Part one â Part two â Part three â Part four â Part five â Part six â Part seven â Part eight
summary: You had a father once.
pairings: platonic!Batfam x neglected!gn!reader
cw: still some mentions of emotional neglect (hmmm who wouldâve thunk), talks about death, Bruce Wayneâs emotional constipation, breakdowns galore! The End.
word count: 11.2K (long one ahead!)
a/n: I am genuinely going through it. If the beginning of this chapter is sad, I apologize deeply!! Iâm sorry for taking so long on this part, Iâve been fighting a raging war (uni) in a desperate attempt to return to my homeland (my room) and meet with my beloved once more (my twenty plushies). Iâm just exhausted in general since weâre nearing the end of the semester. May projects never ever come near me ever again. I hope you guys enjoy this however! Even if it took eons to come out. Much love :]
Bruce still remembered your face when you first arrived at the manor.
From his perch of the second-floor study with a view towards the entrance, he watched you exit the car from the distance like a coward, pretending to be busy enough with work that he couldnât afford to greet his first-born child.
He still remembered the dull eyes, your hand hanging loosely from the hand of an unimportant police officer. Even from afar, he could tell the physical similarities between you and him, features that settled onto your face like a piercing reminder of him. And most of all, he saw how much you looked like her as well.
In all honesty, Bruce had forgotten [Mother] [Last name] over the last few years. She had been another pretty flower among the many he had touched, with the exception of her brilliant mind that stood out from the rest of his garden of past lovers. [Mother] had been beautiful, yes, but that wasnât the only thing that made her captivating. She had passion, a fire brewing beneath her skin that threatened to explode â and yet somehow only pushed her further. She was a star, blinding, breathtaking.
Somehow, even now, he recalled the conversation theyâd had after bedding her, body loose with satisfaction and expensive champagne. Her eyes had been locked on the swaying leaves outside the window of one of the guestrooms, moonlight highlighting the valley of her collarbones, the dip of her lips, soft eyelashes.
âWill you ever drop the act of the unintelligent billionaire playboy?â she had asked casually, words as soft as the wind outside. He had paused, never had his lovers â at least the civilian ones â noticed his persona. He had turned to study her with sudden attentiveness that he had never aimed towards civilians, a hum on his lips.
âIt gets the job doneâ and it did. It kept reporters off his back, gave him a large number of excuses for his prolonged absences and occasional injuries under the guise of trips and parties gone wrong. It was what people expected him to be, and if he did what they expected, they wouldnât consider looking elsewhere.
He sometimes forgot that everyone only ever saw a mask â as Batman or Brucie Wayne. It didnât matter how he acted or dressed, they would never see him, just a carefully crafted conglomeration of artificial characteristics that best fitted the situation. And it didnât matter, because Bruce didnât know who he was after all these years, which trait was his or not, which dreams were authentic or pretend. He was so deep in the water that he could no longer tell if he had made the masks or if the masks were making him â rewriting him, taking him over like a rebellious project.
Her words had been cold water on his body â frigid, shocking when she had said them, until the temperature settled into his body, and he suddenly felt the cold deep within his bones as he wondered if she could see as far as the temperature reached as well.
She had hummed back in reply, and silence fell over them for a moment, the only sound the rustling outside, their breaths mingling in the shared space despite no longer even looking at each other âI could tell you it will kill you, but maybe it already didâ she had said casually, his heart had dropped. Bruce swallowed âI donât-â
Then, eyes piercing into his, curious, knowing and most horrifyingly, pitying, his breath froze in his chest âLife is meaningless if we let it overcome us and our passionsâ he had finally exhaled at her words, an opening âI know thatâ he had retorted, words childish, even though he hadnât been a child since he witness the life bleed out of his parents in front of him. She had arched a brow âDo you truly, though? Not just in a theoretical way, but practically â applied to real lifeâ
And wasnât that the question? What was the point of Bruce still fighting every night when he had nothing to live for? Sure, he had vengeance in his veins, a city on his shoulders, but why did it have to be him when he had no more left of himself to give?
After that, she had left, collecting her clothes around the room casually, uncaring of her own nudity, of the situation, of the pit that had grown in his stomach. She had simply gotten dressed, thanked him politely, and left, not even asking for an encore as many of his past conquests did, nor to stay. Bruce hadnât even remembered to offer to call a taxi, or one of the numerous rooms in the manor due to the late hour as he did for the more polite âguests. He merely ruminated in his own mind, wondering why anything mattered when he only had bis butler who had remained due to obligation.
Bruce attended Halyâs circus a week later and took in a ward soon after. Life had meaning again, and [Mother]âs words and presence faded into the background, no longer haunting his mind.
She had been a bright star amongst a sky of others, brighter than others, she had been a beautiful flower that was so different than the ones in the rest of the garden. But she had still been in the mass of people who didnât stay, faded into the depths of his mind as a distant echo of words and dread.
And then she died unexpectedly â or perhaps not, because no matter whether he compared her to a flower or a star, she had been destined to crash and burn, wither and die eventually.
The news of her death had saddened him, but it hadnât left a lasting impact on his life like her words had. He didnât suddenly find meaning or another will to live.
He did, however, wind up with another kid in his custody, this time biologically his, while still rebuilding his life after the death of another. Another life depending on him when he was still reeling from the grief of losing a son.
Bruce felt like his life was just a constant race in which he tried to catch up while being dragged down by grief that only grew. And you â poor, young, mourning you â were too small to let yourself be noticed by your father. Too normal. Not⌠strong enough.
Deep down though, he simply wanted you to stay away from their nightlife. Selfishly, he wanted to keep his only child, who had witnessed such similar tragedies, away from the cruelty of the city. He couldâve led you to vengeance and justice as he had done with Dick, to a meaning of life as he had done with Jason, but he hadnât considered it, wouldnât have wanted to even if he had. Bruce was no longer a real civilian, no longer normal. But he was a biological dad now as well, and wasnât keeping oneâs child safe what one was supposed to do?
He may be more Batman than Bruce Wayne, but he wanted your safety, and getting close to him would only introduce you firsthand to vigilantism.
And perhaps it was cruel, depriving you of a father when you had just lost the only parental figure you had ever had. But Bruce was a selfish man, he wouldnât be able to bear seeing you go through what he went through every night. It would kill him. You deserved normalcy, deserved to sleep full nights and live life without constant bruises and injuries you would have to play off to keep your cover.
He held no personal attachment to you, yet he held a certain fondness for your mother, and consequently a certain fondness for you. Or maybe he just appreciated the indirect pushing of your mother towards taking in his first sidekick.
Therefore, you were kept out of the limelight for your own sake â without consulting you first â and out of his sight.
