Wanted^

……………………

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!?!??

jolting awake, you quickly sat up on your bed. still disorientated from last night's sleep. 

'where am I?' 'this doesn't feel like my room.' 'did someone kidnap me?' 'wait, who the hell would want kidnap someone like me?'. you stared at the floor with a million thoughts racing through your head. 

'wait, did I get... isekai'd?' 

that thought seemed snap you out of your stupor as you frantically rushed to the table near you that's  filled to the brim with stacks of paper, flipping through them haphazardly before your eyes trailed up and landed on the wall standing infront of you. 

which for some reason, was filled to the brim with pictures of some random dude. 

after going through each and every picture on the wall. you came to the conclusion that this guy's name was Richard Grayson, and you... well old you was supposedly obsessed with him?! you couldn't help the sarcastic scoff that came out of your throat, really of all places you decide to isekai me into. it had to be Gotham City ——the shittiest, most fucked up city in all of comic book history. 

and what's worse is...

'I'M NOT EVEN A DC FAN!' you internally screamed inside your mind, your hands grasping your face in pure exasperation as you fell back and landed onto the chair behind you. staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression, you couldn't help but furiously rub your eyes as you held back your tears. 

'fuck, are you kidding me?' your voice trembled and you couldn't help but internally curse whichever deity decide to put you in this situation. 

but... didn't you want this? 

'what?' your eyes widened as you shot up from your seat, denying the accusation. 

'no?! I didn't want this to happen!' you argued, shaking your head ferociously. 'I had everything I ever wanted back home! loving parents ——oh gosh...' your face fell. 'm-my parents! are they doing okay? did anything happen to them? oh I don't thibk ill be able to continue loving if something happened to them' you thought while pacing around the room.  

but, a voice in the back of your mind whispered in that disgustingly sweet, syrupy voice 

'but didn't you pray for something exciting to happen in your life?' 

'well, you got what you wanted didn't you?' 

'THIS WASN'T WHAT I MEANT WHE-' you turned around, gripping the table harshly, nails biting into the wood —— creating cresent shaped marks on the it. 

'wait, wait, wait.' you swallowed. 'alright [Name], stop thinking of bad thoughts, they're probably hopefully all fine.' letting out a deep breath. you decide to focus your attention towards the more important part ——figuring out if this is the actual comics or just a fanmade game (like in the fanfic you sometimes read late at night where the MC gets isekai'd into a dating sim instead of the actual comics). 

scowering your desk for a pen and a piece of paper, you decided to write down what you knew about the dc comics. 

'okay so first, we know that Bruce Wayne is Batman, which is actually common knowledge and that all of his adopted children are vigilantes.' nodding your head as you continue listing down their names. 

× Richard 'Dick' Grayson —— Nightwing

× Jason Todd —— Red Hood

× Tim Drake —— Red Robin (yum) 

× Damian Wayne/ Al-Ghul —— Robin

× Duke Thomas —— Signal

× Stephanie Brown —— Spoiler

× Cassandra Cain —— Black Bat

× Barbara Gordon —— Oracle

'that should be right, right?' your eyebrows raised as you rechecked the names and the aliases.

'whatever, it's not like some die hard fan of the dcu is gonna jump me if I get this wrong anyway. ' you slumped down the chair with a sigh. looking out the window, you were greeted with the sight of Gotham City in all its criminal glory. 'wow, this place looks like shit.' was your first words towards the sight Gotham as your eyes focused in on the abnormal hue of neon green and blazing purple skies. 

'fuck, I think I'll genuinely die or get cancer or something if I open that window' 

you might be a dumbass, but you're not that stupid. right 

turning your head back to the wall filled with pictures of Dick, only one thought rang throughout your mind. 

Spider-Person: "The warning signs. The mental illness ones. Congratulations, you have fourteen."

Joker: "What does that mean???"

Spider-Person: "I'm making a graph later. You're welcome to swing by..haha..see what I did there?"

Tim becomes obsessed with proving Spider-Person's data collection is flawed and ridiculous because he, himself, overcomplicated things.

Tim is furious.

"You cannot just walk around doing sociology."

Spider-Person: "I can and I am."

Barbara honestly does not care enough to do what Tim does. She's not petty. If Spider! person's ways work, they simply work. She's got more important tasks to spend her energy on.

Gotham's billionaires eventually learn that if Spider-Person approaches them smiling, they're about to go up on a chart somewhere

Every annual report just gets worse

The first one is professional, something like Appendix A

The second one is concerned, something like Gotham's (rather poorly hidden) issue

And by the third they give up and start naming it things like..

"Respectfully, What Are We Doing Here?"

"I Have Explained This Before."

"See Previous Graph."

"For The Love Of God."

If they meet a billionaire genuinely helping people, they move on. Whatever. It's cool.

If they meet a billionaire doing absolutely nothing..congratulations! You're on appendix C. Nobody wants to end up on Appendix C.

Bruce ends up in Appendix C once. It is the most humiliating experience of his life.

Spider-Person titled it "Sir, You Have The Resources."

The Batfamily finds this so funny they never let him forget it. Especially Jason who likes to wait patiently for Bruce to fuck up.

Jason pulled a Regina George and printed copies of Appendix C. He plastered it all over the Manor.

They. Were. Everywhere.

Spider-Person eventually starts recognizing repeat offenders too & this creates a bizarre dynamic

"Kevin."

"Please don't."

"Kevin, we talked about this."

"PLEASE DON'T."

"We literally made a budget together."

Batman, watching from a rooftop: "…did they make a budget together?"

Nightwing: "Apparently."

At one point Spider-Person genuinely helps a low-level criminal find a job. And then another. And another. And it becomes a thing.

Entire sections of Gotham's criminal underworld start viewing them as some weird combination of probation officer, social worker, and cryptid

Nobody knows what category they're supposed to fit into

At first you don't notice it; a shuffle, a near silent shift of kevlar at the edge of the roof. It's easily drowned out by honking cars, the chattering night-owls in the street below, and the faint whistle of a cool Gotham breeze. It was so quiet the sound registered just under your own uneven breathing. You don't notice the noise, but you notice the movement; a large, dark silhouette inching forwards in your periphery.

Your head snaps in it's direction, eyes wide and watery. What you see is something you couldn't really describe, the sight so strange you questioned your own sanity. It was tall, rigid, cloaked in shadow with two glowing white eyes facing your direction, watching you. Atop it's head was pointed horns, or was it ears..? The figure is wide, broad, more than enough to block out the light of the moon as it steps a bit closer, slowly, cautiously. Then, the sides of it shift, and out come clawed hands, palms facing towards you. "It's dangerous to be on rooftops at night," It rumbles, it's deep, rough voice forcibly gentled at the edges. You struggle to get your voice under control, shocked into silent stupidity by the sight. "What are you? Who are you?" "A friend." It murmurs, stepping just close enough for you to tense, then lowering onto it's knees. You watch it for a moment, then slowly relax in increments. "A friend." You parrot warily, setting your bowl of pie aside with a click of the fork on the bowl. Sniffling, you wipe your hand down your face, trying to compose yourself. The shadowy figure watches you without moving, eerily still and eerily focused. You didn't have many friends. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't be crying on a rooftop in a shitty apartment thinking about your equally shitty boyfriend. Maybe instead, you'd be talking to them instead of what seemed to be some sort of shadow demon you weren't really sure was even real.

"Why are you on the rooftop? Are you hurt?" The creature asks, what you think is its head shifting to scan you over. You feel it's attention on you, assumedly checking for injuries.

"No, no, it's just.." you sniffle, voice cracking at the edges as you're brought back to the situation that got you up here in the first place. "It's embarrassing."

"I won't tell."

You observe it for a moment, trying to judge the truth of it's statement. It's not exactly easy to discern truth from a silhouette of pure shadow with horns (ears?) and glowing white eyes, but you decide to take a risk. You had no-one else to talk to, anyway.

You look down to your apple pie, barely touched, and slide it in it's direction. "I'll give you my apple pie if you let me talk about my shitty boyfriend."

Slowly, it's clawed fingers grab the edge of the bowl and bring it into its lap. It doesn't eat, but accepts the offering, which prompted you to talk.

And then you spoke. You ranted about the last few months you spent with your boyfriend, about his jokes that felt more like insults, about the way he wanted to spend time with anyone but you. You ranted and the creature listened, silent and unnaturally still. Only once did you feel it's attention leave you, and it was only to look at the offering you slid its way. It eyed it like it was scanning it, judging it, then, slowly, it took a spoonful and raised it to what you assumed was it's head.

It hummed quietly and looked back at you. After that moment, it would slowly pick at the offered pie as you spoke.

You told it, laughing bitterly with a wavering tone, that you've now got a fridge full of sweets that both you and every neighbor in your apartment couldn't eat within a week. When you had nothing more to say, the creature slid the bowl back to you, partially eaten. It was silent for a few moments, then in a low, considerate tone it offered it's advice.

As you were considering it's words, it briefly raised up a clawed hand to it's head, where it pressed against pure shadow. Then, it slowly stood.

"I have to go."

You wilted but nodded. Hopefully, you asked "Do you have a name?"

"Batman," it said as it leapt from the side of your roof. Then, it was gone.

Three days pass, and you follow the creature, Batman's, advice. The argument that ensued with your boyfriend was vicious, filled with insults, and ended in you two going your separate ways. Now alone, you ended back up at the rooftop, staring sullenly at a bowl of ice cream you had yet to touch.

This time you hear it; a shuffle, a shift, and the faint crack of debris under a foot. You turn your head and see a man in a black and blue suit, a blue mask on his face and the same white eyes the creature from a few nights ago had.

"Are you one of the creatures friends?" You ask before you can stop yourself. The man laughs softly and sits in the same spot the creature did.

"I am, yeah. I heard you're offering sweets for advice? I've been going all over Gotham and I'm reaallll hungry." He boyishly grins, his black hair masking one side of his face as he tilts his head.

Immediately, you offer the ice cream. He takes it, eyes it for a moment in the same scanning way the creature did, then plants a spoonful into his mouth. He hums immediately, murmuring a compliment.

Then you complain about the breakup, the rude things your boyfriend said, ranting about how dare he and why would he, your hands moving as you spoke.

The man nods along, shamelessly mauling your ice-cream and offering choice words of agreement and shock at the proper times. Just like with Batman, he waits until you're finished to offer his opinion. Where Batman's advice was detached, rational, and kept short and effective, the man seemed to treat it more like a gossip session at girls night. He licked ice-cream from his lips as he described possible reasons for your boyfriend's behavior, empathizing with your plight, and appealing to your emotions while reminding you to stay rational. Conversation with him came much easier than conversation with Batman, who preferred to study you more often than not, and you spent a considerable amount of time chatting even after he finished his ice cream.

But, same as Batman he eventually raised his finger to his ear, listened, then made for the edge of the roof. He left, but not before introducing himself. Nightwing.

The third time you went to your roof with sweets in hand, you didn't really have a reason. Your boyfriend problems were thoroughly sorted by Batman, your messy breakup processed and validated by Nightwing, and now you were just.. lonely. So, you went to the roof with a plate of cream filled doughnuts, eating some yourself while you waited to possibly share conversation with the strange creatures that showed up for sweets and to listen to your life drama.

A thud behind you drew your attention to a figure that was around the same size as Batman, but wearing a red mask with the same glowing white eyes as the others. He cut an intimidating figure, and you found yourself hesitating for a moment.

"I could use a break. You're that person with the sweets, right?" His rough voice growled, his head turning just enough for you to be able to guess that he was looking from you to the doughnuts half hidden behind you.

"You're one of the creatures? Er - - Batman's?" You question, beginning to relax.

The man snorted at your description as he shook his head. "Not one of his. Heard some talk about snacks 'for a price'. I'm hungry, I'm tired, and those -" he points to the doughnuts. "smell really fucking good. Whats the price?"

"Gotta listen to my problems," you reply, grabbing ahold of a doughnut and holding it out in his direction.

"So I have to deal with you whining for some food?" He huffs, but from the way his posture shifts he was intrigued by the offer.

You wiggle the doughnut temptingly.

It doesn't take long for him to lose his resolve. "God damn it, fine," he huffs, stepping forwards and snatching it out of your hands. His mask hisses and clicks as he pulls it off, revealing a similar mask on his face that Nightwing had the other night. He sinks his teeth into the doughnut and groans quietly. "Real fuckin' good. Alright, lay it on me," he says a bit too eagerly.

With the offered permission you launch into gossiping about anything and everything you could think of. The workplace drama that was going on, the way Samantha a few blocks down tripped and lost her wig (which is gifted a stifled chuckle by the man), the way the gas station on the end of the block sold the worst hotdogs you've ever put in your mouth. The man gets more and more enraptured as you go on, going from silent listening to offering grunts of agreement, then beginning to offer comments and quiet laughs. Conversation isn't as easy as it was with Nightwing, but the man was pleasant enough to speak to and ate through your doughnuts like a buff trash compactor.

After a while there's a lull in the conversation, and you find yourself standing up. "Wait a second, I have some more for you,"

"Good god, I can't eat anymore, I'm about to puke," he groans, but doesn't stop you as you make your way to the fire escape.

"Just wait there! I have a fridge full of this shit!" You call over your shoulder with a laugh.

Thats how you send the man off with a bag of sweets. Strawberry shortcake, brownies, cookies... all which he takes with a sigh and much less complaints than what you both felt like he should be doing. He introduces himself as he leaves, tying your bag to his belt and jumping off the edge. Red Hood.

Two days later you come home just as a white-eyed man enters through your window. When his face turns in your direction, he freezes like a kid caught in the cookie-jar, what you assume is his eyes meeting yours.

"You Batman's?" You say after a long, awkward moment.

"Yeah." He replies.

"Name?"

"Red Robin."

Another pause.

"You have sweets still? Red Hood gave me some a day ago and I've been craving more since." You smile, and with a playful flourish gesture towards your kitchen. He comes through your window with just enough grace that said he'd done it many times before.

A few minutes later you're sitting on your couch, sharing cinnamon rolls with Red Robin who proceeds to ruthlessly psychoanalyze anyone you talk about for more than two minutes with disturbing accuracy. The first three times you pause, stunned, then confirm or deny his analysis with what knowledge you had on the situation. With each analysis you confirm to be correct he seems to grow more and more smug.

Red Robin eats a total of nine cinnamon rolls and apparently feels safe enough to take a nap on your couch, his head hanging off the arm as he quietly snores. You gently cover him with a soft throw blanket and sit beside him to watch a TV show on low volume. The company is nice, you feel the most content than you have in a long, long time.

Two hours pass of Red Robin sleeping on your couch when you see movement out of the corner of your eye. You look just in time to see a small figure emerge from the shadows near your kitchen, looking from you to Red Robin, where his lip curls up into a sneer.

"A disgusting display of laziness." He huffs, his voice high pitched and boyish. He walks forwards and grabs Red Robin by the hair, yanking him onto the floor with an impressive and yet mildly disturbing display of strength.

Both you and Red Robin shout your protests, but it's too late, the boy is already tugging Red Robin towards the window. Red Robin scrambles to his feet and escapes the boys grip but pitches out the window while murmuring about sleeping too long. He doesn't even give you a goodbye as he leaves you alone with the boy, who turns a boiling glare in your direction.

"You are distracting. You are ruining their diet with sweets."

You're quiet for a moment, shocked into stunned stupidity once more, and slowly tilt your head to the side. "I .. uh.. I'm sorry."

The boy's quiet for a moment, then runs a hand down his masked face with the exhaustion of a man twice his age. "I'd say 'don't let it happen again', but I'm more than aware that if you didn't feed into their bad habits, they'd find someone else."

You're not quite sure what to say to that.

Nothing, except.. "Are you.. hungry?"

He scoffs in response, turning his nose up as if you were dirt beneath his feet. "I have no desire for your sweets."

Mentally you run through the contents of your fridge and pantry. He didn't want sweets, but what about fruits? "I have some yogurt and strawberries?" You offer.

The boy considers your statement, looking at you with the same disturbing, unflinching focus that Batman did. After a long pause, long enough that you began to squirm and second guess yourself, the boy murmurs "That would be satisfactory."

You nod and lead him to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at your dining table, which he sits in, as you make him some yogurt and cut up strawberries. He watches you make it without looking away once and takes it into his hands once you offer it, the yogurt and fruit put in a sealed container with an attached spoon for him to take with him.

