#wayne chapter three

[freddyloyd]

I understand Tim Drake because I too hate when Bruce & Dicks actions don't line up with my head canons of them.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 

 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 

Would Harrington pitch a fit? 

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 

Several somethings, in fact. 

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 

An unfair advantage, really. 

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 

"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 

"Anybody else?" He asked. 

"Nobody human." Steve replied. 

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…" 

"You take any today son?" 

Steve his head. 

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 

Course he hadn't. 

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 

[starry-bi-sky]

I had. TWO (2) goals for chapter 5 of “late at night, when the nightingale sings” that i wanted to hit before the end of the chapter.

I have not hit either of them

I am. 6 thousand words deep into the chapter with no plans of stopping until i get both.

Bruce and Danny have circumvented at LEAST three Minor Important Conversations they were supposed to have with one another, in favor of talking about Less Important Shit.

You boys.

FOLLOW THE SCRIPT I GAVE YOU

[erinwantstowrite]

what would be the reaction of each one of the bats to peter hugging them out of the blue ?

i actually have an entire page in my notebook dedicated to keeping track of this (mostly it was a prompt to get in the writing mood but now it's a reference)

Dick: obviously met with joy and an immediate hug back, they will not be letting go until 30 minutes later. he is crying but trying not to let Peter tell that he is. yes he does this nearly every time

Bruce: i think he would cry. Bruce doesn't cry often (in front of people at least) but if this happened he would get all teary eyed. mostly because he's thinking back to when Dick was that age and he would hug Bruce + he knows it's a big sign of trust if Peter is hugging you. he'd also hug Peter back but it'd take him a second to figure out what's going on

Jason: freezes for long enough that Peter pulls away and says 'sorry.' this happens a few times before Jason is used to it and he hugs Peter back. he also now has to make up for how he reacted before so Peter's the only one allowed to hug him for more than five seconds (I hc that Jay isn't great with physical affection like he was Before but he does like physical affection.)

Tim: he's used to Dick's random hugs so while he wasn't expecting it the first time and he took a second, he gets the hang of this very fast and he hugs Peter back every time

Steph: absolutely overjoyed. she'll be confused but she's the one who hugs him back and swings him around. she will continue to be happy for the rest of the day. she's more used to Peter hugs (1. because of Dick, just like Tim but also 2. because Peter isn't as hesitant around her).

Duke: confusion, awkward hug with a pat on the back the first few times. the more hugs he gets, the more comfortable he is with it. the first hug = "If anything happens to this kid I will end the world as we know it." and by the fourth surprise hug Duke has learned to hug Peter first

Cass: she's not surprised at all. she knew it would be coming and by the time Peter figures out he wants to hug her, she's opened her arms. i think Cass would love gentle hugs for herself, but often knows what type of hugs other people need/like best. like sometimes you just need a hug that crushes you a little bit and other times you just want someone there. Cass has it figured out

Dami: SWEARS that Peter is being so weird and so awful but the longer he's away from the League and the more he hangs out with his family the more he understands that he likes physical affection. He hugs Peter back but it's hesitant the first few times. Later on, though, Dami accepts and gives hugs. and if Dami is sitting on the couch Peter will flop onto the couch with his entire body weight. Dami promises to kill him every time but never goes through with it. they'll chill there for a little bit. classic sibling bothering.

Babs: has been used to hugs from Dick for a while, but she's surprised to realize that Peter trusts her that much. that's also when she realizes how much she cares about him and, like Duke, decides that if anything happened to Peter, she'd make someone rue the day

Alfred: just like with all of his grandchildren, Alfie doesn't initiate the hug first. but they know that if they want a hug, Alfie's there for them.

[chasingfigments]

The ringtone lets Bruce know before he’s even pulled the phone out that someone in his family is calling from a civilian line, which—given the current hour—should mean Alfred is calling. The caller ID displays Tim Drake instead. Threads of concern and apprehension coil through him, but it’s possible—something prevented Tim from heading out with Dick tonight. If he were sick, or injured, Alfred would have let him know already, but it’s possible something came up with school or his friends. Dick would be just fine handling a solo night in the Batman suit. There’s no proof that anything is wrong yet. Bruce takes a steady breath and accepts the call. “Hey, Tim,” he says as he unlocks his car. “I’m—” “Sorry,” a mechanized voice cuts in, and Bruce goes still, fingers curled around the driver door handle. “Tim’s not available right now.”

Or: Instead of taking over the drug trade, Red Hood kidnaps Bruce Wayne.

[akela-nakamura]

Can't Escape the Fallout HELLO!! I'm SO happy to finally share my Ghouls and Gangs DPxDC Bang fic!!! I can't believe it's time to post!

Be sure to check out all the other works that have been posted for this event! Check @dpxdcbigbang or search the dpxdcbang2024 tag for everyone's lovely works.

AND be extra sure to check out @mycanite!! He was my artist for this Bang, and the art he made is fantastic.

[bitterrobin]

having a time 👍

[applejee]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Tam Fox Characters: Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Tam Fox Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Steph Never Met The Bats, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Identity Porn, Secret Relationship, Miscommunication, BAMF Stephanie Brown, Protective Stephanie Brown, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Batfam Big Bang 2022 Summary:

When Stephanie Brown lands the position of a lifetime as Tim Drake-Wayne’s bodyguard, she expects a straightforward, if exhausting, job. For the most part, she’s correct, but when she meets his mysterious sister, Cassandra Wayne, Steph falls head over heels in an instant, and Cass seems like she’s falling for her, too. In her fight to keep her deeply-buried past a secret, and her burgeoning relationship from becoming a conflict of interest, Steph soon discovers there’s a lot more to Cass and the Wayne family than she ever thought possible.

[cdelphiki]

By late morning, Jason and the brats were off the train and walking through the city of London, looking for the little tailor shop where their final document pickup was supposed to happen.

