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Qifrey rested his head on his husband's stomach while (name) read a book “I was wondering... If you would be willing to help me train the girls? Your skill could be quite useful” he commented and looked up to (name) who stared down at his husband “and teach them in summoning magic?”

(Name) Was a skilled witch, hailing from far off lands where he studied alone about creatures and ancient magic.

He lived in the woods, learning magic at its most basic form.

He was incredibly powerful yet actively chose to clean and cook without much care.

“Exactly!”

The following morning, (name) stood before the four girls with a small smile “hello children! Today, (name) will be teaching you magic at its rawest form...” Qifrey said happily and (name) waved at the girls who looked fascinated, (name) rarely showed his ability “magic isn't just in our hands but all around us... The air we breathe and the ground we walk on” he held a stick and looked at them “now... Who can draw for me a... nature spell!”

The girls all raised their hands and (name) grinned “but who can draw a true one? One of nature, not of ink?”

The fish looked confused and (name) knelt down, lifting a leaf and looking in the middle to see a small sigil and pointed it to the sky and the leaf glowed slightly and he slapped it to the ground and a small plant sprouted “if you focus yourself... Let nature guide you, you can create magic from anything... The base magics all contain sigils... If you just look hard enough”

(Name) Was rare, magic flowed through him like blood and to see the girls try and find the sigils in Leafs was precious... He was so excited to see what they would become. Richeh got it first, sprouting a small flower and (name) grinned “ you can all learn magic even without your tools, it's great for a pinch...” He smiled as the girls one by one learned it

“It's amazing!” Tetris beamed and showed Qifrey her work and the man grinned at her and Pat her head kindly.

(Name) Made dinner, the children showing the leafs they found to practice the next day and (name) felt warmth at this.

“They're growing too fast...” (Name) Mumbled and the white haired man held him close “you truly adore them, I will be sad when they graduate...”

“And then the next batch comes... And the next...” (Name) Whispered “maybe one day... We can find a child of our own, our own little witch to raise as our own...”

finally, he drops the act and smiles softly at you, approaching the bed while taking his cloak off. he places the cloak on a hook stuck to the wall, before taking a seat on his side of the bed.

he reached toward puffpuff, a finger scratching against it's cheek.

“look at you taking my rightful place,” puffpuff glares up at him. “would you be so kind and rest somewhere else? i would love to have my lover back, please.”

watching with fond eyes, your heart flutters at the term of endearment.

puffpuff ignores the man, rolling its eyes and crawling up to your collarbone, where it snuggles its little head and curls up to rest. not before sticking it's tongue out at qifrey.

“oh, you fiend.”

“it's just like you, that's so adorable!”

qifrey raises an eyebrow, “oh? would you rather sleep cuddling something so small that you might crush it in your sleep? ooor would you rather cuddle me instead and be warm and cozy for the rest of the night?”

“look, it's white and fluffy!”

he sighs, before relenting at your teasing.

“you do have a point.”

“and it has your sass! it just doesn't filter it the way you do.”

“you think i'm sassy?”

resting the book at the bedside table, your hand brushes through his hair, cupping his cheek with the other to pucker his lips together.

“i think you're the sassiest. you just don't say it out loud.”

he's about to say something to refute, when you lean up to press a soft but fleeting kiss against his lips, rendering him speechless and flushed. his lips pursed, the sudden affection relinquishing whatever sassy comeback he was about to giveaway.

“i can't kiss puffpuff the way i do to you, though.”

“you've kissed puffpuff before!? now that's just betrayal at its finest!”

your sudden laughter startles the brushbuddy on your chest, waking it up in the process. it glares at you, before scurrying off somewhere.

“it's just a little peck on the top of it's head!”

“you cannot undone what's done!”

Tim sighs and sets your phone back down where you had left it on the bedside table. He shifts, strong legs losing themselves in the silk sheets below him. The mood had long been set, but you had momentarily dipped out to grab some things before the main event started. As he waits on you, he catches his reflection in the mirror and tweaks the fall of his bangs. If he's going to play the part of an omega, he should try being a bit cuter, shouldn't he? Meek. Tim tries a few expressions. Pouting, pursing his lips, perfecting a crinkle in his brow, he's been able to pull off ever since he was a kid. He's only mildly put off when you reenter.

Water and towels are set to the side when you rejoin your fiancée in bed. Tim's legs part in welcome, his red tip and slick hole greeting you in kind. He dramatically whines when your lips meet for a gentle kiss, but it falls when you grin, and he can't help but chuckle back. "You ready, big guy?" He murmurs, barely an inch apart. You've done it raw before, and even stuffed him full of a few creampies, but it takes a lot more than that to knock up a beta. The stars have aligned tonight, and you're in the midst of your rut. Tim's just lucky you aren't the dysfunctional type. He's heard plenty of horror stories.

It's easy to lay him back and expose himself for you. Arching and baring his neck to entice your alpha further. It makes you purr, rumbling softly all the way down to your cock. It's a delicious vibration that lets you slide more easily into his warm opening. Tim's totally relaxed and calm when you start rocking your hips against his ass, each push of your cock nudging a soft breath from him. You keep a gentle rhythm as you work yourself up, touching over and lovingly caressing his calves on either side of you.

He's a sight below you. Arms freely sprawled out by his head, staring back at you with those warm eyes of his. Tim's not skinny, but he is lean. Smaller than some of his more bulk-heavy siblings. Soon, that'll change. Under his pretty breasts will swell proper tits. His hips will widen, and his belly will grow too. All because of you.

"Ah-Alpha, gentle." Tim breathlessly laughs as your pace picks up. He doesn't mean it, not really, if the smile he's stifling is anything to go by. He manages onto his elbows, curling on himself to feel the pistoning of your cock a little deeper. The hilt of your knot at the end of your cock is almost a tease for what's to come. Its swell is so significant it nearly spaces out the smack of your balls against him. Hah...and he's gonna have to take it. All of it.

Suddenly, you're yanking Tim closer by his waist. Tugging his legs up and over one of your shoulders to fuck at a better angle. "Fuck," He shivers, no longer able to hide his grin. His head tips back, moaning freely as he fists at the sheets. "Alpha, oh, Alpha,"

His hole pulses and flutters around you, but it's not a grip you could describe as tight. All the better to take you as deep as you can go. Brushing up against his prostate for added pleasure. Tim jerks at that, knees nearly knocking you in the jaw when he squirms. "Yes, my god, yes!" He cries, "That's it, that's it!"

You can't help but whine, sniffing for a scent he can't give off. Logically, you know he's feeling more than good, but you're searching for something sweet. Something musty. Something omega-like. You nose at his ankle, nipping it softly to soothe yourself. You thrust harder, almost digging inside of him with your tip. Tims locked up now, fisting at the sheets below him as they continuously slipped from his hold (damn silk). He nods along desperately to nothing but the pleasure shooting through him.

You lean forward, bending Tim's legs over himself as you lean in to kiss him. You drool into his mouth, licking all over him with vigour. Tim hums along to your rut, dizzy murmurs. He's gonna make such a good mama, your puppies are gonna look so cute, you can't wait to see him fill up with your cum.

Your head grows hotter and hotter, as does the needling in your torso. You hump against Tim like the dog in heat that you were, until finally, you were able to force your knot into his awaiting hole. Tim gasps, thrashing his arms and legs around you to box you in on top of him. Your purring heightens, soothing at his temple with wet kisses and small drags of your tongue against his sweat. He whimpers for real this time, the flood of your cum a warm comfort deep in his abdomen.