His lips purse as he opens the container, scooping it and a cut up strawberry onto the spoon. He takes a small bite, then huffs. "It is edible."

You fight a smile. "You're probably busy, right? You can take it with you," you offer, gesturing towards the window both he and Red Robin crawled through. He hums in agreement and makes for the exit, not stopping until he's half hanging out of it.

"I am told that it is good manners to thank you. So, thank you." He grumbles, then leaps from the window before you can respond.

Only then do you realize that your overstocked fridge was almost empty, and your lonely heart felt rather full.

to communicate? to instill fear? not even you knew the answer.

“ah, fine. you may go talk to her.” the manager sighed, pushing slightly the door that led towards a restricted area only for staff members. “but please return through the front door when you’re done. we can’t be having customers back there.”

“yes, yes, i understand.” she nodded her head, offering a warm smile. “i will be quic–”

but she couldn’t finish her sentence as her hunter’s watch started to beep uncontrollably around her wrist. a sudden increase in metaflux was registered around the café and, as if on cue, terrified screams echoed from outside as wanderers spawned.

“what the fuck??”

emcee cursed under her breath, taking a step back from the employee-only door. you were pushed back on her priority list as a beam of electricity carved through the concrete right outside the café. pulling her dual pistols out, she rushed outside to evacuate the civilians and fight off the wanderers.

•••

you didn’t register any of it. you didn’t register the screams of the pedestrians as they tried to run away from the monsters; you didn’t register the crash of glass or the strange sound of supernatural prowess. you were caged in your own mind, in that quiet yet unceasingly loud space, where only the rhythm of your own heavy breath and the frantic pounding of your heart echoed.

you pressed your forehead to your knees and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block the unfamiliar world around you, trying to pull yourself out of existence.

you also didn’t register the van.

it was a dull grey vehicle with tinted windows, blending seamlessly into the adjacent city street, too boring to attract anyone’s attention. it came to a stop near the back entrance, leaving enough space between the two of you to not arouse suspicion. the side door slid open, allowing two men in suits to step outside onto the pavement. they, too, weren’t concerned with the wanderers, seemingly focused on another task.

it was as if they knew the attack was to happen.

it was as if they took advantage of the conundrum up front to approach you.

“the coast is clear.” one of them mumbled as he held down on his earpiece, reporting to his higher up about the surrounding areas.

they saw your pitiful form, your shoulders shaking, your face buried in your arms. they saw the vulnerability, the isolation, the perfect opportunity to snatch you. the man with the device nodded once, and they began to move towards the fenced enclosure, their steps silent on the pavement.

they thought they’d get you easy.

“hey.”

they were wrong.

“h–huh? xavier?”

you didn’t see him appear before you. there was no sound, no clue for you to pick up. he just materialized in front of you. you gasped out his name, finally raising your head from between your knees, finally straightening your curled posture.

you knew who he was from the game, but you’ve never officially introduced one another after transmigrating into this reality.

you’ve noticed your mistake after muttering his name, eyes going wide in fear, upper teeth biting into your lower lip. a new wave of panic surged all over your body, goosebumps blooming all over your skin from the impending failure.  you could talk your way out of your error, maybe blabber some nonsense about remembering his name since he came often with emcee at the café.

but luckily for you, he paid your little slip-up no mind. with a curt smile, he crouched down beside you, extending his hand towards you. only then did you register his sword, grasped by his other hand, shining beautifully with a brewing light.

“we need to evacuate.” was all he said, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. “there are wanderers close by, i need you to come with me.”

at that moment, you finally locked eyes with him, gazing into his beautiful blue orbs. your own orbs were looking back at him, but they did not mirror the azure calmness of his — terror crawled all over, snagging onto your eyes and pulling them out of your orbits.

“w–what?” you retorted back, voice stuttering in your throat.

the crusted-up tears around your waterline flourished again as your mind struggled to process the danger you were in.

wanderers. the powerful creatures which you’ve only ever seen on screen, always confined to a safe, fictional space of combat, were loose so close to you. they were real and they were here, wreaking havoc and targeting more people, not just emcee and her chosen love interest.

you could barely breathe at the news, chest heaving beneath your barista uniform, as xavier searched your crouched body for your hand. he needed to take you out and move you somewhere safer, and, in doing so, he must disregard the terrifying feeling that swallowed your whole being.

“i won’t let anything hurt you.” he reinforced his position, convincing you to trust in him. “but we need to go. now.”

you knew you could trust xavier, especially when it came to wanderers. so you mustered up all your strength, pushing against the wall and willing your legs to straighten and move from your crying spot. your hand reached out, seeking support, completely breaking your pact to never interact with the love interests.

but this was an emergency, you tried to excuse yourself, clutching his hand tightly as you took a few wobbling steps.

he pulled you closer, effortlessly, looping a hand around your shoulders to stabilize you.

and, as a result, the proximity between the two of you shortened.

your eyes landed on his face once more, but this time at a resolution only a live, authentic experience could offer. he was no longer just pixels on a screen, poorly embodied due to your bad quality device — he was real, a breathing beauty, icy blue eyes and soft blonde hair.

if it weren’t for the chaos two streets down, your heart would’ve most likely swooned.

“hold on to me.”

and with that warning, he plucked you from the concrete floor, jumping away from the back of the café. it was hard to register what was going on, having never been plunged into the air in such an inhumane way. you were scared, so high up in the sky, but you were also fascinated, holding onto xavier’s neck as he lapped from building to building to safety.

you were so enthralled by the view of the city, scanning the premise for the monstruous wanderers, you didn’t register xavier’s gaze traveling away from you and settling on the two suspicious men that were targeting you.

although they stopped in their tracks when they saw you were approached by the hunter, they did not put in the effort to hide — xavier’s expression shifted, and the previous soft concern he had for you hardened into a sharper, more brutal gaze. his blue eyes darkened with unspoken threats, carefully taking in what was supposed to befall you if he didn’t intervene.

his arm on you tightened, but you did not know why, merely assuming he stabilized your posture for the landing. he didn’t explain anything else to you, dropping you closer to another group of civilians, ushering you with a flick of the wrist to join the frightened cluster of people.

they were all crying and trembling in fear, voices a mixture of prayer and alarm.

and as he left the area to join emcee in her fight, you were finally face to face with the terrifiying monsters that inhabited the world of the game.

the small screen of your device did not do them justice.

they were enormous, a convolution of strange forms and patterns that combined in an unfathomable and cruel design. they towered over the smaller buildings, true giants compared to the humans around them, stomping and roaring and attacking everything around them.

balls of energy were thrown around, while beams struck and cut through solid materials with ease.

emcee was moving around them, her evol finally activating now that her partner came to help her. it shined brightly for a few seconds, like a gleaming piece of hope, before dissipating in the air as the blows of her guns and xavier’s blade unleashed onto the wanderers.

but the sheer size of the creatures, the closeness of the danger, the reality of what you were seeing–

the possibility of you falling victim to such a thing.

it was too much.

your previous panic attack resurfaced, now fueled by something more palpable, crashing over you and leaving your breathless. your chest worked overtime, raising and falling to sustain enough oxygen, while your heart adapted to the increasing flow of your blood. but it was all in vain as your vision tunneled, darkness overtaking your surroundings.

the noises of battle blurred as your body gave out, darkness engulfing you fully as you slipped into unconsciousness.

“m–miss? miss, what’s wrong?”

“hey, hey, hey! h–help, someone help!”

“wake up! ahhhh, does someone know what–?”

•••

the next thing you knew was the sterile white of a hospital ceiling and the pungent smell of antiseptic. the fluorescent lights buzzed above you softly, illuminating the small yet technologically-advanced room.

you tried to move, to lift your hand and perch it on your aching temple, but you were met with restrictions.

the iv line, notched into your arm with a securely taped needle, prevented you from sudden, elongating movements. other wires emerged from your chest, little sticky pads stuck to your skin and connected to a monitor that showcased your vitals.

you pushed yourself up slowly, your arms screaming in protest after resting for so long, and you managed to lean against the tilted hospital bed. the room twirled around you for a second, confusing your tired eyes and making that headache of yours even worse. but soon, after your vision stabilized, you were graced with the exact location of the hospital you were taken at — the logo of akso hospital caught the light of the dimming sun.

akso. of all places.

the door opened before we could fully sit up, before you could prepare a plan to escape the hospital pleasantries without being questioned too much.

and as if the universe was working against you, the person opening the door was not a meager nurse or an unnamed and unimportant doctor. the one that greeted you with a slow nod of the head, adorning a white medical gown and a stylish pair of glasses, was none other than zayne.

he stepped into the room attentively, closing the door after him to give you privacy. just like xavier, he too stood before you… too real. his dark hair was neatly combed to the side, his expression composed, his deep green eyes sharp and observing. he had a tablet in his hand, most likely containing your general medical information.

“good evening.” was the first thing he said to you, fingers coming up and pushing his glasses closer to his eyes.

his voice was calm, almost distant, yet there was something that stood out compared to xavier. he was careful, watchful, talking to you but also… assessing you. maybe it was because of his profession, or maybe it was because, unlike the hunter, he somewhat knew your identity because of your medical chart.

maybe.

“i am doctor zayne li, from the cardiology department. i will be overseeing your care. you were brought here after collapsing during a wanderer attack earlier today. you’ve been unconscious for approximately four hours.”

you stared at him, your mind barely taking in his little summary.

he was one of the five love interests, a childhood friend of emcee, turned doctor in order to save the one he loved. he was standing in your hospital room, declaring he was the one in charge of you. but why? why was zayne, such a valuable attire of the hospital, so busy in the cardiology department, assigned to you?

you, unimportant, just a collateral victim of a panic attack.

“cardiology?” you managed to mumble even with your dry throat, almost spitting out the words in disbelief and also… dissatisfaction. “is there any issue with my heart?” you immediately added, wishing to shoo the doctor away and get another one.

someone who had no ties to emcee.

his expression did not change, but his eyes did quiver slightly at your question. as if something just got confirmed.

“i was asked to personally attend to you.” he cleared his throat and explained briefly. “it was a request from the hunter’s association, one that i couldn’t refuse.”

what? the hunter’s association?

you wanted to question him further, lips opening with unspoken words, yet you were interrupted as another person barged into the room.

“ahh, you’re up! how are you, are you okay?”

emcee was quickly standing before you, eyes wide with worry, leaning against the metal bars at the foot of your bed as she scanned your face with urgency. just like in the café, she was genuinely concerned for you.

“i was so worried, i had to check you were fine myself. it is all my fault, after all. i was the one that startled you at the café and–”

and with that, she started to blabber on and on about how your panic attack was linked to her somehow, presenting her concern and also her guilt for what she has done. you did not have a chance to speak up for yourself and explain the situation, to lessen the burden on her shoulders, as she constantly spoke into your ringing ears.

you barely noticed xavier entered the room as well, stopping in the doorway, shoulders pressing against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. he was taking in the entire scene, as so did zayne.

but instead of looking at the both of you, the two pair of eyes were narrowed onto you.

blues and greens, they were both swallowing you whole.

as emcee kept talking, her voice becoming background noise to you, you focused on the two men present in the room. your eyes darted between the two of them, but they didn’t deter, standing in their places and maintaining their gazes.

observing the charade before them.

so you turned back to emcee, cupping her hand to stop her monologue, and asked her for a glass of water. deciding to ignore the love interests.

you would have never guessed why zayne and xavier were so observant, why emcee was so chatty.

you would have never guessed they talked about you while you were unconscious.

xavier dragged the two of them into a reclusive corner after you were assigned a room, describing the two strange men that had their eyes on you and mentioning the awfully perfect timing of the wanderer attack. that information left the other two with a plethora of questions…

questions that were soon to be doubled by zayne searching for your personal data in the medical base.

after you were rushed to the hospital, the doctor gathered every medical file he could find so your treatment could go smoothly. he didn’t expect to run into an issue as he scoured the database — he didn’t expect for all the information, even the photograph that loaded on his computer, to not be yours.

he refreshed, and refreshed, and refreshed, but the same information was plastered on the screen.

the profile that appeared while searching for your identification number was… emcee’s.

every time he introduced the digits you possessed, he was redirected to her page. her history, her records, her existence. it was as if the system could not distinguish between the two of you. as if you had no file of your own.

as if you were not supposed to exist as a standalone.

so when xavier mentioned the strangeness surrounding you, zayne felt the need to add his own thoughts on the matter.

“someone is aware of… this. and they are after her.” emcee concluded after the talk, uniting the two accounts into one.

“they are watching her, they have been watching her for a while.”

they chose to keep quiet for now, only observing you from afar and noting down any kind of clue you might spit out by accident.

“ahem, emcee? you should let the patient rest. she hasn’t had the most pleasant day.”

“ahhh, was i talking too much? i’m so sorry, dear!”

with the doctor’s stern warning, they all flew out of the room, one by one.

and you were alone again, wires still stuck to your chest, iv still dripping into your arm, the monitor still beeping in softly. you stared at the ceiling, your mind churning, your heart racing, the sterile silence pressing in on you from all sides.

someone was watching.

and now, terrifyingly, the main characters were watching too.

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

You left Gotham and it's gloomy atmosphere behind once again, left Bruce to simmer in his own darkness and hopefully make him understand his little crusade isn't your problem anymore.

All of SCP-1079's crates were recovered, no amnesiacs were given, a little courtesy of yours to your family even if your superior would likely give you shit about it.

You didn't care, your work was done and more pressing matters required your attention, especially the little letter on your desk, it sat here waiting for you to return and to say you were surprised is an understatement.

You had to read it three times to make sure it wasn't a joke but the real deal and you couldn't believe your eyes, all those years of hard work finally paid off !

The 05 council wanted to see you !

///

Thirteen shadowy figures stood in front of the group you were a part off, they observed each of you, made to kneel and forbidden from looking up upon threats of immediate execution.

For an eternity nothing seemed to happen, they each approached a candidate they seemed to favor for one reason or another while some were told to leave.

After another hour only a handfull of personnel was left, you included. Finally the group was told to stand and to be at the ready. One of the shadowy figures stepped forward and despite everything, you couldn't make anything out of them, as if they were just... someone you'd see in the corner of your vision.

No particular trait to identify them by, monotone voice, silhouette that seemed to be neither truly male or female, as if everything about the 05 member in front of you was made to be average in every way.

Suddenly he spoke, voice charged with power and authority.

"Each of you that is left in this room made it far in the rank of our organisation, some of you are scientists working directly on our anomalies detained in various sites."

He walked over to another aspirant, his soulless white eyes boring into their very soul. "While others are soldiers, putting their life on the line to ensure those same anomalies do not escape, sometimes putting down their own lives and colleagues to preserve Humanity for an hour longer."

Then he walked to another group, this time they were all wearing suits or special Fondation blouse. "And finally... The sites managers and administrators making sure everything works as intended, resisting corruption from other humans or anomalies alike, material or spiritual."

"Today these men and women are gathered because of their talents, their aptitude and loyalty to the Foundation to try and reach the final rank in the proverbial ladder. Today, each of you is offered a chance to become an 05 member ! Today, you have the chance to be the change you want to see in the world ! This opportunity will not happen again and you will be given amnesiacs, never to remember us or any other who failed." he continued, his voice carrying promises most couldn't understand but you did.

It was the chance to make more in the Foundation, to ensure the future of Humanity. You didn't need another chance, one shot is all you need.

The 'man' returned to the shadows among it's peers when another one stepped up. This one seemed visibly older and more powerful in every way, you just couldn't tell how you knew this.

"The tests will begin shortly, they will push you to every limits the human body can push, physical and mental. You will be broken and rebuilt, again and again until you are deemed ready. You will face your fears, your proudest and darkest moments, your losses and your victories. Your whole life will be made bare for us to read and decide whether or not you are a suitable 05 member."

"Good luck to all of you, we will be watching and evaluating each of you, the 14th seat will go to the most deserving in our eyes."

In that instant, you knew. This was the biggest opportunity in your life, the opportunity to be someone and finally matter to someone, even if you fight in the shadows.

///

Bruce was busy calling every favor he could, using his money and influence to know more about these people and their mission but every lead he had turned cold suddenly.

Contacts refused to talk, promising clues vanished or became irrelevant, no matter what Tim and Barbara tried, it's as if you never existed.