You entered the large imposing manor, Alfred welcomed you as he expected him to do for you, Bruce turned around to actually do some work before he had to go out for the night, and that was that.
And so marked the end of his first acknowledgment of you, and the last for a very, very long time. And the world kept spinning, and life moved on, and Bruce Wayne took in more children in hopes that he could guide them correctly while you faded into the background just like your mother did.
Then you asked him to work in the med bay of the Batcave, words short and concise, and he was stricken by the ghost of your mother that had made his world stop for a few seconds. You looked exactly like her, down to the knowing glint in your eye and the indifference at seeing right through him. Only this time, he wasnât just shouldering his own secret, but his familyâs as well.
Suddenly, you werenât the oblivious child â whom he shared blood with â that he had been cohabiting for years. You were a liability, but also an opportunity. They went out every night to risk their lives for a thankless job; a family medic would be extremely useful, especially since you were already part of the family and seemed to know their secret.
The concern about you revealing said secret crossed his mind, but if what you said was true, you had already known for years. You also appeared to be mature for your age and quite clever to have been studying medicine independently. So, the decision made had been logical and inevitable, and after making a reasonable condition, your fate had been decided, the threads had been drawn.
It was only later that night after agreeing that he wondered what your mother would think of his decisions pertaining you. Fleets of Alfred coming by with growing concerns playing in the back of his mind as he gazed at a picture of you in a photo album he kept forgotten in the office. He wondered what she would say about his choice to push you away before even allowing you to get close, if she would revolt against you going down into the depths of the Batcave, closer to your tomb than ever.
Bruce hadnât thought of [Mother] in a very long time, but deep down he hoped she wouldnât be too disappointed with him, even if he knew that he had been far from being a good father â all his other children would agree.
What did your future look like? Had he doomed you? Would his pride and negligence be his own childâs downfall? Bruce didnât know you â a deliberate choice made to protect you â but what would it have all been for if he threw you into the deep end so easily? He had sacrificed a healthy relationship with you for your safety, yet he was beginning to realize that perhaps, he had given you up for his peace of mind.Â
For weeks, he watched you work from the distance, until weeks turned to months. He initially planned for you to be slowly introduced into graver injuries, because despite him having pushed you away from vigilantism, having a family medic would be extremely beneficial with their lifestyle. Pushing you away would do them no good. And in a way, he feared it would drive you away from them and out of his supervision. How could he protect you if he wasnât there to make sure you were alright?
But then Tim got hurt. Really hurt. And in a panic, he instructed Dick to fetch you, not even thinking about how it was your day off, nor about how you had never done an operation of this gravity on your own. No â Bruce could only see a dead boy in a too big Robin suit slowly going cold. You were simply the closest medical specialist. He was barely thinking, and breathing in those hours of surgery felt impossible.
And then Tim survived with chances of full recovery, and Bruce could breathe freely again.
The relief of his sonâs survival blinded him, however.
Bruce dove back into his night work, chasing the ones who had caused such pain to his family and went as far as to dismantle their entire organization. He was ruthless, efficient, and during those weeks while Tim was bedridden, Gotham fell into restless tension, apprehensive of her protector.
His family let him, having known him long enough that his stubbornness was infamous and a running joke â as well as somehow hereditary â among them. They let him run loose on the cityâs criminals, merely offering help when the weight was too heavy, and a shoulder to lean on when the sleep deprivation began to sink in.
He couldnât face you and actively avoided your presence â not sure if he would bring up disgust and resentment in you due to his role in your operation on Tim. Yes, Tim had been the main actor along with you â patient and doctor respectively â but Bruce had been the director behind the scenes, the puppeteer pulling the strings.
Would you see his decisions the same? Alfred had long given up trying to get his attention for his concerns about you, but he could feel the disapproval in every cup of tea a bit too cold, in every small, sharp remark, in every portrait where your eyes stared back emptily. Leslie had been rightfully angry about his decision, instructing him to let you rest for a while after learning what he had made you go through, that she had half a mind to ban you from medicine until you were eighteen.
But Bruce was a coward. He couldnât bear to see your face after witnessing you covered in blood and sweat, your softness marred by their lifestyle. He could see you the innocence drained from you in your stained pajamas, covered in gore, in your steady, latex covered hands as you repaired another one of his broken Robins.
So, he let you stumble in your trauma instead of holding you up, let you flail in the deep end to maintain an excuse of ignorance. Bruce loved you â you were his child, someone whose creation he partook in. However, he was never good at facing his issues head on. Therefore, just like when you arrived at this haunted manor, he turned around and left your care to Alfred.
He at least had the pitiful consolation that you had the butler and now Leslie â even if you may never have a parent like your mother had been. Hopefully, [Mother] wasnât spitting down on him. Hopefully, he would be able to repent for everything eventually.
Your eyes burned, and your breath stunk of days-old coffee and hunger. Timeâs passage was no longer something you concerned yourself with, especially down in the caveâs medical area. Only the distant sounds of the bats indicated whether it was nighttime or not, and Alfredâs mounting concern.
It wasnât your intention to worry the older man. In fact, you often aimed to avoid doing so in hopes of keeping him in better health. However, it had been nearly two full months of summer break, two months of lack of routine and outside responsibilities. You had disappeared from the surface of the world and into the cave under the manor. It wasnât as if the rest of your family would worry anyways, and if they were, they were clearly keeping it under wraps.
To be precise â you were becoming a hermit.
Alfred grumbled to himself in the secrecy of his bedroom about having raised obsessive and avoidant children â but that was neither here nor there.
So, maybe you were brooding, or maybe you were seizing the free time to had to learn more. There was no time to rest if you wanted to get into your dream program, no time to have breaks when you had done nothing to earn them.
Your siblings still passed by the medical area with varying levels of wounds and bruises, so much that you had grown fully immune to the sight of blood, flesh and bone. Some parents would be worried if their kids saw more gore than grass, but this was Gotham, and from your point of view, your two guardians consisted of an emotionally constipated vigilante and a busy, indifferent family butler.
So, you worked until your fingers were bleeding beneath latex gloves, until your eyes went hazy with exhaustion and the medical areaâs unnatural lighting, until you were shivering beneath your thin doctorâs coat, goosebumps flourishing in the caveâs low temperatures. Nothing mattered except this; your mother thousands of Gothamites needed medical treatment, and since so little people were stepping up, you had to. If you had to be the laws of nature balancing out all the suffering, you couldnât laze around.
Until you faced an unfortunate â and unnecessary â intervention.
Stephanie Brown had everything she had fought for, and yet she was still unsatisfied.
A mother who loved her, a family she had forged for herself, a best friend, an ex who stuck to her like gum to her shoe â or perhaps it was the other way around. She had a mentor who had passed down the mantle to her and taught her the ways of being a young, female vigilante, a partner on the field, a team to back her up.
