siblings: Cassandra Cain (6), the quiet girl who seemed to take a liking to you. Tim Drake (4), who always had a passion for photography for as long as you could remember, and Damian Wayne (1)—he was the kid of Bruce Wayne and his ex wife Talia Al Ghul—daughter of the infamous politician Ra’s Al Ghul.

Since you’d become friends with the Waynes’ kids, your childhood wasn’t exactly normal.

With the Waynes came the chaos, the media buzz, the constant whispers about their family and money and tragedies.

With how popular they were for their background and good looks, of course people will flock to them.

And despite that, the Waynes made sure that you never drifted too far.

Somehow, they always made time for you.

Made sure you weren’t just another face in the crowd, just another neighbor they once knew.

You were their precious friend after all.

Which brings you to where you are now.

In your last year in highschool.

Still walking the halls with Gotham’s golden boy.

Still best friends with Mr. Popular himself—Dick Grayson.

It was embarrassing to say, but over the years, you’ve grown to have a crush on him.

You told yourself it was just hormones or proximity or the fact that he once lent you his hoodie during a chilly autumn morning when you were eleven.

He had smiled and said, “Can’t let you freeze to death, right?” like it was nothing.

Safe to say that your ears were flushed red after that interaction. and it wasn’t because of the cold.

You thought it was some stupid, small crush, that would go away after a while.

You kept waiting for it to go away. It never did.

If anything, it got worse.

Your heart still jumps into your throat every time he shows up at your doorstep to walk you to school, hoodie slung lazily over his shoulder, Jason grumbling and yawning behind him, and Cass quietly tossing you an apple she probably (definitely) stole from Alfred’s kitchen.

Dick always greets you with that same easy grin—the one that somehow makes your stomach do flips and your brain forget how to function.

Your face still heats up whenever Dick walks a little too close, his arm brushing yours, or when your fingers accidentally graze while you’re reaching for the same snack in the convenience store.

Or when he reaches over your shoulder to grab something in your locker, his voice low and casual in your ear.

You can’t even look him in the eye after moments like that.

And god forbid he ever leaned down to whisper a joke during class—your brain would go static for a full minute afterward.

And don’t even get started on the time he ruffled your hair after you nailed your chem test—the test that he helped you prepare for—like that wasn’t the emotional equivalent of a fireworks show in your chest.

You’re sure no one notices. Or at least, you hope no one does.

Because being best friends with Dick Grayson while also being hopelessly, quietly, pathetically in love with him?

Yeah. That’s your very specific brand of teenage tragedy.

It didn’t help that he was always so effortlessly him.

Like when he’d slide into the cafeteria seat across from you and steal a fry without asking, then wink like it was some shared secret.

Or when he’d toss his jacket over your shoulders after gym because “you always forget yours.”

You definitely didn’t spend the rest of the day trying not to bury your face in it like a weirdo.

Even the little things made your heart betray you.

Like how he’d ruffle your hair whenever you looked too stressed, or call you childish names in that teasing tone of his.

Or how he’d remember the tiniest details—your favorite candy, the name of that book you said you wanted to read, the exact kind of coffee you liked and how you took it.

Or the way he texts you late at night with dumb memes or random thoughts just because “you’d get it.”

It wasn’t fair. He made it so easy to fall for him and impossible to stop.

You told yourself not to read too much into it.

That he was like this with everyone.

That it didn’t mean anything when he stayed behind after school just to help you clean up when it was your turn.

Or when he casually slung an arm around your shoulders during movie night with the Waynes like it was no big deal.

Like it was second nature, like that didn’t crumble your carefully built walls

This is just who Dick Grayson is. Warm. Friendly. Impossible not to love.

But each time, your heart just refused to listen.

Because no matter how hard you tried to keep it together, whenever Dick Grayson looks at you—really looks at you, with that soft, half-lidded gaze—you couldn’t help but hope.

Even if you knew better.

You’ve had moments to tell him.

Plenty, actually.

Times where the words were right there, sitting on your tongue, begging to be let out. But you always chickened out.

Or got interrupted. Or convinced yourself it wasn’t worth the risk.

Because if you confessed, and he didn’t feel the same… then what?

Ten years of friendship down the drain, all because you couldn’t keep your stupid, selfish feelings in check.

So you stayed quiet.

Pushed your feelings down, and played your part as Dick’s best friend.

That is, until she arrived.

The new girl.

The one who transferred in the middle of the semester with a sunny smile and eyes that practically glowed.

She was beautiful in that effortless, otherworldly way.

Confident. Kind. And when Dick saw her for the first time, he actually stopped in his tracks.

That was the first time you’ve seen him look so… in awe.

Kori Anders. That was what her name was.

The girl who had somehow made Dick Grayson do a double take.

The girl who Dick Grayson was currently… interested in.

Of course you weren’t stupid.

You could see it in his eyes—the way he looked at her, the way he tried so hard to get to know her.

You’ve never seen him look at someone like that before.

You’ve never seen him try so hard to get to know someone.

You’ve seen him smile. You’ve seen him flirt. You’ve seen him charmed and intrigued and amused.