Whoever the Foundation was, they were hiding you well, 05-01 made sure of it. The Wayne daughter was the Foundation's prize now.

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✿⁠ ⸺ Chapters Guide! ; Prologue ; Chapter I, Prt 1 ; Chapter I, Prt 2 ; Chapter I, Prt 3 ; Chapter II ; Chapter III ; Chapter IV, Prt 1.

✿⁠ ⸺ Previous ; Next!

⸺ WARNINGS ⦂ Fem Reader ; Use of Y/N ; Suicidal themes ; Use of Weapons ; Platonic Yandere ; English is not my first language ; Delulu thoughts ; Depression (? ; Lots of melancholy ; Mentions of bullying and sexual harassment ; Violence ; If I forget anything please let me know D:

✿⁠ ⸺ MDNI !! I'm serious.

✿⁠ ⸺ Words Count ⦂ 11.658

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ This chapter was mainly translated by Google Translate, so if something doesn’t make sense, you know who to blame.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Belated Happy Halloween! Nothing scarier than one of my updates, huh? I really hope I did justice to the moment you were all waiting for!

Gotham City, 02:31 AM – 06/06/10

Alfred had no strength left to cry. Every tear had already been shed; all that remained was to cover the body of one of his sons after performing the autopsy.

Steph was upstairs, in the manor, but her cries were so loud they echoed through the Batcave. It broke Alfred’s heart.

He saw it. He saw everything through the cameras in Batman’s suit.

Oh, his little girl…

When Bruce—Batman—returned, Alfred confronted him. Of course, he understood his loss; he had raised Tim as much as Bruce had. But to abandon his daughter…

Alfred took pride in his ability to recognize, accept, and manage his emotions before making any decision.

But if he was honest, guilt was eating him alive as he wrote Tim’s autopsy report. He felt guilty even for considering putting his daughter in a foster home—but above all, he felt guilty toward Tim; because if he was being realistic, he could never abandon his daughter. It didn’t matter what she had done—or not done—she was his daughter. He had raised and loved Julia Y/N as much as any man possibly could, and even more.

She was his daughter. His. Not Bruce’s, and certainly not Ivy’s—his. He had been the one to care for her when she arrived at the manor with a broken leg and a shattered heart. He was the one who guided her to a proper bed when she’d mistakenly fallen asleep in the broom closet her first night, thinking that was her place. He tucked her in and slept beside her the first few weeks when nightmares tormented her, always greeting her with warm milk, cookies, and a book he had already set aside.

He hadn’t taken long to love her, and though he’d never admit it aloud—she was his favorite. She was—no, is—his daughter. Only his.

Even he was afraid of the person he became around her. Immoral, unthinkable things he’d never thought himself capable of doing, just to satisfy his selfish need to keep her close.

It wasn’t something he was proud of, but neither was it something he felt ashamed of… Perhaps what he felt was pity. Pity for the poor girl who was constantly rejected and excluded—because of him.

But what else could he do? She longed desperately for a family, and once they realized how extraordinary she was, Alfred had no doubt they would act just as selfishly as he had. It was inevitable, he thought—only a matter of time before someone truly saw her and a chain reaction began.

He couldn’t stop it—but he could delay it.

Alfred returned to the surface when he heard the faint thud of Talia’s heels descending the stairs.

Among all the unexpected events of the night, Talia’s presence might have been one of the most surprising—especially now.

Alfred hadn’t missed her sudden assistance in the battle. Why she was in Gotham tonight remained a mystery, but personally, Alfred took it as a bad omen.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as the guest approached, not alone but accompanied by someone unknown to the family.

“Alfred,” Talia greeted.

“May I help you with something, Miss al Ghul? I believe you’ll notice that neither Master Bruce nor Master Damian are here.”

“Actually, it’s you we came to speak with.”

The plural in her words made his lips tighten.

“I’m afraid this conversation will have to wait. I must go look for my daughter—”

“It’s precisely Y/N we came to speak about.”

The sound of his girl’s name stopped him cold, and he reluctantly yielded to Talia’s request. Aware of his reaction, she continued, “You must already know the girl escaped home to join the fight—”

“Please, be brief,” Alfred interrupted, unusually impatient.

“...” Talia paused, sighing before signaling her subordinate to hand her a long, wrapped object—a weapon, Alfred thought. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

Alfred’s stomach twisted; he had the dreadful feeling they weren’t talking about Tim.

When he took the wrapped object from Talia, he was surprised by how light it was—and when he gripped it, horror froze his blood.

“This is all we could recover of her.”

The air was ripped from his lungs as he unwrapped the arm in his hands—the arm that had belonged to his little girl.

With trembling fingers, he traced the chained bracelet around the wrist.

“Molly gave it to me! It’s so pretty, right?”

No.

“Do you think we could ever be friends again?”

No.

No, no, no.

“This isn’t true,” he whispered. “This can’t be true.”

Talia placed a small device between them. A hologram flickered to life, showing her—his little girl.

She was alone, limping, missing an arm—the same arm he held.

Alfred couldn’t comprehend what was happening—not until he saw the great fire consuming the wreckage of an explosion. Panic struck him as Y/N staggered closer to the blaze. Then, she simply… gave up. She threw herself into the flames.

He couldn’t describe the feeling of watching his little girl—his daughter—being swallowed by fire, her body writhing and twisting in agony.

His voice and heart left him all at once. He couldn’t even form words.

Talia continued, “This footage is from the security camera of the building before it collapsed completely. It’s a miracle we managed to recover it,” she said. “We thought you deserved to know before anyone else. Once again, our condolences.”

Alfred couldn’t recall when Talia and her subordinate had disappeared, nor how long he remained standing in that same position, mind blank.

There was only one thought echoing inside him—

He had to find her.

It had to be a lie. A trick from Talia. Yes—he couldn’t trust that woman.

He had to find her.

Within the walls of the common room, things weren’t looking any better for Dick.

He was trying with all his strength to hold everyone together—to hold Steph together. Luckily, Cass was just as “composed” as he was, helping him with the task by holding Steph and offering her shoulder to cry on, all while suppressing her own sobs for her sister’s sake.

In the middle of all the desolation, Dick couldn’t help but feel proud of his sisters—one for freeing herself from the strings that usually restrained her emotions, and the other for putting her sister’s wellbeing before her own.

Moments like these were what confirmed to Dick that they were, in their own strange way, truly a family. When it mattered most, they dropped every difference and supported one another—they held each other up.

But no matter how fulfilled he felt at that moment…

“Damian, please…”

He’d heard it. He’d heard that plea—to Damian.

Why?

Last he checked, she was enchanted with him, not Damian. Actually, the two of them couldn’t even be in the same room without wanting to kill each other.

What the hell had changed?

Why did she look for Damian’s help, his sympathy, instead of his?

Though Dick had long since broken the habit of biting his nails when nervous—something he used to do as a kid—he still had the reflex of bringing his hand to his lips, fidgeting with them as a remnant of those old habits.

Unable to help himself, he turned his head toward the kitchen—the one right next to her room.

“Mom… Mom… I want my mom…”

Should he go see her?

He glanced back at his siblings, each lost in their own thoughts. He wondered if they’d be angry with him if he said he was going to check on her—especially Steph…

But then it hit him. Alfred wasn’t in the room.

Maybe he was already with her. If that was the case, then now wasn’t the time to interrupt.

It had to be that. Enough time had passed. And unfortunately, Dick knew firsthand how long it took Alfred to perform an autopsy—he must have finished with Tim a while ago by now…

Tim.

If a reporter were to walk through that door right now, knowing the context, they’d surely call them heartless—maybe even imply that Tim’s death hadn’t affected them in the slightest, since the only one who had reacted as expected was Steph.

The rest of them, on the other hand…

Dick preferred to say they were more expectant than sad.

“They’re taking too long, aren’t they?” Terry asked, voicing what everyone was thinking.

Especially considering that crying for Tim might end up being pointless—and that the probability of bringing him back wasn’t just possible, but high.

“They’re taking way too long for just an explanation and condolences,” Jason agreed, glancing discreetly toward Damian, expecting that maybe he could give them some insight based on what he knew about his mother.

Since they’d arrived, B had been locked up in his office, clearly in no mood for company—but Talia had gone in a while ago. A long while ago.

They all knew there was only one thing Talia and Batman could be discussing right now: the Lazarus Pit—and, consequently, Tim.

Dick was sure that no one would object to the offer; they’d all gladly take that chance to bring their brother back. But, as always, the final word was B’s. And right now, creating conflict or dividing the family was the last thing they needed.

So, by an unspoken agreement, they had all silently decided to support whatever decision Batman made.

The sound of the wooden door opening snapped everyone to attention. Even Steph, through her tears, regained enough lucidity to pause and wait for Bruce’s verdict.

“We’ll have Tim back with us in three days. I need the plan drafted immediately—there’s a lot to take care of.”

When they went down to the Batcave, Alfred’s absence didn’t go unnoticed by B, and once again, Dick tried to convince himself that Y/N was being comforted by him.

“Alfred! You around?” Terry called out, scanning the curtains that made up the so-called “medical area,” hoping to catch a glimpse of the old man’s figure.

“He must be with that—” Steph had to stop herself before spitting out all the curses Alfred always scolded her for, reminding her that such language wasn’t proper for a Wayne, even if she was only one at heart.

The tension in the room thickened instantly at the mere mention of the elephant in the room.

No one really knew what would happen to her… especially when B was acting as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t heard her name — as if his daughter, and Ivy’s, hadn’t accidentally killed Tim.

Damian’s stomach tightened as he caught the grim look on his father’s face — a look only he had noticed. Glancing toward his siblings, things weren’t any better there. Brown was the least subtle about it, but the rest weren’t far off.

Their faces ranged from tense grimaces to looks of disgust — even hatred.

How had things come to this?

Even he, for once, had no idea what was going to happen next with Y/N’s future.

“I tried everything to talk more than three words with anyone in the family, but they just act nasty to me for no reason!”

You had tried; he was painfully aware of that. For reasons even he couldn’t fully grasp, the family favored him — while you were treated like an outcast. He’d watched you closely during those first months, remembering how you’d desperately sought the approval of everyone beyond his father. But none of them ever answered your silent cries for attention, except Alfred.

And in some sick, twisted way, that had made him feel good about himself. In this new place — where his lineage made him the “black sheep” by default — he found comfort in knowing he wasn’t the weakest link. Even in his position, he wasn’t the lowest in the manor’s chain. That was you.

When he realized you posed no threat to his standing or his plans, he genuinely considered leaving you alone to focus on more important problems — like Drake or McGinnis.

You were clumsy, awkward, and painfully clingy. Your attempts at bonding were, frankly, excruciating to watch. No wonder everyone in the family avoided you over and over again, he’d thought at the time.

He was better than you at everything — combat, skill, intelligence, even social grace. When he gained the family’s favor, that belief only grew stronger.

There was no reason to worry about you. You were just the weed in the family’s perfect garden — and sooner or later, his father would wisely get rid of you somehow. Knowing him, it would be subtle but effective.

But then came school — and all those beliefs crumbled.

School was uncharted territory… and he failed miserably. That’s when he realized — against all odds — that it was your domain.

He discovered a whole new side of you he’d never imagined. The way you interacted with others, how effortlessly you connected — that was your secret weapon. Damian took note of it.

And then he had to face an unpleasant truth: in that environment, he was completely, utterly outmatched. You were better than him.

Why did everyone seem so drawn to you? What did you have that he didn’t?

He was smarter, more refined, more sophisticated. He was supposed to be the perfect fit in a prestigious academy like this — a place that valued every trait he had painstakingly honed, traits you clearly lacked.

So why was he always alone in class? Why did he often have nowhere to sit at lunch without feeling out of place? And why did people start whispering that, compared to you, he was the creepy one?

They compared him to you — and, worse yet, he kept coming out losing.

It was unacceptable. They were supposed to flock to him for leadership, taste, and charisma. Not to you. Out of everyone in the family, you were the last person who should ever outshine him.

Soon, he found himself in a dilemma.

He had his mother, who loved him in her own harsh way, just like his grandfather did. He had his father’s favor, and he was finally learning what it meant to be protected and guided — not out of weakness, but love. Even though he’d never admit it aloud, he knew he wasn’t an easy person to deal with. Yet his brothers hadn’t turned their backs on him; they tried to include him, understand him, love him — starting with Grayson. And Alfred, despite having to manage the entire household and care for a reckless family, never made Damian feel neglected.

With them, he felt seen. He fought with honor, side by side with his pack — protecting and being protected. He felt whole.

So why didn’t it feel enough?

Why did he still have this need to prove he was better than you — especially here?

Deep down, he knew he wouldn’t feel complete until he reached greatness. That’s how he’d been raised. Excellence was the only acceptable outcome for the heir of Batman and the grandson of the Demon’s Head. Anything less was ordinary — unworthy — disposable.

He didn’t want to be abandoned again, like his mother had left him.

He saw flashes of his past — moments from his brutal training. The terror he’d felt when his mother left him stranded on a mountain to find his way home. The choking panic of nearly drowning, the violence of killing just to survive.

You… you were supposed to understand that. You should have been fighting everyone for a place in the house, fighting his father to acknowledge you, fighting the others to stop pushing you aside. So why the hell were you so gentle with everyone? Why weren’t you terrified of being abandoned like he was?

Was that why everyone preferred you? No… it had to be a trick. A strategy. No one could be so calm under that kind of neglect. You were raised by Ivy — surely, you had some charm, some chemical or psychological weapon that made people lower their guard.

Yes. That was it.

That was the difference between you two. You were made to destroy people. He was made to save them (the good one's, of course).

He couldn’t allow someone like you to surpass him. You were enemies by nature.

Yes, that had to be it.

There was no way someone like you could truly be better person than him. He’d expose you.

…

He couldn’t let his family be fooled and turn against him — not when he’d already given them his heart.

But time only made things worse.

First, you took over the school. Then, you tried to charm away his best friend servant — Jon!

He’d never admit it, but it broke his heart to see his fears come true — to see Jon choose to spend time with you instead of him.

If you wanted to take what he’d built for himself, then fine — two could play that game.

Soon, an email spread through every student and teacher like a virus. A virus he’d created to destroy you.

Within hours, a wave of collective hatred turned against his sister Y/N.

He knew it would happen, but he hadn’t grasped the full weight of it — not until he saw the kids corner you in the hallway, trying to lift your skirt in front of the teachers. And they… they just looked away. Ignored your cries. Pretended not to see your tears.

Why were they letting this happen? Why wasn’t anyone speaking up against something so vile?

Cowards.

Did they think they could get away with something that disgusting? Did being Ivy’s daughter somehow make it okay?

Disgusting.

Why… why did he only realize how wrong he’d been once it was too late?

Pathetic.

He wanted to go there — to stand up for you in the name of his principles, of his sister’s honor — and smash their heads against the wall until the pink mush painted the floor.

But why didn’t he move? Why did he just stand there?

Before you even noticed him, he turned and walked away — to his next class.

What was he doing? He was Robin, damn it. His duty was to act against injustice—

Robin wouldn’t bully a girl. Robin wouldn’t ruin someone’s life out of jealousy. Robin wouldn’t run from the consequences of his actions. Robin doesn’t throw stones — because Robin never throws them in the first place.

So how can you still call yourself Robin?

…

How do you even have the nerve to be in the same space as her?

How are you not ashamed to breathe the same air as her — or as Batman?

How dare you breathe at all?

“We’re not sure it can be fixed.” “He’s a killer, Alfred.”

He had heard them — that first night after it happened — his father and Pennyworth whispering.

Seeing you again only forced him to face a truth he didn’t want to: they were right.

Once a destroyer, always a destroyer.

He knew it had gotten out of hand. He knew. But telling the family would mean being exposed — the monster he really was.

So he stayed silent. And in his cowardice, he ruined every one of Alfred’s attempts to alert his father. There was no need, he told himself. He’d fix it somehow.

𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘔𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥.

As soon as he could get his thoughts straight again…

He’d start planning. Yes — that would distract him.

“I heard her screaming in the bathroom! I swear!”

“Is she dead?”

“No idea… Abby’s been acting super unstable lately.”

He didn’t need to be Batman to guess who they were talking about.

He ran as fast as he could to the girls’ bathroom, praying you weren’t dead — or worse.