So far, Jason hadn’t noticed anyone trailing them, and it was honestly sort of putting him on edge. They hadn’t seen a hint of the League in several days… But hopefully they really threw Ra’s men off by hopping on that train in New Delhi.

Maybe Ra’s could be thinking they were still in India, since the identities they’d flown to India with technically never left. That would be cool if Ra’s could just waste his time forever searching for them in India.

But Jason wasn’t naïve enough to believe that. Chances were Ra’s had some sort of access to the security cameras around the world, and had already figured out they were in Europe. Jason did his best to not look up for cameras to get a good shot of his face, but he had to be realistic here. Him and three kids were kind of obviously the four of them.

The tailor’s was a small little shop wedged between a sandwich shop and the lobby for what Jason assumed was the apartments upstairs. Casually, Jason opened the door and motioned for the kids to go inside first, then he followed right after them. He hardly had a chance to size up the two men inside before he heard the door click shut behind him.

Then lock.

Continue reading on Ao3

[lovelesslittleloser]

Genuinely want to read a fanfiction about a random Gothamite writing a fanfiction shipping Bruce Wayne & Batman, and coincidentally guessing too many facts right, forcing B to read self-ship fanfiction to make sure they aren’t a threat

[tangled-wires-and-a-dead-heart]

Here they are! finally finished my drawings of my scarlet hollow mcs as tarot cards!

this was for a thing that @apollosglare challenged people to do so yeah!

(the rest of them are under the cut)

[freddyloyd]

😢

[nosferatufaggot]

The brainrot is too much. I haven't written a fanfic in over seven years, vowing to do it never again. The world in my head is big enough, I understand the characters in my head and every nuance to them. The one and only fanfic I've ever written sucks so I figured since I could never know someone else's character inside and out and write them perfectly, I'd never try to write fanfic again.

But the brain rot is too real. I'm breaking my seven year streak to write batjokes. I incredibly do not think I'll do a good job or do the characters justice. I'm not hardcore into the Batman universe either. But there is simply not enough Bruce Wayne x Joker fanfic out there. I'm gonna write mostly one shots for sure. I only have like, four ideas right now. So <33333

If anyone wants to infodump on me the world building of Gotham, that would be great. And also who are canonically friends with the Joker. I know Joker is like "society" and stuff which is totally valid, and I wanna know exactly what he is talking about.

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission. Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

prologue - Next chapter

Masterlist

Chapter one - A glimpse into the family secret

The knight of the night, the man with a thousand plans, Gotham's greatest detective, was holding his daughter, Serelith, with such tenderness and delicacy. She was crying in her arms, scared. And rightly so: Serelith had never lived through anything like this before. Her other siblings had some pity for her now, even Damian showed a hint of sympathy, probably because of the fear they all felt over what could’ve happened to her at the Joker’s hands.

Then there was the other daughter. Batman's illegitimate child, the youngest of the Waynes, no, the youngest of the Valfinsas, watching with tearful eyes from behind the bars as the family she grew up with held their blood daughter close. Leaving her alone.

The Joker just laughed, shoving the girl hard against the bars. -Hahaha! Looks like Batsy's got his favorites- he laughed louder. All the girl could do was stare through tearful eyes, praying, just once. for someone to turn around. To look at you.

-The Joker can wait. Priority is getting Serelith out of here- That’s what Dick said. The perfect big brother. Someone who, like her, had also been adopted. He handed Serelith a pill and a bottle of water. Carefully, they took Serelith away, leaving the building where the two of them had been held captive.Leaving you there. Not looking back. Not noticing you were missing.

The Joker let out a cold laugh, already getting ready to have fun with the new toy Bruce had left behind. -Don’t worry. I won’t take my eyes off you- he scoffed, looking right at you as you cried. How you wished you had gotten out of here, out of a place where no one ever looked at you.

You threw the comic across the bed, looking at it like it was the devil himself.

A few weeks ago, you'd decided to try reading comics to bond with your family. You'd once overheard Stephanie teasing Damian about reading and drawing manga, and maybe Tim might be into it too, right? After all, there are games based on comics. So, you spent your allowance on one, hoping it'd at least end with you arguing with Damian about the difference between manga and comics, or maybe Tim would recommend one based on one of his games.

You'd gone to a store after finishing your homeschooling session with Alfred, browsed a few comics, and then, suddenly, felt a strong bump against your side, right where your bag was hanging. When you looked down, you noticed three comics had fallen to the floor. You tried putting them back, but couldn’t figure out where they were supposed to go. With no other option, you looked for help from the clerk—who didn’t even bother to pay attention to you.

-Another kid trying to sneak in their hero stories? Listen, girl, you're not going to get famous just because someone randomly reads a comic drawn by a 12 years old-.

No matter how much you insisted they weren't yours, he didn't believe you. You got kicked out of the store. Great. But hey, at least you had three new comics to read for free! And not just any comics, they were about Gotham's great vigilante himself! Not exactly what you were going for, but maybe you'd get to connect with someone in your family by talking about the city's crime and its paper version.

You got back to Wayne Manor all excited, and started reading the three comics that had literally fallen from the sky.

And that's how you ended up here.

Batman: Bloodline. That was the name of the comic saga you just finished reading, the one that left a bitter taste in your mouth. At first, after reading the opening pages, you thought it was fake, a bad joke, some prankster who thought it would be hilarious to realistically draw the millionaire playboy dressed as a bat, acting as Gotham’s nocturnal hero. No wonder the shop clerk didn’t believe you. This probably wouldn’t help you get any closer to your brothers, but maybe if you showed it to Dick or Jason, they’d make fun of Bruce with you. So you kept reading.

But then all your siblings showed up, as the Robins and the Batgirls. And then you appeared. Not playing any role, not as a hero, just you. The daughter born from one of Bruce’s deepest loves, a model beautiful both inside and out, who had died just days after giving birth to you. A child who looked nothing like her mother, and even less like her father.

