horrorthrills

Date: June 5, 2026

Time: 8:23AM

Transcriber: (Name) (Last Name)

[Click. A breeze is mixed with a distant howl of laughter. It’s assumed that the speaker, Red Robin, as identified from Log 1, is perched on top of a tall building.]

“My suspicions about one of the symptoms being that of hearing a voice or experiencing some kind of hallucination has been confirmed. I found a girl in danger by the name of Grace Blackwood about two days ago. She was homeless. Had been for about a year after she ran away from her abusive stepfather. She was thirteen then…”

“When I found her, she was almost a goner by the hands of one of the people infected with Mania. They ended up shredding her right shoulder pretty bad. There was a lot of blood staining her clothes and smeared all over her neck and tear stained face. Her left hand was completely painted red from trying to apply pressure to her injured limb.”

“I was able to bring her to safer ground and help clean up the blood and dress the wound the best I could. I didn’t see the initial attack, so I asked her what happened. She was so shaken up and most definitely going through shock, her sentences were choppy and frantic. But this is what I strung together from her broken words…”

“She was too late to make it over any of the bridges. Such was the fate of the hopeless and homeless. Seen as people without any value, if regarded as people at all. Always last in line, always first to die. So she did as she had been doing for the past year, and took to the streets. But this time, even quieter and smaller than before. For if she were to get caught, it was certain death.”

“And for a time, she was good at it. Quieter than a mouse and swifter than a shadow. But her access to food had become even more limited than before.”

“Because before, she had access to soup kitchens and table scraps from restaurants, and occasionally, the Good Samaritan who would give her money to buy a fresh hot meal. Now, she had none of those. Her only choice now was to risk being out in the open while raiding convenience shops and grocery stores. She was fine the first couple of times, but the day I found her, she wasn’t as lucky.”

[A crash and a car alarm began blaring from what sounded like a distance from below, further confirming that Red Robin is likely on top of a building, overlooking the city.]

“It was nearly sunset when Grace revisited a convenience store from the day before. She hadn’t heard any laughter around her safe house all day and assumed it was safe enough to raid the building without much concern. Well, you can guess how well that went.”

“A middle aged woman attacked her from behind and carved into her shoulder with a bread knife before sinking her own teeth into Grace’s flesh and tearing a chunk from her body. It was the scream that ripped through her throat that alerted me of her approximately location, about three blocks away. I got there just in time and dropped in from above the alleyway where Grace was cornered.”

“The sight of the older woman was something that crawled straight out of the treacherous depths of hell. She clutched the bloody serrated blade in her right hand and chewed on the raw meat and skin from Grace’s shoulder like it was beef jerky, the blood running down her chin and dribbling onto the front of her shirt while she giggled with her mouth full. She was sickly pale, to the point where her skin was pretty much translucent and could see nearly every branch and weave of her veins. A faint pulse of an unnatural green circulated through her body. Up towards her temples and through to her irises which glowed the brightest; that same toxic color.”

“Her eyes were the scariest. They were sharp and clear like that of a predator, yet they were haunted by a perpetual darkness of the blackest ink. It was hard to believe that she was human…Or at least, was human at one point. Did Mania completely alter the person, or just their brain chemistry? Was there a difference? Who were we if not our thoughts and mind? A shell of what we once were? A murderous shadow of our former selves wearing the same skin on our bones as a disguise to trick one another into a false sense of security? Did Mania turn us into this creature, or only reveal our true nature? If the eyes were the windows to the soul, were we really this monstrous?”

[Red Robin paused and swallowed before resuming his account with a slight shake to his voice.]

“Upon coming face to face with a…person infected with Mania, for the first time, I realized I had no idea how to deescalate the situation. Confronting the problem was completely different from observing and gathering data from afar. Was the woman before the infection still in there? Was it possible to bring her back? I tried to talk to her, to reason with her, but all she did was swallow the flesh and laugh, her smile reaching an uncomfortable wideness. Then she lunged her knife towards my chest. At times like this I’m grateful for the training I’ve received over the years from all my mentors, who I'm choosing to keep unnamed in these recordings…The woman was surprisingly swift and agile, almost superhuman-like, perhaps that was one of the effects of Mania, but I was able to counter all her offenses and even strike a few of my own. In the end, though, none of us won. I caught the woman in a net to keep her from any further advances and as an attempt to peacefully apprehend her, but she looked me dead in the eyes with that sickening grin and mad laugher before plunging her knife into her stomach and gutting herself like a sacrifice. She never broke eye contact. Not even as her laughter turned into sobs and her eyes became glossy and lifeless.”

“That was the first suicide I witness during the weeks we’ve been stranded. I was in a state of shock myself, I can still see the reflection of my own horror in her shallow gaze when I closed my eyes and the sound of her blade slicing flesh mixed with her cries echos in my mind. I could have broken into my own insanity right then and there, but I needed to help Grace. I had to save someone…I had to. So I shoved my nausea under the waves and turned my attention back to the girl.”  

“I brought Grace to one of the many safe houses we had stocked around Gotham. It was small, but as the name implied, it was safe. A small mercy was that the woman who attacked Grace in the shoulder missed the Axillary Artery, getting mostly skin and muscle. Still, being treated as a thanksgiving turkey was not ideal. Grace was in excruciating pain, I wish I could’ve taken her to a doctor or had access to a morphine drip–-Then again, it’s probably a good thing I don’t have my hands on opioids…Although…Nevermind.”

“Well, eventually, I was able to clean the wound and wrap Grace’s shoulder with what little gauze I had in the med kit and the rest of it in a linen pillowcage I tore up. I spent what time I could with tending to her, but I still had my obligations to the city. I needed to meet with Batman and the others, my brothers, if I’m allowed to confess. I’ve always seen Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin as my brothers. We’ve been going our separate ways in search of some kind of clue as to how we can cure this disease and where we find the Joker, he seemed to have just…Vanished. Right out of thin air…It was odd.”

[A scream echoes in the distance. Red Robin sighed.]

“Anyways, I wasn’t around enough to notice the first symptoms manifesting. I chalked the dilated pupils from being just what happens in the low light of the safe house and the mood swings from being in shock. She was cannibalized, anyone would be. It wasn’t until a few hours ago that I came back to find Grace curled up in the corner of the room with her fists clenched tightly in her hair, pulling. A haunting cry that flickered in and out of laughter reverberated against the walls. I felt a chill run through my bones.”

“Slowly, I crept over to her and asked her what was wrong. She begged it to stop, for someone to put an end to her misery. There were voices in her head telling her to hurt…to kill. She cried that she didn’t want to do that, but the voices kept getting louder and louder and that she couldn’t distinguish which were her own and which were Mania. Perhaps they all were her own thoughts and that she was truly, secretly, wretched beneath the skin; that this insanity that tormented her mind was actually a clarity. A reverse situation of Eve biting the apple, where she needed to be bitten in order to reveal the truth inside of her.” 

“It was hard to watch and not know what to do. I did my best to tell her it wasn’t real, that she was strong enough to overcome the pain and overwhelming madness. I tried to hug her, to ground her back to reality, but the second I grazed her good shoulder, she let out an agonizing scream that came from the very depths of her soul and pounced on top of me with speed and strength that far exceeded the boundaries of her stature. Her hands wrenched themselves around my neck and squeezed the breath from me, knocking the back of my head against the floor. I gasped and clasped my hands around her wrists in an attempt to pry them off. I looked into her pained face and watched her turn, right before my eyes.”

“In quick succession, her skin became a sickly pale as her veins pulsated with sparks of toxic green, flowing through their currents, all the way up her neck and behind her eyes. Watching Grace’s, originally, brown irises swirl with that unnatural glow of Mania, and the inky darkness creeping into the corners of her sclera, was like watching an angel fall from Heaven. But there was still a halo of white hanging on to dear life. Grace was still in there. She was fighting.”

“With what little breath I had left, I choked out a plea. I told her she didn’t have to listen to the voices, that she was free to choose what she did next. It was a shot in the dark. I had a slim chance of my words making it through to her. But like my track record states, I will bet on those chances—And a lot of the time, it fell in my favor. This time was no different. I saw Grace struggle against herself, the tears that swelled in her eyes, and I saw the moment my plea hit its mark. I got through to her. With a newfound clarity and trembling hands, she released her hold on my neck slowly while I drank in the air with greedy fervor.”

 “Grace sunk back onto her heels and covered her face with her hands, a gentle giggle of relief on her lips. The sound was still disturbing to hear, something about the ever present echo of Joker manifesting on the tongues of strangers felt like you were forever surrounded by the Clown Prince of Crime. Like he was always watching.”

“I sat up and looked at Grace, who combed her fingers through her hair and met my eyes. Hers remained green with a little halo of white against the black, the wild gleam still lingered. She smiled. “You’re right”, she said to me. She did have a choice.”

“I was relieved I was able to stop her from spiraling into madness. It gave me hope that if I could save Grace, then perhaps there was a chance we could save those who were already infected with Mania by reversing the effects and restoring them to  their former selves.”

 “But just as my hopes rose to such heights, they plummeted when Grace moved with such speed and force, and crashed through the closest window…Grace fell…I yelped and rushed towards the shattered glass to look down, expecting to find her body mangled on the sidewalk, about a hundred and fifty feet below.What I found was much worse. Grace didn’t fall very far, because about fifteen feet below the window was a gargoyle, whose long pointed horns skewered Grace’s neck while she laid limp across its back. Blood pooled and flowed from the wounds, onto the carved granite, and dripped down and down to the street below in a slow, agonizing, lullaby.”

“Drip.”

“Drip.”

“Drip.”     

“I had to stifle a horrified cry. Grace’s eyes were wide open and staring directly into my own, her mouth gaped open and—Oh God…A strangled breath passed through her lips followed by spurts of red. She was still alive and gargling, suffocating, on the blood that filled her throat and mouth as if it were a well that has overflown and become a fountain of ever flowing scarlet. And I couldn’t do a thing about it, she was dead either way…I couldn’t save her…I couldn’t—”

“I watched her eyes turn hollow and soulless with the same green madness still lingering, even after death. I turned sharply from the broken window before vomiting what little contents of my stomach onto the wooden floor of the safe house. It no longer felt safe. I needed to leave.”

[Red Robin scoffs, in disbelief or in discuss, is unclear.]

“I left her there. I left her body on the gargoyle, to rot in the elements. Does that make me a bad person? I have now seen two people commit suicide on account of Mania. One where one has already been infected for a while, and the other where they’ve been in the incubation period and after they began showing symptoms. I know logically, there wasn't much I could do to prevent them from harming themselves…But then again, I could have done more. I could have fought the older woman harder and gotten the knife away from her…I could have been quicker to save Grace, or maybe if I had just been there at the right time before she got bit, then I could have prevented her demise all together. I should have been with Grace more than I was, then would’ve noticed her symptoms faster and we could have found a way to stop it earlier…I could have tried harder.”

[Red Robin sighs with sorrow, and for a moment, there was a rare silence from the rest of Gotham.]