And when he saw you —

Hah...

He exhaled the air he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. A knot twisted in his gut and climbed to his throat.

Seeing you there — broken, body and soul, crumpled on the bathroom floor like a discarded doll —

He faced a third, crushing truth:

He hated seeing you hurt. He hated every miserable second of it — your distant stare, your lifelessness. He hated every single person who had laid a hand on you.

And that included himself.

Alfred pulled up right beside the car, driving as fast as he possibly could.

This was his fault. He hadn’t paid enough attention, and then he left…

He’d pushed her too hard, hadn’t given her the love she deserved…

He wasn’t surprised to find police officers and firefighters swarming the area — but now they were just in his way. He needed to search for his little girl freely.

How did he not see the signs?

He started circling around, looking for something — any trace of your presence. When that wasn’t enough, he began to shout your name.

Of course, that drew the attention of the officers—

“My girl, my daughter…” He could barely catch his breath enough to speak. “My daughter was here, I need to find her, I need—”

“Please, sir, calm down,” Commissioner Gordon said, placing a hand on his shoulder. With a quick exchange, he ordered the rest of the officers to check the scene again.

Guiding Alfred toward a nearby patrol car, he added gently, “If there’s a missing child, I’ll need your statement.”

She couldn’t be dead. She would never leave him. She was is the light of his eyes. She couldn’t—

No. No.

She must be hiding—

Yes! That had to be it— Oh, poor thing, she must be so scared after her father Batman yelled at her. She must be curled up somewhere, too guilty to come back…

Oh, he didn’t blame you for anything, sweetheart, he knew it must’ve been an accident; you would never hurt anyone on purpose, you were too good for that…

“Sir!” one of the officers shouted as he ran up to Gordon, holding a few items in his hands. “We found this…” He handed over a small backpack and a stuffed toy, both covered in dirt and ash.

“Alfred, look what Jon gave me! His name’s Dinno.”

Alfred couldn’t form a single coherent word — he just reached out, trembling, to take the toy gently in his hands.

“He can help us cook, right? He’s gonna behave!”

“Issue an Amber Alert immediately,” Montoya ordered firmly.

So this is what dying inside felt like. That tightness in his chest? That unbearable coldness spreading through his body?

“Sir? Sir!”

“Call an ambulance!”

The flight to Nanda Parbat was tense. Steph, Jason, and Cass had joined him. Surprisingly, Damian had refused to come along, and Alfred still hadn’t shown any signs of life.

He must be with her.

Who would’ve thought that just thinking about his daughter a girl would be enough to make Batman uneasy.

He didn’t even want to look at her. She wasn’t just a child anymore — she was a danger, to him and to the family. The proof of that now sat secured at the back of the jet, locked inside a cryogenic chamber until they reached the League of Assassins.

This couldn’t go on. He knew she had to leave. But the moment he even hinted at the idea, Alfred had lost his temper and refused to discuss it any further. He was on her side — always on her side.

But no matter how much wanted it, the choice wasn’t his to make. Bruce couldn’t just get rid of her that easily… if he ever managed to at all.

A call from Commissioner Gordon lit up his phone, but he didn’t hesitate to decline it and switch the device to airplane mode. If it was a true emergency, Barbara would know how to reach him.

Right now, this moment was for his family. For his children.

Turning slightly, he saw Cass and Steph asleep. It comforted him — even warmed him, just a little — to see how they leaned on each other. How all his children had leaned on one another through their grief… while he—

This scene… it was so different from when Jason was gone.

Like a fool, he’d blamed Dick — unfairly, cruelly — and argued with him. It had been thanks to Tim and Alfred that they’d made peace, that he’d finally realized how blind grief had made him. How it had turned him into someone he was ashamed to remember.

Aren’t you doing the same thing now?

He pushed the thought away and instead decided to check on his son. He turned to Jason and immediately noticed the book in his hands — a newer edition of Little Women.

The sight triggered a memory — Jason emerging from the Lazarus Pit, trembling, broken, crying out for his mother—

His mother?

“Mom… Mom…!” you sobbed harder, calling out for your mother, naïvely thinking she’d come to your rescue. “I want my mom…”

…

Maybe he should ask how Jason’s holding up. Going back to Nanda Parbat couldn’t be easy for him — none of this could be easy for any of them.

Why did he only think about these things now? Why only when everything was nearly over did he start wondering how they were really feeling?

He needed to make a mental note to make it up to them. To all of them — to Tim, too.

Maybe they should throw a welcome-home party. Tim coming back was definitely something worth celebrating.

Maybe that way he’d stop thinking about her. Maybe that way, the tension would ease, and the mood would lift…

Once the celebration was over, he’d talk to Alfred about the matter.

The days flew by for Dick and the rest of the family.

A Gotham without Batman was something new for rookie villains, so they couldn’t let them get too confident — keeping them in check was the top priority.

The task turned out to be harder than expected. Without Alfred there to welcome them home with a warm meal, a tidy house, or even a few words reminding them that they could — and should — take a break once in a while…

His absence was starting to worry them. He’d vanished from the manor just like Y/N had, and no matter how many times they tried, none of them managed to reach him.

Babs had a theory — maybe he was with her, setting her up in a new home. She’d briefly overheard his argument with Batman over the comms, so it was the only logical conclusion.

No one pushed the matter further. They focused on keeping Gotham under control until the others returned — which, much to Dick’s relief, would be soon.

In fact, tonight.

Bruce had brought up the idea of a small celebration for the homecoming, and Dick immediately agreed. Together with the rest of the family, they started decorating with balloons, streamers, and whatever else they could find. They ordered takeout — because, let’s be honest, most of them were absolutely terrible at cooking anything that wasn’t pre-made.

Amid all the chaos of keeping Gotham safe, Dick barely noticed how quiet and distant Damian had become. Something was bothering him — he was sure of it.

“Damian…”

Could it be Y/N? Was that what had him so uneasy?

Maybe he should try reaching out to Alfred, invite Y/N too — it would make Tim happy, and surely put Damian’s mind at ease.

He’d talk to Bruce about it later.

To Bruce’s surprise —and growing suspicion—, Talia wasn’t anywhere within the League’s quarters. Ra’s greeted them warmly, explaining that Talia had gone on a training journey with a new League recruit, but assured them that their plans remained unchanged.

He led them to the Lazarus Pit, guarded by more than a handful of Ra’s’ subordinates.

The tension in the room was thick — everyone anxious, everyone silently hoping to bring Tim back to life. That heavy silence shattered the moment Tim’s agonized screams echoed from the Pit.

His voice, raw and broken, filled the chamber. The kind of sound that could make any child cry. The scene was straight out of a horror movie.

Ra’s forbade them from intervening, calmly stating that the reaction was normal — his tissues were regenerating, and the process was excruciating. When Tim finally emerged, confused and desperate to escape, Batman gave the order to restrain him.

Through the shouting, the struggling, the snarls… Ra’s could’ve sworn he saw a faint smile on the Bat’s face.

Two days, seventeen hours, and forty-nine minutes of torment had passed for Alfred. Three of those hours he’d spent in the hospital after fainting — a sudden arrhythmia that could have easily turned into cardiac arrest had he not been treated in time.

But the doctors’, nurses’, and officers’ words barely reached his consciousness. His mind was consumed entirely by one thought — his little girl.

The rest of the time, he’d been at the station, refusing to stray more than a block away in case any new evidence surfaced in what was quickly becoming a hopeless search.

Was this his fault?

What a foolish question — of course it was. He’d let Bruce’s fear and disgust go too far, let them invalidate her existence. He’d let the role of “father figure” get to his head — the selfish need to be the center of her world, just as she was the center of his. He’d let those emotions guide his hands, and by the time he realized it, it was too late.

Every selfish, cruel act the family had shown her — he’d let it all slide. He could’ve done so much more. When it really mattered, he hadn’t been there for her. He’d told himself it was to help her let go of the idea of belonging to them… to push her to accept being just his daughter.

Maybe that’s why she never trusted him enough to open up.

He’d cornered her — left her only one way out.

…

..

.

Was his love not enough...? He’d believed he made it clear through his actions that he would always be there for her…

And yet he’d allowed Bruce to reject her — repeatedly, even over the smallest things. He’d stood by while Dick forgot her name. While Tim’s resentment and suspicion pushed her away. While Barbara forgot she even existed. Terry, too — he’d rejected her simply because he’d rejected Bruce.

Steph, Cass, Jason — each had their own reasons for joining or rejoining the family, but all of them had one thing in common: Batman came first. And somewhere in that, she was discarded — just an ordinary girl in an extraordinary world.

He hadn’t reprimanded a single one of them for it. He’d let their warped idea of who she was spread through the family. He’d allowed them to exclude her from even the simplest family dinners because it was easier than facing the guilt of forgetting she existed — easier to pretend they were happier without her.

He’d let it all happen. And in her eyes, he must have seemed like a weak old man — too spineless to change anything, too useless to fight for her.

He’d naively believed he could be enough. That she wouldn’t have to compete for his attention, that he could give her everything she wanted — everything except a real family.

But those same thoughts had blinded him to reality. He thought she knew. But what good is love if the other person never realizes it — if all they ever see is rejection?

He’d told himself she’d eventually give up, that it would be better for her that way. He’d lied to himself, just to avoid facing the truth — that the one who hurt her the most wasn’t Bruce, or the others… it was him. That he wasn’t just a passive accomplice to their negligence — he was the architect of it.

Her last birthday was proof enough. He’d placed the cards strategically, knowing full well that most of them would ignore them or throw them away without even reading. Some were never delivered at all.

He hadn’t acted out of malice, but out of panic. He was terrified of losing her — but Alfred had forgotten the most important rule of love: Love isn’t selfish.

What use was it to mourn now...? What’s done is done. And the truth was simple — he was one of the main reasons for her death.

He’d killed his daughter.

Maybe he’d done right by Julia after all, by staying away from her…

Detective Montoya turned toward him, checking if he needed anything — as she had several times over the past few days.

“Sir, are you all right? Please, listen to me. You should go home, get some rest… maybe take a shower.”

Alfred looked like death itself. The hollow eyes, the trembling hands — no one in the Batfamily would have recognized him in that state.

He almost considered taking her advice. What was the point of staying? They weren’t going to find her…

He ignored her concern. “Any updates on the case?”

There were. But Montoya couldn’t bring herself to shatter the last bit of hope that poor man was clinging to. To her, he was just a father — grieving, desperate.

How do you tell a parent their child is probably dead?

Evidence pointed toward several charred bodies found among the ruins. Some had been identified — former henchmen of Bane — but many couldn’t even be matched through dental records.

Nearby security cameras showed no sign of the girl. Flyers had been posted across the city, but no one had seen anything. No calls. No sightings. Even searches in neighboring towns turned up empty.

The only proof she’d ever been there was the stuffed toy her father identified — and a few seconds of footage, before the building collapsed, showing a small blurry figure they assumed was her.

She had been there, no doubt about that — but there was no evidence she’d ever gotten out.

Montoya had watched this man go back and forth every day. The only reason the case had progressed at all was because of his persistence, his constant pleading for updates.

They’d done everything they could — and more — especially since all requests for Batman’s involvement had been flat-out ignored.

It made a grim sort of sense. Half the Batfamily had gone dark, apparently “busy with important matters,” as Red Hood had said before cutting communication. Gotham was stable, for now — but clearly stretched thin.

Montoya told herself they’d done their best. She doubted even the Batfamily could’ve made much difference here. Still, that didn’t ease the pain of what she had to say next.

She gathered her courage, faced the man, and delivered the words every parent dreads to hear... “Case classified as unfavorable.”

She explained the situation as gently as she could, sparing no detail but softening every edge.

And yet, what she saw on Alfred Pennyworth’s face wasn’t the outrage or grief she expected.

It was resignation.

The first thing he remembered upon waking up was the “argument” he’d had with her before leaving for the mission.

“YOU’RE EVIL!”

For some reason, that fight had affected him more than he wanted to admit. He knew he’d acted like an idiot this time — not that it was the first time — but this time, he felt he’d really crossed a line. He’d gone from ignoring her like any older brother would ignore an annoying little sibling, to outright destroying something she’d wanted to share with him.

Tim knew that, for some reason he couldn’t explain without sounding like a jerk, he’d been losing his temper more easily lately. He was both aware of it and disturbed by it. He had never thought of himself as a hot-headed person; quite the opposite — he’d always seen himself as the most rational and analytical member of his family. He even had a tendency to overthink things, which had made him socially awkward more than once, but there had never been a trace of anger in that awkwardness...

Anger? Was that what he felt toward Y/N?

Well, sure — at first, he had been angry because of her when they met. Even if it hadn’t been intentional, she’d completely messed up the mission that time... and, of course, he was the one who took the blame afterward. B had already been angry with him for tagging along, and then the mission went south mostly because he hadn’t been able to keep Y/N under control.

It ended so badly they had to retreat in a hurry, letting Ivy escape once again.

As if that weren’t enough, you’d shown up at the mansion with a doll of him — what kind of nonsense was that?!

Ahem.

Anyway — as he was saying, even if he’d struggled a bit with the idea of you joining the family, he eventually managed to accept it, in his own way. But that didn’t mean he wanted to socialize with you. You were a kid, and he wanted to seem more mature, to impress Dick and Bruce somehow. He was supposed to be a vigilante, carrying a huge responsibility — he had to act the part. He didn’t have time to play tag with you. It didn’t look good for him.

And you were so insistent that he lost his temper with you more than once. Sure, it wasn’t very mature of him... but what was he supposed to do if, no matter how many times he pushed you away, you kept coming back, clinging to him like a leech?

Ignoring you soon became his go-to response — the most “acceptable” one. If he ignored you, he couldn’t lose his temper with you, and sooner or later, you’d stop bothering him!

He was pleased when his plan actually worked. You were no longer hovering around him, and he could go on with his life as if you didn’t exist...

He assumed it was a sort of unspoken agreement between the two of you, you know? He wouldn’t interfere in your life, and you wouldn’t interfere in his. He wouldn’t try to be part of your world, and you shouldn’t try to be part of his...

Ignoring you had quickly become one of his habits.

But then you showed up at the worst possible time. He was eavesdropping on a secret conversation between Bane and his buyer — and there you were, barging in to show him something, interrupting everything.

Fine, he could’ve handled it better — much better — than he did. He was almost old enough for college; it wasn’t possible that he couldn’t control himself around Y/N. He had to do something about it.

Maybe apologizing could help, at least a little. Not that he was going to apologize as soon as he got there... The Lazarus Pit could have affected his temper, just like it had with Jason—

NO. No. No more excuses. It would be quick: go in, apologize, get out. He wouldn’t even give her the chance to respond — and that way, he wouldn’t give himself the chance to get mad for no reason, either.

It was simple. It was easy. And above all, it would be fast.

After that, everything would go back to normal.

Alfred walked back to the manor with little to no strength left in him.

He had just returned from the funeral of his little girl… He was coming back to a house that was no longer a home, not without her there.

Alfred couldn’t think of a day in his life that had been more miserable than this one. He remembered losing his parents, realizing too late that he had neglected his daughter Julia while raising another man’s son; he remembered Batman’s disappearance once, Jason’s death, and most recently, Tim’s death… But none of those moments, none of those pains had ever made him want to die caused him such torture.

It had been just the two of you in that cold cemetery. He dug the hole with his own hands, placed what remained of you in that small coffin… When he held your arm, his mind played a cruel trick — superimposing the image of the time he’d held your hand, guiding you to your new room, with the reality that now he was holding only your arm — and nothing more.

Then, one memory after another came flooding back. The first time he read you a story; the first time he tucked you into bed; when he taught you to read; when he comforted you in his arms for the first time, because you had seen your mother move on with her life without you.

He had taught you how to live — but who would now teach him how to live without you?

He quickly lost track of time during the funeral. He only left when it began to pour; if it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have minded spending the night beside his little one…

His little one…

Alfred began to weep freely, knowing his tears would blend in with the rain.

Maybe, after all, he should go see her. She must be cold. Oh, she doesn’t like thunder — she must be terrified out there, so alone...

When he reached the gates of the manor, he realized he was holding Dinno by the hand.

He should go leave it with her… She must be looking for it. And if she doesn’t find it, she might cry.