Everything was… eerily accurate. The mannerisms, the backstories, everyone’s personalities, they were spot on. Even the inside of the manor was a perfect match! You kept reading, uneasily, and that’s when she showed up: a girl with Bruce’s same stoic seriousness, and your mother’s same warmth. The drawing copied her features almost perfectly.

The comic was about her; Serelith. How she was found, as the original daughter. How she adapted to the family. And finally, how you and she were kidnapped by the Joker. How the family saved her. And left you behind.

You don’t want to believe it. Even if that girl crying behind the bars looked so much like you. Even if every detail lined up so perfectly. You didn’t want to believe that this family, the same one you beg and plead for even a crumb of love, forgot about you in such a horrible moment.

You hide the three comics under your pillow. You refuse to eat when Alfred calls for dinner, and you fake being asleep until the night falls.

You look at the time on the cat-shaped clock hanging on the wall waiting for the right moment to come. You get up from bed and carefully make your way through the giant manor, until you’re standing in the same room where the old clock is. If it’s true, if they’re really Gotham’s vigilantes , they would notice immediately, and all of this will have been for nothing… or maybe they won’t even glance in your direction.

You didn’t see anyone for a few minutes from your hiding spot. You thought maybe they’d glanced in your direction, and were just waiting for you to leave.

Until you saw Tim, Zesti drink in hand, clear signs of sleeplessness under his eyes, dark circles, and wearing his Red Robin suit, walk up to the clock and set the time to 10:47. The same time as in the comic.

You felt your heart beating faster and faster. You wanted to cry just from seeing that time there, right in front of you. Mocking you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You ran off, tripping over a few things along the way.

You got to your room and threw yourself into bed. You could feel the comics crinkle beneath your pillow as you laid your head down, just like your heart crumbled when you realized… that part of the comic was real. Which meant not only that you weren’t the daughter of that woman, but that all these years, and all the ones still to come, meant nothing to your family.

You feel the tears slowly forming in your eyes. You want to do something, think of a plan to avoid the day you end up in the Joker’s hands, but your mind is clouded. You try to sit up, feeling the anxiety course through your body. You need to start planning how to escape the Joker, how to live away from the Waynes. You don’t have time for whatever’s happening to you. Your trembling hand goes to search for the comics under your pillow, but it freezes when you hear someone knock on the door and then open it without waiting for an answer.

You turn to look at the entrance, finding Tim there, clearly exhausted. Your hands shift to clutch the sheets, gripping them tightly as you see Tim in his Red Robin suit standing in front of you.

Tim’s had a rough few days. He hasn’t slept well due to a case, and there’s a small crisis at Wayne Enterprises. He almost went without a shower for more than a week, he was close to breaking his own record. The lack of sleep made his instincts and everything he’s learned as a Robin falter. Even so, he insisted on going out tonight to look for clues. He got dressed and ready to leave with the others, and with a brain half-asleep, he didn’t realize something, or someone, was watching him as he was about to leave. Until he heard a noise that alerted him. By reflex, he turned to look and saw your smaller figure collide with a couch, then get up and keep running.

The sleep vanished in an instant, and on instinct, he ran after you, thinking about how he would convince you not to tell Bruce you’d seen him.

He opened the door without asking, just knocking out of courtesy, expecting to find you excited, shouting with joy at the discovery that your older brother was one of Gotham’s heroes. But instead, he saw you, breathing heavily, clutching the sheets tightly, crying.

You’ve always been sensitive, crying over the loss of your mother or because Bruce didn’t give you attention. He’d always agreed with Steph and Jason that you might be overreacting. Everyone in the family had lost someone, and it’s hard for Bruce to give more attention with so many kids and the mantle of Batman weighing on him. Even if you didn’t know the latest, you should be more patient. Besides, didn’t you have Damian keeping you company? And he was sure that at least once, you’d gone to the library with Babs…

Even though part of him thought you were exaggerating, the way you cried now, the way you trembled and avoided looking at him like he was a traitor, told him this time was different. And it made him feel something pressing inside of him.

He slowly approached the bed and sat next to you, studying you more carefully. You seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack. He tried calling your name to get your attention, but you didn’t respond.

Tim quickly thought about how to calm you down. You weren’t quite in the middle of an anxiety attack yet, so he might be able to stop it from escalating. He scanned your room, searching for something that might help him hold you steady.

…

Has your room always been this… empty? For being the daughter of a model and a millionaire, one would expect your room to be full of toys and luxuries. But it’s almost bare. There are a few things visible: misshapen cushions with exposed threads, a blanket of mismatched colors, and some decorations hanging from the shelves and walls, arranged from the ugliest to the most beautiful.

For your luck, he manages to spot a small blue plush dog on a shelf. He quickly grabs it and forces it into your smaller, more fragile hands.

– Squeeze – He orders. You obey. Your mind, at some point, kept replaying the comic's drawings, where they abandoned you, where the same person in front of you did nothing.

– Breathe with me, at least once, breathe – Tim's voice reaches your ears. By instinct, you follow, tightening the plush toy even more in your hands. The images slowly fade from your mind, what you felt could’ve been worse begins to vanish, and your tearful gaze meets a pair of blue eyes looking back at you with concern.

Tim feels a small relief inside him that you didn’t end up in a full-blown panic attack, but he's still worried about you. Why did finding out it was Red Robin cause that reaction? Why, all of a sudden, aren’t you looking at him with pleading eyes wanting attention, but instead, avoiding his gaze? The silence between you two forms slowly, becoming more noticeable, until you wipe away your tears. You summon strength to look at him and break the silence with a voice firm but trembling slightly.

–I won’t tell anyone you’re Red Robin… I promise… you can leave now – You didn’t feel like explaining to Tim that you found a comic from the future, you weren’t even sure he would believe you, or if he would listen.