“I don’t want to admit this, but there was, unfortunately and fortunately, a good thing to come out of these past few days. Now we know that Mania is transferred via direct contact transmission, like through blood or saliva. And now we know that hearing voices is indeed a symptom. I’m just going to add ‘seeing hallucinations’ to the list as well. It’s likely a symptom, anyways. And besides, it wouldn’t be Gotham without a few mental phantoms to torment you during your lowest lows…You’d get lonely without them.”

“I’m going to meet with my brothers again soon. This whole splitting up bit like we’re some kind of Scooby-Doo gang doesn't seem to be achieving the lengths we thought we’d get to by now. Maybe if we could bounce ideas off of each other, we might just come up with an idea that will be able to cure and prevent Mania. Or, at least, give us some clue on where Joker could be…This is Red Robin, signing off.”

[Click. End of log.]

Date: June 4, 2026

Time: 8:37AM

Transcriber: (Name) (Last Name)

[Click. Speaker takes a deep breath.]

“Okay…If you’re listening to this, that means I’m likely dead. For the time being, though, I’m doing my best to keep that from happening. But just in case, if someone were to find this, I want to give a first hand account of what’s going on here. Or maybe it would be more appropriate to say what had happened…assuming this hell ever ends.”

[Speaker sighs.]

“God, where do I even begin? This is so surreal…It’s like a living nightmare outside…Gotham has turned into its own version of The Purge. One made from madness and mayhem; people wreaking havoc just for the hell of it and killing each other by a will not of their own.

And the laughter. Oh God…the laughter…It haunts the streets in tandem with the screams and bloodshed. From sunrise to nightfall…It doesn’t end.”

“If you know anything about Gotham, whether from the news or because you were one of the lucky ones who were able to escape this damned city, then you know about the Joker. A crazed evil madman who took on the identity after falling into a vat of chemicals at the industrial plant here in Gotham; ACE Chemicals. A man who couldn’t make it in standup, so he decided to make the city fall instead.”

“Well, If you know about Joker, then you definitely know about Batman, Gotham’s most famous vigilante. For years, the Dark Knight has been keeping the delicate fabric of justice stitched together to prevent this place from deepening its cuts and becoming even more infected with crime. He wanted this city to heal. But what he didn’t know was that the problem wasn’t a flesh wound. It was cancerous. The type that just keeps coming back, no matter how much you try to treat it. It was terminal. An inevitable death that was always lingering below the surface.”

“That cancer was the Joker. For so long, it was him who wanted to watch the city burn, not for any particular reason like the others in the rouge gallery. No…While the others had a reason for the damage they caused, whether for power, or love, or for some skewed view of justice, Joker’s reason was because he could. He was, without a doubt, a harbinger of chaos and death, the most dangerous of them all. And Gotham had a lot of dangerous criminals.”

“But the scariest part about Joker, was that he wasn’t just criminally deranged, he was smart too. Organized. Ironic, isn’t it? That the craziest criminal among us was also the most mentally capable? After all, he’s the one who caused this mess.”

“About three weeks ago, a disease started to spread through the cobblestone streets of Gotham. And it spread fast. Apparently, Joker was inspired by the recent pandemic and decided to produce his own sick version of a plague, infused with Joker Toxin. He called it the Mania, as you could imagine, with his track record of still trying to be funny. Even if it turned towards dark slapstick.”

[Speaker clears their throat.]

“How, exactly, Joker was able to produce and distribute such an illness remains unclear for the time being. But what I can tell you, is what appears to occur as symptoms, as I’ve spent a little time observing the chaos unfold from a safe distance; dilated pupils, fits of laughter, intense mood swings, and likely the hearing of a voice or a hallucination, but I can’t say for certain unless I get infected by Mania, to which, you probably wouldn’t know about anyway.”

“After about forty-eight to seventy-two hours, you start to become violent and sporadic. I’ve seen people set fires, damage property, and murder each other in cold blood in the streets. All while the infected were laughing...cackling, like madmen. Those who were unlucky to make it out of the city before the bridges were raised were killed in terror and without hesitation. Stabbings, bullets, torched with fire, decapitation, you name it. It was a blood bath in Gotham.”

“There are a few of us left who still haven’t been infected by Mania yet. We’re doing our best to survive, and we hope that the mainland will send us aid, but with how things are spreading, that hope is dying faster and faster by the minute.”

[A blood curdling scream is heard in the far distance and static silence hangs in the air for a moment while maniacal laughter echoes from somewhere in the background. The speaker clears their throat once again.]

“But, nevertheless, we’re going to get to the bottom of this and make it through…Even if we have to do it ourselves. After all, that’s nothing new. Gotham had a history of being left to wolves and to fend for ourselves...We will find Joker and will find a way to cure this disease, and hopefully save as many people as we can…if there’s anyone to save…This is Red Robin, signing off.”

[Click. End of log.]

a/n: This is a working masterlist. This note will be deleted once the fic is compelted.

Several months ago a tragedy befell Gotham, NJ that shook the entire nation. An epidemic that could only be described as monstrous and deeply unfortunate. Many good people were lost to this event and our hearts go out to the survivors who not only lost their homes, but their loved ones as well.

It was a difficult decision to make, but due to the history of Gotham and its habit of producing not only a number of domestic terrorist attacks, but some of the nation's most horrific criminal masterminds, the decision has been made to lift the bridges from the island permanently and to abandon the city altogether.

Apart from the executive decision to send scientists and researchers into the boundaries of the city for investigation as to the origins of this past devastation, any and every unauthorized entry into Gotham will be treated as an act of treason and will therefore be tried with capital punishment.

Do not, under any circumstance, attempt to venture onto the now restricted islands.

Fortunately, after our team of professionals had spent weeks combing through the ruins of Gotham, an interesting evidential discovery was recovered in the GCPD Central Precinct, inside former commissioner Gordon’s office, who unfortunately was unable to make it out of the city. Inside the desecrated office, an audio recorder was placed neatly on top of the dark hardwood, as if the person who left it specifically intended for it to be found and examined. And what was recorded was truly shocking; a series of digital logs spanding weeks, possibly months, recounting the events of the horrific tragedy and giving a witness perspective on the matter.

For the sake of journalism and historical documentation, we have decided to release the full uncensored transcripts of these logs for the public to read and get a sense for themselves of the unfortunate fate that befell Gotham. But be warned; the contents of what you will read can be disturbing.

Viewer discretion is advised.

𝙻𝚘𝚐 1

and recount memories like fables

with you

because I know one day

you’ll become a memory too.

Until then,

I’ll treasure

every moment I get.

I’ll keep you in mind

and never forget

your laugh,

your smile,

and the spark in your eye.

I’ll remember dinking coffee on the porch

as you sigh,

“I love you”.

And when

the chip in your mug

becomes my favorite,

I’ll wear your old flannel

and try not to slip

back into old habits

of grieving the present.

Until then,

I’ll savor

every moment I’m allowed.

I’ll keep you in mind

and make you proud;

the lessons you taught me,

the journeys we took,

and the jokes we share

with every knowing look.

And

time feels so long

but the time will soon pass,

and I thank every day

that isn’t your last.

Until then,

I’ll treasure

every moment I get.

I’ll keep you in mind

and never forget.

So,

I’m sitting at the table

recounting memories like fables

with you,

because I know one day

2.5k words

I will fall in love with you, over and over again.

Being an actress meant spending long hours in the evenings for rehearsals and shows. 

Being an actress who was engaged to one of Gotham’s vigilantes and the son of Bruce Wayne himself, also meant staying up late waiting for your fiancé to dramatically sneak in through the kitchen/living room window.

Were you exhausted? Absolutely. 

Did Jason tell you over and over again that he was fine with you actually getting some sleep without him? Yes. 

Did that stop you from waiting up every night so you can make sure he gets home safe? No!

It was nearly three in the morning. You were in one of Jason’s tee shirts and a pair of pajama pants, lounging on the couch, when your stomach growled. 

The thing about staying up late was that it tended to trigger the secret fourth food time in your biological clock. One that not many people get the pleasure, or displeasure, of experiencing depending on how much one savors a midnight snack or had the urgency to prepare it, or even the will to leave the comfort of their cozy cocoons in the first place.

You, however, loved this secret hour. 

Getting up from the couch, you rounded over to the kitchen to check out what there was in the fridge.

There was leftover curry from the Thai restaurant you and Jason went to the other night, but Jason already claimed that for his dinner/breakfast when he’d get home. Other than that, ingredients. 

Darn you and your ingredient household growing up. Now you have to cook.

Scanning through your inventory, you decided not to overthink it and just make an omelette. Who doesn’t like breakfast for…breakfast?

It’s too late/early for this.

You grabbed your ingredients and a skillet and began preparing your meal, humming the tune that’s been stuck in your head for a few weeks now.

Epic: the musical has been the biggest hit for the past few months. First, the full audio musical was released, and then the amazing artists of the internet made animatics to the songs that were just down right masterpieces! You can’t count how many times you watched and rewatched the animatic movies on YouTube. They were pure magic!

You really hoped the album would get adapted to a stage production soon, you’d love to play Penelope. Any chance you’d get, you’ll sing her songs.

Right now was one of those moments.

“I’m supposed to choose a suitor to wear the crown,” you began while mixing the eggs and adding them to the skillet.

“I said I would choose as soon as I weave this shroud.”

You added the other ingredients to your omelette and reduced the heat a little.

You continued singing while the sizzling began to increase ever so slightly.

“But I don’t know how much longer l’ll last since we saw that storm,” you folded the ends together with your spatula.

“And though it was so close to our kingdom it was far from the norm,” a beat. “Unless…”

You flipped the omelette over and did a small dramatic spin, getting a little more into the song while making sure you don’t burn your food.

“Oh could it be, some kind of sign? That my world is all about to change? Is it finally time for the challenge I arranged? And though I never thought that it would come to this, just know I’ll be here, buying you time!”

You turned off the heat and moved your finished omelette to a plate. You were in the zone now, why not finish the song while letting it cool?

“I’ll buy you time!”

Jason was so ready to eat his left over curry and slip into bed with his soon-to-be wife. Tonight was successful in his case of interfering with a weapons deal between Black Mask and Maroni. It was strange, those two never worked together for anything. It was highly suspicious and likely went deeper than just artillery supply. But that was a problem for another night.

Tonight (and really, every night), he just wants to be with you.

Usually, he’d sneak in through the window that led to the kitchen/living room combo, to minimize the noise as compared to the squeaky front door hinge, and you’d be up waiting for him, even though he’s told you many times before to get some rest. Both you and him work physically demanding and mentally draining jobs that leave you exhausted at the end of the night. But, he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t swell every time he’d find you half asleep on the couch.

He couldn’t wait to marry the love of his life.

Just as Jason landed on the fire escape and swiftly raised the window to his shared home, be paused when he got a glimpse of you and the notes of your graceful melody blessed his ears.

A dopey grin plastered itself onto his face. 

“Whoever can string my husband’s old bow and shoot through twelve axes cleanly will be the new king, sit down at the throne, and rule with me as his queen!”

You were his dazzling star. Bright and glorious. You commanded the audience’s attention the moment you entered onto the stage and manipulated their trance until the very second you exit. You were a marvelous actress. A true artist of emotions. And your voice was something divine and heavenly. 

