2.0

You, I'll have you know, were actually first (good job), but I've been sitting on this one because my canon knowledge for Steph is bad and my fanon knowledge for Steph is bad, so she's in the pile of characters I have yet to get a good grip on.

Headcanon 1:  Realistic

Of the melange of canon backstories I've seen for Steph, my personal (admittedly sketchy) interpretation for Steph thus far has been:

Lower-middle class kid (not poor-poor but definitely a "one emergency from disaster" type household)

Lived on the edge of the Narrows and went to a low-ranked public school, so she identifies more with Jason's end of the spectrum than Tim's

Her dad is the standard crook/deadbeat/conman. Not physically abusive to her, probably but neither caring nor present. Very self-centered, definitely verbally harsh at best.

I don't ascribe to the nurse-stealing-opioids version of Steph's mom. I think her mom is a nurse and works long, unappreciated hours. She loves her daughter, maybe a little abstractly, and tries to be what she thinks a good mom is, but she's essentially a single parent whose deadbeat ex shows up to cause problems from time to time. Once Cluemaster is off the game board and Steph is a little older, I do think they have a bit of a trauma-bond relationship thing going on.

Headcanon 2: May or not be realistic, is definitely funny (at least to me)

Stephanie absolutely tries to rename herself at multiple points in her childhood. If you keep her rooted in the time she was created, she's one of like seven Stephanies in her class. If you affix her more towards present day, Stephanie is a dated name and she doesn't like it.

She absolutely goes the Anne Shirley route and picks a name she feels has pizazz and tries to get her classmates and teachers to roll with it. Alas, they do not. It does not help that she tries this at least three different times.

Headcanon 3: Evil and heart-breaking why would you do this

Not evil or heart-breaking, just softly melancholy.

Stephanie does. not. want Bruce to be her dad. No thank you! She's done with dads as a concept anyways, but if she were in the market for one, it wouldn't be Bruce Wayne, are you crazy? (If she had to pick, maybe if forced she would pick Jim Gordon, because she sees how he treats Barbara and she hears how Barbara speaks about him in return.)

Bruce Wayne, though? No way, Jose.

But she cannot escape the fact that every kind thing he's ever done for her, every quiet word of praise, every awkwardly tentative pat on the shoulder, every time he's stopped and just rested a heavy hand atop her head, as if taking a moment to soak in her presence was all he needed, has been indelibly carved into her brain for all time.

She doesn't want a dad, and she doesn't want Bruce to be her dad, but secretly she's glad she does have a Bruce.

Headcanon 4: Doesn’t align with canon (or maybe even reality) but I do what I want

Imagine Bruce and Alfred sneaking Jay sweets behind each other’s backs. When Bruce gets all sanctimonious like “wah training peek physical condition u gotta keep at your game no bad fats and sugars for you young man” Alfred just rolls his eyes and hands Jason a handful of cookies. Or when Alfred is all “you’re a growing boy who just barely recovered from malnutrition it’s my job to keep you healthy with gross healthy snacks” Bruce pulls out the bag of truffles he picked up for Jay on his way home from work and quietly tosses them to him while Alfred’s back is turned.

And of course Bruce hits up the confectioner’s down the street from WE all the time to pick up stuff for Jason because his big eyes and hollow cheeks make Bruce’s heart hurt. And Jason totally milks it, and Bruce knows he does, but even after his face fills out and the baby fat comes back on his tummy, Jay’s bright puppy dog eyes still have Bruce on lock. Like Bruce will get home from work, go sit in his office to work some more, and Jason comes in, sits on the floor next to his chair, props his chin on Bruce’s knee and looks up at him expectantly. So Bruce just sighs and hands him the box of artisan chocolates he picked up for him that day with a “wash your face after you’re done so Alfred doesn’t find out.” And Jay scoots under Bruce’s desk to curl up and eat them there while Bruce continues to work on case reports, occasionally asking Jason for his input and having to wait for him to quit stuffing his face for a second so he won’t respond with his mouth full.

Bruce: Payment

Dick: For?

Bruce: ‘Nice to dad’ bill

Dick:

Bruce: I pay him 3 thousand dollars and he’s nice to me for 30 minutes every month.

Dick: Why am I doing it for free?

He panted into the silence that followed, eyes stinging heat.

Bruce said nothing. Jason worried he might stand there, unspeaking, unmoving, til the end of time. Or just turn and walk away. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? For Bruce to stop chasing the ghost of a dead boy? To accept that he was someone different, someone new?

Instead, when Bruce finally spoke, he was quiet, thoughtful. "Did you know that I loved you the moment I met you?"

He wasn't looking at Jason, but down at his hands, as if his gloves were a scrying pool that he could peer into to see that old Jason, twelve years old and desperate but so full of life. Jason thought he could taste dirt.

Then Bruce chuckled, still to himself, still to his hands. "You were so cocky, so unwilling to give up without a fight, even to me. Some things never change."

His smile fade and he looked up, straight into Jason's face. "You were also scared. Traumatized. You had nightmares for months. You lied constantly. Hoarded food. Stole. I was so worried we'd never be able to make you feel safe, the way you deserved to feel."

"I'm not—" Jason began, voice tight.

"You're not him," Bruce agreed, and hearing it spoken out loud, so easily, cut off Jason's air.

"You haven't been him for years." Bruce stepped forward, pushing into Jason's space. "Part of him is in you, but you're not him. You changed." He shrugged, shoulder somehow expressive even beneath the weight of the armor, the cape, the night. "You weren't the boy I took in off the street even before you died. You grew. That's life, Jay."

Jason was the one unable to speak now, stuck in place like a gods-struck fool.

Dick being like “I did it at his age!!” and Bruce yelling back “not every child is YOU!” meaning that not every child has the innate training of a trapeze artist and you’re telling him that it’s safe when it’s NOT safe for him

“Bruce!” he called as he hurried through the entryway, not quite at a run, but close. He didn’t even know if Bruce was here, Dick realized, panicked, despairing. He didn’t know how Bruce filled his days now, if he was at home or out on an errand or even in Gotham at all.

“Bruce!” The call might have sounded angry if it weren’t so strangled, throat tight with a barely suppressed sob. “Bruce!”