He, on the other hand, was shocked. Were you kicking him out of your room? Was this your reaction to finding out he's Red Robin? Did you not care? What's wrong with you? He looked at you, still incredulous. Why were you acting like this all of a sudden? Or had you always been, and I just hadn’t paid enough attention to you? He replayed the events of the week in his mind, remembering that you once talked about going to buy comics, maybe like you tried to talk at dinner… dinner from… how long ago was that? He kept going over what he remembered, what could’ve triggered your near panic attack? Why weren’t you looking at him like before? And why, now that you did, was it with coldness and pain? Then it clicked. Maybe you heard his recent conversation with Jason? Both had mentioned what he talked about with Steph, how sometimes you cried too much and seemed exaggerated. Was that it? That was probably it, right? Maybe not the reason for your near anxiety crisis, but it was definitely why you wanted him out of your room. You didn’t want him to keep seeing you like this, did you? Well, he wasn’t the best at handling emotions, that was more Dick’s thing, but still, he couldn’t leave you emotionally constipated. They already had enough of that from Bruce, Jason, and Damian. So, he left your room, informed Bruce that he wouldn’t go out with them tonight, changed out of his suit into pajamas, and came back to your room. You looked at him confused. He didn’t blame you, he had never been close to you like this before, but now, he wanted to be. He wanted you to stop looking at him like that.

Thank God you took the opportunity when Tim left to move the comics. You couldn’t do much, just toss them under your bed. You were hoping he wouldn’t look there now that it seemed he wanted to sleep in your room. He lay next to you, and you gave him his space. You both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, until he finally decided to break it.

–Are you okay?–

It was a simple question, short and direct, yet you just stared at the ceiling. Thinking about his question and everything else.

Some comics, from who knows where, revealed to you that this isn’t your biological family, that they’re also Gotham’s vigilantes, and that for a girl they’d known for only a few months, they abandoned you; To the daughter who, even if not by blood, had been part of the family all its life

Should you have seen it coming? Yes. Ever since you can remember, no one in this family has really worried about you, paid attention to you, or even looked at you. No parent events, no movie nights, nothing. You don’t have memories of anyone except Alfred giving you ice cream for every good grade on your tests.

Why were they different with you? More than half of the family doesn’t share blood, yet they still love and care for each other. Couldn’t you get just a little bit of that affection? What was different?

Was it because you took the place of your mother’s true daughter? Maybe they always felt like you didn’t belong, like you weren’t what they expected.

Serelith was the original, the real one. That’s why she earned their affection. That’s why everyone else cares about her. Not even your brothers… No, not even Bruce’s adopted sons or his two biological children lied. Only you. You were the only one who entered the family through a lie you never even told.

They’re detectives. Even if they don’t say anything or investigate, their instincts probably tell them you’re not who you’re supposed to be…

And now that you’ve confirmed the comics are real, it means you’re destined to suffer at the hands of the Joker.

In the comics, he finds out about Bruce’s “beloved” daughters, the only ones in the family who aren’t vigilantes, and kidnaps both of you. The family quickly comes up with a plan to search for you… to search for her. Bruce and the others completely forget you exist, leaving you at the mercy of one of Gotham’s worst criminals.

Were you okay? …No, you weren’t. Not while you remained in this family that doesn’t really feel like yours. What you want most now is to get out of here, for the Joker to never see you as Batman’s daughter, for no one to see you at all, until you’re far from where you never belonged. Only then would you be okay. But for now…

– Yeah, I’m fine – you answered, sounding a little too calm for Tim’s liking. He just sighed beside you and turned to face the other way. He couldn’t bear to look at you. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to finish the case and the situation at Wayne Enterprises as fast as possible, so he could focus entirely on figuring out what was going on with you. – Good night – Tim said as he tried to fall asleep. – Good night – you answered, turning your back to him as well, already thinking about how you’d make a plan tomorrow to leave this place as soon as possible.

This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I had trouble concentrating and translating it into English. I’ll try to update this fic every Friday, or at least every two weeks if time allows. If for some reason I can’t stick to the two-week schedule (which probably means I have writer’s block and won’t be writing for a while), I’ll let you know. I’ll probably update on Ao3 first because the fanfic was originally written in my native language, and I’m posting everything there in its original form, in case anyone wants to check it out. On another note, I wonder if anyone will notice that the section dividers are different, one has Batfam and Philomel images in the background, and the other is empty…

Taglist

@lettucel0ver @sirenetheblogger

[deadpoetskin]

DADDY, YOU DUMMY — II

SYNOPSIS: One moment, Wayne Manor is calm. The next, there’s a toddler standing in the dining room with a Red Robin plush, and a very familiar pair of blue eyes.

None of Bruce’s sons have children. Only one of them is even in a relationship.

And that is most definitely not Timothy Jackson Drake PAIRINGS: Tim Drake x Fem! Reader, Original Female Character TAGS: Time Travel, Slow burn, Strangers to Lovers

🜼 :: had to cut it short again 'cause it was getting too long but at least this time there's mentions of the reader. i think by next chapter she'll finally have a scene

🜼 :: lemme know if you wanna be tagged for part three

At some point during the early hours, Tim had resorted to Google.

what do you feed a four-year-old for breakfast 

how to talk to a kid who thinks you’re their dad 

time travel psychological trauma in toddlers

The results weren’t helpful. A few parenting blogs, some clickbait titles, one academic article about multiverse theory, and a Buzzfeed quiz titled Which Justice League Member Should Babysit Your Kid? (He got J’onn.)

He clicked none of them.

So now he sat there, elbows on his knees, his cold coffee abandoned on the nightstand, staring into the quiet stretch of morning as if it might offer answers.

The rustle of sheets pulled Tim out of his thoughts.

He turned just in time to see Gia stir, shifting beneath the covers. Her tiny brows scrunched first, nose wrinkling like something in her dream hadn’t gone her way. Then her fingers tightened briefly around the Red Robin plush before her eyes fluttered open.

Sleep-heavy and glassy, they blinked once.

Then again.