You were made the clone– no, a puppet– of the famous Bruce Wayne, meant to take over his mantle of Batman when the time came. At least, that’s what the others claimed. You believed you were made to suffer. 

The first memories you have were of floating in the abyss– cold and hot, something and nothing. Then, your eyesight went from the black void to a rainbow glazing infront.

(You’ll later recall this memory and ask yourself: how did I know what sort of things I was seeing when I had just come into existence?)

Its colours fly across your eyes before finally adjusting to the colours surrounding you.

Your clear eyes land on the people in front of you. The masks are what you notice first; eyes hidden, and solely the whites seen. The next thing you notice is their clothing – all dark hues, as if draining the happiness from it. Only one stood out to you, the whole clad in yellow top to bottom, bright in the dark.

Finally, you noticed where you were. A cave of some sort, with machinery, weaponry, and all types of things one wouldn’t see in a normal cave. Maybe, besides the bats in the ceiling, the items were all foreign to the place.

One of the masked individuals– vigilantes, your brain provides– steps forward, rather stiffly. He waves a light at your eyes, watching as the pupils dilate. “Vision is good,” he mutters. Out loud, very loudly, one may say, he asks: “Can you hear me?”

A croak similar to a “Yes” comes from you, earning a hum from the person, “Hearing is good, and voice is too.” 

The shorter one of the bunch tuts, crossing their arms in front of themselves, “He doesn’t sound like father,” the pubescent voice squeaks, “He sounds more like a teenager.”

The person in front of you turns around to stare at the boy?-- You’re unsure– and sighs with disappointment, “Damian, this is not an exact replica of Bruce. It’s meant to be younger since young people have more agility, better reaction time, peak organ health, and better sensory abilities than older people, which Bruce is– was.” his voice quietened down near the end, losing its confidence.

You could tell that the ambience had turned more sombre; from the curiosity they showed towards you to the sadness they acknowledged in the loss of a person.

Soft fingers wrap around the chair’s arm, “Who–” you clear your voice, “Who are you?”

The boy who was previously lecturing turns around, a grin on his face, “Why, your creators, of course!” He leans into your face, “And the soon-to-be hero of Gotham.”

“Gotham… City?”

“Well, basically the entirety of Gotham,” the boy shrugs.

They, as in the group of first humans you’d ever seen, got you into training quickly. And you picked it up faster, and according to Tim Drake– the ‘smarts’-- much quicker than he anticipated. 

“At this rate, he’ll be able to reach the same level of field skills as Bruce! As in early 40s Bruce Wayne, who has spent years with the art of fighting, and even then wasn’t perfect!”

You assume that’s good, after all, the person that you were a clone of had high standards. You were reaching those standards– maybe even surpassing them.

Tim helped with investigation skills, Dick (what a silly name) helped with flexibility, Jason helped with weaponry, and then Damian, Cassandra, Steph, and Duke were your training partners. 

Soon, you were able to outsmart the brains of the group, outfight the demons of the team, and knew more than the lot of them combined.

They were happy about it, so you suppose you were too. You had a room, Alfred helped you get settled, and you were a scientific breakthrough. What wasn’t there to be happy about?

(The first mission you went to was a failure. You had to capture this kid for questioning. You couldn’t. She was just so young to be in the crime circle; you were shocked. You knew that the others wouldn’t hurt her, but it felt wrong to capture her. She was doing this for a better life, and it was providing for her and her family, so why should you jump all over it? 

Back at the cave, they stared at you with conflicting feelings seen across the mass. That child was an important part of the mission. They saw it as an emotional decision, something deemed as a risk for you, because how else would you be able to save Gotham?)

Then a year later, Bruce Wayne returns, and the spotlight shines upon the newly resurrected man rather than on the scientific breakthrough. 

All of a sudden, you were in the back of their minds. Like a mere doll, left by the child for another fascination.

You were left to your own devices, with the instructions “do whatever you want”.

Left with nothing to do, you confined yourself to your room. You did not require food or water, you didn’t need to sleep or take baths, you existed as a ghost in the manor. 

There was no need for you any longer. So they sent you away across the U.S. under the guise of “No one can know that there is a clone of Bruce Wayne walking around”.

You started living in a high-end apartment in California, in a somewhat city area. You never left– you didn’t have anything to do. You sometimes wondered if anyone even knew you lived on floor 6, apartment number 615.

For months, you spent looking out the ceiling-to-floor windows, watching the busy streets and interactions between individuals. 

(You would practice conversations in front of the mirror, mimicking how humans seem to talk. Empty space was filled with your own voice, talking about nothing yet something to yourself.)

Then, an earthquake hits. The building collapses with you in it. You aren’t badly injured, and if you were, you couldn’t tell. You felt no pain.

Then rescuers found you, lying beneath rubble and not a single scratch. They called it a miracle. You call it a curse. 

“Where are your parents, kid?” One of the first responders asks, placing a blanket on top your shoulders.

“I don’t know.” 

A woman chimes in, “How have you been living here then?”

With embarrassment, you lie: “...Squatter’s rights…”

The two first-responders look at each other, as if having a telepathic conversation. Finally, the man nods his head, “Guess I’ll have to give you over to CPS, huh?” Something about his tone tells you that he’s not.

The man never did contact CPS, so you weren’t put into the system. Rather, he took you with him. You really shouldn’t have come with him– what if he was a secret serial killer? What if he liked, liked teenagers decades younger than him? Although you couldn’t care less. 

The area he lives in is nice. As the car pulls up to the man’s house, you notice a woman standing at the porch. 

“Honey–” the woman pauses, “Is, is this the child you were talking about?” Her hands fidgeted in front of her dress. What was she so nervous about?

The man nods, lightly pushing you towards her, “Yep. He ain’t got a name or parents. CPS probably would’ve sent him to a homeless shelter since he looks about to be 18.”

The two had taken you in, surprisingly, with ease. It was as if they had been waiting for a moment like this forever– to take in a poor child who had nothing to them. 

Robin, the woman, was kind. She fed you all types of food, although you didn’t need it, you indulged in the flavours. Robin took you to buy clothes, having lost all of them in the earthquake. She was like a mother to you. 

Quinn was like a father if Robin were the mother. He would take you out: restaurants, parks, malls, everywhere. Quinn would do activities with you, calling it “father-son” bonding time. You liked that term.

(They couldn’t call you “kid” or “boy” forever now, could they? So they gave you a name. Bryce. It sounded so similar to Bruce. That man couldn’t leave you even after moving across the country, could he?)

A man came to the door on a dreary night, clouds covering the bright stars. It had been a year since the older couple had taken in you in. The man had business with Quinn and Robin. You were instructed to go to your room, which you did. You waited patiently for either one of them to call your name and to say, “Dinner is ready!” (After all, you liked to savour such moments.)

They didn’t call you down. At some point, sleep had called for you. The sun rose between the soft clouds, and you woke up at 6 am. Finally, by 7 am, you decided for once to take initiative. You walk down the staircase slowly. Peeking from behind walls, you call out for Robin and Quinn– your parents. They were not in any of the rooms. 

You went to your neighbours, explaining the problem. They said they hadn’t seen them at night or day. A day goes by the time you decide to inform the police.

“Are you sure they didn’t go on a trip?”

No. They would’ve told me.

“Must’ve been an emergency.”

No, they wouldn’t have left without telling me.

“Kid, adults do this all the time. They just up and leave for a few, you’ll be fine.”

No, they would– why… why aren’t you listening to me?

Multiple bodies were discovered at the side of a river 34 miles from the house. All had burn marks and traces of drugs. Two of the bodies were identified as Quinn and Robin. The media called it a cult suicide, based on the numerous cult reports in the area. You believed it was murder.