She had faced hardship, still faced hardship every day and night. Life had not been generous when dealing her hand, and she had had to bear two heavy mantles as a teenager.
Emerging from these challenges had cost blood, sweat, tears and her own life, but Steph made it out with only a bit of resentment towards Bruce, Leslie and Dick. And things were good now. So, why did the manor still bring up dread and guilt?
Maybe it was the bad memories that came with the imposing structure â the determination that verged on obsessiveness, the need to prove herself as Robin, as Batgirl. Losses and grief, disappointment and shame. She had never lived up to the previous, nor latter, Robins, and somedays, she felt like she would never amount the other Batgirls.
Spoiler had been a way for her to take back control at first, a way to protest against the hand she had been dealt in life, to stand up against injustice. Afterwards, it had been a way to reclaim her identity beneath heavy labels after dying for their cause.
She took time to process it, to finally be comfortable with herself and her place in the team. Sure, she still flinched around Leslie, still held a grudge against Connor, still felt like a disappointment to Bruce and like a burden to Dick, but she was doing better.
Still⌠The long hallways had never been her home, no matter how much time she spent in them. They had been to her school to a student, a company to an employee â a place to learn, yes, but not somewhere she belonged. Sometimes, Steph would look back on movie marathons with Tim in the living room and hang outs with Alfred in the kitchen fondly, but that was most of her positive reminiscing.
Then, of course, there was you. [Name] Wayne.
You had been only three years younger when you had first arrived, dull-eyed and small. Tense shoulders and resignation screamed a convoluted mix of emotions brought on by grief that even a professional would struggle to untangle.
Nevertheless, despite Bruceâs lack of care, Dickâs absence and Timâs indifference, Steph had always wanted a little sibling. So, she took on the role of your big sister.
Days passed by where she would take you out shopping, to malls, to streets that made one forget that they were still in Gotham. You bonded over rude neighbors, misguided classmates and inconsiderate morning commuters. To Steph, you were the normalcy in her life that kept her grounded, the string that kept pulling her back into the maze, even while knowing she could hang out with Tim elsewhere. Why would she go elsewhere when the manor held you?
You were quiet, shy and in mourning, but you were sweet, and polite, and direct. For a little while, everything was nice â not perfect, nothing could be perfect in this doomed city â but nice. Steph was content, and she was pretty sure you were content too.
Then Tim quit being Robin for his fatherâs sake, and she took up the mantle. Suddenly, she had much less time to be a big sister, and the pressure of an entire cityâs crime on her shoulders. Additionally, she lacked the approval of the main cityâs protector, of Superboy, and even Alfred had made his disproval known! She had less time to be a big sister, and her relationship with Tim having ended made her wary of being on the civilian side of the manor.
It was under Black Maskâs hands and Leslieâs lack of care that Stephanie realized that she shouldâve said goodbye, the life bleeding from her eyes that she wished she couldâve hung out with you one last time.
When she returned, she had a fractured relationship with a lot of people, and an entire life to rebuild at the side of the woman who had denied her medical care. You were a fond memory in the back of her mind, and she had no intentions to barge back into your life, especially since you were working side by side with Leslie.
And yet she was worried about you.
Steph wondered if you felt like she had â unacknowledged and neglected, taking on a role you hadnât been trained enough for, underqualified for the weight of the responsibilities you were taking on. She wondered if you needed someone to rant to, a shoulder to rest on, after those long nights like she had. She wondered if you also felt ashamed to claim any sort of help for yourself, if you denied yourself things because you thought it made you stronger.
Which led to the present intervention she was organizing for you in spite of maintaining little to no communication with you since before her death. Years of radio silence broken because, although she denied it, she had always wanted to be a big sister, and what kind of big sister would she be if she let you burn yourself out?
So, Steph gathered every available Bat and set up at the source during one of your rare times away from your workspace â God, you were so similar to them it was disconcerting. When you returned from your five-minute bathroom break, it was to Steph, Cass, Dick and Damian â Duke asleep in preparation for his morning patrol, Jason somewhere in Crime Alley, and Bruce and Tim patrolling â in the med bay arguing about proper intervention etiquette.
âThey donât need you to be an ass about it, Damian. What they need is a breakâ Steph argued, arms crossing in front of her while she sidestepped a jab from the younger boy, Cass poking around the medical supplies and Dick looking exasperate.
âWell, theyâre my blood sibling, not yours, so if anything, my opinion counts more than yoursâ Damian retorted snappily, taking a step forward, which was too far for Dick, who chose that moment to place an arm forward to keep the boy back âDami, come on, weâre all family-â a scoff âWeâre a convoluted mixture of noncompatible people which is begging to explode. And though father is generous enough to have taken you in does not mean I have to accept you as my familyâ he spat back, slapping the offending arm away.
Cass turned around to blink at him âDo not be rude. We are a team. Familyâ was all she said, but it was enough to make his scowl soften and his gaze divert ââŚFine. But donât expect me to play alongâ
âPlay along with what, exactly? Being obstacles in my workspace?â You asked sarcastically, and it was fortunate Bruce wasnât there, because he would have a word â and not only â about their spatial awareness.
Dick cracked a wide smile, warm and familiar, Steph hoped the manâs charm would be enough to convince you to sleep at least six hours âKiddo! There you are! We thought youâd be in your usual hauntâ he exclaimed, moving forward to greet you, faltering slightly when you sidestepped him to go to your files âYes, well, here I am. And unless you all have life threatening injuries right now, I donât see why youâre at my usual hauntâ a collective beat of awkwardness spread among them.
Dick made eye contact with them, grimacing as if to say, âThis is not starting off greatâ, an expression Steph reciprocated because it was an accurate description of the situation. He pushed forward with an explanation âCanât we hang out with our sibling?â.
That clearly caught your attention since your head snapped towards him, he barely held back a flinch âSibling,â you repeated flatly âHave you finally mustered the familial need to bother me under then excuse of bonding? I thought I had escaped that after all these yearsâ you added cynically, eyes sharper than some of the criminals they faced. This was going horribly. Goodness gracious.
This time Dickâs reaction was quite visible, and Damian intervened from his spot where he had been brooding â a family trait. âYou are our sibling, no matter if you acknowledge it or not. We are all legally bound togetherâ he commented bluntly âAnd we have been in the cave far longer than you have. You have no authority over itâ Steph winced. Everyone was saying the wrong things. Your eyes narrowed and you scoffed loudly âOh, forgive me, your liege. I will do my best to keep my commoner self out of your space. Even though you are in mineâ you mocked, shoulders tensing, eyebrows twitching in annoyance â a sight that would have been unfamiliar had Bruce not had the same characteristic.