Jason first saw you perform as Ariel in a production of The Little Mermaid that Stephanie dragged him to as a requirement for her theatre appreciation class, about three years ago. He was familiar with the show, having been a part of the ensemble his freshman year in high school, but that was just because he needed an extracurricular activity required by B that was something other than crime fighting and training. He went to a few improv meets as well, that was kinda fun while it lasted. But he never got into the nuances of theatre.

Not until you.

When the intermission lights went up, he knew he had to move quickly. It was scrappy and rushed, but he went and got you flowers down the street. He was well aware that you likely got gifts nearly every night of show, you had the grace and beauty of a woman with a line of suitors clenching red roses and yelling for your attention. 

He had to stand out.

So when the show was over and the curtain closed, he waited for you at the stage door like all the others, all with flowers of their own and paybills they wanted signed. His heart was hammering rapidly against his chest and he felt his tongue dry up. And when you stepped onto the cobblestone alleyway, his condition only worsened as the crowd around him lost all common sense. 

You were more radiant out of costume.

As predicted, the majority of the men, whether they were seeing you for the first time, like himself, or have followed your shows since your theatrical debut thrusted their bouquets of red roses towards you and shouted your name.

(Name) (last name). It rolled off the tongue beautifully, and would probably sound even better if there weren’t dozens of men screeching it at the top of their lungs.

Your name was to be whispered like a prayer, not screamed as a curse.

Your delicate smile and feather-light demeanor showed no signs of annoyance or discomfort towards your loud and adoring fans as you made your way down the line, but you didn’t accept any of the bouquets as either. Poised and polite, but firm on where to draw your line.

That was something to be admired.

But when you stopped in front of Jason, time stood still for both of you, mesmerized by the other’s eyes. 

To him, you were a fawn of innocence and curiosity.

To you, he was a pool of secrets and mystery.

Unlike the rest of them, Jason didn’t shove his flowers into your face. Instead, he held them gently in front as an offering for you to either accept or decline. A shy smile on his lips.

In a crowd of red roses, he had pink peonies.

Your favorite. 

You’ve never told anyone that before. It was just a secret between you and the universe, that it would send you a pink peony to show you the right path.

Was this fate? It had to be, right?

Without breaking away from his gaze, you accepted the flowers. And, for a moment, as your fingers brushed his own, if felt like a cosmic burst of colors made the bleakness of the mundane come alive with vibrance.

It nearly left you breathless.

“Thank you…” You didn’t know what to say to the handsome stranger, and he didn't utter a word at all.

All he did was wink before stepping back and disappearing into the crowd.

Mysterious, indeed.

Those were the only flowers you took home that night. And when you went to place them in a vase on your kitchen island, you saw a note you didn't notice before. A small eggshell white rectangle only slightly bigger than a business card. One side had a phone number written in black ink. You flipped it over to read the rest.

A sea witch stole my voice, will you help me get it back?

–Jason

You had to cover your mouth from the laugh you didn’t mean to let reverberate through your empty apartment.

It was lovingly stupid and completely unexpected from the man, Jason, who you met at the stage door. 

It was cute.

Maybe I can help you find some better pick up lines too ;)

Jason couldn’t believe his lucky stars. He must have done something right to gain the favor of some divine entity to be able to have you to come home to. To see you in your purest form, performing solo numbers in the kitchen with the dim warm glow of the counter lights as your spotlight.

No matter how often you rehearsed in your shared space, he’d never get tired of it. It was like he was the prince in the fairytale meeting his princess for the first time, every time.

But lately, you’ve become his queen instead.

The Penelope to his Odysseus.

Wasn’t it fitting, almost?

When the album came out, both of you became addicted. 

With your love for the music, and his love for classical literature, it was like the both of you got to step into each other’s worlds and understand each other a little deeper. You taught him the theory and practice of the musical storytelling while he taught you the syntax and how the musical and poem intersect and differentiate from each other. 

The two of you had found a type of harmony in the exchange. One that strengthened the bond of your friendship and love.

And oh, how he loves you.

Jason patiently waited for you to finish the last note of your performance, your back to him, before taking a breath.

“Penelope…”

When the familiar honey tone reached your ears, you didn’t miss a beat.

You turned one-eighty to face the man you’ve been waiting for all night.

“Is it you? Have my prayers been answered? Is it really you standing there? Or am I dreaming once more?”

You stepped closer to the maskless vigilante.

“You look different,” you raised your hand to caress his face. “Your eyes look tired. Your frame lighter. Your smile, torn.”

You held his war-scared irises with your all-too-knowing ones. Because while you weren’t there when it happened, you could recognize when a person has been through more than they should bare.

His before death, and after life.

The things he’s done, and the things he does.

The boy he was, and the man he became.

“Is it really you, my love?”

Similar to the lyrics that transpired after, there have been times in your relationship where he has come home and told you how he was not the man you should be with. How you should be with someone kinder, gentler, and someone without blood on their hands. He was guilty of so many awful acts and unforgivable crimes. He didn’t know how someone as wonderful as you could love someone as wretched as him. A monster among angels.

And while the two of you came from completely different lives, you were no pure flower, despite how you might come across.

The life you lived was only glamorous on stage. 

You had problems and sins, just as he did. Perhaps not as many, and perhaps not of the severity of his own. But the both of you were human all the same. 

And despite what he might tell you, despite what he might believe about himself, he was worthy of a soft love. And you wanted to be the one to show him. 

“Penelope…”

You took a slow and controlled breath.

“I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don’t care how, where, or when. No matter how long it’s been, you’re mine,” you took a step back to give yourself room for build up. “Don’t tell me you’re not the same person. You’re always my husband, and I’ve been waiting…Waiting…”

“Penelope…”

“Waiting…Waiting…”

You have been waiting for him. Not just every night you’ve stayed up, but how you’ve been waiting for a love like his.

He will swear he’s vicious and dangerous, but that wasn’t true at all. When he’s with you, he’s kind and gentle and romantic. The monster he claims to be is just a mask. A character.

He was just as much of an actor as you were. His stage and audience was just a little different from yours. 

An important thing for every actor to remember was that they were not the characters they’re cast to play. They had to separate themselves from the script and know themselves well enough to know where they ended and the character began. It’s okay if there’s overlap sometimes, but there has to be a line somewhere. Like how people can have boundaries with other people, actors needed to have a boundary with themselves as well. Otherwise they risk losing sight of who they are and what they believe in, which then extends to their personal relationships and the rest of the world, potentially damaging them completely.

Hence why method acting is so dangerous; It can turn your own mind and self against you.

It was something you were still helping Jason through, but you would remind him every day if you had to.

He wasn’t a monster.

He was human.

You stepped closer towards Jason and gazed into his beautiful blue-green eyes.

“How long has it been?”

He leaned his forehead against your own and circled his arms around your waist, swaying the two of you slowing across the kitchen tile.

“Twenty years.”

You’d wait for him for forty if it meant he’d come home to you.

You cupped his face once again and the two of you took a breath together before singing in harmony, and sealing the vow with a kiss.

“I love you…”

I don’t want a drink.

I’ll be depressed and drunk on my own sorrows

whenever I came around,

you couldn’t look me in the eye

unless I was arched off the ground?

You never opened up

unless I pried your defenses.

Whereas I told you everything to help you see through my lenses.

You didn’t talk to me unless I started first.

I can’t keep doing this,

You make it feel like a curse.

Because change is terrifying,

but the fact that you didn’t

scared me more.

And every morning I left your sheets

left me hollow on my floor.

I knew I had to end it,

that what we had was dead.

But it’s fine, you’ve moved on.

trying to wring it all out

on the last line

with dried up ink.

I had so much more left

to say

but you didn’t give me enough room

to breathe

So I choked on the words

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 10: 𝖶𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖠𝖻𝗅𝖾

4K Words

I wish you could know me, and I wish I could know you much more sometimes. I'll say "I love you" and mean it this time, say "I'm sorry", for everything else. If we found a way to the other side, I'd be willing and able. If you're willing, I'm able.

Nine people gathered in the largest parlor of Wayne Manor. Two of the adults argued while the rest sat awkward in mourning while nursing ceramic cups in their palms as the tea subtly went cold. 

There were eight days left until Christmas and the tenth person was missing. 

For about a month, no one could get a hold of you.

You weren’t returning their calls or messaging anyone back.

They were worried and freaking out.

“This is your fault!” Bruce and Clark shouted at each other.

If the Justice league thought Batman and Superman were being passive aggressive before, they were straight up aggressive now.

“If it weren’t for you showing up at the Gala being petty and, quite frankly, immature, then those photos and articles wouldn’t have existed in the first place! You made this a bigger issue to clean up!” Bruce was furious. Clark should have kept his nosey questions to himself instead of making a public spectacle of their situation. That way, you would have been left alone by the press and they wouldn’t have to deal with CPS calls and new unsavory rumors every other week.

“Well if you have been there for (Name) in the first place, then none of this would have happened!” Clark was ashamed, remorseful, and deeply guilty for his actions. He was so over Bruce’s lack of taking action that he thought by publicly accusing him might push him in the right direction. To encourage him to reach out to you and finally stitch up the wound.

 But instead, he made things so much worse. He saw the photos and gossip articles.

(Name) Wayne Spotted Out for a Morning Jog.

(Name) Wayne Won’t Talk About Their Family. Possible Fallout?

The Middle Wayne Tries to Live a Simple Life Away in Los Angeles. What Does This Say About Gotham?

(Name) Wayne Out for Brunch With Possible Throuple?

The lies, speculation, and blatant stalking enraged him. 

In the photos where your eyes would meet the lens of the camera, you looked like a deer in headlights. You looked horrified. 

What were you feeling? Were you annoyed? Scared? Surprised?

Did you feel trapped?

Was this why you weren’t answering him? Why you haven’t called him, or Lois, or Jon?

Did you know? Were you resentful?

Clark would be if he was in your situation. He wouldn’t forgive himself.

He doesn’t forgive himself.

The back ‘n forth and pointing fingers were getting none of them anywhere. They could assign blame to someone all day, but that rarely ever solved the actual problem.

Being at each other’s throats wasn’t going to find you any quicker than them running through mud.

Out of all the people gathered in the parlor, Jon was the most distraught about your disappearance.

He was the one who grew closest to you.

Sure, the time he spent with you was short, only a few months, but being with you for nearly every waking hour felt like he was with you for a lifetime. He didn’t know why you were staying with his family during the summer and he didn’t ask any questions. He was just excited to have someone around while his parents were at work. Playing video games by yourself was only entertaining the first couple times, the rest is just kinda sad.

And then he learned how cool you were. 

Solo traveling across the United States was unimaginable to him. The country is huge! Seriously! That’s so many miles! 

From a super’s perspective, humans were incredible. They can endure a lot of physical stress along with mental barriers, and because of their drive, determination, and sheer willpower, they can accomplish anything. That’s so much more impressive than being born with superpowers, magic, turning meta, or having any kind of special artifact that allows you to manipulate or create.

They basically lived life on easy mode, while humans had grit and adaptability. They would go down fighting with their last breath if they had to.

But you,specifically, were outstanding.

You weren’t a Bat, but in your own right. You were a warrior. You’ve worked hard to make it where you’ve been. From your art to the distances you could run. Even your recovery during the summer.