Her gaze scanned the unfamiliar room. The heavy curtains, the warm Gotham morning light peeking through cracks in the blinds, the shelves lined with books and tech Tim hadn’t moved in years. She looked up—and her eyes landed on him.

“Daddy?” she mumbled, voice rough and soft from crying and sleep.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m here.”

He stood and moved to the edge of the bed and sat beside her, careful not to crowd her. Tim instinctively leaned forward just as she threw herself at him, arms flinging around his neck.

“Do you want some breakfast?”

She considered this, lips pursing. “Only if it’s not green.”

He blinked. “Green?”

“Uncle Dickie made me ‘healthy pancakes’ once and they were green and yucky.”

Tim almost laughed. Almost.

“No green pancakes,” he promised.

“Okay.” She nodded, decisive. Then, after a pause—“Do you have work with Grampa already? Can you stay for breakfast?”

“…Yeah. Of course, I can.”

Gia had never let go of him.

She clung like ivy, one arm still around his neck even as Tim carefully stood up and carried her down the hallway. Her Red Robin plush dangled from her hand, bumping softly against his shoulder as they moved.

The manor was quiet in the early morning hush. Pale sunlight slipped through the tall windows, catching dust motes and the edges of picture frames on the walls.

Tim padded barefoot into the kitchen, and to no one’s surprise, Alfred was already there.

A full spread had been laid out. Pancakes, eggs, fruit, toast—classic comfort fare. There was even a mug waiting for Tim on the counter, the exact way he liked it. No one had to ask.

Gia perked up the moment the smell hit her nose. Her head lifted from Tim’s shoulder.

“Is that pancakes?” she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

Alfred turned just slightly, a faint warm smile. “Indeed it is, Miss Gia.”

“Yay,” she whispered, like it was a secret only she got to enjoy.

Tim eased her into a chair at the table, where a small plate already waited—cut-up pancakes in tidy triangles, syrup in a ramekin on the side. A glass of milk stood next to it.

She beamed. “Grandpa Alfred, you remembered!”

Tim blinked. Alfred, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “Of course I did.”

Gia immediately dug in, humming around a mouthful.

Tim didn’t sit right away. He lingered by the counter, fingers wrapped tight around his coffee mug, watching her like the universe might yank her away at any second.

She was so at home. So certain.

“Daddy, sit with me,” she said suddenly, patting the seat beside her with a syrup-sticky hand.

He moved like gravity had called him.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

Tim had just taken a sip of his new coffee—finally warm—when he heard it:

Bare feet on hardwood. Light, casual, familiar.

A moment later, Dick stepped into the kitchen.

Hair still damp from a shower, his shirt barely on, he looked every bit like someone who’d woken up early but hadn’t quite decided to start the day yet.

And then he saw them.

Tim, hunched slightly over his coffee, still sleep-rumpled. Gia, swinging her legs and eating pancake triangles with both hands. And Alfred, calmly refilling the syrup dish like this was the most normal morning in the world.

“…Whoa,” Dick said, voice low. “Okay. It’s real.”

Gia looked up, her eyes lighting up instantly. “Uncle Dickie!”

“Hey, peanut,” he said, recovering quickly as he moved to ruffle her hair. “You sleep okay?”

She nodded, mouth full. “Had dreams about waffles.”

“Those are the best dreams,” he agreed seriously, then glanced at Tim. “You holding up?”

Tim didn’t answer immediately.

He looked exhausted. Eyes shadowed, hair a mess, posture just slightly caved in—as if the weight of this tiny, syrup-sticky girl had collapsed every wall he’d spent years building.

“I’m still...processing,” Tim muttered.

Dick sat across from them and grabbed a piece of toast from a platter. “Processing’s good. Just means your brain hasn’t caught up to your heart yet.”

Tim raised a brow. “That was dangerously close to being profound.”

Dick grinned. “I contain multitudes.”

Gia reached across the table suddenly, poking Dick’s sleeve with her fork. “Uncle Dickie?”

“Yeah, munchkin?”

“Can you show me cartwheels later? Mommy says you do the best ones.”

Tim stilled. Dick hesitated for half a second—but only half.

“You bet,” he said brightly. “Only if I get a high five first.”

Gia offered one without hesitation, syrup and all.

Dick slapped it with a mock wince. “Sticky. I love it.”

She giggled, proud of herself.

Tim watched them, something unreadable in his eyes.

His fingers curled slowly around the handle of his coffee mug. She was smiling now, already bouncing in her seat, reaching for a piece of fruit with the same fork she’d used to poke her uncle.

She looked so comfortable. Like she belonged here. Like she’d always belonged.

And Tim couldn’t stop wondering what else she knew

Gia, as it turned out, had quite the memory for a toddler.

She chattered between bites, lips sticky with syrup and cheeks round with food, recounting moments with the ease of someone who had lived them a dozen times over.

By then, the others had already joined them—drawn in by the scent of coffee and warm food, or more likely, by sheer curiosity.

Jason came first, holding a motorcycle helmet in one hand. He took one look at Gia and deadpanned, “So the tiny intruder’s still here. Cool.” He poured himself coffee like this was completely normal.

Bruce sat silent at the head of the table, still nursing a half-drunk cup of coffee, his expression unreadable—but his eyes never strayed far from the child.

Cass, notably, had shown no shock at all. She’d walked into the dining room, looked once at the small girl confidently seated, nodded like that made perfect sense, and joined her at the table. She didn’t speak. But Gia beamed at her like she’d been waiting for her to show up. She leaned into Cass’s side with the kind of ease that didn’t need permission—like she already knew she’d be welcome there.

None of them interrupted. They just listened as Gia spoke

She talked like they’d all been there—like every story she shared belonged to them too. About a greenhouse with Uncle Dickie and Aunt Star where they got stuck in the gift shop because of a thunderstorm. About Uncle Jason teaching her to sneak cookies without letting Grandpa Alfred know and failing cause Alfred always knows. 

The stories didn’t stop.