Damian moved closer, a show of his agility âNone of this is yours. It was lent to you since father pitied how unimportant you are in this family and had to find a use for youâ the words seemed to anger you, something Steph had never witnessed in all her time knowing you âIs that how you try to console yourself for being a child soldier? Another pawn in his futile game? Just because your life is pathetic doesnât mean life is as wellâ
He pulled out a sword âIt is an honor! Something you will never know-!â Cass appeared like a shadow, sheathing the sword once more, shaking her head at Damian. He glared but obeyed the silent command, and she took his place âYou need restâ she said, words clear, the soft wind after the storm, the silence after the war. You blinked âRest? Is that what youâre all here for?â you asked incredulously, âIs this an intervention-?â Dick smiled tentatively âYou could say that. We were just worried about you since youâre working so hard, kiddo. Youâre a growing teen, you need sleep-â
A roll of your eyes, a displeased from on your lips âI donât have time to rest. Iâm workingâ you emphasized as if they were kindergartners and you their impatient teacher. Dick gaped âW- Itâs summer break! Go out and hang with your friends- To the mall, coffee, anything!â he stammered, Cass frowned at him in disproval â if you werenât hanging out with friends, you probably didnât have them.
âDo you want to get rid of me that bad?â you asked, and they collectively winced, their moves so synchronized it would put ballet dancers to shame.
He gulped âN-no-â he stumbled through his thoughts like a fawn on wobbly legs, Cass spoke up again âYou need rest. You work too hardâ she stated, a reiteration of her previous words, Dick nodded so quickly he looked like a bobble head. Steph pinched the bridge of her nose.
You opened your mouth to keep arguing, when Damian held your hand and dragged you to one of the cots, pushing you down on it with a frown âThey are right. You are useless if you are out of fuelâ he said, and though his words seemed cruel, the concern was clear in his eyes. You paused, gathering your thoughts after being moved so quickly, the room spinning around you and making you glad that you were suddenly laying down.
You began carefully âI⌠appreciate your concern. But it is unfounded. I rest enough to stay efficient â Iâm not going to begin slacking off if thatâs what your worried aboutâ the reassurance stung. Did you think they didnât care about you?
Stephanie finally jumped into the fray â[Name], we donât care about your efficiency â even though itâs helpful. Weâre worried about youâ. She couldnât help how her heart ached and her hands clenched. Where had they all gone wrong in keeping you safe and healthy? She pushed the thoughts away â there was no time to wallow when you were still right there.
âYou barely sleep, barely eat. Alfred said you havenât even gone outside for six days! This- even Bruce sees the sunâ she exclaimed, concern dripping from her tone in earnest âAre you keeping watch on me? What are you, my keepers?â you asked sassily.
âNo, weâre your family. We care about youâ she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, you laughed humorlessly âAre you now? Funny, since none of you have been for the past yearsâ
They shrunk under the words. They knew they had been less than ideal family members over the years, saying the opposite would be dishonest âAnd weâre sorry for thatâ Dick said softly, taking the lead while Steph floundered âI shouldâve⌠we shouldâve been there for you. Not nagging you to take care of yourself when we havenât really looked at youâ
His acquiescence made your shoulders relax just the slightest bit, the acknowledgment enough to soothe some of your tension âKiddo, [Name], youâre young. Burning yourself out so soon will hurt you in the long runâ he added, frowning sadly at you âTrust me, I knowâ
The honesty was refreshing, and you couldnât seem to look away from your oldest brother. You pursed your lips âSomeone has to do itâ you justified stubbornly, Steph couldâve smiled with how much like all of them it was âYeah, well, Gotham has survived without you. It can survive a bit more while you eat and sleep for at least eight hoursâ.
You looked down at your lap, not able to keep the eye contact as the conversation began to take a more emotional turn âI need to do better. How am I going to become a doctor if I waste so much time?â you asked, tone the most vulnerable they had ever heard from you, Damianâs shoulders tensed âBesides, you donât have a medic down here. What happens if something like what happened to Tim occurs?â you added hastily.
Steph paused, a mental lightbulb suddenly illuminating you âIs that what this is about? Tim?â you scowled, eyes snapping towards her âThe world doesnât spin around you batsâ you spat defensively.
âYou did goodâ she said weakly âI know I did good. Heâs still kicking, isnât he?â.
Damian snorted, Dick glared at the boy. He shut up.
âBruce shouldnât have given you that caseâ Dick said bluntly, your hassles rose âWait. Before you snap at me, hear me outâ.
âYouâre a kid,â at your glare, he corrected himself âSorry. A teen whoâs barely getting into actually acting as a doctor and treating people. Knowing and doing are totally different things. He shouldâve let you get used to it before throwing Timâs life in your handsâ
You seemed to digest the information, your fingers clenching into fists âI did wellâ you repeated, as if that was explanation enough, he smiled, something small that held a tinge of pity âOf course you did. Doesnât mean it wasnât wrong of Bruce. You know it as well, kiddo. Youâre barely fourteen. You deserve to act like a kid while you can, not to deal with our issuesâ.
You deflated on the medical cot ââŚIâm sixteenâ.
He froze âHuh?â he uttered dumbly. You just sighed âI said Iâm sixteen. Iâm pretty sure I turned sixteen two days ago. Or a week ago, I donât know. Timeâs blurryâ.
The silence in the med bay was loud enough that a pin dropping would be the equivalent of an explosion going off in the cave.
Unexpectedly, Damian sat on the edge of your cot, muttering a quiet âHappy birthdayâ and patting your knee awkwardly, and your lack of reaction convinced Cass to sit on the other side to pat your other knee with a whispered âHappy birthdayâ as well.
Dick watched in what couldâve been compared to heartbreak, a feeling that echoed in Stephâs chest. What a shitty older sister she was. It was worsened due to the fact that you didnât even seem betrayed nor shocked by the fact that they didnât remember â in fact, you seemed resigned, as if it was something you had expected, but had hoped wouldnât be true.
But every change started with a small action.
âLetâs go out to celebrate itâ she said, though the words sounded more like a statement rather than a question, you looked at her as if she had grown a second and third head. Your silence and incredulity did nothing to deter her.
âAfter you rest a bit, we should go out. Celebrate your sixteenth birthday. The mall, the movies, a cafĂŠ â whatever you want, [Name]â Steph rephrased her statement, words holding a hint of pleading. Deep down, she knew that in two years, youâd be gone and onto greener pastures â especially since they had done nothing to keep you tethered to them. But Steph couldnât handle losing her little sibling, even if she had done nothing in the past years to deserve you. She wanted to at least be able to maintain contact, to check up on you, be invited to your big events.