Cry? Oh, no, no, no. He didn’t want to make her cry again. He had to be there to comfort her — that’s what a father did. He had to… He has to…

“Alfred?!” In the middle of his slow walk back, he heard the young Richard’s voice. While Alfred could barely move an inch every few seconds, Dick reached him in the blink of an eye. “Where have you been? We’ve— I’ve been trying to reach you for a while.”

Alfred didn’t respond.

Dick stayed silent, trying to make sense of it. He looked… worn down. What had happened to him?

Another gust of wind and rain hit their faces.

Whatever it was they had to talk about, it would be better to do it inside, calmly. Everyone inside must be waiting for him— Oh! Tim and Alfred would be so happy to see each other!

With the thought of that magical reunion in mind, he set aside everything else. The talk could wait! What mattered now was that Tim was back.

He took the man by the arm and dragged him inside. Alfred didn’t resist.

A bad feeling settled in Alfred’s stomach when he saw the manor decorated — as if they were having a party.

His breath quickened, and his body tensed in anger. What did this mean?

Dick vanished with a quick, “I’ll get you a towel!”

Alfred walked a bit farther, looking around with new eyes — as if he were an intruder.

They… they hadn’t even realized, had they?

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe they had no idea what had happened to you — that they were celebrating out of ignorance.

They hadn’t noticed your absence in three days?

“Alfred?”

Alfred’s heart stopped for the second time that night. He thought dementia was finally claiming his mind, but when he turned toward the voice, he staggered in place.

“Young Timothy…”

“Surprise…?”

In an instant, Alfred was by Tim’s side, hugging him tightly, confirming that it was really him — not a hallucination born of grief.

“Oh, you’re freezing…”

“How…? How is this possible?” Alfred asked, scanning him from head to toe. “I…" I did the autopsy. How can—?

“The Pit,” Tim explained briefly. “Let’s just say we owe the League a favor now. Actually, we just got back from there, and the guys had already set up this party.”

“Oh, by the way, do you know where Y/N is? I need to talk to her…” Tim scratched his neck, uneasy.

Alfred’s smile vanished instantly. His voice was gone again, and he remembered — he had to go see you. You didn’t like being alone for long.

“Alfred!” Bruce appeared with Dick, followed soon by the rest of the family. “Where have you been?”

“We tried calling you before, but you weren’t answering…” Terry explained before Alfred could jump to conclusions.

“Is Y/N with you…?” Damian asked timidly, trying to ignore his father’s disapproving look. He glanced behind Alfred, expecting to see you there, as usual.

Silence fell for several long seconds.

“You really… really have no idea, do you?” Alfred looked Bruce straight in the eyes. He remembered how the police had tried desperately to reach him for help with the case — to no avail. “Sir, you have no idea where I’ve just come from, do you?”

“Of course not. You haven’t bothered returning the police’s calls.”

“Police? What about the police?”

“You haven’t noticed that my girl — that Y/N — never came home?” His face tightened as he could no longer hold back the tears. His throat constricted, and it took all his strength to speak the next words aloud, to make them real. “Do you want to know where I’ve come from, sir? From her funeral.”

“Funeral?! What are you talking about, Alfred—?”

“I’m telling the truth, Master Damian.”

Bruce didn’t even register Damian’s question. Alfred’s soaked clothes, his dirt-stained hands, that stuffed toy… He wasn’t lying. Alfred would never joke about something like that.

And yet—

It couldn’t be true. It had to be a mistake, a misunderstanding. It just couldn’t be.

He broke away from the conversation and headed for the stairs — her room. Yes, he’d find some clue in her room.

“Where do you think you’re going, Master Bruce?”

“I’m going to Y/N’s room.”

“And what makes you think she’s upstairs?” Bruce froze, following Alfred’s gaze. “Her room is next to the kitchen.”

“On the first floor? The rooms down there are…” Dilapidated. Filthy.

“She was placed there,” Alfred explained, “because when she arrived at the manor, her injuries and broken leg didn’t allow her to climb the stairs. She grew fond of that room, and since then, it became hers — her room… or rather, it was.”

Bruce strode toward the room, entering it for the first time in five years — maybe more. When he tried to turn on the light, the switch worked, but the bulb stayed dark. Frowning, he turned on his phone’s flashlight and continued.

The room… could this even be called a room?

No human being should have lived here. God, he was a billionaire — how had he never thought to fix this?

He’d never even asked if it was necessary.

…

He frowned at the fleeting thought, but as always — whenever it came to her — he forced himself to push it deep down, into the back of his mind.

The room was barely half the size of the others in the manor. The walls were cracked, the old paint peeling. He could see patches where holes had been covered, along the corners and window frames.

He noted the completely flat mattress from overuse — it must have been uncomfortable beyond words. Her little desk wasn’t even a real one, just a tiny wooden table, childish and small. It made sense — when she first arrived, she’d been barely as tall as one of his legs.

He had a fleeting memory of seeing that same table out in the garden sometimes, when she’d played tea party with her toys.

Now it was worn from time and use, the paint fading, splinters showing through.

How could she have lived here without complaining?

Or maybe she had complained — and he’d simply ignored it, as he so often did when it came to her.

He found more things — clothes in drawers under the bed (was that her wardrobe?), toys, sewing supplies, and little else.

The room barely held any life. The only personal touch was a few childish drawings of her and Alfred holding hands, taped crookedly to the wall.

A small smile crossed his face when he saw them.

But he found nothing useful for the investigation.

Only when he stepped out did he realize the chaos that had erupted in the main hall. Voices were raised.

“How could you not tell us, Alfred?! We had the right to know!” Dick shouted.

“Right? To demand your rights, you must first fulfill your duties, Master Richard,” Alfred retorted sharply. “Let me remind you — you were the ones who chose to exclude her from your lives time and again. And now you dare to make demands?!”

Apart from the argument, Barbara was frantically typing on her laptop, Tim leaning beside her. When she saw Bruce, she turned to him at once. “Bruce! The case isn’t closed — she’s just missing. They haven’t found her yet!” she said, her voice full of hope.

And Bruce clung to that hope. Even though deep down he knew Alfred would never claim such a thing, let alone hold a funeral, unless he was absolutely certain.

Against his better judgment, he chose to believe in that fragile hope of finding you alive.

“If she’s only missing, then why the hell did you bury her?” Jason snapped, glaring at Alfred.

Normally, Alfred would have ignored Jason’s insolent tone, but this time, the phrasing hit him like an accusation.

“Because I saw it. I saw her throw herself into the fire with my own eyes — it was a recording recovered by Miss al Ghul, along with the arm that had been cut from my girl. At first, I didn’t believe it — that’s why I didn’t tell the police and started my own investigation with them. But even they began to lose hope, though they avoided saying it outright.”

Bruce stayed silent, and the denial he’d been clinging to turned into fury. Talia had told Alfred — but not him? They had spoken for hours about Tim and the Pit, but she had “forgotten” to mention that?

Dick shot Barbara a look, and she nodded quickly, already reaching for her phone. “I’ll call my dad,” she said, while Tim refused to give up and started combing through city cameras from four days ago.

Public opinion was divided within hours.

“We could go look for her. She has to be out there somewhere,” Cass suggested, refusing to give in.

“We should check with Ivy! Maybe she knows something!” Steph added, turning to Bruce for approval.

“But— what’s the point? Didn’t you hear Alfred? There’s literally a recording of her—”

“You can’t trust the League,” Jason cut Terry off. “No body, no funeral. And that suicide story? I don’t buy it. Those things are premeditated — she never showed signs—”

“Maybe she did show them, and you were too busy taking your frustrations out on her to notice?”

Jason’s temper flared instantly, and he squared up to Terrence.

“What’s your problem?! You think you’re a saint? Far as I know, you didn’t even know her name five minutes ago!”

“And yet, I’m not pretending to understand her! I know I barely spent time with her — not enough to claim ‘oh, she’d never do that,’ like you’re doing! You were all treating her like the plague just last week — how the hell would you even notice if she showed signs of depression when you kept her isolated 24/7?”

“What the hell are we even doing, arguing right now?! You think this helps anything?!” Dick snapped at them.

“What reason would the League even have to lie?” Terry pressed.

“And what do we lose by going out to look for her?” Steph shot back. “It’s better than—”

The argument dragged on, but Damian wasn’t really listening anymore. His mind was elsewhere — tangled in guilt.

He understood why the family refused to believe she was dead, especially not by suicide.

He remembered that time — the pesticide, her silence.

But they didn’t know she had a history… that she’d tried before. Not even Alfred knew.

The signs had been there, and the attempt — but only he knew, and he had chosen to keep it to himself.

When he heard Alfred, the knot in his stomach grew tighter, heavier. His voice faltered, cold sweat slid down his palms and temples. His body felt unbearably heavy — he couldn’t stand to be in his own skin.

They’d find out. They’d find out everything.

What disgust. They told him Y/N was dead, and he was still thinking only about that?!

He could have prevented all this. If only he’d spoken up, if only his selfishness hadn’t won—

She’d still be here. The family wouldn’t be falling apart because of him.

“You can all keep this up if you want, but we all know it’s just to avoid facing the truth.” Alfred, regaining the composure that grief and chaos had stripped from him, straightened his back. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to pack my things. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“What?! Alfred, wait—!” Dick followed him, surely to try and change his mind.

Damian wanted to follow too. He wanted to stop Alfred, to tell him the truth — to beg him not to leave, because it wasn’t the family’s fault, it was his. He’d started the bullying, sabotaged every warning, even hid her previous attempt—

It was his fault. It wasn’t fair for the family to pay for his sins.

But why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he take a single step — just one step toward doing the right thing?

His body began to tremble — from panic, terror, and the unbearable need to let go of this secret once and for all.

Before he could even curse his own cowardice, the room around him began to blur.

In the end, the family split into groups.

One half continued searching through the most remote corners of Gotham, while the other went to interview Pamela Isley — arrested and locked up in Arkham for her crimes as Poison Ivy.

Damian stayed at the manor, asleep after his sudden collapse. Dick too remained behind, but he was managing everything from the Cave, trying to temporarily fill (or so he hoped) the butler’s role.

“We’re in,” BB reported.

“We’ll let you know if she reveals anything useful,” Orphan added. Then, their mics were muted by Oracle.

The long corridors between the cell blocks were as gloomy and endless as ever — though tonight, they seemed to test the vigilantes’ patience even more.

When they arrived, Ivy wasn’t exactly pleased to see them. (Not that she ever had been, but still.)

She sat on the other side of the table, chained and restrained by a collar — a new device inspired by Belle Reve’s system. A recently approved measure designed to keep villains like Ivy completely powerless inside the Asylum.

“I’m guessing you’re not here for gardening advice…” Ivy looked BB up and down. “…Or fashion tips.”

Red Robin was the one who sat across from her. Orphan and BB stood on either side, keeping a close watch on Pamela.

“No. This is more of an interrogation — about your daughter,” he clarified.

“Daughter? What daughter—? Ah. Her.” Ivy clenched her jaw but stayed quiet, waiting for them to continue.

“She’s been missing for days — four, to be exact. We need any information you have about her. People she might know, places she’s been. Anything could help.”

“…”

For several long minutes, Ivy refused to speak.

“I think it’s fair to warn you that the minor’s safety is a much higher priority than your comfort,” RR said, pulling a small device from under the table. “This is the controller for your collar. It delivers electric shocks.”

“We’ve been given authorization to use it if you don’t cooperate. So if I were you, I’d start talking — patience isn’t exactly one of our virtues tonight,” BB added.

“Tt. Let’s get this over with… First of all, don’t call her my daughter. She’s just a miserable little killer — and that’s all she’ll ever be to me.”

The young heroes frowned, several of them biting back things they wanted to say — but for the sake of the mission, they stayed silent.

“To answer your questions: when I was with her, I was her only acquaintance. I never let her go out, let alone socialize. The places she knows are ones you and Batman are already familiar with. I haven’t seen her in years; whatever she’s become now is beyond my knowledge.”

“I honestly don’t know why you even came. I’m the last person who can tell you anything useful.” Pamela crossed her arms. “The only thing I can offer is that if the past few nights have been cold, it’s more practical to assume she’s already dead.”

The door slid open as an alarm went off. The guard announced that visiting time was over.

Disappointed and powerless, they left without protest.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

“Send my condolences to Mr. Wayne!” Ivy shouted as two guards restrained her in the hallway. “If he wanted to get rid of that pest, something more decisive would’ve caused him fewer problems. Too bad for him!”

The corridor echoed with Ivy’s laughter — sharp, mocking, unable to hide her twisted satisfaction with the news.

Orphan took a step toward Ivy, ready to do something even she wasn’t sure of — but her brothers stopped her, reluctantly pulling her back and leaving with the bitter taste of defeat in their mouths.

Damian woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding wildly.

What time is it? Where am I?

Before he could find the answers, the next thought that broke through was Alfred.

Had he left? How long had he been asleep?

In the midst of panic, he forced his body to move and ran toward the old man’s room. Well—forced might be too strong a word, because he couldn’t control the tears streaming down his face.

He banged frantically on the door, praying for an answer.

“Master Damian?”

Alfred barely had time to process the scene before Damian threw himself into his arms.

“I’m sorry! Please, please don’t go… It’s my fault! I killed her—I killed your daughter, please forgive me—”

“They were right… They were right about me, I’m nothing but a murderer. Please don’t be angry at them.”

Word by word, sob by sob, Damian tore apart the web of lies he had built — one that, without realizing it, had become a noose around his sister’s neck.

He told him about the school, the tricks, the pesticide, and their confrontation.

“Pen—Alfred, please.” The butler’s mind went blank as he saw Damian begin to draw a dagger. “Please, I’m begging you—end me.”

Damian had nothing left. He had killed his sister. His family wouldn’t just hate him — they would despise him, banish him, and they’d be right to. He had killed an innocent. The League would hardly take him back… but Damian didn’t want acceptance. He couldn’t face his mother or his grandfather. It took everything in him not to run — not to flee from the inevitable anger of his father and brothers.

His best option was to pay in blood for what had been lost in blood. To preserve a shred of dignity… and perhaps find the eternal rest he didn’t deserve.

Alfred took the dagger with his dominant hand, feeling the edge with his fingertips, as if inspecting it.

But the redemption Damian sought was denied to him — instead, he received only a shallow cut on his hand before Alfred tossed the dagger aside.

“What…? But—but—” Damian stared at the small, meaningless wound on his palm. He pressed his lips together, but couldn’t keep the frustration from spilling out. “Pennyworth, please! Give me a little dignity…! I can’t—I can’t live like this anymore.”

“I know…” Alfred replied softly, brushing a hand over Damian’s head. “And that’s exactly why you deserve nothing else but to live with it.”

Damian looked up, confused — he had never heard him sound so… cold.

Your absence was starting to break him.

“This house, this room… it’s all a reminder of her,” Alfred continued. “This is where my first moments with her began. Did you know that when she had nightmares, her favorite story was The Little Mermaid? When I told it, she loved the idea of discovering another world under the sea.”

Damian looked past Alfred. His eyes landed on a photo hanging on the wall — you, holding a trophy in one hand and a volleyball in the other. Then another image: you, playing tea party, or wearing an apron, a little chef’s hat, and a red scarf around your neck. Above it, a shelf: first filled with drawings, then letters, and at the end, small objects — a pocket watch among them.

It was no surprise why your loss had shaken Alfred so deeply. Your arrival had marked a before and after in his life.

“This house… for a time, it felt like a home to her. Or at least, I’d like to believe it did...” Alfred said, averting his eyes as the faintest trace of a smile faded from his lips. “That’s why I’m not leaving anymore. She opened my eyes, Master Damian. I suppose I owe her that much.”

This room no longer held just memories, nor warmth. It had become the very heart of his grief — a tool that twisted his insides with guilt.

And that’s why he couldn’t escape.

He had to face the consequences of what he had done.

Just like Damian.

Dick watched the video in horror.

…He couldn’t stop himself from contacting the League—Talia, specifically—in a moment of sheer uncertainty.

He must have watched that footage at least a dozen times, trying desperately to find a flaw, something that would make him believe it was fake. But its contents were too convincing—just the right amount of imperfection to make it feel real.

It was real.

He leaned back in the chair, needing a moment to process the truth and to think about how on earth he was going to tell the family.

“Gray—… Dick…?”