Authorities took the house, sold all the furniture, and donated the couple’s clothes. They left you only a few items to remember Quinn and Robin. Quinn’s bandana, which he would string to his jeans, and Robin’s favourite hair clip, which she would wear to parties. 

Once again, you were worthless—no direction of where to go, and grief gripping at your brain and heart. The backpack, carrying your clothes and a few things from the house, weighed like tons to you. So you walked. You walked until the sun started to set and a beach came into view. 

You don’t remember the walk from across the road to the beach until water splashes against your feet. You look up to where the ocean meets the sky. Robin liked coming to the beach. Quinn liked starry nights. The backpack drops from your shoulders as you get down to your knees, and your hands shake. For the first time since your creation, you cry.

Tears start to roll down your face, blurring your vision. The sea and sky become one, and you gasp harder for air to reach your lungs. A guttural scream pierces the calm of the beach, dying off as quickly as it came. You try to stop the tears, squeezing your eyes until patterns started to appear behind your eyelids, but the stream continued. Everything felt so numb, yet so real. 

What had you done for this fate? Why couldn’t you stay happy? Why was the universe against you?!

The moon shines against the waves. The crying stops, deep breaths replacing them. With wobbly legs, you start to stand up, the decision showing its consequences immediately, with you falling face-first towards the sand. You brace for impact, but don’t hit sand. There is pulling against your shirt before you’re upright, feet digging into the sand rather than in the air. 

You slowly open your eyes to see a man standing behind you, the one who helped you not fall, “Hey kid,” he started, “What was that all about?”

You were warned by Robin and Quinn to never talk to strangers. 

“My parents… they– they’re dead.” The words feel cold, saying them out loud.

The man frowns, “I’m sorry about that… were they one of the cult victims?”

Your eyes snap onto the man’s face, “How did you know?” you murmur.

“My friend was one of them, so I assumed.” He shook his head.

Slowly, you look down at your feet, at the shoes which Robin had helped get you so enthusiastically, “Oh, I’m sorry… what are you planning on doing now?”

You knew what you would do. Revenge. It was the one thing running in your head, Get revenge for Quinn and Robin, and the countless others killed.

“Revenge,” The man spoke, “my group and I, we will get revenge.” He tilts his head slightly to look at the vast ocean. 

“You, too…?”

“Ah, is that what you were planning?”

You nod. 

“Well, isn’t that perfect?” The man’s lips turn upwards into a smile, “Would you like to join us then?”

Something about it, the time, the knowledge, seemed so wrong. Something wasn’t right. You shouldn’t accept, you really shouldn’t–

Rage fills your mind, “Yes.”

Revenge is your purpose, and you will embrace it. 

The man called himself The Doctor. He was a scientist, a biologist, a chemist; he knew so much. Doc introduced you to his group. They called themselves the Fatui. The leader was an ex-lover looking for revenge for her fallen love– just like the many others she had ambitions for revenge– and she let you in with open arms. 

You were the sixth member. You earned a new name, “The Balladeer”. No one called you Bryce in a loving tone any longer. All you were to the others was now Balladeer. 

The gods. You hate them. Fate was something they made from the start, allowing death to happen to their children as a price. You hate them.

Had it not been for them, Robin and Quinn would’ve been alive. Had it not been for those retched, disgustingly selfish gods, so many people would’ve still been here. You will prove to them that you could be just as powerful as them, but better. 

The first god you would defeat was the god of knowledge, of wisdom. Stupid. You will use her people against her, for your gain. Show the people how better you would be as a god rather than some insignificant bug– one which had just recently gained consciousness. The people can’t trust her, but they can trust you. 

Tim hadn't been expecting to help a god— much less a child who is a god. She calls herself Nahida, the god of wisdom, the god who was supposed to rule over Sumeru.

"So let me get this straight," Tim pauses the woman (a puppet, he reminds himself, which Nahida is residing in), "You need our help defeating a fake god who threatens your status as god?"

The woman thinks for a moment, "That's a simple way to put it, so yes."

"And this fake god, it's created by your people?"

The other hums in agreement. Before Tim could ask another question, Bruce interrupts, "And why exactly us? Wouldn't Superman be more helpful? Wonderwoman?"

Nahida's left, index finger lands right below her lips, a pondering pose. "How do I say this," she starts, "that you are very connected to this whole situation?"

"What do you mean?" Bruce narrows his eyes on the woman.

She sighs, her soft voice carrying through the air, "You see, this 'puppet' for a fake god, is the one Tim here created after your death, Bruce."

Tim gasps, "What?!"

Nahida nods, "Yes. This is why you all are very well connected."

"A puppet—" Bruce faces the boy, eyebrows knit, "Tim, what is she saying? What puppet did you create?"

Tim laughs nervously, "Well— you see…"

"I, I had created a puppet like human. It wasn't human, not really. It didn't need to eat or sleep or go to the bathroom and has basically no organs. I guess a robot? What I mean to say is I created a more perfect clone of you, Bruce. And sort of… forgot about it?"

Bruce massages the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh. Most likely to control his anger in front of the god. Muttering about some inappropriate usage of science and unreliable children. Tim pushes himself into his chair, a nervous smile on his face. Finally, a few minutes later, what could also be eternity in Tim's clock, Bruce stops and faces Nahida.

"We will help. It is our duty to end what we started." His eyes narrowing at Tim. The boy laughs nervously.

Explaining the situation to the others was just as pain in the ass as revealing the forgotten information to Bruce.

Damien tsks, "So, that puppet is more like an evil doppelganger of father rather than the perfect clone you claimed to have made, Tim?" The teenager rolls his eye in annoyance at his younger sibling's opinion, choosing to stay quiet rather than starting an argument.

Nahida butts in, "I wouldn't say evil, misguided would be a better word."

"Misguided means that we were at fault, which we weren't. That kid lived a perfectly good life in that top-tier apartment, in Califronia nonetheless, he did it to himself probably." Jason shrugs, "Probably got that from Bruce, trying to one-up everyone. Just this guy is literally a devil."

"I wouldn't say devil either—"

"Miss Nahida, if you don't mind," Dick starts, "But a fake angel or whatever is quite literally a devil."

Nahida stares at Dick with a conflicted look, "Well, no a fake god is just a fake god. It is no thing like a devil."

Dick opens his mouth for a counter argument but it dies down under Cassandra's voice, "Okay," she crosses her arms in front of her chest, "How do we deal with it?" Nahida gives a small smile at the girl.

(Nahida, much to the god's bargain, likes this girl. She gets straight to the point, an amazing fighter, and overall a less stimulating person to be around. Although, many times Cassandra may be blunt with her words, it helps Nahida see how different humans can be.)

"The main goal of this fake god is to get my gnosis, the drive to my godly powers." She touches the place between her chest, directly pressing onto where her sternum lies, "He already has the gnosis of another god, making him powerful already. However, this gnosis is used to solely power his machine and not himself. With my gnosis, his transformation to godhood will be complete."

"The plan is to literally take out the gnosis from him first. I have prepared a timeloop which shall help us contain him in a specific field. Using this timeloop, we will be able to take as many tries as needed to defeat the Balladeer."

Tim raises his hand, "I'm sorry, the Balladeer?"

Nahida nods, "Yes, his name is the Balladeer. Is there an issue with that?"

The boy simply shakes his head, "Oh, no nothing…"

'What a name… the Balladeer.'

The god looks around at the group of people, "Any other questions?"