“Mommy said I could wear the sparkly boots to the concert even though Daddy said they were too shiny but then she said ‘let her shine, Tim’ so I did and I was the sparkliest one there!”

She swung her legs, stabbed strawberries with her fork, and kept her little voice bubbling on, as if none of them were blinking at her like she was some impossible dream they'd collectively conjured overnight.

Tim stirred his coffee absentmindedly, not realizing he hadn’t taken a sip during the whole time she was telling her story.

Dick looked over. “You alright, Tim?”

Tim blinked.

He didn’t respond at first. Not when his brain was still catching up.

Because these weren’t just made-up stories or wishful dreams. They were specific. Detailed. Real. Things that hadn’t happened yet—but could. Things that felt possible in a terrifying, time-looped kind of way.

Every word she said felt like a pin pushing into his chest.

He wasn’t just in her stories—he was the center of them. The axis of a life he didn’t remember living. One where he was a father. A partner. Someone whole.

He was watching her—watching the ease with which she existed, how she claimed space with all the confidence of someone raised here. Not a hint of fear. No trace of uncertainty.

Just this boundless, messy, syrup-covered confidence that she was loved and known.

It was both comforting and terrifying.

“No,” he said honestly. “Not even a little.”

Gia kept going. “And one time, Auntie Cass gave me sparkly bandaids even though I wasn’t bleeding. And Uncle Dami said I was faking but I wasn’t!”

“Do you remember anything else?” Tim asked finally, voice low. Careful. He kept his tone light, like he was trying not to spook her.

Gia nodded, mouth full. Then, after a beat, she added, “Lots of stuff. Like when you tried to make breakfast but you almost set the kitchen on fire ‘cause Mommy distracted you by kissing your nose.”

Gia licked a smear of syrup from her thumb and cheerfully reached for another strawberry.

“And then,” she continued, swinging her legs, “Mommy said we could go to the Grampa’s party in Grampa’s big building after your work but only if I wore the green dress, ‘cause the purple one had peanut butter on it—”

She popped the berry into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, oblivious to the silence that had settled over the room like mist.

Dick blinked slowly. “Grampa’s big building,” he repeated under his breath, shooting Bruce a look.

Gia didn’t notice. She swallowed and kept going. “And I said I wanted the sparkly shoes too, but Mommy said they were too loud and they’d go click-clack click-clack on the floors and Grampa would do the forehead rub thing—”

She demonstrated with both hands pressed to her tiny forehead, dragging down her face in a perfect mimic of Bruce Wayne’s frustration.

Bruce blinked. Jason outright wheezed, slapping a hand over his mouth.

Tim cleared his throat. “Grampa’s party?”

“Uh-huh! With all the people and the music and the sparkly lights! And I got to dance with Uncle Dickie, and Uncle Jay said I was better than him.”

Jason blinked. “Well, that tracks.”

“Hey—” Dick began indignantly, but Gia was already chattering again, fork waving midair.

Bruce hadn’t said a word. Not since he’d walked in and taken his seat at the head of the table—coffee cooling untouched in front of him. He’d been still, observing her the way one might observe a threat, or a miracle. With precision. With care. With silence.

Until now.

“Gia,” he said evenly.

The little girl looked up immediately, bright-eyed. “Yes, Grampa?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at the name. Didn’t correct her. He only leaned forward, lacing his fingers together in front of him.

“You said your mother brought you to my building before,” he began carefully. “What else do you remember about that night?”

Gia tilted her head, lips pursed in thought. “Umm… It was cold. Mommy made me wear tights, and I don’t like tights ‘cause they itch. But she wore her shiny earrings. The dangly ones! And her green dress with the flowers.”

The others exchanged glances—but none of them interrupted.

Bruce nodded once. “ Do you remember what your mommy looked like that night, sweetheart?”

“Oh. Yes!” Gia lit up again. “She was really pretty. Daddy hated it ‘cause he said too many people were gonna stare and he’d have to deal with it all night.”

She furrowed her brows, lips pursed as she thought hard—really hard—like the memory was tucked somewhere behind her eyes and she just had to reach the right corner to find it. Her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her plate, forgotten syrup smudging her skin as she swung her legs under the table in slow, distracted arcs.

Everyone stayed quiet. Watching.

The little girl’s eyes lit up. “Oh! I have a picture!”

Tim sat up straighter. So did everyone else.

“It’s kind of crumply,” Gia went on, setting her fork down and scooting toward the edge of her seat, stubby legs reaching for the floor. “But I keep it in my bag ‘cause Mommy says memories are treasures, and this one is my favorite.”

Her eyes scanned the room like she expected her bag to just be sitting there waiting.

“Grandpa Alfred?” she asked, already halfway down, voice small but sure. “Do you know where my bag is? It's black and small and Mommy says I’m not ‘posed to lose it ‘cause it has important stuff.”

Tim was already pushing back his chair to help, but Alfred, ever composed, stepped forward with a slight bow of the head. “Of course, Miss Gia. I’ll retrieve it for you.”

He turned without delay, his steps measured and quiet, shoes barely making a sound against the manor floor. She nodded, satisfied, and hopped fully to the ground with a small thud, bare feet pattering against the cold kitchen tile as she followed him out toward the hallway.

The rest of the family remained at the table—still, silent, watching.

The air in the room had shifted—expectant, tense—not like before when everything had been speculation. This felt like proof was about to walk back into the room.

Tim sat forward, elbows on the table now, eyes fixed on the doorway where she'd gone. His heart was beating too loud in his ears.

“That’s it?” Jason muttered, almost disbelieving. “All we had to do to get proof was ask her what her mom looked like?”

Damian scoffed softly, a sharp exhale through his nose. “Tt.”

But it was Dick who responded, quieter, more serious than usual. “She ended up crying when Tim asked her last night,” he said, eyes not leaving the empty doorway where Gia and Alfred had disappeared. “She thought her dad forgot her mom. We couldn’t have asked her then.”