You’ve worked hard for all your accomplishments and goals.

You even helped him achieve his own and taught him how to fly.

You were amazing.

He grew to see you as his older sibling almost, like Conner. And he’d hope to see you again soon. He missed you.

So, to make up for not being able to see your face like he had, he settled for hearing your voice instead.

He told you about the topics he was covering in 5th grade and how he was progressing with flying. He was working on controlling how high and fast he could go, and smoothing out the transitions.

But when you stopped calling him and stopping answering his calls, his heart broke into a million little pieces.

He didn’t understand the sudden change. He didn’t know if something happened to you or if you decided you just didn’t like him anymore. 

You stopped talking to all of them. You left them all on delivered.

You left.

You promised you’d come back for Christmas after the semester. 

You promised.

But that was months ago and you’ve gone radio silent for weeks now.

Jon thought about all the times he spent with you out in the backyard and joining you during your physical therapy. He thought about the times you joined them on Friday Family Game Nights. How you taught him to fly and how they celebrated your intern acceptance in California.

He thought those moments meant something.

Was he wrong? 

He cried for hours in his bedroom from the heaviness his super strength couldn’t lift off his heart.

He really did miss you.

Leave to the eldest sibling to take charge when things start going nowhere.

Dick set his cold tea down on the closest side table to his left before standing from the couch and directing his frustration towards Bruce and Clark.

“Yelling at each other isn’t going to help find (name)!”

The two men ceased their less than civil disagreement to look at the mediator. A void of silence filled the room.

Dick took a breath before speaking again, this time to the whole room.

“We are all, in some way, to blame for this—except for you, Lois and Jon. I’m sorry you’re caught in the crossfire. But the rest of us all equally deserve blame. If it weren’t for us, (name) wouldn’t have left. But if it weren’t for Clark, those photos and articles wouldn’t have circulated. Even we knew (name) has never been a public figure. It likely freaked them out and caused them to run away again,” he said in reference to the latest news story about how you’ve seemed to have vanished from Los Angeles.

“So,” Dick said finally. “How are we going to find them?”

“Where do we even start?” Damian joined. “They’re a wild card. They could be anywhere by now.”

Jason looked over the couch he leaned on at Tim, “Any ideas out your case file baby bird?”

Tim shook his head, “I found a list of all the places they’ve always wanted to go to in their desk drawer, but that doesn’t narrow it down considering there’s a lot of destinations. Some of which are international.”

Jason grunted in return.

“(Name) was doing research for backpacking the Triple Crown before they left for California,” Jon piped up from where he cuddled next to his mom on a separate couch.

“Maybe they started one of those trails?”

“Possibly. But which one should they have started with?” Clark looked at Bruce, he was willing to set aside his pointed finger in effort to achieve the main and most important objective: finding you.

Truce? 

Bruce grunted and met Clark’s baby blues.

Truce.

“The PCT would start in Southern California at the Mexico border. Heading northbound would be easier than starting from British Columbia and traveling south. Assuming they'd adequately prepared; had all the gear, plus food, and planned any additional stays in hostels and hotels, they could’ve started the trail the day the semester ended since Campo is only three hours away. On average, it takes about five months to complete the hike with California taking the longest part to complete. Since the semester ended a little over a week ago, we could safely say that (name) would likely still be in California. If we go now, we could intersect with them in Julian for their resupply.”

“While the thought is sweet and all, that won’t be necessary.”

Every head jolted to the entryway towards the voice no one was expecting. The room went still.

There you stood, at the threshold, wearing a Yosemite sweatshirt and an awkward smile on your lips.

“Sorry I’m late. There was traffic.”

Within a second, a mass aggressively wrapped itself around your middle and nearly knocked you over from the hug.

“You’re here! You’re here! You came back!” Jon cheered, misty-eyed. For a second, you saw the parallels between this moment and when Clark rescued you all those months ago.

But this wasn’t fear of the unknown. 

This was joy.

Lois and Clark joined the hug shortly after. You closed your eyes and for a moment, you were back in that suburban home in Metropolis.

But it was only for a moment.

When you opened your eyes to look past your group, you met with six other pairs staring awkwardly back at you.

This was the reunion you were dreading. Or was this a first meeting?

Either way, it was an awkward but necessary meeting.

As the warmth of the group hug fell away, the bodies that surrounded you shifted to standing beside you. Once again, the room fell silent.

Beat.

Beat.

“We’ve made a lot of mistakes.” Bruce spoke first.

Beat.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “You have.”

Beat.

“Can we start over?”

After everything they’ve done? After everything they didn’t do?

You shook your head.

“No.”

Bruce and the rest of them look as though you shot them personally.

“To start over would imply there was a beginning in the first place. And while I’m grateful for you taking me in and providing me with opportunities rare for others, there were a lot of things none of you could have done for me. When my parents were killed, I didn’t need justice or vengeance. I didn’t need an outlet for anger. I needed support and compassion. I needed a family. I needed to not be alone. And that wasn’t something you could do. These past months have shown me a lot. I’ve got to meet a lot of amazing people and I’ve learned a lot about myself as well. Gotham isn’t my home. It hasn’t been for a long time,” you looked over your shoulder at Clark. “But neither is Metropolis.”

Diana was right. Deciding to leave was a hard decision, but choosing to stay is just as difficult. And making the right choice will feel like we’re dying for a while. But eventually, when the debris from the catalyst settles, and you look out at all the destruction, you can either mourn for what was lost or look towards the future with the hope of building something new. Something better and stronger.

You looked back at Bruce.

“Maybe one day I might feel differently. But for the time being, I think I need to find my own way. I’ve felt more at home under the stars than I have anywhere else, and I think I’d like to keep chasing them. At least, for a while. Our relationship would need to take a lot of time and effort into understanding each other and finding middle ground. I’m still incredibly hurt, and angry, and betrayed from everything, but I don’t want to keep feeling this way. Maybe this is a case where we have to let each other go…but, if you’re willing, I’d like to introduce myself and learn more about each of you.”

You let the offer hang in the air and stepped forward with your hand extending towards Bruce, a friendly smile on your lips.

“Hi, I’m (name) (last name).”

Wayne was not your name. It was one you were associated with, and one recognized in court, but it was not yours.

You knew who you were. You were just too lost to see it clearly.

But now you’ve found it.

You might need to give Ma Kent another call.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Bruce gazed upon your face for the first time in a long time. 

It’s been over seven months. And while he knew your name, he did not know you.

He was wrong to assume that by trying to take you under his cape would help ease your pain from the murder of your parents. He was wrong to assume that would give you a sense of purpose. You were nothing like him, and nothing like his other birds. 

You found your own way. Your own meaning. One not defined by himself and he couldn’t be more blown away by you.

He was proud of you.

Did he have any right for that pride?

Relationships were always complicated for Bruce. He didn’t know where being a leader and where being a father began or ended. Where his sons stopped being his sons and became his partners.

It was a thin and fragile line that never stayed in one place for very long.

Bruce held so much regret in his heart from not giving you the full extent of everything you deserved, and he wanted desperately to make it up to you. 

Shower you in gifts, spend time with you, do anything you’d request.

But he knew he couldn’t hold on to the version of you he was used to, the one he brought in years ago. 

You were no longer that person. You haven’t been for a while.

And he’d like to know you. The real you, this time.

Bruce returned your smile and accepted your handshake, hoping one day it would become a warmer and less formal greeting.

“Bruce Wayne. It’s good to meet you (Name).”  

Upon returning to Gotham and after talking to Bruce and the others, you’ve made a public appearance for the press and finally gave a statement about the 

It was terrifying. 

Obviously, you couldn’t outright tell them everything–secret identities and all that–but you could tell them your truth.

“Every family has their drama. They fight, there's arguments, and they don’t always see eye to eye. The Waynes are good people. They’ve done a lot of good for the city and have given me unbelievable opportunities by bringing me in. For that, I’m forever grateful. But I am my own individual with plans and aspirations. And traveling is my number one. I’m sorry for not making it public, but I prefer my personal life to remain personal and not in the tabloids. The speculation and CPS calls were unfair and unbecoming, I’d expect better maturity from adults considering you set the example for my generation and the younger generations ahead. My family isn’t perfect, but I highly doubt yours is any better. Imperfection is not a flaw; it’s a fundamental element in what it means to be human. And I love my family, not despite our flaws, but because of them. We make mistakes, we hurt each other’s feelings sometimes, but we make an effort and work towards being better people to each other and ourselves.”

That was the official statement. And it seemed to work for the most part.

There will always be negative neigh-sayers who hold one-sided hatred for people whose lives will never impact our own in a way that matters. But for the rest, they took your statement to heart and left you and the Waynes alone, with even a few who apologized via Twitter.

The dust has settled.

But you weren’t done quite yet. You still had a lot of places you wanted to venture off too. There were still many places to draw on paper, and many people to meet for the first time.

So, when New Years came, you packed your car and headed on the road once again. But this time, you answered the calls from not just Lois, Clark, and Jon, but from Bruce and the others as well. It was gonna take a while, and sometimes you might get lost in the dark, but the sun will always rise the next day to show you the possibilities of tomorrow. Your relationship will never be the same as it was, or how you’d hope it’d be like in the beginning, but with the right efforts on both sides, maybe something new will forge instead.

One Year Later

Your heart rate still elevates at the flash and click of a camera, but you’ve managed to not flinch so hard around it.

Besides, you only need to tolerate it for a little while. Just during public events, such as this.

You’ve spent a year on the road traveling across the country and drawing iconic destinations, along with portraits of the people you’ve met along the way. And now, you were showcasing your first gallery. Right here in Gotham City.

The turn out was more than you expected. You didn’t realize just how many people would be interested in touring your works. To say you were a little nervous was an understatement. Although, the snippets of conversation of patrons marveling at your work and praising your artistry did give you a bit of an ego boost.

The contrast between the open roads and the confined showroom (even if it was on the bigger end) made you feel ever so claustrophobic. You’re not sure you’ll ever feel relaxed in such a crowded space. Not to mention the lifestyle differences between you and the socialites of Gotham. Wool socks and flannels were way more comfier than formal attire.

Yup, you definitely preferred your stars over vaulted marble ceilings. They were a luxury many tended to forget about.

“Well, isn’t this a rare sight! (Name) (Last name) back in Gotham? I was sure you’d be off to Italy by now?”

You snickered at the joke and turned to face the voice behind you.

Bruce stood not far and greeted you with a smile.

“It’s good to see you again. You’ve changed.”

It was true, you have matured a lot during the year you’ve been away. Not just in age or your face, but in perspective too. 

“I sure hope I did. Staying the same doesn’t offer much growth, does it?”

“No,” the man wistfully agreed. “It doesn’t.”

While the two of you haven’t seen much of each other’s faces over the past twelve months, you’ve become familiar with his voice through your phone’s speaker. You won’t lie, it was just as awkward talking with the bats on the phone as it was speaking to them in person. But at least everyone was trying, right?

The first few calls felt more like confessionals than a conversation. You would stay quiet while Bruce, Alfred, and the guys would spill everything they held or were trying to understand what they were feeling. And you would return the same.

It felt good to finally get the lingering weight off your chest.