A blonde girl raises her hand, "Wait, so what happens if— hypothetically of course— one of us dies in the timeloop?" Steph lowers her arm, bracing herself against the railing she sits on.

"Do not worry, you will be alive just out of the plane of existence of the timeloop until it restarts. No injuries will remain in the real world." She pauses, "Although, the plane of existence does not stop the pain from injuries, simply its visibility."

"Will the clone— the Balladeer die if we took the gnosis from within him?" Duke, the boy in yellow, asks.

Nahida shakes her head, "From what I know, his body is very fit for keeping the gnosis, so no. He shouldn't die."

"And what will happen to this Balladeer?" Bruce asks.

The god turns at the man with a hardened look, "Well, he shall be under the custody of Sumeru. So you shalln't worry about that."

It took 167 loops to get here. Plummetting to their deaths, blood loss, ripping of body parties for 167 loops to finally, finally have the fake god cornered.

The bats stood together, each a few feet apart from the other as strategy and— damn, Nahida wasn't kidding about the pain of the injuries remaining. The cuts in their skin hot, their hands shaking as they held weapons.

The fake god's mumuring passes through the hall, "Humans… filthy humans!"

Nahida stood in front of them all, stood in front of the giant mecha as it towered over all of them.

"You think…" the fake god rasps, "You're better than me?" The mecha raising his hand, ready to hit down, "No one is better than me!" the thundering voice shrieks as the hand comes down on Nahida. The bats yell in suprise, watching as the god is restrained in the fist of the mecha.

The fake god looks upon the other in disgust, watching as Nahida wriths in the hand, trying to get away, "You're too late. I've already became a god, the Balladeer a long bygone title of mine." The fist tightens, "Looking back, the existence of what once called itself Bryce appears infinitely small and ugly."

"This is supposed to be a battle between gods, yet you choose to hide behind a mortal." The hand starts to dangle Nahida by the cloak, "And now, you're acting like you'd sacrifice yourself for these humans…"

The Balladeer reaches his hand out the mecha's face, "Are you having fun proving a false sense of herosim to yourself, Buer?" His hand goes through Nahida's chest, a scream ripping from the girl.

The bats cover their faces at the surge of light, overlaps of "Nahida!" dying at the elctric noise. Quickly, they all look back up to see… Nahida holding onto the Balladeer's wrist, her eyes emitting green.

"The data collection is complete…" She looks at the hand in her to the fake god's face, "Do you even know how many times you've tried to take the Gnosis from me?"

As fast as the hand had went in, the Balladeer pulls his hand away, watching as crystalizations of past loops surrond him. As the images collapse, he puts his hands up to shield his face.

He watches, belated realizing, as Nahida cracks the center of the mecha's chest and starts to pull out the gnosis. The Balladeer's eyes widen— in fear? In regret? In anger?

"No… No!" He moves forward, "Please… Wait!" He reaches forward from the void, his hands desperatly trying to grab towards the gnosis, "Anything but the Gnosis…!"

Pipes attached to his back start to crack, ripping away from the Balladeer's body, the fluid splashing around, yet the boy doesn't seem to notice, adamant on trying to grab onto the powerful piece, "TThat's mine! Don't even try…!"

The others can simply watch as Nahida works, watch as the puppet they had created groans, "I'll never— I'll never go back!" He screeches. Finally, the last of the pipes rip away, the moment of fowardness letting the Balladeer fall from a great height.

(And it may as well have been an eternity of falling, watching as Nahida grasp the gnosis in her palms when its supposed to be mine, its mine, give it to me! nonononomineIworkedforit!—)

The crash of the body causes large amount of dust to rise, at the feet of mecha. Nahida floats over to the bats, a solemn smile on her face, "Thank you for your help, thus far."

A few weeks later and the bats were meeting up with Nahida again, at some constitute of Sumeru's. Some of the members were busy, such as Dick, Steph, and Duke so they had not come along.

The group entered the building, walking along the long halls with geometric designs. As they approached the center, the bats recognized the sillouhette of Nahida, short stature and her whites and greens next to—

"What is he doing here?!" Damien exclaims, pointing a batarang at the Balladeer. The other scoffs, crossing his arms, "I don't want you guys to be here either, dipshit."

Nahida shakes her head at the ex-villain's actions, "As I had said before, I had one more request before the deal of allowing a Bats headquarter as well as investments."

Jason gives a short laugh, "And it has to do with this puppet?" Nahida simply nods, a sad smile on her lips, "I understand you all want nothing to do with him, but alas, this last request was for him."

"You see, I want the boy to find the truth of his past."

"The truth?"

"Please, do not question the authority of this god. I am simply doing what I believe is right in this situation."

Tim waves his hand, "Look lady," he says with a grimace, "I understand your like the god of wisdom or whatever, but that guy," He points at the Balladeer, "Is an evil guy, and I don't think he needs it."

"I say it's worth a shot."

Pairs of eyes turn to look at Bruce, wide as if he's lost his mind. "Have you lost your mind, Bruce?" Tim cries out, "He almost turned into a god to kill all of humanity!"

Nahida simply smiles at the tall man, "Thank you."

"I need from all of you is to act as a guard for the Balladeer, make sure he does nothing wrong— although I have some amount of faith in him."

Jason and Damien decided to stay in the real world, incase anything went wry. So it meant that it was up to Bruce, Tim, and Cassandra to properly act as an escort to and from the tree.

The walk to the Irmunsul tree is quite, with the occasional quick, sharp snaps from the Balladeer to not touch the sprouting trees. As they reach the tree, the three bats close in on the distance between them and the Balladeer, not wanting anything to go bad.

"Stop closing in on me," he snarks, "You're just going to fry your brains by touching the tree with only your little toe."

Tim rolls his eyes, but the three comply anyways, taking a few steps backwards.

A small tree sprouts in front of the convict, his hand reaches out to touch it. He lets out a small gasp, startling the three bats. For a while, they watch as the Balladeer's body remains stiff against the tree, his fingers wrapped tightly around one of the branches. Finally, the boy lets go with a sigh.

"I see…" he lets his head drop down to his feet, "All this… was his fault."

Cassandra starts to approach the boy, holding her arms out to get him away before sudden movement from the boy suprises her, making her take many steps back.

The boy looks at Bruce, Tim, and Cassandra with pity, "I apologize for the actions I have committed," he starts, slowly walking backwards, closer to the tree, "I shall no longer be of trouble." His palm touches the tree, a bright light emitting from it.

"No!" Tim screams, his hand reaching out to grab the Balladeer before everything goes white.

Tim wakes up with a gasp, his hand desperately cluching onto the blankets. Wait, blankets?

He takes in his surrondings. No, he thinks, he should be near the Irmunsul tree, not in a room. Much less, his room. With stumbling steps, he gets up to his desk, looking at his phone.

It's the next day. Morning.

"What?!" He whispers to himself, "What the hell happened?!"

Tim rushes out his room, staggering as he jogs— practically runs— to the dining area. His family should all be here at this time of day.

And there they were, sitting around the table as if they hadn't fought a fake-god just a few weeks ago, like they hadn't been personally invited by the god of wisdom to help her. Tim pants, leaning against the doorway. Bruce notices from the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow.

"Tim, are you okay?"

"What—" he takes a deep breath in, "What happened to the Balladeer?"

Tim is met with faces of confusion.

"Who?"

'No guys, I'm not crazy. It was probably just a dream. Yes, I'll try to get more sleep.'

Lies.

Tim is sure the events weren't a dream. And he'll prove them by talking to the source itself, Nahida.

He barges into the building— the same one which he was in before blacking out— despite the protests of the guards.