He turned, startled to see Damian standing by the elevator, eyes red and wet with tears.

“...Can we talk?”

“Of course— I mean, yeah, sure. Come here…”

Dick was the next to find out. Just like with Alfred, Damian didn’t skip a single detail, no matter how mortifying it was for him to admit.

Dick listened carefully—no interruptions, no big reactions. How was he supposed to react? How was a leader supposed to behave in moments like this…?

He buried his face in his hands, unable to comfort Damian right now.

He quickly contacted everyone, requesting their immediate arrival. He simply said, “I’ve found something conclusive,” and that alone was enough to bring them all running.

Amid the anger and the helplessness, Dick couldn’t help but feel pity watching Damian crumble in place—knowing what awaited him once everyone else arrived.

“You… You…! Murderer! How could you?!”

“B, calm down!”

“Remember—he’s just a kid!”

An enraged Batman tried to lunge at Damian, but Jason and Terry managed to hold him back.

Dick stepped in front of Damian, shielding him, with Cass quickly following his lead. The rest stood frozen, still trying to process what they had just learned.

“I never should’ve taken you in…!”

Damian stood paralyzed where he was, tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted to tell Richard to move—he didn’t deserve to be protected.

“Bruce, you’ve just lost one son—do you really want to lose another?!” Dick tried to reach him, hoping his anger would give way to reason.

“I don’t see a son right now,” Bruce growled, “I see a murderer…”

“Listen to yourself!” Cassandra shot back. “You sound just like Ivy! Is that really who you want to become—knowing how ends up?!”

Bruce looked at Damian again—at the way he trembled, at the tears brimming in his eyes, heavy with guilt and sorrow.

“Mom… Mom…”

Bruce’s fury subsided on the surface, though rage and helplessness still tore through him inside.

“Get him out of here. I don’t want to see him.”

He turned his back. Cass gently took Damian by the arm, guiding him toward the elevator, hoping Bruce would cool down with time.

Damian stopped for a moment and turned toward him.

“I’m sorry, Father. You were right about me… I really am just a killer.”

Cass led him out of the Batcave, and only once the elevator doors closed did she notice—Tim was nowhere to be seen.

For the first time, he was feeling the “side effects” he’d once asked Jason about.

Maybe the whole scene had been the trigger—the exhaustion, the frustration, the helplessness, the stress… The anger toward Ivy, toward Alfred, toward Damian—and, above all, toward himself—had all become one big switch.

He was so angry he didn’t even know where to direct it anymore… and whoever might have ended up taking the hit, it wouldn’t have been fair anyway.

Jason had been right—it was like someone else had taken up residence in his head. Every small action, every sound, even a faint smell would send him into a fury that burned through him. And when it all piled up like that, there was no choice but to explode.

That’s why he left as quickly as he could. He couldn’t stand the yelling and the fighting anymore. And the only place he knew no one would dare to go—for now—was her room.

…

The moment he lay down on the mattress, he realized just how uncomfortable it really was. He could literally feel the wooden boards pressing into his tense back.

He forced his attention elsewhere, trying to ignore the discomfort—trying not to think at all.

He took in the scattered threads and needles, the drawings, the toys, and all the little things that—

Wait. Was that his camera?

Tim shot up like lightning, grabbing the video camera from the shelf and inspecting it closely.

The same scratches, the same model—even the tiny Pokémon sticker he’d put on it years ago was still there.

No doubt about it—this was his camera. But the last time he’d seen it, he’d tossed it aside because the buttons had stopped working, and Bruce had simply bought him a new one.

Had she fixed it? On her own?

He waited for it to power on, and once it did, he lay back on the mattress again and played the oldest file.

One video led to another. And another. And another.

Before he knew it, it was already four in the morning.

Then, a new message appeared in the family group chat:

“Screw you all. I’m not going down alone.”

Attached to it were about twenty-five videos.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Happy Halloween! Did you all have a good one?

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ God, I still can’t believe I officially turned 18 a month ago. I just can’t get used to it—like, do you realize I don’t have to lie about my age online anymore? Just—wow.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Anyway! I really took my time with this chapter—either because I was running low on inspiration, or because I just wanted it to hit emotionally… The next one is definitely better, I promise.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ You’ll probably see a new layout on my blog soon! A little refresh wouldn’t hurt.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Lastly—some of you already know this, but the taglist is now a lot more limited and currently closed. I’m really sorry, but if I add more people Tumblr might hit me with another “possible spam” strike. 😭 However, you can still follow me to stay updated on everything related to this story!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ As always, likes, reblogs, and especially comments are super welcome (I love reading what you all think (●'◡'●)❤️).

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Thank you so much for reading this far! Sending you all a big hug and a ton of love (❁´◡`❁) 💕

└───thanks for read!──➤

🅑🅨🅔-🅑🅨🅔

⸺ ⌈📷⌋⨾⨾ 𝑰𝒈: @_𝑟𝑢𝑏𝑦_𝑚𝑔

✿⁠ ⸺ Chapters Guide! ; Prologue ; Chapter I, Prt 1 ; Chapter I, Prt 2 ; Chapter I, Prt 3 ; Chapter II; Chapter III ; Chapter IV, Part 1 ;

✿⁠ ⸺ Previous ; Next!

⸺ WARNINGS ⦂ Fem Reader ; Use of Y/N; Suicidal themes ; Suicide attempt ; Platonic Yandere ; Dead of a Character ; Detachment of a body part ; Gore (? ; English is not my first language.

✿⁠ ⸺ MDNI !! I'm serious.

✿⁠ ⸺ Words Count ⦂ 8.043

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ This chapter was mainly translated by Google Translate, so if something doesn’t make sense, you know who to blame.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Sorry for the wait on this chapter, these past weeks have been too much for me. After this, I think I'll take a break from social media

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ If you're wondering, the chapter title is based on the song Burning Pile by Mother Mother, so if you want to listen to it while reading the chapter, you're welcome to. I recommend listening to it more towards the end of the chapter.

The drive back to the mansion was steeped in an eerie silence. Both you and Damian were equally stunned by the day's events—which weren’t even over yet. The worst part was still ahead: facing your father.

You were doing your absolute best to hold back tears, panic building at the thought of confronting your father in yet another fit of anger. Then again, while the anxiety clung to you like a chain, you didn’t really have any tears left to shed. Most of them had already been spent during the fight with Damian.

A fight with a very peculiar ending.

Once again, your mind replayed what had happened just a few hours ago. Maybe because it still felt like unfinished business, leaving you with more questions than answers. Or maybe it was just an attempt to escape the horrible scenarios your imagination was crafting for when you’d finally arrive at the mansion. Maybe it was both.

The silence between you could easily be described as awkward—painfully awkward. But what you couldn't quite figure out was where you stood with Damian now. After your outburst, your confession, and his apology…

“I’m sorry…”

Something was supposed to change between you two after that, right? It felt like the fragile glass you'd both been pressing against had finally shattered under the weight of it all. The shards of what had happened still lingered in both your minds, leaving you unsure of how to start piecing things back together. Unsure of how to move forward.

Honestly, you weren’t surprised. Two emotionally stunted people like you and Damian couldn’t possibly know how to handle your relationship in a healthy way. You wouldn’t even know how to talk about everything that had happened without feeling deeply uncomfortable. Somehow, admitting all your vulnerability—the pain you’d felt from your family’s harsh treatment—felt more humiliating than when Damian used to call you cruel nicknames in front of everyone. Even more than failing a test and having the whole class find out about it.

The mind and emotions are strange things, you concluded.

Maybe that’s why Damian avoided them without even realizing it?

You didn’t know. And honestly, you weren’t sure you even wanted to.

As you crossed the doorway, all your fears surged at once, spilling over as tears the moment you saw your father standing at the mansion’s entrance, furious.

“Before I start,” your father announced in his usual firm tone, “if anyone has something to say that should be taken into account, speak now.”

Both you and Damian stayed silent, heads bowed. You had no way to defend yourself. Sure, Damian had provoked you, but you were the one who started the fight. You were certain that was all anyone would care about.

Oh no, here came the tears again...

You gripped the sides of your uniform skirt tightly with both hands, unable to stop your body from trembling like a leaf in the wind.

What if your father finally decided to throw you out? Or worse—send you back to your mother?

“Y/N—”

“Actually, Father—” Damian interrupted, raising his voice slightly, something rare for him when speaking to Bruce. “I was the one who started the fight.”

You glanced at Damian out of the corner of your eye, careful not to let your father see your evident surprise.

“You’ll hear it from the teachers anyway, so I figured it’d be better if you heard it directly from me,” Damian explained vaguely, his tone carrying a slight edge of irritation (maybe because you were staring at him like he’d just grown a third eye—or who knows why).

Bruce stayed silent, his gaze shifting between the two of you as if searching for any sign of deceit.

“Y/N, go to your room. I need to speak with Damian.”

Bruce kept his eyes locked on Damian, who didn’t look up.

Hesitant, you decided it was better to obey and not risk angering your father further. You cast one last glance at Damian as you walked away, but he didn’t return it. Maybe he was too busy processing the implications of his recent actions to notice your look.

Once you reached your room, you decided to wait until tomorrow to write about everything in your diary.

For the next few days, Damian avoided you like the plague.

Sure, you were expecting some sort of change, but this? This caught you off guard. If you were being honest with yourself, though, you weren’t entirely sure what kind of change you had been hoping for.

Your days started to blur together again, shifting between school and the mansion. The only difference now was that your total number of interactions had dwindled to just one person—Alfred. Occasionally, it went up to two if you counted Jon’s visits to see Damian.

Like today.

You knew he was coming over to hang out with Damian, just like he did every other week. You were about to start baking with Alfred, so you were already dressed for the occasion. But that didn’t stop you from answering the door when the bell rang.

You greeted the Kryptonian with a smile and invited him in, once again losing yourself for a moment in those stunning blue eyes of his. After exchanging the usual greetings and catching up briefly, Jon hesitated before bringing up your party.

“Hey, about your birthday…” he started cautiously, clearly choosing his words carefully.

A part of you had wondered if he’d mention it, but when he did, a knot formed in your throat at the memory of your pathetic excuse for a birthday party. Honestly, you weren’t even sure it deserved to be called a party.

“Damian told me your party was canceled. Is that true?” Jon asked gently, clearly aware of Damian’s antics when it came to you. He was just trying to figure out if this was another one of them.

Not technically, no. But while it hadn’t been canceled, it wasn’t much of a party either…

Alfred had been the only one to show up besides you, so when Jon didn’t appear that day, you’d been confused at first. Now, you were grateful. You were certain you’d have broken down in tears if he’d looked at you with pity because no one else had shown up.

So, just this once, you decided to go along with Damian’s little lie.

“Yeah… it got canceled after all,” you said, lying through your teeth. Jon frowned sympathetically.

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice soft. “Still, I wanted to give you this.”

From behind his back, he pulled out a colorful bag with a big ribbon on it. How had you not noticed it before? Were you that distracted by him?

Shaking off the thought, you accepted the gift with both hands, a puzzled expression plastered across your face.

It was the first gift you’d ever received from someone. Knowing someone thought enough of you to show their care in this way… it was overwhelming.

“It’s not the same as the other one, and I don’t mean it as a replacement,” Jon explained, his gaze fixed on the floor in embarrassment. As you opened the bag, he added, “I just thought… it might be a good listener for you…” He sounded so awkward, like he was overexplaining everything. God, he probably thought you’d see him as some kind of loser now.

But his thoughts were cut off when he noticed the droplets falling onto your worn-out shoes.

Jon watched intently as tears streamed down your face, your expression soft and filled with warmth as you gazed at the crocheted dinosaur plushie. Hugging it tightly to your chest, you buried your face against it. Despite everything, Jon thought you were still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” you said, wiping your tears away with an embarrassed smile.

Before Jon could respond, you stepped closer and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to his cheek.

Jon turned bright red—maybe even redder than you were. As much as you wanted to stay and talk with him, you’d been away too long already. Alfred would come looking for you soon, and you definitely didn’t want him finding you like this.

“I should get going…” you said, turning to leave. But Jon stopped you.

“Wait—um, I…” His mind seemed to be racing, scrambling to find the right words. “I think short hair really suits you—n-not that it didn’t before! It was cute then too, I mean, you’re cute—uh—what?”

You couldn’t help but find it utterly adorable. He was the sweetest boy you’d ever met.

“See you later, Jon,” you said, not even bothering to hide the massive smile spreading across your face.

You ran up to your room, placing your new gift carefully on your bed before heading back to the kitchen to join Alfred.

In the following days, you threw yourself entirely into working on your inventions. You needed something to take your mind off your miserable family situation. Sure, sometimes tinkering with your creations and brainstorming theories to improve them stressed you out, but it was worth it. At least it distracted you enough to forget about your family, even if only temporarily.

By now, you’d already completed your first gadgets using junk from the mansion’s shed, along with spare parts from discarded gadgets and old, obsolete vigilante suits.

Today, though, you weren’t working on anything fancy. You were focused on crafting a simple pocket watch for Alfred. It was Father’s Day, and just like every year, you wanted to give Alfred a gift to recognize and thank him for everything he did to take care of you.

Besides, making something for Alfred helped you avoid dwelling too much on your actual father, who was probably just a few rooms away in his office.

You couldn’t give him a Father’s Day gift. Not only because he’d rarely been present in your life, but also because you hadn’t been a part of his. You didn’t know what he liked or needed. He was the richest man in Gotham—probably in the world, you sometimes thought. Anything he wanted, he could get with the snap of his fingers.

The only thing you could offer him, something you figured he might actually appreciate, was a sincere apology for being born—

Done! The gift was finally ready!

You carefully wrapped it up and decorated the packaging before heading to the kitchen to give it to Alfred.

As you’d expected, Alfred was there, already preparing for lunch.

“What’s got you in such high spirits, Miss Y/N?” Alfred asked, taking note of how you were hiding your hands behind your back.

You didn’t answer and instead marched right up to him, standing just inches away.

“Close your eyes,” you requested with a playful tone.

Alfred raised an amused eyebrow but complied. Quickly, you pulled out the gift and held it up at eye level.

“Ta-da!” you said, signaling him to open his eyes.

Oh, it was Father’s Day—he’d completely forgotten. His eyes softened as he looked at you, touched by the gesture. With great care, he took the gift and opened it.

Inside was a gleaming pocket watch. It wasn’t luxurious, but it had a certain elegance, thanks to the hand-engraved details. You stood there, watching him expectantly.

“I got it from a second-hand store and tried to fix it up as best I could…” you said casually, not intending anything by it but wanting to show how much you cared.

“Where did you get the money?” Alfred asked curiously. As far as he knew, you didn’t receive an allowance like your siblings, nor did you have any other source of income.

“I sold a few things here and there,” you answered vaguely, not wanting him to think you’d gone through too much trouble or regret accepting the gift.

Most of the handmade toys you’d crafted had been sold off, leaving you with just a few. People seemed to like them, treating them as “abstract art.” It stung a little, but you got over it, knowing it was for Alfred. You’d also sewn a few pieces of clothing to sell, and those had been the first to go. People even praised your work when they found out you’d made them yourself.

More than ever, you felt proud of your creations.

“Oh, young miss…” Alfred murmured, clearly moved, before pulling you into a warm embrace.

“Happy Father’s Day,” you whispered against his neck.

Your stomach twisted with guilt, knowing you hadn’t told him about the tiny micro-communicator hidden inside the watch.

Your chemistry class ended as soon as the bell rang.

Your classmates, even the teacher, left without so much as acknowledging your presence. That had been the pattern for weeks now. The whispered comments, the rumors as you passed through the hallways—those had stopped. Now, people simply avoided you, excluding you whenever possible.

Home sweet home, you thought bitterly to yourself.

Still, in moments like this, being invisible had its advantages. Carefully, you opened the list of items you needed for your projects and began collecting them discreetly, always keeping an eye out in case someone approached.

Once you had everything, you returned to the lockers to stash what you'd taken before heading to your next class. To your surprise, you almost bumped into Molly on your way there. She froze for a moment when she saw you, then hurried out of the room without a word.

A little puzzled, you decided to brush off the fleeting encounter with your ex-best friend and stepped into the classroom.

A splash of red caught your eye, standing out sharply against the neutral tones of the room. Your attention was drawn to the small red bag resting on your unmistakable desk. Unmistakable, because it was the only desk carved with cruel messages about you.