But this? The way his gaze lingered. The way he lit up just talking to her. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening.

For the first time, Dick Grayson was smitten. And you’d be a fool to not see it.

You didn’t blame her. Of course not.

You couldn’t blame her.

She was radiant—beautiful in that effortless, almost ethereal way.

The kind of girl who made everyone feel seen.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You were heartbroken. For days.

You skipped out on hangouts, made up excuses.

You cried into your pillow more times than you’d ever admit. Ugly, raw sobbing that left your chest hollow and your eyes swollen.

You were miserable.

And you hated yourself for it.

Because it was pathetic.

Crying over unrequited love like some dramatic teenager in a soap opera.

You should have been over it years ago.

You’d always known he would never see you that way.

He was Dick Grayson.

And you? You were just… you.

His friend. His little shadow. The one who never stood a chance..

You should’ve let go a long time ago. Should’ve walked away, or at the very least, built up thicker walls.

But you hadn’t.

You couldn’t.

You had refused to come out of your room—that is, until Jason personally came to drag you out.

Apparently, your younger brother had ratted you out. Said something about how his sister was “throwing a tantrum and acting like a brat.” And Jason, being Jason, had taken it upon himself to show up.

Because of course he did.

He didn’t knock gently or text you first or wait politely for an invitation. No. He marched in like a damn hurricane, pulled open your curtains, and dropped a bag of takeout on your desk with a raised eyebrow like “You’re really gonna sit here and rot, huh?”

You tried to hide under the blanket. Pretend you were asleep. You weren’t. He knew.

“Come on, quit hiding.” Jason had said, not unkindly.

“And unless you’ve suddenly taken a vow of silence, you’re gonna tell me what the hell’s going on before I have to drag your dramatic ass out of bed.”

You didn’t answer. Just buried your face deeper into the sheets.

Jason didn’t push—not really. He sat on the edge of your bed and waited. Quiet, patient.

Eventually, you cracked. Because you always did with him.

You cried.

Hard.

Snot, tears, hiccuping breath. You buried your face into his shoulder and let it all out—every pathetic, tangled emotion you’d been trying to stuff down for weeks.

You were embarrassed. Crying over an unrequited love you had for years. You should just try and get over these feelings. you know that. But you just can’t.

And Jason didn’t say a word.

He didn’t make you feel stupid. Didn’t tell you to move on or suck it up.

He just let you cry.

Let you vent. Let you admit, between choking sobs, how hopeless it all felt. How humiliated you were. How pathetic it was to still love someone who never even saw you.

You called yourself every name in the book. Desperate. Embarrassing. Ridiculous.

Jason just listened.

And by the time your tears dried, his hoodie was ruined—stained with tears and god knows how much snot.

You should’ve been mortified.

But you weren’t. Not even a little.

Because this was Jason.

Jason, who had always seen the ugliest parts of you and never once flinched.

Jason, who knew exactly when to call you out and when to simply sit and be there.

Jason, who never asked for anything in return.

He was your friend. Just as much—if not more—than Dick was.

After that day, things changed.

Not all at once.

It wasn’t some magical, movie-moment transformation.

But you stopped crying yourself to sleep.

You started showing up again—quietly, cautiously. You laughed when your friends cracked jokes, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You started doing things that made you feel like you again, even if only for a little while.

And through it all, you kept your distance from Dick.

You didn’t mean to.

You weren’t trying to punish him.

But being around him hurt in a way you couldn’t put into words.

So you pulled back. Bit by bit.

He noticed.

You saw it in his furrowed brows, in the way he lingered when saying goodbye, in the texts that grew a little more frequent, a little more worried.

But you didn’t have the strength to explain yourself.

Not yet.

Instead, you threw yourself into distractions.

Hobbies. Schoolwork. Books.

Anything to keep your mind from wandering back to that familiar ache.

But what’s this?

Why does it seem like Jason is frequently by your side now?

Why does he sit with you during lunch, and nudge your tray with his elbow, pretending he just happened to end up next to you?

Why does he wait for your classes to end to walk you home after school?

Why does he hand you your favourite drinks or snacks with a nonchalant, “You looked like you needed a pick-me-up.” before you head off for your tuition classes?

You told yourself it was just Jason being Jason.

That he was just trying to comfort you from your heartbreak in his own way.

But then he started showing up everywhere.

Always by your side, like he was trying to be your shadow now.

Like he was quietly stitching himself into the parts of your life that used to belong to someone else.

And maybe—just maybe—you let him.

Because now… now you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You caught yourself scanning the halls for him between classes.

Smiling at your phone whenever notifications from him popped up.

You remembered the shape of his hands as he grabbed yours in his.

The sound of his laugh whenever you said something stupid.

The way his jacket smelled when he pulled it over your shoulders without asking.

He was there. So consistently, so unshakably there.

And you started to wonder.

Why is he always around?

Why is he suddenly acting like you matter more than anyone else?

Why does it feel like Jason’s the one holding the pieces of you together?

Why can’t you get him out of your head?

You don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was slow. Maybe it was all at once.

But somewhere between heartbreak and healing…

Jason Todd somehow found his way into your heart.

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