"Nahida!" Tim yells, "Where are you?!"

"Tim?" A soft, slightly squeaking voice responds, "What are you doing here?" The boy turns around to be faced by the floating god, almost jumping in fright.

"Ah, I apologize for the scare."

Tim waves his hand dismissively, "No, no it's fine. I have something important to ask you."

"What is it?" She tilts her head, indicating she's ready for the question.

"What happened to the Balladeer?"

She frowns, "Who?"

Tim's eyes widen, "You know! The guy who got betrayed three times and wanted to take humanity out? The guy who trusted the man that actually caused everything? If that makes sense?"

Nahida goes deep into thought, her eyes closed and her brows furrowed before a sign of recoginition shows on her face, "Ah, perhaps you are talking about this story?"

After a long period of silence, Tim's mind taking in the story's contents, Nahida lets out a hum, "It seems that he has 'ereased' his existence from other people's mind."

"Is that why the others didn't seem to remember him?" Tim whispers.

"It seems so."

Another round of silence.

"I have a belief that his body, as in himself, he is still in this world." Nahida starts, "The Irmunsul tree gives no indications that his body, too, has been wiped out of existence."

Tim jumps at that, "So, you think he's still here? Possibly roaming around the streets— madman?"

Nahida nods, "Possibly."

"Then I have to find him."

Finding the boy wasn't so hard, it turns out. Matter of fact, Tim saw him walking around the market as soon as he left Nahida's building.

Discreetly, Tim follows the boy, hiding behind poles and blending in with people to see what that villain might be up to.

Tim notices a few things about the ex-fake-god. Firstly, his style of clothing. It was different from what he was wearing originally, lighter too; the fashion seemed to be that mixed of Sumeru's and that of what people in Gotham would wear. The boy walked with less of a stiff, more of a carelessness of the world. The most glaringly different thing was his face.

The boy, once always frowing and having an angry look on his face now had a gentle smile and freedom look.

Tim watches as the ex-Balladeer (?) comes up to a stall selling fruits. The man, most likely incharge of the stall, smiles at his arrival. "Ah, if it isn't the Wanderer!"

The boy— Wanderer lets out a short, breathy laugh, "Hello to you too, Mister Ahmer."

"I'm assuming you have the fruits you promised?"

Wanderer nods, "Of course," he opens up the bag slung across the right shoulder, pulling out 5 fine Sunsettias, "Here they are."

The man gives out a hearty laugh, taking the fruits into his own hands, "Boy, let me give you some payment." He starts to open a pouch, presumably with money, the boy stops him.

"There is no need. I just felt like helping you."

Tim snorts from where he stands, just a few feet away at another food stall. The owner of the stall gives Tim a funny look, which he decidedly ignores. Balladeer and helping. Yeah right.

He keeps a listen on the conversation, how the boy now goes by the name Wanderer, how he's most likely going to 'wander' around from place to place.

"I know nothing about my past. I can only hope my future will help me understand."

Tim chases Wanderer down, just as he's about to leave the city, "You!" he yells, pointing at the boy, "Come here!"

Wanderer stops, confusion and suprise evident on his face, "Me?"

Tim stops, bending down slightly as to put his hands onto his knees, "Yes!" he pants out, "You!"

"You're coming with me, to see someone special."

Nahida watches from the corner of her eye as Tim drags over, presumably, the Balladeer. Tearing away her attention from the hologram in front of her, she turns to face the newcomers.

"Hello, Tim, and I assume Wanderer?"

Tim nods, "Yes, yes! This is the guy I was talking about!"

"Hell— Hello," the Wanderer waves, albeit shyly, "Am I in trouble of something?"

Nahida shakes her head, "Of course not, simply, we want to help you find the truth of your past." She sprouts a tree full of memories, "And Tim here is willing to help you— rather— very confident on helping you." She gives a smile.

The Wanderer raises an eyebrow before touching the tree, trusting the little girl; Tim's own fingers graze against the puppet's before being taken to another place.

Having to face the mecha again was not in Tim's list when helping Wanderer with his memories. He steps backwards, barely avoiding the slam of the hand. His heart pounds in his ears. From the corner of his eye, Tim sees the Wanderer who is bent into himself, hands shaking against his temple and wide eyes.

What did that stupid green orb do?!

Tim dodges an attack by the mecha again, tripping over his own feeting and falling onto his ass. Tim watches the hand rises again, about to slam down. He faces away, closed eyes, hand covering his face— his mind races, what should he do, he'll be squashed, he'll die—

A loud noise and then shimmering sort of sound. The attack never comes. Tim swivels back in front of him to see the Wanderer. "Balladeer?" he mummers.

Wind gathers around the boy as a shining gem floats gently into his hands. The boy smirks, a sharp laugh escaping his lips. His eyes staring at the mecha in front of him, "Die."

"Don't call me the Wanderer anymore," The newly visioned boy snaps, startling Tim and Nahida out of their converstation, "Nor the Balladeer or Bryce."

"I want a new name."

Nahida hums, "Hm, yes our proposal does call for a celebration."

The boy snorts, "Yeah, more like coersion into helping you both."

"'A name is a life's new gift.' You didn't say it out loud, but I know that's what your thinking." Nahida smiles, "Tim here has helped you quite a lot, dealing with you as well. If you can't decided a name, than they can help you."

Tim crosses his arms in front of his chest, "You want me to decide?" a skeptical look on his face.

The other boy shrugs, "Well I don't know any good names. Have you got anything?"

"How about Bruce?" Tim jokingly says. He watching as the boy's expression turns dark, "Is this supposed to be your attempt at a joke?"

Tim sighs, "Fine, fine. Joking. How about…" He pauses for a moment before his brain comes up with a bright idea, "(Name)?"

The boy faulters, "Are you sure?" he raises an eyebrow, staring intently at Tim. Tim nods, "Yeah, I think this will do."

(Joy wells up in your chest. Yes, this name, it will be yours. A new name for a new you.)

"…Ah, Alright, if you say so." his tone monotonous.

"There, now you have a name of your own." Nahida beams, her eyes sparklying beneath the lights. (Name) tsks, facing away from the god, yet blush creeps on his ears.

Tim shakes his head, ignoring the sense of responsibility he feels for just giving a living, breathing person a name, "What do you plan on doing next?"

(Name) hums, "I'm not sure, most likely stay here for a while. Leaving for a thrill if I want to."

"You could come with me?" Tim suggests, nervousness clear in his voice, "If you want."

"No one will remember anything anyways, besides me. I can explain to the others the whole cloning thing but then leave other things out."

(Name) gives a small smile to Tim, quickly bringing his face back to neutrality, "I'll see."

figureskater!reader who fell in love with the ice the moment their mother and father took them on to the ice

figureskater!reader who was doing spins and jumps before they even entered the fifth grade

figureskater!reader who was seen as a prodigy with how quickly they picked up different jumps, spins, skills, etc.

figureskater!reader who found comfort in the ice after their parents passed, finding themselves at the rink more often than not

figureskater!reader who slowly gained their spark back after being taken in by Bruce Wayne and began to skate competitively once again

Bruce who started realizing the shift in figureskater!reader’s diet ever since they got a new trainer

Jason who saw how figureskater!reader slowly stopped joining him for ice cream runs

Dick who noted how figureskater!reader stopped running down with him to the kitchen when Alfred finished baking cookies

The family who began to get worried over figureskater!reader harsh avoidance to outside or “unhealthy” foods

The family who began to worry over figureskater!reader thinner and thinner frame

figureskater!reader who didn’t know when they saw sugar as an enemy

figureskater!reader who the more they listened to their coach the more they started to only want to eat “healthy” whole foods

figureskater!reader who found themselves shaking out of anxiety during family dessert after dinner

Damian who was the first to notice how hard figureskater!reader was shaking as they looked down at their bowl of ice cream

Tim who asked if figureskater!reader was alright just for all dam’s to break as they cried and finally told their family how they felt

figureskater!reader who had to take a break from figure skating after they realized it stopped being their peace

figureskater!reader who finally where persuaded by Dick to see a professional about their relationship with food

figureskater!reader who slowly began to get better as time went on

The family who were happy to see figureskater!reader positive change, how they began to slowly join back in to their original dessert rituals

figureskater!reader who came back to the figure skating world (with a new coach) after they had nearly fully recovered

While you won't refer to yourself as the "World's Greatest Detective" like Bruce and Tim do to themselves, you're shameless enough to admit that you're one hell of an observant person more than those two sometimes.