They fell into silence again.

And then—footsteps.

They heard her before they saw her—Gia’s voice chiming softly, like a skipping stone over still water.

“—I told you, I didn’t lose it! Mommy says I’m very responsible now.”

Alfred’s gentle hum of agreement followed, along with the quiet rustle of something being held close.

Alfred returned, and beside him, Gia clutched a small, black bag to her chest like it was sacred.

“I found it!” she announced.

Technically, Alfred had—but no one corrected her.

She marched over to Tim first, standing in front of him with wide, expectant eyes. “Wanna see it now?”

He nodded, kneeling again to her level like he had the day before. “Yeah, sweetheart. Show me.”

She unzipped it with both hands, rummaging with syrup-sticky fingers. Tiny fingers fished past a red crayon, a lollipop, a bunch of stickers, and—finally—carefully, reverently, she pulled out a folded piece of paper.

The edges were worn, the glossy paper soft from how many times it had been handled.

“I showed it to Uncle Bart too,” she added proudly. “He said it was cute, but he’s a weirdo.”

She held the picture out.

Tim’s hand hovered. He didn’t even breathe as he took it.

Jason craned to look over his shoulder. Damian leaned closer. Dick and Cass watched like the moment might crack reality in half.

Tim unfolded the picture.

And stopped breathing entirely.

The image was unmistakable:

Tim Drake, older—maybe late thirties—hair slightly longer, wearing casual clothes and soft laugh lines around his eyes. One hand rested around the waist of a woman. She had a blinding smile, radiant even in a still image, and was kissing Tim on the cheek while their daughter stood between them, holding both their hands.

They looked happy. Tangled up in each other in that easy, familiar way that only comes with years of shared mornings and missed bedtimes and long conversations after the house is quiet.

Gia looked up and smiled brightly. “See?” she said proudly. “That’s Mommy. That’s you, Daddy. That’s me.”

Then Bruce, his voice quieter than expected. “May I?”

Gia blinked up at him, then carefully handed it over. “You have to hold it nice,” she warned. “It’s special.”

Bruce took the paper with the same care he’d use for an ancient artifact.

“Mommy’s the coolest,” Gia nodded proudly, as if that were the most obvious truth in the world.

“She’s got, like, a billion fans. She writes songs and yells at the camera people when they take pictures of me.”

Having handed off her photo like it was a royal decree, she turned and padded back toward the table. She got as far as standing in front of her chair before pausing, then turned around and lifted her arms.

Still a little stunned, Tim blinked once, then pushed out of his chair and lifted her gently back into hers. She nestled back into the seat, grabbing her half-eaten pancake like nothing life-changing had just occurred.

Gia had finished breakfast by then—her plate mostly empty, a few strawberries taken from Dick’s still clutched in one hand. She was now tucked into the corner of the room near the window, utterly engrossed in a stack of napkins she was folding and tearing with focused precision. Cass sat beside her on the floor, legs crossed and relaxed, watching her with a serene calm that somehow soothed the toddler’s endless energy into something more careful, more quiet. Every so often, Cass handed her a new napkin. Gia would accept it with a thank you.

At the table, the picture sat in the center. The boys had unconsciously huddled around it now, shoulders nearly touching as they leaned in over the image. 

Bruce stood just behind them, arms crossed, watching in silence. His brows were furrowed, eyes sharp—not skeptical, not yet—but calculating. Gathering.

Dick gave a low whistle as he leaned in for a better look. “She’s certainly pretty.”

“She looks loud,” Jason added. “And sparkly. You’ve got a type.”

Tim didn’t even argue.

Damian, however, remained glaring at the photo like it personally offended him. “That still doesn’t tell us who she actually is. Do you recognize her?”

There was a pause. Then Tim, still staring at the image, nodded slowly.

“I know her,” Tim said quietly.

The words dropped into the room like a stone in still water.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“What?” Dick asked, blinking. “How—?”

Tim didn’t take his eyes off the photo. “I mean… I know of her,” he amended, his voice low and careful. “She looks older here. A little different, but—I’m sure it’s her.”

He leaned in slightly, studying the image again, as if confirming it for himself a second time.

“We met a couple years ago—briefly—at a Wayne Entertainment event in Metropolis. It was just a passing moment. Polite conversation, nothing else. I wouldn’t have remembered it now if not for—” he hesitated, then looked toward the corner where Gia was playing. “If not for her.”

Jason blinked. “She’s a celebrity?”

Tim nodded slowly. “Singer. Songwriter. Definitely has fans. She’s kind of a rising name these days. Not a global household name yet, but she’s rising fast. And… she’s talented. I remember that.”

He didn’t add what he was thinking—that she’d seemed kind. Grounded, even in a room full of power suits and flashing cameras.

“She was different than the rest of the crowd that night,” he murmured. “And now… this.”

“She kinda does look familiar,” Dick said, frowning as he leaned in for a better look. “Kori might have mentioned her once.

“She’s one of the performers scheduled for the Martha Wayne Foundation benefit concert next weekend,” Tim added. His voice was unreadable. “I remember reviewing the final list with Lucius.”

“Gia said her mom writes songs” Dick said slowly. “That tracks”

Jason leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “So let me get this straight—your mysterious maybe-future kid has a mom who’s a rising star that you only met once?”

Bruce spoke again, voice even. “I think by now it’s confirmed she’s from the future.”

Jason huffed. “Yeah, no kidding. Kid talks like she’s got a lifetime of memories, and none of 'em match our timeline.”

Dick exhaled. “Man, we really don’t get normal Tuesdays, do we?”

At the edge of the room, Gia giggled—still absorbed in her napkin-folding game with Cass, blissfully unaware of the small storm gathering around the table and the old photo that might just change everything.