Your eyes scanned over the deep engravings in the wood again.

"Slut." "Freak." "Zombie." "Monster." "Get out of my school." "Whore."

Every desk assigned to you in every class bore similar graffiti. It was one of the mildest things that had been done to you since the bullying began.

Although the harassment had seemingly stopped out of nowhere, the wounds it left behind were still fresh. Only something far worse could make you forget them, though you doubted anything could surpass the high bar set by your life’s endless cruelty.

Your fingers stopped tracing the carvings and instead focused on the bag. It looked more like a gift than a trap. Suspicious, you began to open it cautiously, in small intervals of about fifteen seconds each.

This wasn’t your first rodeo with pranks like this. Your classmates had left packages on your desk before, each containing something vile. The first time, they'd placed syringes inside a paper bag along with a lit firecracker hidden deep within. By the time you realized what it was, it was too late. The needles exploded outward, stabbing into your arm.

The classroom erupted in laughter as the bag detonated. But the laughter died just as quickly, drowned out by your screams of pain—or maybe it was the sight of your uniform darkening with blood where the needles had pierced your stomach.

Since then, they'd repeated variations of the same prank, swapping out needles and firecrackers for rotten fruits, crushed flower heads mixed with compost, or equally disgusting things.

This time, though, you weren’t taking any chances. Vines sprouted from your arms, carefully opening the package at a safe distance.

Inside, you saw a small, colorful box accompanied by a letter. Intrigued, you set the box aside and unfolded the letter.

"Dear Y/N,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to celebrate your first official birthday. I wanted to more than anything, but I couldn’t. If my family found out about us meeting, things would’ve gone from bad to worse for both my family and yours.

I’m still not allowed to see you, so for the sake of our feelings, it’s best we keep things as they are for now. Even so, I wanted to take this chance to apologize for everything that’s happened.

I’m sorry for not being there for you during all of this. For not being able to comfort you when those awful things were done to you. I’m sorry for letting them get away with it. Every time I tried to stand up for you or report them to the school, they retaliated by soaking my notes in water or leaving dead animals in my locker.

My parents know about it and told me not to report anything, because they’re sure it’ll only escalate. They even warned me to stop getting involved, saying they wouldn’t intervene if things got worse.

I feel awful thinking this, let alone saying it, but I’m too scared. I’m too much of a coward to put my ideals above my physical and emotional safety. I’m so sorry.

One day, when we can be friends again, I want to make it up to you. For now, please accept this gift as my congratulations and my sincerest wishes for your happiness on your first birthday.

And in case no one’s told you yet: I’m glad you were born, Y/N.

—Molly xoxo"

Tears blurred the ink on the page as they fell, but you didn’t care. This time, your tears meant something different.

"One day, when we can be friends again…"

You clutched the letter to your chest before turning your attention to the box.

Inside was a gold bracelet, shining brilliantly. Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed the tiny charm engraved with your name.

With the utmost care, you fastened it around your right wrist, silently thanking Molly.

Back at home, you decided to put the tears behind you and went on a frantic search for Alfred. You found him in the sitting room, diligently dusting the furniture.

“Alfred, look!” you said, showing off the bracelet Molly had given you with pride shining in your eyes.

The butler inspected it briefly before smiling and nodding in approval. “A lovely piece of jewelry, Miss. Might I ask who gifted it to you?”

Before you could answer, the sound of a door slamming shut echoed from the entrance. Jason stormed past the kitchen, his steps heavy and filled with irritation. He was clearly on his way to the Batcave, his frustration emanating in waves.

But then he saw you.

Maybe it was his recent failure with Ivy, or the ridiculous speculations about you and a possible connection to your mother, or perhaps just the miserable week he’d had—but something snapped in Jason when he caught sight of you from the corner of his eye.

Without much thought, his anger redirected. He turned sharply and strode into the kitchen, his face dark with frustration.

“Your mother’s a total bitch, you know that, right?” he spat suddenly, his words slicing through the air and leaving you stunned and confused.

It took a moment for the meaning of his words to fully register. But as they sank in, indignation and fury surged within you.

He hadn’t spoken a word to you in years. Not a glance, not even the smallest acknowledgment since your first meeting. And now, the only reason he addressed you was to insult your mother? It was like reliving the bullying at school all over again, but worse.

You swallowed your emotions, refusing to let them explode outward. “…Don’t talk about her like that,” you managed to murmur, your voice taut with restraint.

Jason’s expression only darkened further at your response. Alfred’s calm attempts to defuse the tension went completely ignored.

“Oh, so you’re defending her? How the hell can you defend her after everything she’s done?” Jason’s voice was sharp, almost accusatory.

You pressed your lips together, the frustration of being judged without a chance to explain building in your chest like a storm.

“You wouldn’t understand…” you muttered, almost to yourself.

“Understand what?!” Jason demanded, his voice louder now, brimming with impatience.

“You wouldn’t understand because you don’t know what it’s like to feel a mother’s love!” you shouted back, your control snapping as your emotions overwhelmed you. “Yours was just a drug addict, and it’s a miracle she didn’t sell you off to feed her addiction! What makes you think my mom is worse than yours?!”

The room fell silent for a fraction of a second.

Then Jason’s hand struck your cheek.

The slap was hard and sudden, and you staggered slightly from the force of it. Your hand instinctively went to your stinging cheek, your mind reeling.

For a moment, you just stood there, disoriented and heartbroken. And then, without another word, you turned and ran.

You ignored Alfred’s worried calls as you sprinted up the stairs, your heart hammering in your chest, and slammed the door of your room behind you.

You removed the fluorescent green liquid from in front of the camera, not putting much thought into what it might mean down the line.

"Honestly, I’m too tired to keep this up," you began, speaking again after taking a moment to organize your thoughts. "Not only does it feel pointless, but I’m starting to think that doing all of this for them isn’t worth it."

A fleeting memory of Jason and the slap crossed your mind, uninvited.

You let out a long, drawn-out sigh, setting your tools and gadgets aside as a sudden need for space overwhelmed you.

For a moment, you stared at your reflection in the camera’s lens. You saw yourself—tired, worn out—and only you truly knew how deeply the exhaustion ran.

You wondered if any of this would ever truly be worth it. Even if your efforts bore the results you were hoping for, would it be enough to make up for the years of loneliness and pain they had caused? Would you really feel satisfied once you reached the goal you had been working so hard for? A goal no child should ever have to chase in the first place, especially if they were given even the bare minimum of care...

Then, for the first time, you saw yourself differently.

A new version of you.

One that had started to accept parts of their reality, someone who had begun to see beyond the singular focus of their goals.

Still, you wouldn’t know if your assumptions were correct until they were put to the test. A good scientist doesn’t settle for just the hypothesis, after all.

"... After today," you said softly, your voice steadier now, "I think my goals are going to start changing, no matter the outcome."

You took a long, grounding breath.

"This will be my last attempt to be a part of this family."

You had finished your projects for the night, having double-checked them over and over again to ensure everything was working as planned. You knew they were functioning perfectly—there was proof of that. But you told yourself that a second opinion, especially from someone with more knowledge than yours, could be really helpful.

So, your thoughts led you to Tim's room, ready to share your greatest efforts from the last six months.

After knocking on his door and getting no response, you decided to take matters into your own hands and walk in anyway. As expected, Tim was there, but he didn’t look like himself. If before he had resembled a tired raccoon, now you were certain his dark circles had dark circles of their own. Still, he seemed to be working diligently on whatever it was he was doing.

You cleared your throat to announce your presence, but he already knew you were there. The shadow he cast was too small to belong to any of the older members of the family, which meant it had to be you or Damian. And, right now, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with either of you.

"Tim, could you check something I made? I promise it’ll only take a minute…" you asked, your tone a little pleading.

"I don’t have time, Y/N. I’m working on something important," he quickly replied, not even glancing at you.

A pout formed on your face, but you decided to push. This was important too. You grabbed one of his arms, pulling gently.

"Please, it won’t take more than five minutes. Come on, it’s really good—"

A loud crash interrupted you as one of your devices fell from your hands and onto Tim's desk. He snapped his head towards you, eyes flashing with anger.

"Five minutes? It'll take two," he said with a warning tone that made you feel uneasy.

Before you could react, he snatched your device from your hands without asking. To get it back would mean knocking the others to the ground, which would lead to an even worse situation because of a new formula you had created. You were stuck.

To your horror, Tim began tearing apart your tool with nothing but brute force, muttering things like, "This is useless," "Won’t work," and, "Oh, this? Hm, it's outdated. Won’t help."

"Tim, stop! Please!" you shouted, desperately.

But it was too late. Your months of hard work—nights of sleepless effort, searching through the shed’s garbage, and hours spent in the library—were now unrecognizable. Tim finished by tossing the wreckage into a corner near the door.

"Don’t bother me with junk again, Y/N. And don’t enter my room without permission," he said, returning to his work without a second thought.

Tears streamed down your face as you ran to gather what was left of your painstaking work. You found it destroyed, barely salvageable, and you knew it could never be the same again in such a short time.

"YOU’RE EVIL!" you screamed at Tim, accusingly, before running to your room, crying.

With your vision blurred by tears, you tried to fix the mess he had left behind. Nothing ever changed for you. It was now or never for you to be part of this family. Tim was wrong if he thought something like this would break your spirit.

“I’m on my way. Is anyone in the area?” From the dark, authoritative tone you heard, you could tell it was Batman speaking.

“Spoiler and I can’t see anyone from here.” Though still distorted, you recognized Tim’s voice. “Agent A, what do you see?”

“The security cameras show several of Bane’s henchmen guarding the area. Bane is at the center of it all with the new serum formula. I don’t see any signs of a potential buyer.”

You heard Alfred’s voice more clearly, which wasn’t surprising, considering the mic was hidden in the wristwatch.

You quickly checked the few belongings you had with you at the moment. Your gadgets, a map, Dinno, and a mini-teaser you’d made yourself. You packed everything into your backpack and tightened the straps across your back.

You took a deep breath to calm your racing heart. You felt the nerves and anxiety rising, but you pushed it all to the back of your mind.

Don’t overthink it, you told yourself. You gathered your resolve and transformed your arms into a swarm of vines, wrapping them around the most obvious cameras at the mansion before swinging through the trees.

You passed the mansion’s gates and made your way to the location where your family’s mission was going down. Every now and then, you checked the map, verifying your position while staying in the shadows.

By the time you arrived, a full-on fight had already broken out. You were surprised to see your entire family fighting and throwing punches everywhere, but your focus zeroed in on your father, who was going toe-to-toe with Bane.

You stayed on the sidelines, watching the situation unfold from a distance. You kept telling yourself everything was going to be fine this time. Your family had the upper hand, so there was nothing to worry about.

But your fears resurfaced when that balance didn’t last long. In a desperate move, Bane injected himself with his own supply, and the henchmen who weren’t unconscious followed suit.

Unlike his original formula, Bane’s muscles didn’t increase in size, but you could see how the serum spread rapidly throughout his circulatory system. His veins started to bulge beneath his skin, taking on an unnatural, fluorescent green glow.

His henchmen didn’t take long to show similar effects. And that’s when things spiraled out of control.

Although their muscles didn’t grow visibly, like with the original serum, it was clear they were far stronger than before. To your untrained eyes, it felt like their strength could rival Superman’s.

Your brothers, though skilled, couldn’t match the sheer number of super-powered foes Bane had on his side.

It was time to intervene, or things would get worse for your family. From the shadows, you began to entangle the henchmen who didn’t have anyone to fight.

At one point, things became a blur, and you didn’t know how to help anymore, but you still wanted to be useful.

You wrapped your vines around loose platforms, taking a few steps back to gather momentum. Fortunately, you shot yourself toward the building’s upper windows without issue.

You returned your arms to normal and started getting a clearer view of the situation. You noted everyone’s positions.

Robin and Nightwing were fighting together on the building’s southeast side. Spoiler and Orphan were on the opposite side, too close to you (you made a mental note to be more careful and not let Cassandra spot you, at least not during the fight). Batman-B and Red Hood were on opposite corners of the building, at mid-level height.

Finally, Batman and Red Robin were at the heart of the battle, trying to take down Bane and secure the new serum supplies. The three of them were on the top floor, but just a bit lower than your position.

You began to pull out your most sophisticated gadget from your bag: a spore bomb, still alive. It wasn’t lethal, but it had the ability to knock someone out for days, depending on your mood.

These spores were special— they weren’t made from any particular plant, but from you. That gave you the ability to control their use however you wanted.

You placed the box containing them high up on a pillar where it wouldn’t be easily reached.

Ploc.

You froze when you heard an odd sound. You went silent, instinctively holding your breath, trying to listen for any similar noises.

Ploc.

You whipped your head around in an instant. This time, it came from the opposite side.

You began preparing your spikes.

Squinting, you tried to make out what was hiding in the darkness. You were sure that if you focused hard enough, you could spot a blurry silhouette…

Suddenly, it vanished.

“What-?”

Without warning, hands grabbed you from behind. A much larger, male arm wrapped around your body, and another hand covered your mouth, silencing you.

You struggled and fought, but the stranger didn’t flinch. With no other option, your spikes shot out from your back, piercing the intruder.

You spun around to face your attacker, but you were shocked to find him completely dressed in black, most of his head covered, leaving only his eyes exposed.

The next moments happened too fast for you to process. You were about to scream for help or alert everyone about this new presence, but before you could open your mouth…

You watched in horror as your right arm was severed from your body, completely detached.

Your vision fixated on your severed limb, not noticing a second figure removing their weapon to replace it.

Blood started pouring from your arm. You wanted to scream, to cry, but your cries were drowned out by the explosion of a bomb going off nearby, shaking the surroundings.

The last thing you remember was someone picking you up in their arms and carrying you away before everything went black.

The fight had gotten worse since Bane injected himself with his new serum. Red Robin was starting to wear down, and he’d never admit it, but even Batman was beginning to feel the strain.

He quickly scanned the area. It was reassuring to see that most of his family was finishing up their tasks, mostly safe and sound.

He had a feeling the fight wouldn’t last much longer.

But there were still a lot of loose ends to tie up. They still didn’t know who Bane’s mysterious buyer was. And they had no idea how he’d managed to improve the serum’s components in such a short amount of time.

Batman could already see a lot of long nights ahead, trying to figure out the mysteries of this case.

But something unusual caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A black silhouette, but one too small to be an adult, or even a teenager.

Robin? No, he was with Nightwing right now. And his other kids were in his line of sight, so then who…?

“Batman!” Red Robin’s panicked tone snapped him back to reality.

And then he understood why. Bane had ingested nearly all of his new formula, and he kept ranting that he didn’t care anymore, that he was taking the Bat to the grave with him.

Batman and Red Robin took a few steps back from him, anticipating the effects of such an unstable serum.

Under Batman’s watchful eye, Bane couldn’t even take his first step before his face twisted into an expression of confusion, followed by one of intense pain.

A gut-wrenching scream echoed through the warehouse, and Batman watched as the serum began to take its toll. Suddenly, Bane’s muscles became too much for his skin to handle, and it began to tear apart like a doll being pulled in two by wild wolves.

Before he could recover from the grotesque sight, an explosion rocked the area, blowing apart one of the building’s pillars. Soon, the entire structure started collapsing.

A piece of the ceiling detached, and Batman’s heart raced as he realized it was about to crash onto the stunned Red Robin. With all his strength, he pushed his son out of the way, but in doing so, he ended up trapped beneath the debris.

“Batman!” Red Robin yelled in alarm, rushing to help immediately. He strained to move the largest pieces of rubble off his father’s body, and Batman tried to help, but his limbs were completely immobile, except for the arm he had used to push Tim.

Batman snapped out of his shock and started looking beyond his position, desperately searching for the rest of his children.

His breath returned when he spotted most of them struggling to get out of the building, some lifting unconscious bodies between two people. Among those helping, he was shocked to see Talia lending a hand.

But his relief was short-lived when he heard a second bomb go off, and this time, it was much worse than the first. The building and debris were sent flying, engulfed in flames.

Time seemed to slow down for him. As if everything had been perfectly choreographed for a movie.

He didn’t have time to warn them about the incoming debris, coming at a breakneck speed, dangerously close—

Boom!