So it proves to be easy for you to discover the existence of your... fanbase.

You don't appear much publicly as a civilian, due to you being violent like a rabid dog when you were younger, and because you simply chose not to now. Well, you really don't want to deal with crowds of people throwing themselves at you—for attention, for fame, for money, whatever it may be.

But you're surprised, really, that there is a small but dedicated group of your "fans" out there who admire you almost obsessively. You already don't appear much in public, and even worse, it's damn near impossible to find a picture of you online that isn't pixelated and corrupted to shit, courtesy of Bruce and Oracle wiping them all off the face of the internet at your request.

To admire Y/N L/N-Wayne is to subject yourself down a rabbit hole you can't get yourself out of.

And, in turn, your other fan club for your vigilante persona is no different. People are just so obsessed, aren't they? Who could this tall and handsome vigilante protecting their gloomy city be?

There are probably some niche forums created specifically for discussing about VG/N, his possible civilian identity, making theories, and just obsessing over him like a middle school girl with her first crush.

Tim Drake is in it.

Seriously, he's been a respected figure in the community for so long now. Even before he became Robin, he consistently churned out the most third-eye-opening, jaw-dropping theories and discussion topics in the forums, earning him a reputation where everybody in the community just remembered his username by heart.

Before becoming Robin, or when he did become Robin but hasn't met you yet, he was very active in the community. He'd often just comment very shortly on other people's posts, but when he does post something, he'd drop a long ass 500 page essay with titles like "Identity & Partnership: A Pattern In Vigilantism" and "VG/N's Moral: What Can We Learn From Life?" and everybody eats that shit uppppppp and stays bloated full of good food-for-thoughts for weeks.

But now that Tim knows the man behind the myth himself, he doesn't post as much anymore. Why waste his time theorising when he has the Eldest Bat as his big brother? Why waste time analysing who VG/N "could be" when he could basically just show up at your apartment when he's bored and force a cuddle session on nights where he couldn't sleep?

Well, he's still somewhat active in the community, but now mostly to monitor them. He sometimes laughs at some of the ridiculously funny posts, but he also makes sure no one thinks too hard and ends up actually discovering your identity.

No, that's his thing, and it'll end with him, thank you.

What? No, he's not protective of his big brother and possessive over the idea of being the only one worthy of knowing you and getting to be close to you in such a way; that's blasphemous!

So it's no surprise that it would be Tim who ended up discovering a whole new world of his big brother's merch.

It was another boring night where Tim had somehow finished everything. No cold cases, no criminals to beat up—actually, there definitely are. It's Gotham, what do you think? But Bruce and Dick and maybe Jason and definitely Cass and maybe maybe even Damian would have his head if he goes out as Red Robin right now when he's still nursing the bullet wound he got from last night.

So now Tim is just sitting in front of his laptop, scrolling away on the internet. It's 1 AM and he couldn't go to sleep. Maybe it's all the vigilante stuff doing this to him, but he hadn't touched a cup of coffee since the morning and he still wasn't feeling sleepy enough to call it a night.

Tim had the urge to go find a random metal pipe on a wall, rip it off, and knock himself out with it as he clicked open the familiar discussion forum for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night. Same old posts, no new ones yet—

Then something caught his eye as he clicked on the rearrange button to see the newest posts.

An account, simply using his eldest brother's symbol as their profile, posted on the forum to show off their creation. The title reads, "Do you guys like my VG/N-themed bag? :3", and attached to the post is an image file of—

An ita bag, filled to the brim with merchandise of VG/N. Photocards, stickers, keychains attached to the strap outside, frills and ribbons in the colour palette of the Eldest Bat's vigilante suit, badges, buttons—

Not only that, as Tim clicked on the right arrow button to see the next picture, the second image is of the ita bag again, but sat beside it is a big ass plushie of VG/N the size of his fucking pillow.

And if he squinted, he could see the VG/N figurine behind the ita bag.

What.

Tim just sat there and stared at the image in front of him. His big brother's merch.. His big brother has... merches.

Tim realised he had never thought of this before. I mean, sure, being vigilantes and all, each of his family members' roles has been romanticised by the media in some way, especially by teenagers who might admire them. Sure, he has walked past stores and has seen Batman-themed t-shirts, and Nightwing-themed water bottles, and Red Robin-themed notebooks—

But ita bags?

Plushies?

Tim just sat there and stared at the image for a bit longer... Until he finally made up his mind.

I want that.

Quickly, he clicked on the poster's profile and dove straight into their DMs. He expected his greetings to be answered by the morning, but surprisingly, the account was still online when he had texted them.

A few small talks and questions later, Tim easily tracked down where they've gotten all of their merchandise. He doesn't worry about finding the ita bag since they told him there's a shop specifically for those kinds of bags online, so he'll look at it later.

What he found out was that most of the merchandise, like the badges and photocards, is seemingly made by someone in his eldest brother's city. It's easy to see that they're most likely a teenager or a young adult doing this to get money on the side, but the quality of the merchandise is also pretty good, too good to be made by someone who's purely making this for money. So, merchandise made by a truly passionate fan. He likes that.

The plushie is made by a small company, probably in the same city. They also have plushies of other superheroes and vigilantes—maybe he should get both the VG/N and Red Robin plushie so they could sit together in his room...—but the VG/N one seems to be the most popular seller as of currently.

The figurines are made by a bigger company and are pretty expensive, given how detailed they are, but Timothy Jackson Drake would be the last person in anyone's mind when it comes to who could be struggling with money.

Tim couldn't help but grin. He loves being all humble and wouldn't really place himself on a pedestal (why is he lying), but anyone else could tear the title of "VG/N's number one fan" out of his cold, dead hands, and even then, his hands would probably be ripped off his wrists before he could let go.

A bit dramatic? Maybe.

Okay, enough talking, let's get to work.

"Tim has been in his room all day, hasn't he?" Dick questioned out loud, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the general direction of Tim's room as he raised an eyebrow at everyone.

Sitting in the room are surprisingly almost all of his siblings. Dick himself, Damian curled up in the corner of a sofa with his sketchbook, Jason begrudgingly sitting on the other end of the sofa like he was forced to be there with a book in his hand, and Cass just silently drinking her drink from her favourite pumpkin cup. Duke would've been here too, but they all assumed he had probably conked out from exhaustion.

At the mention of one of their brothers, Cassandra slowly lowered the cup from her lips as she stared up at the ceiling, presumably just thinking about the second floor of the manor. She hummed as she rubbed her chin, the whipped cream from the drink lingering above her upper lip, making her almost look like she had a very fancy beard.

"You're right," she finally said something. "Last I saw him... This morning?"