And when all of you finally stripped bare of your guards, your personalities started to shine through. You learned about each of their lives before the Bat and how they changed afterwards. How they found meaning in their mission. What they hoped would become of them and how they wished to impact the communities. They told you about their relationship with each other, how they didn’t always get along and how sometimes they still fight with each other. But in the end, they always find a way to make it up, even if it takes a while. 

And you would tell them about your life. Your goals and aspirations. You would tell them what interning at the Getty was like and how you met a lot of diverse people, both in Los Angeles and around the country. How just a single conversation would shift your outlook on the world and how a lot of people have similar, yet different perspectives. 

Humanity was so fascinating like that.

You fascinated them.

“Are the birds around?” You asked Bruce.

“They are, I’m sure they’ll come find you after they’ve talked to anyone who’ll listen ears off about how great and talented you are.”

One day you’ll get over the embarrassment, but that won’t be tonight.

An arm slung around your shoulders and drew you closer to someone’s side in a hug.

“What? We can’t brag about (Name) at their first gallery showing? Where’s the fun in that?” Jason dramatically sighed.

Oh lord.

“(Name), I request that you come to Gotham Academy and give a workshop to the art club. They could use your expertise to improve their elementary understanding of atmospheric perspective and composition.” 

“Damian, their eleven.” Tim gave his younger brother a pointed look.

“Is that supposed to be an excuse?"

It was cute that Damian picked up art and joined his school’s club while you were away. In one of his calls, and he asked this to remain confidential, but he picked up the hobby to see what you saw in it. Translation: he wanted to feel closer to you.

And Tim picked his hobby in photography back up too. It warmed your heart, the impact you were starting to have on your younger brothers. 

You were starting to feel like you actually belonged.

“Hey, hey! Look who I found at the entrance!” Dick entered the conversation with three more people who made the smile on your face grow wider. You went in for a group hug.

“I’m so glad you guys could make it!” It was good to see Lois, Clark, and Jon again after such a long time.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world, honey.” Lois kissed your cheek.

“It’s a good opportunity for a family reunion,” Clark added.

It was unexpected how the dynamic formed. But in a way, you became the bridge between the Waynes and the Lane-Kents. Perhaps not from the typical marriage expectation, but one born from love either way. 

They all loved you as you’ve grown to love every one of them.

It was wonderful how much a year could change a person. How it can change people.

For so long, you thought you were destined to be alone and forgotten. That you were just a spec of dust in the ever expanding cosmos. Small and insignificant. But truly, you held an entire galaxy inside you. And when combined with your family, they became your universe.

Your stars on Earth.

Through the joy and laughter of the moment you turned your head and looked beyond the crowd at your favorite display of the whole gallery, a lightness in your chest.

You had over two hundred and fifty works presented tonight, some large, some relatively medium, and a majority of them on the smaller scales from your first travel sketchbook. If you didn’t know better, this could have been a retrospective exhibit of your entire life’s work. But you were very much alive and just getting started.

There, along the main installation wall at the center of the room, were ten works spaced evenly at a sixty inch center.

Throughout the gallery, there was a mixture of landscapes and portraits of people you’ve interviewed from your time on the road, both from this past year and from the initial two weeks through seven months you started your journey.    

Even Linda was on display, just like she predicted. 

But the ten you loved the most were all relatively recent and larger pieces. Made bigger from the pages of your sketchbook.

Ten portrait interviews. One for each member of your collective family.

And one for yourself.

a/n: Alrighty folks, show's over! I'm a sucker for a good ending and if you let me think long enough on a word document, I'll spill my entire soul out, which is at it's essence is forged in hope. I love a story with character growth and I want to make more longer fics with plots and explore different genres as well. I want to see how far I can go and how I can improve my writing. I might revisit this fic at a later date to add more chapters and add even more details, but we'll see! I have a lot of fic ideas in my notebook and The Gotham City Run Club fics to finish.

Everyone, once again thank Noah Kahan for releasing The Great Divide, for which I would not have written my own. And please for the love of all things divine listen to the album!! I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure, it's so good!! And thank you for reading and LMK your thoughts, I really do appreciate it!

Me, once 10pm hits: YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME—

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 9: 𝖫𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾

2.8K Words

You were born with a face made for a missing sign, but you had something misplaced that you'd spent your life trying to find. For as long as there's light, for as long as you last, I comb the lighthouse, and hope you're there in the morning.

When light filtered through your barely visible sunroof to gently kiss you awake, you shivered and released a warming breath. Even with your windows covered with blackout-insulation blinds, and the cozy blanket you slept with along with your sleeping bag, the coldness of winter will always find a way to get to you. 

You stiffly shifted around in the back of your car, the very one you packed seven months ago and converted into a sort of mini camper. 

When you first started your escapade, it was close to the start of summer and you honestly didn’t know how long you were going to be away from Gotham, so the clothes you’ve settled on packing were better suited for hotter weather. 

However, while staying with the Lane-Clark family and then spending a few months in Los Angeles during the fall/early winter time, you concluded that returning to Gotham for the warmer clothes you left behind was not an option. 

So, over the course of four months (August through November) you’ve carefully selected the necessities for your new wardrobe and for your vehicle, to prepare you for living on the road for longer.

Perhaps full-time. It wasn’t an awful idea.

When you finished changing into a fresh set of clothes, you maneuvered around through your limited cooking gear and fished out the one true lifeline you had.

Coffee.     

You poured some water into a small kettle and heated it over a compact single gas burner. While you waited for it to boil, you got to work setting up a coffee filter over your travel mug and adding a single scoop of grounds into the filter. And when the water was ready, you poured it gently over the fine powder.

This was a ritual. Slow and intentional. 

The initial ring of water hitting metal and deepening its pitch as it fills the volume. The steam releasing into the air, providing a warmer climate to the chilled cabin. And the rich aroma flooding your senses, easing your nerves. 

You closed your eyes and took your first sip, taking in the moment.

This was quiet.

This was peace.

You were safe.

Living in the coziness forever would be easy. It felt like heaven. The moment was yours and you had no obligations to anyone for the time being. You could stay.

But, there was a whole world outside the confines of your car to explore, and you knew your soul would never forgive you if you missed it. 

The wonders of nature called to you.

And besides, you had things to do.

The morning started off with frost coating the dormant grass, but as the sun reached its zenith, the bitter cold warmed up as much as December would allow. A good fifty degrees. Your boots crunched the paved path below you as you passed through a meadow with a mixture of evergreens and dull branches surrounding it. There wasn’t a single wisp of white present along the great blue yonder, and the caress of a breeze was few and far between.

It was perfect. A clear day to clear your mind.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your current place of residence after leaving Los Angeles, a good four and a half hour drive—five at the most, and you’ve been here just about twenty-four hours now.

You had a lot to think about.

Taking a pause on the trail, you turned to face your right to look past forest and gaze at the divine mountain at center, framed by the trees below and the continuing mountains on either side.

Half Dome.

You were back in the heart of Yosemite Valley.

And this time, you were not afraid.

The things you needed to get done were easy. 

Spend time in the park, draw, and think. When you get back to camp, make a fire, cook, and think. And when you settle in for the night, you confide in your stars and think some more.

No singing. No humming. No talking.

This was a time for quiet.

This was a time for listening.

This was a time for reflecting.

How did you even get to this point? What happened? 

Bruce brought you in when you were thirteen after losing both your own parents to one of Joker’s schemes. Apparently, dismemberment and combining your mom and dad into one person was supposed to be funny. It only made you sick.

Maybe that’s where your current nightmares gathered their inspiration from.

When Bruce offered to assist you, you had no idea he was Batman. And when he brought you down to the cave for the first time, he gave you the choice to train under him alongside Robin, Jason at the time.

You were speechless. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever meet Batman in person, let alone be given the chance to live and train with him. It was surreal and exciting, but it was also terrifying.

Fighting wasn’t in your nature. Not usually, at least. You were the sensitive artist type with an affinity for running and had dreams of seeing the world.

Telling Batman no was probably the scariest thing you’ve ever done at thirteen. If the man in the tabloids was just an act, then you had no idea what he was like behind the mask. 

But he told you it was fine. He wasn’t mad.

You were free to choose what you wanted to do.

You just never thought that would come with the price of solitude.

So, you lived your life. You went to high school, opting out of attending Gotham Academy, and joined Track and Field. That at least gave you friends and something to do after school before entering the empty manor.

At some point you met Dick when he would come back to visit. He seemed really cool and fun, but you never got to see him much, like the others. Jason, Bruce, and Alfred spent a lot of time either in the cave, on patrol, or on a mission. Your schedules only matched up briefly on the weekends.

Then Jason died. You were glad you didn’t see much of Bruce during that time. From what you heard, it was brutal. 

When Tim came around, tensions were still high, but he relieved them by becoming Robin. He was nice, but he was your neighbor and therefore had his own place to stay, so seeing him around was like spotting a rare species. 

So, alone you were.

You graduated high school. You got into GCU. You majored in art and joined the Gotham City Run Club. You become your own cook, and did your own chores. 

You lived in tandem with the Bats.

When nine year old Damian came around shortly after Jason returned (and boy was that a surprise), you were in Junior year, and never in your life have you met a meaner child. Like seriously, he was unnecessarily rude and nasty to you.

But after a while, even your biggest hater forgot about you.

You wondered if things had been different, if things had been better, if you might’ve stayed in Gotham. 

If you might’ve felt wanted in Gotham.

The Bats were by no means, horrible people (Damian was learning). They did a lot of good and you were grateful to have the opportunities you were given. Who knows where you might have ended up after the death of your parents. 

An orphanage? Foster care? The streets?

Life could have been entirely different for you if Bruce hadn’t taken you in. You might have never gone to college or even graduate from high school. You might have never had the chance to explore your passions.

Sure, you might’ve essentially been alone, but you still had resources not many people could have.

Without them, you would have never been able to get where you were now—admittedly in kind of a messy situation, but you were still able to find the silver lining of it all by connecting with other people like Penelope and Jake, or Lois, Clark, and Jon, or Ma and Pa. Even Diana.

Even Linda.

You were able to find the courage to drive across the United States and visit some of the amazing National Parks this world has to offer.

You got to see the stars.

You got to follow them.

You got the opportunity to intern at one of the most prestigious art museums in the country.

All because of Bruce.

On the second night, you laid in your sleeping bag with a lamp turned on overhead while you flipped through the pages of your sketchbook.

Landscapes, still lifes, and portraits. That was what you drew in the past seven—almost eight—months. You had only six pages left. You didn’t know what to fill them with, so you left them for the time being. You’ll find inspiration soon enough.

You stopped turning the pages to stare at your portrait of Lois and Clark. 

You remembered that morning. They were sitting next to each other at the dining room table with their coffees, indulging in their separate activities, and their hands resting on top of one another.

You didn’t know why the image intrigued you so much at that moment. Perhaps it was the subtle gesture of letting each other know their love for the other that compelled you to commit it to paper. But the longer you looked at it, the more you saw something else.

Lois was on her phone, while Clark was reading the paper. They were both in their own little worlds. And they both lived very different lives as well. Lois was a civilian reporter, while Clark lived a double life as Superman. But their paths crossed by the love they shared with each other.