“Tim!”

Bruce Wayne, not Batman, let out a heart-wrenching scream as his son’s blood splattered across his face. Where Red Robin’s left eye should have been, there was now a gaping hole that passed all the way through his head.

Batman tried to get out with all his strength, but despite the desperation and adrenaline coursing through his body, he couldn’t free himself from the debris that trapped him.

Through the smoke and rubble, he spotted a bottle with a greenish, opaque liquid, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. Without a second thought, he drank every last drop of the concoction.

The effects were immediate. He felt rejuvenated, his strength increasing like never before. With speed that even Flash would envy, he freed himself from the debris and scooped his unconscious son into his arms, carrying him out of the wreckage.

He was going to be fine. Tim was going to be fine. He’s just unconscious from the pain. It’s okay, it’s okay. He’ll recover. He’s definitely not dead.

Your mind still ached and spun as you regained consciousness. The first thing you noticed was the unbearable pain in your right arm, or more accurately, the absence of it, and you couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down your face.

You pressed hard against the wound, as if that could ease the pain.

The second thing you noticed was the overwhelming smell of burning, of something being set on fire. That was undoubtedly what made you dizzy, or maybe it was the blood loss?

Perhaps it was both.

And the third thing that caught your attention was realizing the entire building was engulfed in flames, down to its very foundation.

Your last thought was: My family.

Struggling, you got up as best as you could, completely ignoring how you’d ended up there in the first place, or the loss of your left eye.

You began searching the area for your family, but all you found were the lifeless bodies of Bane's goons scattered about.

Finally, you heard sounds resembling sobbing, and you moved toward them, getting closer until you found a narrow alley lit only by distant flames.

There they were—your family, all gathered and staring at one point in unison. You glanced around for a moment, making sure they weren’t paying attention to the burning building, the goons fleeing, or anything else.

On the other hand, you found your backpack lying a few feet away from you, covered in dirt and debris, but without thinking much about it, you opened it to check its contents.

You were relieved to find Dino still inside, along with most of your things—and—

"My bomb...?" You were strangely puzzled to find your device there. You took it out of your bag and exposed it to the light, confirming that it was indeed the same one you’d placed on the building’s pillar not long ago (or was it hours ago?).

But you didn’t realize your words had caught the attention of most of the people there. Especially Batman.

Your nerves began to tingle when the great bat started walking toward you, and not in a friendly manner...

“Dad...?” you murmured, confused, unaware that you weren’t supposed to know his secret...

“What did you do?” he asked in a tone that suggested he was holding back a fury greater than the surprise of seeing you here.

You didn’t know how to respond. Something told you he wasn’t referring to the tied-up goons or anything like that... So, what was he referring to?

When you sought your siblings’ gazes for help, you understood the gravity of the situation.

“Tim...?”

Why was part of Tim’s face missing? Why was he unconscious? Why were your siblings crying?!

A quick glance revealed that your father was also crying beneath his mask.

Your breath quickened. He couldn’t... Tim couldn’t...

Did you do this?

Your mind was too chaotic to tell if your father had asked the question or if it was just your thoughts.

You took a few steps toward Tim—he couldn’t... His pulse... If you could just check his pulse then...

Suddenly, you were thrown across the alley, crashing into the rubble.

“Stay away from him!” Stephanie growled, the one who had thrown you.

At that moment, you realized the stares your family was giving you—some more severe than others, but none showing any sign of giving you the benefit of the doubt.

What if you had really done it?

Had you killed another one of your brothers? Again?

But...?

“What were you doing here?” Nightwing asked.

You wanted to help, you wanted to answer, but the words never left your thoughts.

You were still worried about Tim, about the recent events, and your nerves were a swarm of every emotion you felt. Looking again at Tim’s colorless body, you began to shake, stuttering over your words, unable to murmur anything coherent.

The stares grew more severe, even angry, like with Steph and Dick...

You began crying uncontrollably.

“I won’t ask again. What did you do?!” Batman warned, grinding his teeth as he walked toward you, grabbing the collar of your shirt.

You wanted to explain everything. The bomb was made of spores, which were flammable, and it hadn’t been activated... Your other things hadn’t been used, or that’s what you wanted to believe, but even if they were, none of them were lethal to anyone’s life.

But how could you make your nervous system understand that if you didn’t respond correctly, they’d do something worse to you than to Tim? How could you make yourself calm down before they got the wrong idea?

Too late.

“The bomb... I... No... Not activated... I don’t know...” Your anxiety grew, and your heart beat so fast you thought it might stop at any moment.

Batman slammed you against the wall and squeezed your neck, cutting off your air. You were sure he was going to kill you.

You kicked and struggled against his hold, scratching at his hands and arms with your one remaining arm.

Your mind could only think of how sorry you were for wanting to help them. If only you hadn’t gotten involved, if you hadn’t met your family, if that night you had begged your mom to take you with her...

“You know I love you, right?”

The sweet memory of her only served to rub salt in the wound. Even if you were still being used and mutilated for their experiments, you’d be happy to endure it if it meant staying by her side, congratulating you, hugging you, whispering false words in your ear. Even if they were all lies meant to use you, you’d be happy to deceive yourself with that conditioned love.

But you didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t even have that—those empty promises of love and affection. Since you arrived at the mansion, you had nothing left.

You wanted to go back to your mom. You wanted to...

“Mom... Mom...!” You sobbed harder, calling out for your mother, naïvely thinking she would come to your rescue. “I want my mom...”

Batman tightened his grip on you.

“Do you work for her?! For Ivy?!”

You pressed your lips together and remained silent. Batman realized you weren’t going to answer anything else, and, releasing you, he left you on the floor.

You coughed and began to catch your breath, but you couldn’t sit up.

You heard your father’s steps, along with your siblings’, all heading in the same direction, leaving you behind.

In a final attempt, you grabbed Robin’s hand, holding him for a moment.

“Damian...” You whispered, and the sound was exactly what it was: a desperate plea.

But Robin harshly pulled his hand from yours and shook his head, then followed Batman.

You curled into a ball in your spot, among the rubble and fire.

It didn’t matter. Your efforts, your sleepless nights, your hopes, your patience, your perseverance—none of it changed anything. It only got worse. You weren’t sure, but you could bet that you no longer had a home to go back to starting today.

Your confused body no longer had any tears to shed or strength to rise. In your few remaining thoughts, you laughed at the comparison between the end of your life with your mother and the end with your father. Both situations leaving you discarded amidst fire and smoke.

Even these small moments with the distant fire were warmer than your entire stay in that mansion. Your mind briefly thought of Alfred, but you immediately dismissed it. Surely, once your family told him what happened, he would hate you for killing Tim.

But now, what came next...?

What were you supposed to do at this moment? You had no home, no parents, no siblings, no food, nothing. You had nothing left. Not even the will to go on.

Your mom hated you. Your family hated you. At school, they hated you. And you were sure it wouldn’t be long before the news outlets made the entire city hate you too.

Well, at least I tried... You thought, resigned.

Maybe... Maybe the world left you in this situation, along with the flames of the fire, as a sign. Maybe it wanted you to end up here to have the same fate as your brothers...

Your feet began to move on their own, getting closer to the heart of the fire.

Just a little more, and all of this would end... Just...

“That was quite an intense scene back there, don’t you think?”

You tried to ignore your new visitor. You’d had enough of everything your whole life. You didn’t want to worry about anything, or think about anything, you just wanted to die and sleep.

You ignored his words and got closer to the fire.

But the stranger dared to place a hand on your shoulder, and all your repressed emotions erupted into a furious attack. Huge roots, like those of an ancient tree, shook the ground and shot toward your visitor, sending you both several meters apart.

But the sheer magnitude of your attack was enough to snap you out of your trance.

“I... I...” You looked at the stranger, confused, not knowing how to start talking or apologizing...

But the stranger wasn’t bothered in the slightest by your attempted attack. In fact, the way he evaluated you reminded you a little of your father, Batman, but even calmer.

“You have great potential, little one. Why waste it? Why throw it all away for people who treated you unfairly?”

Unfairly...? He...?

“I’ve been here all along. I know you didn’t do anything wrong, little one. You just wanted to help your family, right? Most parents would be proud of a child like that, even I would be…”

You were innocent. You were innocent, and he knew it.

You didn’t kill Tim... You didn’t...

“But he didn’t want to listen to you. If you asked me, I’d even say that he didn’t let you explain yourself, deliberately trying to get rid of you…”

“I…” When did he get so close?

“I can offer you a home, training to control your powers. Above all, I can offer you a family.”

Family…? That was all you wanted. What difference did it make? You had nothing left to lose.

The man lifted you into his arms and cradled you with a tenderness you hadn’t felt in a long time. You could’ve cried from how good it felt at that moment.

“My name is Ra’s al Ghul, little one. And you?”

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ It seems there was a confusion with the translation at one point, so I had to redo a big part of the story, which delayed me by one more day… Anyway, I hope the wait was worth it, I had some difficulties creating this chapter. Initially, all the parts were going to be in a single chapter, but that would have meant not adding several important scenes to the plot or making an enormous chapter to reach this point. Can you imagine?

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Anyway. Regarding the ask box, it's closed for now because I'm writing the rules for sending messages. Also, because most of you asked for a common scenario (really, more than 20 people), I'm working on that too, and it will be the last scenario I write until I finish the Unfair series.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Maybe I'll be inactive for a while after this. The past three weeks have been completely packed with responsibilities and commitments from every direction. Right now, I'm in a different city, far from home, in the capital of my country, kind of like the New York of the USA. The people here are super frantic, it's crazy.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ As a heads up, in case anyone hasn't seen it yet, I've been updating the Masterlist on my profile, and I've added the synopses of new projects. Maybe after this, I'll keep adding more and start creating schedules to update you on my new stories.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ By the way, I forgot to mention in the previous chapter that I’ve already exceeded the number of people I can tag. I’m really sorry to everyone who wanted to be on the list, but even by reblogging my post and tagging others, I won’t be able to tag everyone :(. However, you can follow me, and you’ll get a notification on your feed when I post a new chapter or something!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Anyway, I don't have much more to say. If you want fresh updates on what I'm working on, or how the chapter process is going while I'm making them, you can follow me on Instagram, which is in my bio!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ To finish, I’d like to thank everyone who commented, liked, or reblogged the previous chapter. I read each and every one of them! Thank you so much for all your love! ❤️.

"You want me to what?" 

You had only just come to terms with your family's secret identities as Gotham's famed masked protectors and the existence of an entire high-tech batcave under the house that you thought you knew from front to back when your and John's mentor and mentee relationship was called into question. Reasonable, you suppose, that Bruce wants to evaluate how well you've developed under Constantine's unorthodox teaching. 

It's why you're stood opposite Dick and Jason on the training mat, your brothers both clad in gym wear with unperturbed expressions. Steph tries to give you a thumbs-up for good luck, but Cass just stands impassively. You fidget with the waistband of your sweatpants and look back at John and Bruce, "Fight them? They'll obliterate me, like no contest!" 

Damian scoffs something like 'weakling' under his breath from where he's sat observing the session beside Tim, who has his laptop ready to take notes on your magical ability. John shakes his head, "Kiddo, don't make me look bad. You know you can take them." 

"Oh, is that so?" Dick teases with a grin, stretching his triceps. Jason cracks his knuckles, his big, burly figure intimidating enough that he doesn't even have to say anything. 

You shoot John a desperate look, to which your mentor offers a reassuring nod, eyes conveying more than words his belief in you.

Bruce crosses his arms as he looks you over, "It's not a test, I just want to gauge your abilities and how your training should proceed." 

John wanted to make a snide remark that his training was progressing your abilities just fine, but he kept his mouth shut for once as Bruce called for the spar to start. It's like a switch is flipped, your eyes narrow as you let out a sharp exhale, John recognises that look of strategy. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for.

Your mental incanation offers your brothers no way to predict your moves. It takes them by surprise when, with a loud snap, a whip of shimmering dark energy shoots past them. 

Their heads turn to see the whip wrap around a nearby pillar instead of them, and Dick spins back to tease you, "Looks like you missed-" He's promptly cut off by a kick to the face.

The whip having been used to pull you forward at breakneck speeds to roundhouse kick Dick in the temple. Bruce's shoulders tense as he watches his son stumble from the force of your kick, and before Jason can respond with his own attack, eyes widening- re-evaluating your threat level in real time, you're rushing him. Your hand covers his eyes, and you quickly whisper guttural Latin into his ear. 

Jason's eyes roll back, flashing a shimmering black colour, and his heavy body immediately slumps over into deep sleep. You struggle to put his body down gently on the mat. John has to restrain himself from shouting out in celebration like a football manager at a match, biting his lip in anticipation of seeing how you proceed.

Dick is rubbing his already bruised jaw, brows furrowed as he readies his stance, more cautious this time. You don't relent, summoning daggers of dark light which surge forwards. Dick flips and dodges them, turning round and round in an attempt to avoid slashes from the magical weapons, which just turn around to attack again when he slips past them. 

"Damn- kid, what the hell-" Dick grunts, steadily being overwhelmed by the unrelenting dodging, back flipping over another twin daggers. 

Steph is cheering for you, probably just entertained that someone is giving the golden boy a good fight. Damian is oddly silent, and Tim is frantically typing and cataloguing- if he'd known about these abilities of yours, god, the amount of situations you could've helped prevent, Tim is partly frustrated as he is admiring. 

The Bat-family were strong, of course, but keeping up with metas almost became impossible with the outlandish all-powerful abilities that they seemed to have. You could've been their trump card, the magic user on their side- well, you are their trump card now. Tim's already eager to have you by his side on patrols if his restrained expression is any indication. He's calling dibs on you for patrol partners. 

You're panting, hands outstretched to focus your magic, and you finally get a good slash against Dick's calf. He falters, and you take the opportunity to pounce, pinning your older brother to the mat with clasps made of the same dark shimmering energy that hovers around you when spell casting. You sit on his back, victorious.

John pumps his fist in the air before he can think about quelling his pride or excitement, "Yes!" Stephanie similarly is clapping for you; Bruce is watching with an unreadable expression, and Jason is peacefully snoring a little way away.

"God, damn it," Dick huffs from under you, "John taught you to do all that?" 

You nod tiredly, moving off him and releasing your magic. Jason startles awake, extremely confused and spots Dick lying on the mat in defeat, and looks even more confused. You stumble towards John, who grabs you into a proud hug. You manage an exhausted laugh, chin resting on his shoulder, "Did I do good?" 

"So good, kiddo," He smooths down your hair like a fretting father, "You kicked their damn arses in less than five minutes." 

Bruce catches the familiar display, and a strange feeling floods his stomach; another man acting like a father to his adopted child- he didn't appreciate the sight. He speaks up, "Indeed, you exceeded my expectations." You give him a small smile over John's shoulder.

Damian has his arms crossed haughtily at the scene, and he side-eyes Bruce, "You don't ever react like that when we excel in spars." Cass hums in agreement. Bruce doesn't acknowledge that with a response.

John moves to release you from his hold when his hands feel your wettened back, his hands pulling away stained red, and he grimaces. Of course, you overextended yourself. He sees you already looking away guiltily, "What did I say about overusing your magic?" 

"Not to do it," You sigh, turning your back to him in a practised motion. He pulls the back of your shirt up to cast some soothing spells onto your scarred back. 

Bruce's gaze snaps back, and he steps over, "You're hurt?" Tim even stops typing, worry clouding his expression. Dick and Jason sit up on the mat at the morbid sight of your back: some occult sigil had been carved into your back, years old by the colour of the scars, but the skin was raw and irritated, it seemed, seeping blood. 

Bruce recognises it; he didn't think those marks had a purpose beyond being mutilation that the cult had inflicted upon you in your youth. He was wrong. "Answer me, Constantine. What is it?" 

John tuts, setting you down gently on a nearby medical bed after his spells of relief make you immediately fall asleep. "They're sigils of magic conduction and strengthening. Normally, just carving stuff like this doesn't do much, but it seems whatever intention or ritual was behind this actually worked." 

John glances over at Bruce, wanting answers as much as the other man. "I will make the information available to you." The other bat family siblings look between the men, annoyed with the secrecy. 

Stephanie tucks the cover over you after Cass gently wipes your back free of blood, and Steph voices their collective frustration, "What information? Who did this? Why won't you tell us?"