"I saw Drake hurrying back to his room when I had just left mine," Damian chimed in, lowering his sketchbook onto the pillow on his lap as he looked to the side in curiosity.

Now, it wasn't rare to find Tim caught up in yet another weird project or theory, but all of them are always curious about what he's up to. This time, it's no different.

"Why don't you guys just go check on the kid?" Jason asked, a low growl of annoyance in his voice as he looked at all of them like they were all idiots. Which, to him, they all definitely are.

"Well, I tried." Dick tried to defend himself, "But he just— brushed me off and said he'll come down soon. And he looked oddly happy while saying it!"

"Happy?" Cassandra repeated, curiosity now evident in her voice. "That's... weird."

"Right?!" Dick leaned closer to his sister, happy at the fact that someone actually against him.

"Okay, yeah. That's pretty weird." Jason hummed.

"Is Drake going insane in his own room?" Damian questioned bluntly. "He's only been barred from patrol for a night; he couldn't have gone insane so quick."

Cassandra looked like she was about to say something, but stopped herself as she looked to the entrance of the living room, looking almost surprised as she does so.

"He's here."

"Who is here—?" Dick asked, but his voice was interrupted by the loud, thundering footsteps that could equate to a stomp of a wildebeest as Tim rammed into the room like a bull seeing red.

"Whoa, what the fuck?" Jason breathed out, almost jumping out of the couch and grabbing Tim by the scruff before he could ram into a random bookshelf against a wall. Thankfully, Tim stopped himself before he could cause any property damage.

"Tim? Are you alright?" Dick asked, worry evident in his tone as he stood up from his seat. Cassandra put down her pumpkin cup but didn't get up right away.

Tim was breathing heavily, pounding his chest, obviously breathing too little compared to the energy he exerted during that run. Damian only stared at him with a mildly worried but borderline disgusted look.

"He really did go insane."

"Tim," Cassandra's voice cuts through the room, and Tim stopped, finally remembering what he was here for.

The fourth Robin stood up straight like a soldier, before relaxing and turning to his siblings, looking oddly proud.

"Hey, guess what?" Tim grinned, hiding something behind his back as the others tried to sneakily look behind him.

"I'm kind of scared of what you're hiding behind you," Jason murmured, eyeing the... something that is dangling from behind the seventeen-year-old who looked oddly too proud.

"A bag?" Cass questioned, and Tim nodded slowly before finally presenting what he was hiding behind him, holding it out like he was handling a very precious trophy made of pure gold.

The room went dead silent.

In Tim's hands is a black bag, made with fine, faux leather. The front of it is clear plastic acting as a window, and outside is decorated with some gold chains and little accessories. Inside the plastic front is...

Their eldest brother's merch...?

Photocards, badges, a small round plushie of VG/N attached to the chain outside, and other fancy accessories in their oldest brother's vigilante persona's colour palette...

"Is that an ita bag?" Damian questioned, earning a look from Dick.

"Damian, you know what that is?"

"Shut it, Grayson. You're a millennial, you wouldn't know."

"?? EXCUSE ME???—"

"Where did you even get that?" Jason finally croaked something out of his throat after a few seconds of pure, baffled silence.

"Hah, y'know. Who would've thought that there was merchandise of VG/N, right?" He pondered smugly, gently presenting the bag to Cass, who had approached him with awe in her eyes as she examined the bag and gently tapped at the badges through the plastic screen. "So, since I was the first to get this..."

An evil smile crept onto the fourth Robin's lips, making the two previous Robins and the current one narrow their eyes at him. Cassandra only stayed silent, not seeing the need to participate in the boys' argument.

"That means I am Y/N's true number one fan—"

"NO, YOU ARE NOT!!!!"

BONUS!!

You huffed, plopping yourself down on the edge of a tall building as you let your legs swing in the air. Another boring night, another random crime group you stopped. Tonight, the city was riddled with the usual boring thieves and criminals who thought they were invincible with a gun in their grasp.

Booooringgg.

A small notification interrupted your thought as you fished your phone out of your pocket. Okay, carrying your phone around when you go out to play as an ass-beating, cartel-exploding vigilante probably wasn't the best idea, but who cares, right?

Clicking on the notification took you to a group chat titled "B's Robins", lovingly named by the second Robin himself.

Usually, you put every group chat except for DMs on mute, but you knew why you got that notification when you saw Dick pinging you specifically.

Then, what followed was an image of Dick taking a selfie with the brightest smile on his face while he's wearing... a hoodie with your logo on the front?

Bluebird "isn't it cute? ヾ(≧ ▽ ≦)ゝ"

You just gawked at your phone screen in silence, before a laugh almost escaped your lips as you finally recovered from your shock.

"What the fuck, they have those?" You chuckled, quickly clicking a heart emoji as a reaction to the image. You've always known people make merch of superheroes and vigilantes—you've seen ones of your siblings' before—but merch of you? Surprisingly, you've never thought of the possibility of them existing.

Cardinal loud incorrect buzzer mine's better

Another image followed, this time sent by Tim. An image of his ita bag, and this time, you proceed to gawk at the screen again, and harder.

The level of craftsmanship and understanding on aesthetic from Tim's part is insane, but you couldn't even bring yourself to be too surprised. That is your lovely, insane little brother, and it shows.

Jaybird Damian bought a VG/N-themed mug but he's too embarrassed to send it in the group.

Robin Do you ever stfu, Todd?

Jaybird Shut MY bitch ass up???

Robin Do not let me see you with your VG/N plushie next time because I will be stealing it from you.

Jaybird DO NOT DO THAT. ALSO DO NOT BELIEVE HIM I DON'T HAVE THAT.

Best Girl Wonder Why are we blowing this group chat up after leaving it for dead for three months and WHAT DO YOU MEAN VG/N'S MERCH?? AND I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT THIS?? YOU GUYS DIDN'T TELL ME???????

Bluebird Oh.. oops!! 😅

He turned it just in time for a broadcast from Interpol to be shown.

Tim's eyes widen when he sees a man claim to be his brother.

"Bruce!"

Alarmed by Tim's scream, the entire family swarmed the Batcomputer to see what worried him.

They watched Lind L. Tailor die of a heart attack on live television on what he claimed to be an international broadcast. When the man died, a big letter 'L' flashed on the screen, and a mortified voice explained how the broadcast was just shown in the Kantō region and how the man they just saw was a criminal secretly caught by the police. The family watched with wide eyes as (name) tried to provoke Kira into killing him.

"So what do we do now?" Duke asked, turning to face Bruce.

"I knew he was a bit of a freak, but to ask Kira to kill him on live TV is a bit much even for him." Jason shook his head, falling onto a nearby chair.

"No, it's exactly enough for (name)," Damian scoffed. "Should've given him up when you had the chance, Father."

"We have to try to contact him or Watari first; then we'd worry about the next step," Bruce announced, ignoring his son's comment.

"But how do we do that? I never saw (name) with a cell phone in his hands," Cass questioned, trying to recall (name) with the device.

"I have Watari's number." Everyone turned towards the voice just to see Alfred standing near the entrance.

When that didn't work out. They only managed to get Watari to pick up once out of the five times they called. They weren't even able to track down the location he picked up from, as the line was protected by a code neither Tim nor Barbara was able to decipher.

That left Bruce with no other choice than to ask the Justice League to help him find (name).

By the time Wonder Woman and Superman managed to find (name)'s location, he not only managed to create Kira's task force but also placed down cameras around the Yagami household.

Being allowed into the task force was easy; it's not like the Japanese police didn't know who Justice League was. And Batman could tell how relieved they were that the group wanted to be involved in the investigation.