It reminded you of the prayer Pa gave the morning you first met him.

We all take different roads and paths, but we’re grateful for the paths that merge with our own in the journey of life.

It was definitely something to think about. How many paths have merged with our own? How many paths have you merged with others?

Does merging paths mean you stay on the same road forever? Or can they split off after a time?

How do you know when they merge to begin with? By a glance or a conversation? Or do you have to make an impact on someone’s life?

These were questions better suited after a night’s rest, you’ve decided. Nine in the evening is not the time for epistemic thinking. 

So with that, you closed your sketchbook and set it to the side, before clicking off your only source of light. Plunging you into the cold darkness.

As you climbed up Columbia Rock Trail the next morning, your mind began to wander. You thought about the people you’ve crossed paths with during the past half year.

You met Linda and learned about the life she lived. There was Lois, Clark, and Jon. And Ma and Pa Kent. There was Diana. And there was Penelope and Jake. There was your supervisor, an older gentleman named George. And the landlady of your apartment complex, Jenae. 

You’ve crossed paths with so many people. Yet, you felt so alone.

But were you?

Wasn’t everyone technically alone for being an individual?

Weren’t there people out there who also felt isolated? Did that make them less so because other people felt the same?

We can be by ourselves, but were we truly alone?

Clark had to learn to be Superman by himself. But did he really? He had Ma and Pa to raise him and guide him through his darkest moments. They taught him to be a good man, and by extension, taught him how to be Superman.

You helped Jon learn determination and discipline when aiming to achieve his goals. You saw him put in the effort and eventually make progress. You, in a way, helped him reach his potential as superboy. You were his guide and watched him soar.

You had Lois, Clark, Jon, Ma, Pa, and Diana all helped you in some way to guide you through the hardest summer of your life. They picked you up and made you whole again.

You’ve reached the highest point of the trail and looked over the valley. The very one that you thought, long ago, you were alone in. Scared and hurt.

Now, you stand on top, having conquered that clouded mindset with one of clarity.

You were never truly alone. You came to that conclusion a while back when you left for California after the summer, but forgot about it in the months you were away.

Though they were away in distance, the family you came to see as your own has been with you the whole time you were in Los Angeles. In heart and mind, and just a phone call away.

Being by yourself didn’t mean being alone. Not completely. To the people who cared, and the people that mattered, they were with you everywhere you went.

They gave you the courage, strength, and confidence to conquer your fears and face your mountains.

And look how much you’ve grown.

While warming up to your fire on the third night, you thought about something else Pa said.

We ask you to show us your grace and forgiveness, so that we may have the strength to show that grace and forgiveness to others.

It was in that same prayer, too.

You didn’t go to church often when your parents were still alive. There always seemed to be other things to do. And when you went to live with Bruce, you definitely never went.

It was kind of ironic, how similar you were to the Bats. 

You didn’t go to church because you had other things to do, while the Bats never spent time with you because they had other things to do.

The Bats avoided their problems by emotionally running away from them while you literally ran away from your problems.

You waited for them to reach out while they waited for you to come home.

You were more alike than you thought.

Show us your grace and forgiveness, so that we may have the strength to show that grace and forgiveness to others.

Could you ever forgive the Bats for what they’ve done? For what they didn’t do? 

They’ve given you so many issues you’re trying to heal from. Fear of abandonment, avoidant attachment, anxiety, just to name a few. But they had their own problems as well.

They were constantly working on something and obsessing over one case or another. They didn’t know how to separate the man from the mask and that was probably the factor that caused the most damage. 

But, at least they attempted to reach out after months of no contact. They could have gone their whole lives without meeting you halfway.

Another point of irony was when you were learning to make peace with the quiet and learning to listen to the world. You failed to listen when the Bats tried to call.

You definitely weren’t a saint either. You threw a glass at Dick’s head, for crying out loud.

Every single one of you were flawed.

But that was part of being human, wasn’t it?

That didn’t make it an excuse, though.

Forgiveness was difficult to hand out to people who hurt us. In many cases, they’ll see it as a get out of jail free card and continue on with their toxic behavior and relationships. But remaining resentful was tiring as well. All you wanted to do was move on.

But maybe forgiving was the first step to letting go.

You didn’t have to stay just because you made truces. You can still live your own life and forge your own path. You had choices.

And could choose to forgive.

It was interesting. You thought that the end of August was the beginning of your new life. But you were wrong. Summer into fall wasn’t the start of your new life. It was the transition.

The true start begins with death. 

Your past self has died and was reborn in the same moment. Like a phoenix from the ashes.

You always knew you’d bounce back.

Running away from your problems wasn’t going to make them disappear just because they were thousands of miles away, that took a good eight months to learn. In order for your life to improve, you had to work towards your goal. You had to put in the effort.

You had to face your mountains.

And perhaps this time, things will turn out different.

With your mind made up, you put out your fire, careful to make sure every ember was gone, before slipping back into your car. But instead of sleeping, you awoke your engine and began to drive. Your stars shining brighter than ever as they guided you east.

It was time you gave Gotham a visit.

a/n: It is currently 1:25 AM as I am writing this and all I can say is that I really want to go camping. Like, no joke, I'm trying to figure out how to turn my car into a camper. Will it ever happen? Maybe not this summer, but one day! It'll be good for the lore. Anyways, your a silent monk now I guess (just for this chapter I promise) and now you're on your way back to the absolute mess that's going on in Gotham! Things might get a little bumpy, but who knows? Maybe things will be okay, or maybe a zombie apocalypse broke out and everyone you've ever known and loved will be dead! LMK know your thoughts and thank you for reading!

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 8: 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖧𝗈𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗌

1.1K Words

I've crossed the county line, I can not go back. I'm always on my own.

It was subtle at first. In fact, it was practically non-existent. And if you thought you saw something, it could easily be brushed off as a coincidence or a trick of the light. 

But after a while, it became more obvious.

When you’d go out to lunch with Penelope and Jake, you’d catch people sending you prolonged looks. They’d look away when caught, most of the time, but the select few that didn’t shift their gazes freaked you out.

They were watching.

Why, you did know. You doubt they were interested in what you were eating.

It was when they began pointing and whispering that you started taking rain checks on the time you spent with your friends outside the Museum. It stopped being just a lunch date thing and began following you everywhere. The grocery store, restaurants, the gas station, and even down the street on your runs.

Their eyes tailed you while your name got comfortable on their tongues. 

They knew your name.   

Sure, Penelope and Jake knew who you were, but only after you introduced yourself. Back in Gotham, the press didn’t pay much attention to you in favor of the more interesting members of your once family. Like, really, how interested would the public be in the middle child who ran track and field and liked to draw? But in all honesty, that was probably the one source of attention you didn’t mind living without. Maybe it was a good thing that you were forgotten about. Back in Gotham, you at least had privacy.

But these people watched your every move and they knew your name. 

With a little over three weeks left of the semester, things got so much worse.

One brisk morning, on your day off, you went for your routine jog down and around a few blocks. It was just a few miles. 

It started off fine. Normal. 

The sun was just starting to turn the clouds overhead into a heavenly glow while the shadows casted by buildings kept the roads shrouded in a cool blue. There weren’t very many people out and about yet. It was still too early for most.

At that moment, it was quiet. 

Or what most people thought was quiet.

The sound of your outsoles striking the pavement, the controlled breaths you released that formed little clouds in front of you, the morning melody of early birds getting their worms.

It wasn’t completely quiet, but it was peaceful.

That was, until it was disturbed.

“(Name)! (Name)! Over here!”

The shouts startled you. And when you whipped your head in the direction it came from, camera flashes blinded your vision.

It was a group of people and they were taking your photo.

You picked up your pace from what was supposed to be an easy run, into a full on marathon race as the paparazzi–press–whoever they were, called your name behind you and clicked their cameras. A few tried to even run with you, but it wasn’t long before you were able to turn a corner and lose them.

But the feeling of being chased and watched didn’t let up.

You didn’t slow down until you entered the safety of your apartment.

They were following you.

They found where you lived, and they were following you.

You caved and finally checked the Gotham news. You haven’t done that in a while. 

For a time, you stopped caring about what affairs were going on in your old place of residence. They didn’t care about you, so you stopped caring about them. Maybe then, you would finally break free from your past.

But it followed you.

Article after article. Headline after headline.

(Name) Wayne, the Wayward Child.

(Name) Wayne Spotted in Los Angeles, Over 3,000 Miles From Gotham.

(Name) Wayne Found Interning at the Getty Center in Los Angeles, CA.

(Name) Wayne, the One Who Got Away!

(Name) Wayne.

(Name) Wayne.

(Name) Wayne.

(Name) Wayne.

You don’t leave your apartment unless absolutely necessary. Only for your job, and for groceries. Otherwise, no lunch dates with your friends or any other recreational activity.

You’ve taken to using the treadmill in your apartment’s downstairs gym.

Your phone’s been ringing non-stop. You don’t answer it. 

Not from Bruce. Not from Dick. Or Jason, Tim, Damian, or Alfred.

Not from Penelope or Jake.

Anyone.

Not even Lois.

Not even Clark.

And not even Jon.

It was too loud.

Why can’t they just leave you alone?

Your nightmares changed.

From what used to be you bleeding against or impaled by sharp rocks, alone under a starless night, turned into you drowning in a glass box with people watching.

Laughing. 

Taking pictures.

Sometimes they would chase you and tear you limb from limb, using your torture as a source of entertainment.

Every night, you woke up screaming.

Every night, you woke up alone.

Good. Alone was safe.

No one could get you if you were alone.

You didn’t call for Clark.

The semester couldn’t be over soon enough. Pretending to be a perfectly functioning human when you felt like a hunted animal made your perception of time warp and stretch.

You’ve lost so much sleep to the nightmares. You didn’t know what day it was.

All you knew was that daytime was bad, it was dangerous.

Night was safe.

Well, it was safe after you woke up. 

If you fell asleep to begin with.

Your stars kept you safe.

Your stars kept you company.

They were the only company you needed.

When December came, you could have cried when your supervisor signed off on your last report you needed to send to your advisor over at GCU.

You did it.

You were gonna graduate.

You were gonna be free.

But not here, you couldn’t be free here.

Gotham found you in LA. Metropolis knew you were here.

The calls didn’t stop. Not even after the 50th time you let it go to voicemail.

The. Phone. Kept. Ringing.

And the press, they wouldn’t leave you alone.

They kept trying to get a statement from you. They kept taking your picture. They kept following and chasing you.

Your past found you and it was trying to drag you back.

You didn’t want to go back. You couldn’t. That place left you broken and hurt.

It was all too loud.

It was all too much.

Your contract with the Getty Center has officially ended, as well as your apartment’s three month lease. You now had no obligation to this God forsaken place. It became just another cage.

So, you shut your phone completely off and did what you did best.

You ran away.

a/n: Another shorter chapter, but I hoped it packed the punch I was striving for. The next ones will also probably be short, but who knows? I don't! Sorry for the lack of horses in this chapter, I believe they are a metaphor for facing scary and uncertain times in the song itself. BUT in real horse news: my neighbor's horses are in my yard again and they are cutely rolling around in the grass, soaking it the sun's warmth and probably scratching their backs! Anyways, LMK your thoughts and thank you for reading!