You seemed to carefully think over her words, paying no mind to Cass and Damian who had turned their attention from patting your knee awkwardly to gape at her, much less to Dick whose jaw had dropped quite obviously. The shock stung. Was it so unexpected to want to hang out with oneâs sibling?
Then, like the sun peeking out from behind a cluster of wispy clouds, your smile emerged softly, a blessing of light and warmth after cold wind. It was still a bit shy and pleasantly surprised. And who would Stephanie Brown be if she didnât smile back just as brightly?
You nodded slowly, the rays that your smile emitted fading into something calmer, a shadow of what she had just seen. She hoped she could witness such a sight again.
âSureâ you agreed, Dick made a disbelieving noise, loud in its dramaticism, âI⌠I think Iâd like thatâ.
Stephanie beamed âIâll make sure itâs good. One only turns sixteen onceâ.
Bit by bit, the room emptied out until it was just Dick and Steph beside you. The man shot a meaningful look at the latter before leaving as well â perhaps heâd crash the hangout with his presence, or perhaps he would be held back by the shame of leaving you behind all these years. Now, with just you and Steph, she sighed, grabbing your hand and squeezing it softly like a reminder of your presence then letting go.
âIâm sorry, [Name]. For everythingâ she finally said a few years too late. You hummed in response âWeâre all sorry about something, youâre going to have to be more specific than thatâ.
She pursed her lips âAbout leaving you behind â neglecting you. Iâm not the only one, but I was supposed to be different. I was still your older sister, even if I wasnât exactly apart of the family. And Iâm sorryâ she repented at the side of your bed. Long gone were the days where youâd sit together in the kitchen talking about bad movies and questionable detective series â those days had died with the birth of the fourth Robin, buried with her consequent death. You stood from the cot, rolling your shoulders easily.
âI forgive you. Most of you, evenâ you began, shaking out your legs, âHowever, Iâll never forget. I donât think Iâll ever fully move past the fact that I became a ghost in what was supposed to be my homeâ.
And Steph swallowed the tears, because they held their truth. She had stood by Cass as the girl recovered from the pain inflicted by her upbringing, by Duke in his doubt, by Tim in his mourning and complexities â but where had she been when she had to stand by you? The excuse of keeping her distance for your own safety was flimsy and overused, and she had already missed too much of you just by hiding behind it.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a hug, short and sweet, not even lasting three seconds before you pulled back âI wonât forget. But Iâm willing to leave my door open if you want to give being friends another chanceâ.
A wave of relief flowed through her and peaked with a watery smile âThat would be greatâ.
Maybe Stephanie Brown didnât have everything she wanted, but maybe, she could get there eventually.
With the intervention being successful â the room had sighed in collective relief â you agreed to have a small dinner â early breakfast? â then head to bed and rest for at least eight hours. And so, you emerged from your thirteen hours of sleep to see that the world preparing itself for sleep again.
Alfredâs scoldings about proper meals echoed in your head as you put some slippers on, vision blurry with slumber. Somehow, you felt both refreshed and exhausted at once â your sleep deprivation followed by a lengthy rest most likely being the source. You blinked the sleep away, allowing your feet guide you instinctually through the familiar hallways towards the kitchen.
The manor was eerily empty â an echo of a past when it had only been Bruce, Alfred, Tim and you living in the massive structure, half of which who spent most of their time in their respective studies or rooms, or in the cave beneath. It reminded you of days spent wandering these long stretches in vain in search of someone, something â anything that would distract you from the grief bubbling under your skin. Now that you think about it, you never did find anything or anyone until you took up your medicine studies.
You quickly moved past that thought.
Finally, you reached the kitchen. Its emptiness felt less cold than the hallways, with the dimming rays painting the room in warm hues, the presence of potted herbs all working together to bring forth a cozier ambiance. You ignored this in favor for the far-right upper cabinet which housed the unhealthier foods that Alfred disproved of. He would tut at the sight of your upcoming meal, but you felt that your rest warranted a reward. And itâs not as if he was here.
You prepared a bowl of sugary cereal, topped with disgustingly sweet marshmallows. No one was there â it was the perfect hour to go unnoticed by the manorâs inhabitants after all. Around dusk most of the vigilanteâs were asleep to rest a bit before the nightshift, and the dayshift vigilante, Duke, was most likely resting in his own room.
It wasnât as if you particularly enjoyed the quiet, nor the loneliness â despite you actively aiming for it for the past years. But it was easier to pretend you wanted it instead of the pitiful alternative of your family simply not caring enough to seek you out. So, with the familiarity of a hardened veteran handling a gun, you sat on a stool in the kitchen, your chosen poison placed on the marble counter in front of you. It wasnât as if you were not used to eating alone, after all.
Then, in a turn of events, Bruce Wayne unexpectedly walked into the kitchen.
You both froze in your respective spots, the spoon in your hand dripping with sugar-stained milk, his shoulders tense enough to break the doorway if he made a wrong step.
He ceded to the tension first, âI didnât expect you to be hereâ he said awkwardly. You frowned in slight annoyance â trust your father not to expect the child he took in himself to be there.
You tilted your head sarcastically âAm I not allowed to be here? Or did you expect me to still be down at the cave?â you asked pointedly, lips pursing.
âDonât worry, Iâll be back downstairs to tend to your children in a bitâ you added, tone dripping with condescension. He paused as he was taking another step, looking like a thief caught red-handed.
âI was simply surprised to see you here, [Name]. Thereâs no need to behave like thatâ he replied sternly, voice reminiscent of how he talked to misbehaving children wearing vigilante suits. Your expression quickly melted into a scowl.
âOh, sorry, sir. Iâll return to shutting up and staying in my lane. Forgot I wasnât supposed to act like a human beingâ you apologized sardonically, shoving the spoonful of soggy cereal in your mouth. You were unsure why you were so irritated just by seeing him, especially since the past times you had seen him, you couldnât look him in the eye due to the heavy feeling of betrayal that he brought on.
He grimaced âThat certainly wasnât what I meant, [Name]. I just thought the kitchen would be empty as usualâ.
Your gaze moved back to your bowl. Why did so many awkward conversations happen while you were eating cereal? Was this a sign from some upper being? Perhaps you ought to start avoiding the food. You pushed the bowl away.
âIt wouldnât be the first time youâve forgotten I existâ you mumbled under your breath. Your pettiness was ice water in your veins, a reminder of your own age. You never truly remembered how young you were, how small you were in this massive world until you did something you should be above.
The man grimaced âIâm sorry if Iâve let you down in the past. However, that is not the point of this conversationâ. You rolled your eyes in retaliation âThere is not point in this conversation. Do you need a script every time you need to speak with someone?â
His shoulders seemed to broaden, like a cornered animal attempting to seem bigger than they actually were â however, in this case, your father was the Batman facing his neglected child. The fact that he felt threatened brought you unexpected glee.