"No," (Name) disagreed when Soichiro Yagami asked if the Justice League could join on the investigation.

"It doesn't have to be all of us (fake name)," Superman suggested. "It can be just me, Wonder Woman and Batman. The rest will be kept away."

"Tell them your names, then. Real ones," (name) demanded, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him. "Reveal your identity, and I'll allow you to join the task force."

"You know we can't do that," Batman sighed, watching as his son observes a family on a screen.

"(Fake name), I have allowed you to put cameras in almost every room in my house," Mr Yagami reminded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You what?" Batman asked, and the other two heroes follow with their own questions.

"He wanted to make sure Kira isn't among our families; my family was the first one since I'm the highest in rank," Soichiro Yagami explained. "And if you're planning on watching mine or any other task force member's family, you need to agree to let those three work with us. Without revealing their identities."

"This is such a hassle," (name) sighed, momentarily allowing his eyes to leave the screen. "Change out of your hero costumes; they will attract too much attention. And give yourselves fake identities."

"Alright, you got it." Wonder Woman agreed, "Tomorrow we will show up in clothes that would help us blend in."

"And you" (name) pointed at his father. "Bring in Red Robin; I'll show him an actually interesting case. He could learn a lot from me."

here's a little something I found in my notes as a bonus:

"Can I be honest with you, Master Buce?"

"Of course, Alfred, go ahead."

"Your son, (name), he's... weird. He and his butler make me want to rip my hair out sometimes," Alfred sighs, memories of L!reader flashing in front of his eyes. "But—" he stops, noticing (name) carrying a piece of cake he hid from the teenager.

"But?"

"Nothing. He will be the death of me," Alfred groans, watching L!reader disappear behind the corner. "I would take time off, but I don't trust Watari with taking care of you."

Alfred, thinking the man would be leaving now, tried taking over the new master's bags.

"Do not worry, I got it," the man smiled, walking inside the manor.

Alfred glanced towards Bruce, who only shrugged, thinking the man might want to check the conditions (name) he will be living in. The man will check and leave.

Except the man, who later introduced himself as Watari, never left. He brought all of (name)'s belongings, leaving them in the teenager's room, and took out more bags, putting them in a room next to (name)'s.

Bruce decided to watch the two before making any decisions on the matter. After all, maybe (name) was the one requesting for the man to stay and is too ashamed to admit it. But the longer he watched, the more he realised Watari acted more like a butler than a caring social worker.

He approached (name) while he was looking at one of the books in the library. Alfred accompanied him, taking a place at the side of the doorway. He had to stop himself from groaning when he noticed Watari standing on the other side.

"I don't think another butler is a good idea," Bruce admitted, taking a seat across from the boy.

"Why? Worried he's going to find out about Batman? "Don't worry, he knows already," (name) shrugged, putting his thumb up to his top teeth.

"What?" Bruce gasped, glancing towards his son's butler. "Where would he get that from?"

"Oh, I told him," (name) sighed, standing up and moving towards the exit. "Watari knows everything about my living arrangements so I make sure to keep him updated."

Bruce decides that Watari can stay alongside (name), telling the rest of his kids that his older son seems attached to the butler, using the fact that he was the only one that could enter (name)'s room freely as an example.

Later, he asked Barbara and Tim to run another background check on the two to find out anything about them and check the cameras if either of them had entered the Batcave without them knowing. Both of the checks came out empty, the cameras showed no signs of entry by the two and looking up their names and faces only showed 'results not found' on the screen.

The three decide to keep it between each other to not alarm the rest of the family.

Most of the time, the manor feels the same way it did before (name)'s arrival. The teenager spent most of his time in his room, almost never joining the family for meals. The only person that actually felt the difference was Alfred, who had to share a kitchen with the new butler.

It was also Alfred who brought it to Bruce's attention that the new member of the Wayne household might not be satisfied with his living quarters after finding the desk from the teenager's room in an unused study.

Bruce made his way to (name)'s room right after, walking inside after his son granted him permission to do so. He offered to buy the teenager a new desk after finding his son crouched on the stool in front of his computer's screen.

"I prefer working on the floor; it's less distracting," (name) informed him, without ever looking up from the screen.

A day later the family found (name)'s bed in the hallway and caught him in the library to ask about it. They found (name) by one of the bookshelves checking something. Damian rolled his eyes after noticing the empty plates with the crumbs of cake on them.

"I don't sleep," (name) explained. "Don't need it."

"But you do…?" Tim hesitated, ready to educate him on the danger of sleep deprivation.

"No", (name) objected, moving away from the bookshelf. "I need to be alert."

(Name) left right after, leaving the rest of Bruce's kids in the library with Watari.

"To be fair, he does sleep," the old man sighed, picking up the plates. " Most of the time, a few minutes here and there while he works or stays up for multiple days and then crashes and sleeps for a few hours.

"You know what, Watari? "That makes it so much worse," Duke admitted, watching (name)'s butler leave the room.

Bruce went up to Watari to ask him to convince (name) to eat breakfast with them, explaining how they barely see him and how it might be a great way to get to know each other better.

Watching (name) take a seat at the table the next morning made them think that Watari was some sort of deity, capable of having (name) do something he asked for.

Alfred, happy to finally show off his cooking to the new family member, set a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs in front of (name). Only to be forced to watch the other butler move the plate of eggs to the side and place a few slices of cake in front of the teenager.

Alfred followed Watari, who grabbed (name)'s eggs, back to the kitchen. He watched the butler take a bite of the eggs, sighing.

"You really need to stop feeding him only desserts; it is not good for his health." Alfred argued, watching the butler eat the breakfast he prepared for his new master.

"His health is perfectly fine; his brain requires much more energy than the normal one, and sugar is the fastest to give said energy." Watari explained, finishing the plate and setting it in the sink.

"So does sleep and vegetables, or—" Alfred tried to reason, turning towards the sink to wash the plate. "And he's gone."

While the butlers had their disagreement in the kitchen, Bruce and his kids watched (name) devour slices of cake one by one.

"Why do you sit like that?" Cass blurted out before she could stop herself.

"It helps with my deducting," (name) explained, liking the spoon clean. "Sitting like you will make me forty per cent less efficient."

"Is it too late to give you back?" Damian scoffed, looking at his 'brother' in disgust.

"Damian!" Bruce yelled, ready to scold his youngest when his other son spoke up.

"I believe it might be seeing your father has already claimed me as his son in the eyes of the law," (name) pointed out, standing up from the chair. "Though, I could think of a few ways that would help with getting rid of me."

"(Name)!"

The news of a killer going after criminals had hit Gotham; the public had nicknamed him 'Kira', and he was the pain for everyone living in Gotham, regardless if they were a criminal, villain or vigilante. After all, per Batman's rules, murder is still murder even if the people who are dying are criminals.

Everyone were so preoccupied with trying to crack who and where Kira was that they didn't notice that they weren't the only ones following Kira's whereabouts.

"(Name)! Finally caught you," Tim yelled out, running up to the teenager. "I was wondering if you wanted to help—"

"No." (Name) shook his head, letting Watari drape a coat over his body. "I have taken an interest in Japan, and I will be leaving to travel there. I do not have the time for boring Gotham cases."

Tim froze watching (name) leave the manor. He only returned to his senses when the car disappeared from his view. He ran to Bruce to inform him that (name) had left. They tried following Watari's car, but only got up to the edges of Gotham were they found it without the passangers.

They returned back to the manor, torn between following (name) to Japan and trying to catch Kira.