ARCHIVE PART ONE | PART THREE

🜼 :: @tvnile @rainschnael @a-taken-url @federalprison78-4 @kopivm

divider: @enchanthings

[mr-thundercloud]

OM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM... Mmmmm GOOD SOUP! (Check the other re-blogs their real tasty)

Prompt fill from the Discord server. This one is courtesy of @tourettesdog

Prompt where Danny keeps showing up like a stray cat at various hero's houses. He just comes and goes and they never know when he'll show up next. He's just this like pseudo-adopted child who will come over for dinner, crash on the couch, and he's gone by morning. No amount of research will tell them who he is past the limited information he's given them

The various heroes are unaware that his stray cat range wanders so far until someone mentions him at a JL meeting and all hell breaks loose.

There's eventually an intervention

Stray Cat Danny

Clark had just got home when he noticed the heartbeat on the fire escape two floors above him. As far as he knew, that apartment was empty, so it couldn't be the residents going out for a smoke. It was weird, very strange, and not his business.

He tried to leave it alone, but the heartbeat stayed on the fire escape for a few hours. Every now and again Clark would hear whoever it was shift, but other than that they stayed quiet. Again, weird, but not his business.

Until it started to snow right when Clark was about to start dinner.

He was just going to make sure whoever it was had somewhere warm to stay. Maybe direct them to a shelter. Clark opened the window and looked up, there was a dark bundle, worryingly still, on the fire escape.

"Excuse me?" Clark called. The bundle shifted but whoever it is didn't respond. Clark grumbled and made his way up to them, squatting down a few feet away.

"Are you alright?"

The bundle shifted, revealing one blue eye and a tuft of back hair.

"''m fine" a young male voice answered. The blue eye closed.

"You know it's going to snow tonight. I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in a shelter than on a fire escape."

"They're full." The boy answered. "All both of them."

Only two shelters for all of Metropolis? That can't be right. Clark looked up to the sky, the snow was starting to come down and he could swear it had gotten colder since he'd been out here. He couldn't leave the kid out here to freeze.

"How about you stay the night at my place? My couch is pretty comfortable, and I'm making beef stew for dinner, Ma's recipe." He let a bit of his Kansas accent show through. Hoping the country accent would put the boy more at ease. He was watching him now with both eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Did your Ma ever teach you about stranger danger?" The kid asked.

"Not exactly. She taught me to help people out if they need it. Did your Ma teach you stranger danger?"

"No," the boy said, "my mom taught me to put a full-grown man on the ground if I needed to."

That surprised Clark into laughing. "Well, you won't need to with me. What do you say you come inside?"

The boy watched him for another second before shivering violently and glaring at the sky.

"Yeah, alright. Just one night."

"I'm Clark, by the way," Clark said as he closed the window behind the kid.

"Danny." The kid said. He was rooted to the spot just a few steps into the apartment, eyes scanning the room.

"It's nice to meet you, Danny." Clark held out his hand to shake, but Danny didn't take it. After an awkward second Clark cleared his throat. "Uh. The stew is going to be a little while. You're welcome to the laundry and shower if you need it." Danny was pretty clean, but there was visible dirt on his face and clothes. "I might have some clothes my nephew forgot that you're welcome to." Dick was bigger than Danny for sure, but he was closer to Danny's size than Clark was.

Danny gave him a long look, before shrugging off his backpack. "Sure. Might as well."

Clark left to go get the clothes while Danny loaded some of his clothes and blankets in the washer. Once he presented the tee shirt and sweatpants Danny disappeared into the bathroom. When he reappeared he was scrubbed clean, his cheeks rosy either from the hot water or scrubbing.

Danny was even smaller than Clark was expecting. He was downright scrawny. Dick's shirt hung off Danny's shoulders, and Clark could clearly see his collarbones. This kid was not getting nearly enough to eat. Well, he was going to tonight if Clark had anything to say about it.

"The stew should be ready in about half an hour. Feel free to make yourself at home." Clark said. He expected Danny to sit on the couch and watch TV, but instead, Danny found his home office. it wasn't more than a desk with his work laptop on it and some of Clark's better pieces and awards framed and tacked to the wall above it.

"You're Clark Kent, the reporter?" Danny asked, eyes switching between the wall and Clark.

"That's me," Clark said. "You know my work?"

"I read your piece on metahuman and alien rights last year. It was good."

"Thanks. I really liked working on that piece."

"Did you always want to be a writer?"

"uh. No. When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut." Clark said, stirring the stew. Danny snorted. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," Danny said, taking a seat at the little kitchen table. "I wanted to be an astronaut, too."

"Yeah? You still could." Clark said.

"Nah. It's hard to be an astronaut without a high school diploma. What made you change to writing?"

"I went through a few different career paths before I landed on journalism."

"Do you like it?"

"I do. I like uncovering the truths people try to hide." Clark said. "You'd make a decent journalist, I'd think. Half of it is just asking the right questions."

Clark served up the stew into two bowls and brought them over to the table with some rolls and butter. "I don't have much in the way of drinks, is water okay?"

"Water would be great, thanks."

They ate in relative silence, Danny was too focused on his food to ask more questions. After they ate Danny nodded off on the couch almost as soon as he sat down. Clark couldn't bring himself to wake him up, so he just covered him with a blanket from the linen closet and headed to his own room.

Maybe in the morning he could make Danny pancakes or waffles and get him some new gloves and a jacket. The question was what to do after that? He didn't want to drop Danny off at a shelter, and taking him to the police would only destroy whatever trust he had gained with the boy. At the same time, he only had a one-bedroom apartment. He couldn't keep Danny here. Clark sighed. He'd have to talk to Danny in the morning and see what he wanted to do.

When Clark woke up he was greeted by the silence of the apartment and it took him a few minutes to figure out why that was wrong. There should be another heartbeat. Fearing the worst, Clark rushed into the living room to find it empty.

The blanket and clothes Danny had used had been neatly folded and placed on the back of the couch, along with a handwritten thank you note.

How did Danny leave without him hearing? Moreover, how'd he leave with the doors and windows still locked?