â[Name]. Behaveâ he scolded, you raised a brow, pointed and mockingly curious âHow so? Is this making you uncomfortable?â you cooed sarcastically.
His hands clenched, âOf course it is making me uncomfortable. Your disrespect is appalling. I know you werenât raised like thisâ.
And like gasoline being lit on fire, you shot up, stool clattering on the floor behind you, bowl wobbling precariously. Your heartbeat quickened in anticipation, poison bubbling on your tongue â ready to be spit out and deal damage.
âOne day, youâre going to have to own up to your fears and face them. You wonât be able to hide behind a mask foreverâ you scoffed, eyes bright with rage and accusation. Bruce barely flinched, his eyes narrowing in return âOne day, youâre going to have to learn respect for your eldersâ he scolded, as if he had the right to do so, as if he had ever been present. You snapped back, an elastic band stretched too far, a lifetime of loneliness grown too cold âRespect is earned. And aside from giving yourself to a city that keeps taking every night, you have done nothing to earn my respectâ.
He paused âIs this about me not telling you about our vigilante personas? Because if so, you are demonstrating how you still donât have the maturity to participateâ.
And wasnât that just the cherry on top? His self-centeredness was suffocating you âLike hell I wany to participate in your lethal circus! Iâm not cocky enough to assume my presence will make a differenceâ. Your earlier scoff was echoed by him â like father like child, you wouldâve thought if the rage in your veins hadnât been blinding you.
The great Batman, your biological father, one of, if not the greatest detective. For years, his shadow has hidden the sun, hidden the beautiful outside world which you are still yet to see. He had kept you away from the love your mother had given so freely, away from the familial ties that shouldâve been present. He looked both confused by your sudden abrasiveness and defensive. Would he defend you as much as he defended his city? As he defended his other children?
He cut your thoughts off âYou were, and clearly still are a child. You have no place in this lifestyle-â a sting, though you werenât sure if it was your heart breaking or your eyes tearing up âWell, I was and still am your childâ you retorted, and the great Batman was silenced, the truth dealing a heavy blow.
Because despite it all, he was still your father. It didnât make a difference whether he neglected you emotionally or allowed you to become a doctorâs apprentice as a teenager. None if it mattered, because he was still your reason of being if not much else. Â
âI amâ he confirmed, though he looked constipated.
âYou havenât acted so for four years. You donât get to scold me, to patronize me now when you havenât been present my whole life.â Your words were poisonous, meant to hurt. Why shouldnât they, when all you had done was hurt since your mother was diagnosed?
Now, he looked deeply uncomfortable. You scoffed quietly â of course heâd shy away from discussions pertaining more emotional themes, even when the focus was his role in your life. It was expected, an inevitable reaction, but somehow, your heart still reacted to the betrayal in the form of an indescribable ache that had been building in you like a chronic illness, seizing your insides painfully. People said love was worth dying for, yet you couldnât imagine even wanting love in the first place if this was how it felt when it wasnât returned.
You wished you had been more important in your own fatherâs life, wished he had just once picked you over everything else. Perhaps it was selfish, but all love was, and deprivation had made you desperate before throwing you into indifference.
You began to turn around; you are too young to let yourself live like this, too smart to take this treatment. He cleared his throat unexpectedly, and the great Bruce Wayne spoke.
âI am sorry, [Name].â
The world paused around you, as if nothing was real anymore, as if time had stopped and launched you into an alternate reality where everything was different and your family actually saw and loved you. It was like stepping into your deepest, most intimate dreams. You faced your father once more; your features echoed back at you like a twisted mirror. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you, if he ever saw a child of his or just another burden.
âYou are goodâ he paused âin spite of my less-than-ideal treatment towards youâ. You looked the man straight in the eyes â the symbol, the legend, the person who held Gotham in his hands like a dying ember â incredulity etched so deeply in your expression it seemed carved into marble âSome good things are born in bad placesâ.
Bruceâs face fell âAre you saying this place has been bad for you?â he asked, and you wouldâve been offended by his doubt had you not known the meaning and history of the manor. A sigh escaped from your parted lips âIt hasnât been good to me, thatâs for sureâ.
A beat, then two â the setting sun painting the room like a final whisper, dipped in watercolor and regret. In a way, you wished it had never come to this â a stand down between father and child. No child is born wanting to oppose their creator. But long gone were the years where you fought tooth and nail for his approval, for an ounce of his attention that your siblings received so freely. You were not a child anymore. And while you would always be his child, biologically at least, you had moved past the desperate need to prove it to him, and to yourself.
Under the dying rays of dusk, you ceded a relationship for your peace of mind with the knowledge of both parties. A mutual retreat, a war gone on too long â Bruce Wayne could only mourn the death of what could have been, his lack of answer sign enough that you had both reached a standstill.
Your quiet steps came closer, until you were face to face with your dad, and the deep, anguish-filled regret on his face wouldâve been enough to change your mind just one year before. Now, you merely offered him a bittersweet smile instead.
âIâm grateful you took me in. If not for the luxury, at least for Alfred, for Leslie, for the medical experience, even for my siblings in a way â things I never could have had had it not been for youâ you began, because your mother had raised you to be good, no matter whether the other person deserved it or not. He pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowed deeply âThat is not certain. Even if I had not, you would have found a way.â he cut himself off, sighing âYouâre remarkable. You would have found it all yourself, [Name]â.
The compliment stung, especially the timing. Why now, when you were abandoning the race? You pushed forward, nonetheless. You had made it too far to back down now.
âI will most likely move out as soon as I can. As soon as I finish my studies,â he seemed to grimace at the words, but he knew he hadnât earned the right to interrupt âI donât expect you to support me, nor am I asking for permission. This has been decided for a while, after all. I simply hope you wonât prevent me from doing soâ.
Bruce looked at his firstborn in the eyes, the child he let get away, and nodded in resignation âOf course I will support you, [Name]. You are my childâ he said, words heavy with bone-deep exhaustion that he had been carrying for years â but that was no longer and had never been your problem.
You finally took a step back, offering a small, parting smile âI⌠I still love you. If not as a dad, then as a distant father figure.â
Anguish filled eyes looked back, âI love you as well. Iâm sorry I was never there. I shouldâve-â you cut him off, the breath knocked out of him with an unexpected hug. The first and last for a long, long time.
Bruce could feel the wetness soaking into his shirt, a wetness mirrored in his own eyes âItâs too late for that now, fatherâ he choked down any possible noise, bringing his arms up to hold you back tighter, cheek resting on the crown of your head âI know, chum. I knowâ he whispered, only the dying sun and his parting child present to witness his heart break.