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 7: 𝖧𝖺𝗂𝗋𝖼𝗎𝗍

3.1K Words

There ain't nobody mistaking your guilt for some great sacrifice.

November

You’d have to be dumb, deaf, and blind to think the energy in the watchtower didn't thicken every time Batman crossed paths with Superman. But here’s the thing: no other members of the Justice League knew what was going on.

For months, during meetings, the two heroes would talk to each other with sharp tones and snide remarks, and generally, subject the rest of the JL to an unfair hostile work environment. 

Everyone was uncomfortable.

Like, come on man. We’re adults. Hero adults. We have an obligation to protect our respective cities and the world! Not to mention we need to be setting good examples for the younger members and heroes in training! THINK OF THE CHILDREN MAN!!!!

Green Lantern knew he was asked by Superman back in May to pick up a stray green 2001 Jeep Cherokee (nice choice of color, by the way) from Yosemite National Park and have it delivered to his place in Metropolis, Delaware.

Now, Hal has only met Clark a handful of times outside the mask, but he has never seen the man in a ride like that. Man’s is cruisin’ in a white Honda Accord he got off of Facebook Marketplace before he left Kansas. Lois drove a Ford Explorer, and Jon was like two. His ride was a Little Tikes. So, whoever Superman went to rescue that night must have known who they were, and they knew who he was if he’s having their car on his property. 

And from the looks of it, Batman might know the person too and was not happy about it.

Christ, did someone figure out their identities? Were they gonna have to wipe their minds? Kill them? Were Superman and Batman beefing about the ethics of how to handle the situation?

What was happening?!

But here’s the thing: no other members of the Justice League knew what was going on, except for Wonder Woman.

Well, sort of.

Clark called for Diana’s help back in late July to talk to Bruce’s civilian kid. Initially, she had no idea what (Name) Wayne was doing staying with the Lois-Kents for the summer, but when she sat down with the lost soul, she began to understand.

While you didn’t say anything about your home life in Gotham, the questions that were asked about why she left her hidden paradise, if she missed her mother and sisters, and if she regretted her choice to leave, told her everything she needed to know.

You wanted to leave Gotham and not return.

Diana didn’t know why. She didn’t know what was going on between you, the Bats, and Superman. But she didn’t need to.

First of all, whatever rivalry between Bruce and Clark that was happening, in and out of the mask, was none of her business and frankly, a waste of energy that could be used for something productive instead of petty. Hopefully, they’ll find a diplomatic way to resolve their issues soon (from the looks of it, that might not be the case). Otherwise, she might need to step in if things start to get physical.

And secondly, the only person who mattered in this situation was you. Diana knew that whatever it was you chose to do, either stay in Gotham or find somewhere else to go or something in between, it would be to better serve you and your peace. Wherever it may be and however you define it.

In her experience, men tended to think they knew what was best, for themselves and for others, and will go at each other’s throats when they feel threatened or challenged if they aren’t agreed with. They forget that everyone else is an individual with their own thoughts, opinions, and aspirations as well.

You had a right to your own choices and your own fate. And Diana knew, when you were ready, you would make the right choice. Not for Bruce, not for Clark, and not for her.

For you.

After Clark’s patronizing performance at the charity gala, Bruce’s cortisol levels have skyrocketed to places unimaginable. The press have been taking the showdown between himself and the metropolitan reporter, Mr. Clark Kent, and running with it. Creating all sorts of speculation and misinformation.

It was late in the evening, Batman decided to stay in as the man behind the mask for the night while his birds kept Gotham safe. But there’s no rest for the wicked, is there? 

In his study, Bruce sat at his desk while a fire crackled in the hearth parallel from him. Article after article laid askewed over the Mahogany surface while Bruce supported his forehead with his inner three fingers that worked overtime to soothe the rising tension.

Does Bruce Wayne Actually Know How to Be a Parent?

What Actually Goes on in the Wayne Household?

Suspected Abuse and Neglect From the Prince of Gotham?

A Broken Family From Gotham’s Most Famous Orphan.

Some particularly unkind news outlets have even gone to lengths to insult Bruce’s own lack of parents and psychoanalyzing his habit of adopting children as a way to cope with his trauma. He’s never even spoken to these people, yet they claim to know him better than he knows himself.

Oh, and not to mention all the CPS calls made in “good faith”. Apparently, his Brucie Wayne persona has come to haunt him, people see his act as a carefree man who doesn’t think twice about where he puts his money as a man unfit to raise his family. 

There are threats of taking Damian away from him, the only child of his that was still a minor. The only one he needs to be the one to raise. Who else could handle a raised child assassin?

Not many.

These people had no right sticking their noses in places they had no business being. They had no idea how complicated his life was, and if the attention gets any worse, they might figure out that Bruce Wayne is Batman, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Jason Todd is Red Hood, and so forth.

But still…There was a part of Bruce that thought that, maybe, there was some truth to what they were saying.

Maybe he was just a broken man pretending to be whole. Maybe he did more harm than good by roping his children into his life.

With Dick, he always knew his eldest would stay with him, in a way. Even if he resided in Blüdhaven. From being the first Robin to Nightwing, he would always be a vigilante. Associated with Batman by proxy. All of his birds would be.

But for you, yes, you were a Wayne by court. But you had no obligation to Gotham. No obligation to him.

No reason to stay.

You could see the world and never come home.

Did you even consider Gotham as your home? Or was this city just a temporary stay among the big plans you dreamed of on your wall? 

Were they the extras to your protagonist? Did you think that’s how they saw you? Did you think you were the background character to their main group?

It would certainly look that way, wouldn’t it?

Perhaps it was time to give you a call.

Damian has to unlearn a lot of his training from his league days. You know, no killing and all that. It was an essential code to being a hero, the Bats, and especially to the Robin mantle. But there were some things he got to keep from his earlier training that weren’t necessarily confined to the art of assassination. 

He got to keep his discipline, strive, confidence, and even his katana for non-lethal use.

But out of everything he got to keep, Damian never thought he would have to relearn patience, of all things. That’s like, assassination for babies 101! Or, you know, stealth stuff.

The press has been getting on his nerves and the CPS reports and calls are getting ridiculous. He was fine. He could take care of his own, and he could definitely hold his own against his father. He’s done it before, he could do it again.

The whole situation was frustrating. Father, Grayson, Todd, Drake, and even Pennyworth have been acting like ghosts haunting the manor, father has been having arguments with Superman on top of everything going on with the news, AND they still have a city to protect.

Someone is gonna snap soon, and it might just be Damian.

Tell your father to stop antagonizing mine. We have important matters to deal with that would benefit from having one less distraction.

They’re fighting? Why?

Do you live under a rock? Because (Name) ran away. Didn’t they live with you the whole summer?

(Nickname) ran away? I just thought they got hurt on their trip and we were the only people available to help take care of them while you guys were on a long mission out of town.

(Nickname)? Did he get that close to you?

No. We were in Gotham the whole time. We didn’t even know they left until your father barged in the cave and told us what happened.

How do you not realize you’re missing a whole person?

Because in some twisted way, they forgot about you.

We don’t see each other often. 

Well that’s a shame. They’re really cool! Their drawings are so good and they even taught me how to fly!

You did? How the hell did you manage that?

And they’ve traveled across America by themselves and camped out of their car! That’s like, insane! 

Weren’t they heroes? Damian would think that what they do on the daily would be cooler than living out of your car for two weeks.

How is that exciting? You’re impenetrable.

For the most part.

I don’t know, it just is. The Flashes are the fastest people in the world and can travel across the world in seconds, but there’s something about how someone can spend a long time training and run for hours in a single go that’s just so amazing to me. I think the dedication and resilience is more impressive than being born with the ability to do super things.  

That’s why I think you’re cool.

Oh.

For a long time, Damian has fought and pushed himself past his limits in order to live up to the expectations laid for him by the League, his father, the Robins, and his super counterparts. And for a long time, he thought himself to be superior to you while being inferior to his team mates, to his best friend, because he chose to be a hero and you didn’t.

He never thought about just how similar you and him were until now. Different disciplines, same dedication. You were incredible in your own way as he was in his.

Determination, integrity, patience, and passion were things you and he both had. What else might the two of you share? Did you also struggle with feeling inferior to your peers? Did you feel inferior to them?

Have you ever doubted yourself? Damian knows he’s questioned himself a lot these past few months.

Damian thought he knew everything. But lately, he learned just how little he actually knew, and that was a harsh reality the League or the Bats never prepared him for.

Were there things you knew that he didn’t? Or did you know just as much as he did?

Damian regretted not having talked to you when he had the chance. You had a different perspective than that of a vigilante or assassin, yet, you were still a warrior. Was there something you could have taught him like how you taught Jon to fly? There was only one way to find out.

Perhaps it was time to give you a call.

Dick returned to Blüdhaven a few days ago after heading to California to assist the Titans and to finally see you face to face for a chat.

And we all know how well that went.

Lately, Dick has been feeling he was losing his touch. He used to be able to think things through and strategically use his words, but now he was a Grayson flying blind. And he was falling.

He should have thought about what it would look like from your perspective. How you would react to seeing him show up out of nowhere and disturbing your peace. 

Why was he slipping?

He tried to bridge the divide between the two of you, between you and the rest of them, but in the end, he ended up making it worse.

He needed to fix this. Make things right. 

Because if things keep going as they have been; the tensions between Bruce and Clark, the press, and the internal guilt he knows they’ve all been dealing with, someone’s gonna snap.

And it might just be Dick.

He prays that won't be the case.

He came off way too strong by reaching out to you in person. Maybe he should have started off smaller. Maybe he should write out his feelings in a handwritten letter and mail it to you. Maybe he should send you a text.

Maybe he should give you a call.

Another habit Jason tried to leave behind from his first life was smoking. But like clockwork, when times get tense and uncertain, it’s easy to fall back into old habits.

If it didn’t kill him the first time, it’ll be this time, if not a bullet.

So here he was, leaned against a brick parapet of a random building in Crime Alley on a frigged November night, with only the cherry of his cigarette to keep him warm.

Well, that and his thermal gear. He was still on duty, after all. Opting for the domino instead of the helmet in recent times. 

As Red Hood exhaled a cancerous cloud into the already cancerous air of Gotham, the sound of a cape flapping down alerted him of a visitor.

He already knew who.

“You know, Bruce and Alfred are gonna lecture you once they get a whiff that you’re smoking again,” Red Robin joined him against the parapet, looking out into the night.

In a strange turn of events, Tim and Jason have grown a little closer in the past few months. It started when Tim came to Jason asking about you.

What your favorite color was, when you started getting into art, if there were other forms of art you’ve tried, and when and why you started running as a sport.

That was just a few of them. And those were only surface leveled. 

Apparently, the baby bird has built a whole case file on you in order to learn more about you. To figure you out. To cope with the fact that he stayed with a complete stranger for a time. Unfortunately for Tim, you were a stranger to all of them. He had no answers to your personal life.

Weren’t they all just strangers to each other in the grand scheme of things? 

Really, how well do they know each other? 

Did they even know themselves?

Did you know yourself?