It seemed to last an eternity, and he didnât want to let go. He felt as if he could be buried like this without protest. Â
But finally, you stepped back, your warmth lingering in his arms, fading slowly. A dying child, a rising adult. You no longer needed him. He sighed âI will support you in what you do. I merely ask you donât leave permanently, and that you visit every once and againâ.
You nodded slowly, looking back at your now soggy bowl of cereal. âOf course Iâll visit. I couldnât just leave Alfred behind like thatâ you muttered, âBesides, youâre all still family, despite your best attemptsâ.
He petted your hair â touches you wouldâve died for a few years back âWeâll always be here. And you still have some time left before finishing high school. We still have some timeâ he seemed to console himself. You didnât protest nor approve â it wasnât your responsibility to reassure him.
âTwo yearsâ you stated, then grabbed your bowl to place it in the sink. Emptying it and rinsing the remains. You dried your hands. âTwo years, then Iâm goneâ.
His silence made you look at him. An expression plagued by grief, a loss he had never grown used to. Distance or death seemed not that different to him as he looked at you like you were already a ghost.
You walked towards the doorway, patting his shoulder awkwardly in passing âYou were a shitty father,â you began âBut⌠Iâm not dying, and neither are you. We still have some time left,â you looked at him over your shoulder âDad.â
And with those parting words, you left the kitchen, sun already set over the horizon of the forest beyond the manor, room coated in regret and the days lingering heat. Your father stood there, in the silence of the place he grew up in, feeling like a grieving child all over again. But then again, that was not your responsibility.
The echo of your steps while you ventured back to your room didnât seem as loud as before â perhaps you felt lighter after finally saying what you had wanted to say for so long, or perhaps you didnât feel like an outsider anymore. Either way, you had things to study. Though it was summer, so you could probably afford to indulge in your hobbies once more.
You had two years. Two years left to act like a kid and enjoy your teenage years. Two years to dedicate your passion to your interests and hobbies instead of drowning in medical terms. You wouldnât abandon your studies â of course not, you have worked too hard to do so, and you still loved it.
Nevertheless, you had all the time in the world to be [Name]. Not just a Wayne, not just a doctor. Yourself. Maybe now you could start living.
Damian Wayne had always yearned for connection.
Deep down, in that secret place that he never allowed even his mother to penetrate, he yearned for someone to hold dear. Through beatings and long training sessions, torture disguised as preparation, loneliness disguised as independence â Damian dreamed of someone to hold him through the pain, the fear, the exhaustion.
His mother stopped holding him when he was so, very young, and he had been deprived of physical and emotional affection all his life.
When he arrived at the manor, his dreams of companionship had already wilted away from neglect. What was the point in wanting something unreachable? And after meeting his father and âsiblingsâ, he was disappointed in learning that he was right to do so. While he was not the picture of emotional maturity, this family left a lot to be desired.
You were calm, serene in the face of their chaos. At first, he had felt a rush of envy and a need to prove himself to his father to show that he was worthy of love. A child of the Bat not even trained, probably unaware of their important lifestyle. How could one expect him to even attempt to connect with you when you were so fragile?
When he first arrived, Damian had been warned that you were a civilian â even more so after he attacked Tim. So, after a few heated discussions with his father, the envy became indifference. You were just another rock on the road, another grain of sand on the beach.
For a while, you both steered clear of each other. Why would he pay attention to you â the weak one â when he did not even pay attention to the siblings he actually worked with? It was a mutual non-relationship, and either way, you both had your lives â him in proving himself worthy of his lineage, and you doing whatever it is civilians do. At least unlike him, the family probably liked you.
Weeks of mutual silence melted into curiosity. Why were you so indifferent to being ignored? If you had grown up sheltered as the others had explained, you should have at least greeted your half-brother, even if he was just another addition amongst many to this ragtag family.
Thus, as any properly trained assassin and heir of the Batman legacy and Demon titles, he investigated.
His research did not take long, just a couple of weeks, and the conclusion was as appalling as it was disappointing. His observations led him to believe that he was not the first family member to neglect you emotionally â a discovery that brought a tight feeling to his chest and a furrow between his eyebrows.
On your side, you seemed indifferent toward your father and adoptive siblings and company, and consequently, curiosity bloomed into admiration.
His older sibling, in the face of duress and suffering, had blossomed into an inspiring teenager who excelled academically and maintained a stoic face no matter the occasion. Suddenly, Damian wondered if you would have turned out better than him had you lived under his training conditions, wondered if you would not have felt the urge to cry when locked in dark rooms, or wince whenever hunger struck too harshly.
And if it had been the two of you in Nanda Parbat, would you have motivated him to do better? Would you have consoled him whenever the pressure and expectations got to heavy?
Damian had long abandoned those childish dreams for connection, but he was not shocked that it was a child of the Bat that brought that silly hope back. For the first time ever, the child soldier gave himself the right to dream â dream attaining someone who loved him and who he loved back, dream of having a sibling.
Yet things never go right in this cursed manor.
You were distant, and after witnessing the familyâs treatment towards you, he understood why. And although he tried to bridge the gap, he had never learned to be soft, had never learned to be kind. He came off as haughty and harsh, sarcastic and pointed, when all he wanted to do was catch your attention.
No matter how harsh he snapped, or how kind the small gesture was, you held a blind spot to anything family shaped.
Then you joined them in the Batcave.
Secretly, he was over the moon â his sibling close by, able to watch him them in their element. If he showed off a bit more than usual, who were the others to comment on it? They did the same all the time, he was allowed to do so every once in a while. In the depths of the cave, he hung around under the guise of supervision, asked questions about your work with the excuse of investigation. And if this opened up a new possibility of a future where he could help without risking his life, he simply kept looking at you with bright eyes and a big heart.
The time after Timothy was operated was a period of darkness, so dark even your indifference could not hold you steady. Damian tried â he truly did â to console you, to help around the med bay, but you were sharper. He backed down after making you snap once, not wanting to incite more of your ire.
It was a few months later near the end of the summer after an intervention he participated in that things began to look up once more, and the hopes of becoming your little brother returned with it tenfold. You were more open â with your work, with your interests, even with your personal life.
For two years, life was the best it had ever been for Damian Wayne, with a father he was beginning to not just love, but like, siblings he tolerated, a butler he appreciated deeply, animals he cared for, and a big sibling he adored.
And just like you during the summer of your sixteenth birthday, he was inconsolable.
âWhat do you mean you are moving out? Is the manor not to your liking? We could move into somewhere bigger if the size or appearance are not to your liking-â Damian tried to rationalize. It did not make sense â everything was perfect.
Your smile was as serene as the first time you hung out together, calm, a bit sad, but reassuring. âDami⌠Itâs not the manor. Iâm leaving for college,â You explained softly, flattening his hair fondly âIâll come visit during the Christmas season, and we can still text-â You were cut off by a body slamming into yours.