Jason scoffed, “They could use a smoke more than me.”

Beat.

“Don’t tell them I said that. I still want privileges to Alfred’s cookies.”

Tim huffed a laugh.

Because that’s who he was. Tim. Sure, he was wearing the suit and the mask, and in the field he went by Red Robin, but here, now, with Jason (because that’s who he was), he was Tim.

Who were you?

The two shared a comfortable silence. It was easy now. 

At one point, Jason would antagonize Tim, calling him his replacement and just another bird for Bruce to get killed. Another laugh for the Joker. 

At one point, their relationship remained only in the field.

Now, they felt like real brothers. Like how he felt with Dick before, and when he stopped being so angry.

Was this something you wanted? A bond with them?

Jason looked over at Tim, his hair in a half-up-half-down man bun. Jason remembered when Tim became Robin, he still had his perfectly kept Timothy Drake hair. But when he became Red Robin he let it grow out a bit into a sort of wolfie mullet. Now though, it’s grown to his collarbones.

“You need to cut your hair, it’s becoming a hazard.” Jason broke the silence.

Tim shrugged, “If Kate, Steph, and Cass get to have their hair grown out, then so do I. Besides, I kinda like it. It makes me feel like Aragorn.”

Nerd.

“Fair enough.”

Another beat of silence.

“Are we bad people, Jason?”

Christ on a bike, kid.

Jason stubbed the rest of his cigarette, no amount of Nicotine could help him now. 

“I mean,” the younger of the two continued. “Sure, we’re heroes and do our best to protect and help Gotham and the rest of the world. But deep down, are we actually horrible people? Like, fundamentally? Are we just pretending to be good in order to trick ourselves into believing we’re in the right?”

“You're gonna think yourself to death, Tim. And trust me, dying isn’t fun.”

“Not with that attitude,” he quipped before sealing his lips and turning his head towards Jason.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, the tension quickly rising before Jason snorted and the two brothers giggled, relaxing the atmosphere once again.

“I think we’re doing the best we can.” Jason offered.

“I don’t think our “best” is enough. We haven’t really done anything to solve the issue, have we?”

There was no further context needed. Jason knew Tim was alluding to you and the mess they’ve unknowingly made.

Jason sighed, “No…we haven’t.”

Maybe they really were bad people. 

They’ve recognized they’ve, as uncomfortable as it is to admit, forgotten about you. But what have they done to fix it? 

For those of you playing at home, the answer is nothing.

They did nothing about it all summer except run away from the problem and compartmentalize their everything. And when the press got wind of the situation and Clark started swinging (verbal) punches at Bruce, both in and out of capes, plus, they still had nightly affairs to attend to, PLUS their growing guilt and internal crises, their attention and energy has been stretched so thin, one more stressor will be their breaking point.

Someone is gonna snap, and they don't know who. 

“Are we going to keep doing nothing?” Tim asked after a moment.

Were they? They thought you’d come home after the summer, and when you didn’t, they remained stagnant.

And stagnation was going to drive them insane.

“Maybe we should give (Name) a call.”

a/n: Oh? Another Batfam POV ft. Hal Jordan and Diana Prince?? And is...is Damian learning about empathy?? TBH I'm spaced out and tired but I wanted to get this chapter done tonight because I'm so excited for the ending I have planed (well, the second to last chapter specifically) and I just want to write it now but I have a little more to go before I can give myself a mental treat. Anyways, LMK whatcha think and thank you for reading!

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 6: 𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖲𝗂𝗅𝗅

1.6K Words

TW: Domestic Violence

You could punch me in the gut and it wouldn't hurt like watching you grow smaller on the back road. Are you good at staying still?

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

You could laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Joker had to be in town and teaming up with Scarecrow. This was a nightmare. It had to be.

“Hey? Hey?!” You snapped. “I’ve been gone for over six months! Half a year! And all you have to say is hey?!”

 Un-freaking-believable! You had half the mind to throw your entire sink at this man.

With a hard glare, you pointed past the hero.

Hero! Did he think he could barge in here and save you just because he decided to show up?? How dare he! You didn’t need a hero! You could save yourself!

“Get out,” you growled. “You’re not welcomed here.” You didn’t even know why he was here or if Bruce was the one who sent him, but you decided you didn’t care enough to know the reasoning. You just wanted Nightwing out of your apartment and out of this city. 

Nightwing threw his hands up in surrender. As if a gun was pointed at him and your finger was on the trigger.

Bang. 

“I’m not here to fight, (Name). I just want to talk.” He said calmly.

Now?? You want to talk now??

“You had every chance to talk when I lived in Gotham and when you found out I left, but you know what? After everything that has happened, you don’t get to talk to me now!” 

You took a breath. Calm down.

 “Go.” 

Back to your family.

“We were worried for you! We waited for you to come home after you were done healing in Metropolis!“

And how did that work out for you?

“You could have called!” You stressed. “You could have visited! I was only two and a half hours away! Are you saying you can’t even spare me that much?? You could have sent a get well soon card in the mail! Anything!” 

What wasn’t he getting?

“I know, I know, but—”

“Oh! So you knew this entire time, huh?! You just couldn’t be bothered to reach out until I’m on the other side of the country again?? Is that it??”

“Hold on a minute—” Nightwing took a small step forward, but you took a bigger one towards him.

“No,” it was dangerous. “I’m done holding on! I’m done waiting! I’ve spent years—For God’s sake, Dick. Take the stupid mask off and look me in the eyes!”

You were toe-to-toe with the man you once called your big brother. No, this wasn’t Dick. It was Nightwing. He always did have a habit of turning into someone else when he put the domino on. They all did. They used the masks to buffer their emotions, and it wasn’t often you’d see them take it off.

Maybe, that’s why you liked Clark better nowadays. He wasn’t afraid enough to hide.

You and the vigilante stared at each other, and for a moment, it felt like time stopped. The only evidence of its continual march was the sound of passing cars along the concrete road below and the staccato dripping from the faucet. 

Slowly, as if not to spook you, Nightwing lifted his hands to his face and took off the mask. Instantaneously turning from a symbol of hope, to a man filled with so much guilt.

This was Dick.

You took a deep breath and locked eyes with the man, holding his gaze captive, “I’ve spent years being pushed to the curb and forced to wait for one of you to remember I exist.” You spoke calmly. Somehow, that made you scarier.

“(Name), you know what our lives are like…” He trailed off, as if lost for words. Like he was trying to find the words that might save him.

You hated how gentle his voice was. You wished he’d scream and yell at you so it could justify your simmering rage.

“Do I? How would I know what your lives are like if you’ve never talked to me?” You crossed your arms.

You-1, Dick-0.

Dick cringed, “I…I know. We screwed up. But—”

“Your voicemails nearly cost me my life, Dick! What about all those times I tried to talk to you guys but was told “not now,” or “later”, and later never came? What about all those times you chose to hang out with your team? With Damian, Tim, and Jason? You never chose to spend time with me and that said a lot!”

You-2, Dick-0.

“But was leaving really necessary?” He was desperate to get a word in.

Good. Let him be desperate.

“Who left first, Dick?” That one stung him.

“Because as I recall, you left for Blüdhaven. Jason left and got himself killed, and then left again when he came back. Tim left every night, and Damian didn’t care to begin with! In fact he wanted me to leave! Alfred leaves to care of you all, And Bruce, although he was there and brought me in, he “left” the moment I decided not to become a bat! So, yeah, Dick. I left. But I was not the first!”

Your voice raised at some point, but you didn’t care. You were too angry to care.

You-3, Dick-0.

You’ve had enough. This man, who you’ve decided you didn’t know, has overstayed his non-welcome. You made your way back to the sink, you had dishes to finish cleaning.

“Just, go.” You picked up the glass you set down earlier, trying to ignore the trembling in your hands.

Was this anger? Or was this sadness? They were getting hard to tell the difference between.

Dick noticed your tremors and reached his hand out slowly, “(Name)...” His voice was soft.

It made you see red. 

With a frustrated yell, you turned on your heel and hurled the glass at Dick’s head.

“I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Like you’ve always done.

He gasped and ducked his head. Of course he’d dodge. The glass crashed and shattered against the balcony door, its shards raining onto the kitchen floor. Dick’s eyes blew wide when he looked back up at you, but he didn’t stay long enough to say anything as he slipped out through the door and disappeared into the late October night. 

Leaving you, as requested.

Alone.

It’s what you wanted. 

So why did it leave your chest hollow?

No, stop thinking about it. 

Go pick up the glass. You made a mess.

But as you sank to your knees, the hollowness became solid and heavy. An anchor pulling you beneath the waters and drowning you as your throat tightened and tears refracted your vision.

You can’t keep doing this.

You wished Dick would’ve fought you. You wished Dick would’ve fought for you.

You wish he’d stay. 

You felt more broken than the glass on the floor.

Dick’s heart shattered as he watched you break down on the kitchen floor. His soul told him to go back and help you pick up your broken pieces, but he had no idea how. 

He had no idea what to say when he got here, and from your display of violence, he was afraid of making things worse now. He came to California on a whim under the guise of helping the Titans, which wasn’t a complete lie, but you were his main mission.

And he botched it.

Things were already getting heated back home. He thought, maybe, by finally taking action, there might be a little relief to the problem and things could start to get better. He was wrong. It was so much worse than he thought.

Watching your tears was contagious as his eyes stung with their own, and he looked to the sky.

The stars were hard to see, light pollution will do that, but they were easier to see here than in Gotham.

Dick has never been a religious man. With all the things he’s seen and fought, it was hard to believe there’s still good in the world. That’s why he, the Bats, and all the other heroes do what they do. They gave humanity hope that tomorrow will be a better day.

But who would give him hope?

Not every battle can be fought using fists and overly complex planning. That’s something he learned tonight.

He needed help, but he didn’t know who else to turn to. Who else he could turn to.

People pray when they feel lost, right?

If there was a God out there that was listening, and who was as merciful and gracious as so many people believe they are, then maybe they could guide him in the right direction and show him how to be a better man.

A lot of people relied on him for protection and justice, but he failed the one person who relied on him the most.

You were hurting and it was their fault.

Did he even deserve forgiveness? Did any of them?

Can good people be truly rotten at their core? Were they destined to fail in the only way that mattered? 

How could he call himself your brother if he never behaved as one? What good was being a hero if you couldn’t save those closest to you? Could he even be saved?

Could he change?

He hoped so. You deserved someone willing to change for you.

You deserved peace. You deserved love. You deserved to be cherished.

He only regretted that he couldn't have realized that sooner. You deserved so much more than what you’ve been given. If only he had the words and courage to tell you that.

With his face tilted to the stars, Dick let his tears fall as he prayed for both of their souls, and hoped that one day, he could be forgiven.

a/n: My only note to myself in my notebook for this chapter was, and I quote, "Crash out, Queen". So here we are, throwing a brick through stained glass. Contrary to what I have written, I do not advocate for throwing objects (Especially easily breakable or sharp objects) at people who piss us off. This is a work of fiction and the actions I portray characters doing is in effort to give them realistic flaws to better serve the story.

On another note, I'm free for a few weeks before I start a summer class, so hopefully I can finish this fic up or close to it before then! LMK your thoughts and thank you for reading!