Damian was bigger than you now, just a bit taller. In a way, despite it only lasting over a year, he missed being smaller than you so you could engulf him. His hold on you tightened at the thought.
"I donât want you to go,â He mumbled, words wobbling miserably âI just got you â you canât leave me like this.â
You paused, then sighed, pressing your head against his shoulder âI wonât be gone forever, Dami.â He whined, âJust stay in Gotham. Gotham U is a respectable university for medicine-â You squeezed him, and although you certainly were not as strong as him, it silenced him immediately.
âI canât stay. You know thatâ you stated quietly, though you lacked no conviction, âI need to find myself out there outside of Gotham. Outside of this family.â You pulled back to look at him in the eyes â who would have thought the great Damian Wayne would be reduced to misery because his older sibling was moving out?
You smiled, it was bittersweet, but there was a world waiting for you â not even your baby brother could hold you back from it. âItâs not goodbye forever. Just a see you later.â
His eyes narrowed in an attempt to hide the tears even if your both knew you saw right through him. Damian loved you, had grown to look up to you. He knew he would not succeed in changing your mind, and deep down, knew you deserved to fly free from this place.
The tightness of his hold loosened. âYouâll call. Immediately once you get there. And you shall update me at least weakly â about your schedule, your classes, your classmates, professors â everythingâ he said sternly, rubbing his reddening nose. Your smile brightened âOf course I will. I would never keep you out of the loop.â
He nodded in approval before reluctantly letting you go. âDonât forget me- us, okay? Â Those university people most likely donât even amount up to us. We are much betterâ he grumbled, your heart ached with his sweetness âI wonât. Itâs just some years, not forever. And Iâll visit occasionally, you big babyâ you teased softly.
Damian stepped back, and you caught the faint glimpse of his bottom lip wobbling before he looked away âWhatever. You should leave unless you want to have any tardiness.â
This time, you hugged him first, your laugh painting this soon to be memory in the childish haze of the end of the beginning âI love you. Itâll be over in no timeâ he nodded slowly âYeah, it better. I wonât be able to tolerate the others alone.â
You parted with a last smile, walking toward the moving van, waving at Damian with a beam.
Your father emerged from the back of the vehicle, his concentrated frown from attempting to fit everything in fading as he looked at you âI managed to make everything fit. Try not to take everything out â itâll mess up the organization.â
A chuckle escaped from your stretched lips âThanks, Iâll keep that in mind.â
A moment of silence passed over the two of you, but you were no longer that sad child who let that heaviness oppress you. âIâll visitâ you repeated, this time to your father, not knowing what to say. You had said your parting words two years back.
Your creator nodded âI know. Iâll send you a schedule for your breaks so that you can fill out when you want to come over the next years.â
You sighed in exasperation âI mean Iâll miss you, dadâ. He froze; a deer caught in headlights before forcibly relaxing as if this was a mission instead of his child leaving for college âIâll miss you too. Itâs not too late to stay-â he began, but you quickly shook your head âNo. Iâm leaving.â
Another moment of silence, but this time less tense and more resigned âIâm proud of you, chum. Of how far youâve come. I know youâll make it so much furtherâ he said, holding your shoulder. You smiled again, something tentative and delighted âThanks, dad.â
He squeezed your shoulder, looking like Damian attempting to keep you in place â or did Damian look like him? â your smile widened âFor what itâs worth, I really appreciate everything youâve done for me. You werenât too bad of a dad these past two yearsâ you commented, he sighed in reply âItâs the bare minimum. I couldâve been better.â
You shrugged âWe can always be better. What matters is learning from your faults and trying to do better. I wonât say you werenât a shitty father â Iâd be lying â but Iâm thankful you did your best to change afterwards.â
Your dadâs eyes looked shiny, he coughed and looked away as an excuse to wipe his eyes rapidly. You softened.
âIâm proud of you as well, dad.â He brought you into a tight bear hug âI love you, kidâ he said against the crown of your head, words muffled but no less true.
You pulled back first, hitching your backpack higher up your shoulder âIâve gotta go. The worldâs waiting for meâ you joked â you both knew it was the truth, though.
Your father laughed, an exclusive, precious sound âGo get them, then.â He stepped back towards the manor, not breaking line of vision with the van.
You put your bag in the passengerâs seat, and waved widely at the rest of your family, a wide smile on your face as you got into the driverâs seat, igniting the car.
Life had been far from perfect at Wayne manor â a cold place that harbors loneliness and misery. But through it all, you found a passion strong enough to break the cage you were stuck in and had even managed to find a budding family along the way despite the initial obstacles.
Now, the world awaits you, the freedom ruffling your wings and guiding you to brighter horizons. It is the end of the beginning, not the beginning of the end. With the newfound support of your family and your passion, there is nowhere you canât reach. You are [Name] Wayne, and this is only the beginning.
a/n: I canât believe this is over!! It did unfortunately take a very long time to come to a close (blame the return of comics and webtoons in my life, itâs hard being a fan) but Iâm glad I was able to enjoy it while it was happening! I hope you guys enjoyed it as well, despite all the time it took for this last chapter to pop out. Thank you for all the support and I will see you soon with possibly another story :]
tags!: @iloveescara @somebodyrandom-613 @kohaiyuki @diamondnightsky23 @starseekingaheart @shycreatorreview @zombikittykat @mbioooo0000 @sle3ping-c4t @dearestcallalily @whatdoesthesenpai @esposadomd @dandelion-delusion @angel-san-77 @blueiones @winkous-av @irenehart02 @uivira @ratatata-u @reiofsuns2001 @hanz-176 @maaaahhhiii @blxuqueenie @hoeforfics @skepvids @the-midnight-king-of-poets @watermellonslol @whaaaaaaaaat111 @princesscosmo @lettucel0ver @wmoony @elsyageorgia @karinasari @apodyopsisphilia @crazybos @ghostlyworld @d4rkf10w3r @cookiepersona @fourth-wall-irl @damithomaswayne @cyberraccoonn @c4xcocoa @red-hood132 @supercoolgirl061 @sunnysmells @actualunicornn @sad-purple-one @lordbugs @otmyname @anidiots @theangryrobin @k-homosapien @silas-san @blackcat-mors13 @teamfoods1 @lvlyu @cgmajor @itshoney-14 @cassiecasluciluce
(hi, if you made it this far, I wish to let it be known that I love Steph, thatâs my girl. The Batgirls are unappreciated and they deserve more love. Thatâs it, thatâs my remark! Also, Bruce is a complex character, all the Batfam is, so I hope I conveyed them well enough and not too ooc. This is my first time writing a full dc fic, so, yeah! Thank you for reading!)