𝑺𝒕✩𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍

His head snapped up as a swirl of blue-white smoke and sparks spiraled into being—dead center in the Cave.

He shot up, hand already reaching for his staff.

When the smoke cleared, a figure stood there. A girl.

A teen, dressed in a matte black bodysuit with a familiar blue bird symbol stretched across her chest and shoulders. She had a short domino mask, a gray utility belt slung low on her hips, and Eskrima sticks strapped to her back. She looked like—well, she looked like Nightwing. A younger, female Nightwing.

Her eyes met his.

They both froze.

“…Who the hell are you?” Tim demanded, moving closer, carefully.

“I’d love to explain,” she said quickly, voice calm but tight, “but I really don’t have time for this.”

And before he could get another word out, she tossed something to the ground—fwoosh, smoke—and disappeared in a blink.

“Shit,” Tim muttered, coughing. “Bad. Bad—really bad.”

Five minutes later, he was at the comms console, pacing.

“Nightwing, come in. Now.”

“What’s up?” came Dick’s voice, casual.

“Some girl just poofed into the Cave. Wearing your suit. Like, exact same style. She said nothing useful and then disappeared.”

“You let her get away?”

“That’s beside the point! I think she’s going after you. Be careful—she’s trained, confident, and clearly knows us.”

Dick turned around slowly after the call, eyebrows furrowed—and stopped short.

There she was.

Same girl. Same grin. Same blue Nightwing symbol.

Hands on hips, head tilted, eyes shining.

“Nightwing,” she breathed, awe in her voice. “Wow.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, stepping forward cautiously.

“…Hi?”

“Hi!” she said brightly, before adding more nervously, “Uhm, sorry for the—drama. Is there any chance you know where Batman is?”

Dick blinked. “He’s actually right there—” he pointed behind her and the girl instinctively turned.

Click.

She gasped as metal cuffs clamped onto her wrists.

Dick gave her a cocky grin. “Way too easy.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“You caught her?!” Tim jogged over in full gear.

“Tt. More than you can say,” Damian muttered, stepping out of the shadows, arms crossed.

“She’s barely resisting,” Duke noted from a monitor, eyes still half on the security feed.

Dick dragged the girl over to a bench. “She says she’s not a bad guy. Repeatedly.”

“I’m not!” she huffed, sitting down stiffly, annoyed.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned.” Dick leaned in.

Damian was immediately by her side, katana unsheathed and hovering at her throat. “Who are you.”

“(Name). I’m—(Name),” she answered, trying not to flinch.

“Just (Name)?” Damian echoed, unimpressed. “No last name?”

“She’s not in our system,” Tim said, scanning from his tablet. “No ID, no facial match. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”

“You poof into the Cave wearing Nightwing’s exact outfit,” Duke added. “And now you’re dodging every question. Suspicious much?”

“I’m not magic,” she blurted when Damian opened his mouth again. “And I didn’t poof. I time traveled.”

A pause.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’m your sidekick,” she added quickly. “From the future. I can’t explain everything right now. But—please. I’m not the enemy..”

“…My sidekick,” Dick repeated slowly.

“From the future,” Tim added, brow raised.

“You’re saying you time traveled?” Dick said incredulously.

“It’s possible,” Tim muttered. “Time travel’s not unheard of.”

“If that’s true,” Damian said coldly, “then why are you here?”

The girl hesitated—just a second too long.

“I’m… just touring. It’s common. Time tourists.”

Duke and Tim exchanged a look.

“Touring?” Dick repeated, deadpan.

Damian scoffed. “If you’re Nightwing’s sidekick, he trained you poorly.”

“You’re not getting it,” she said, frustrated now. “I can prove it.”

“Try.”

“Damian Wayne. Tim Drake. Duke Thomas. And Dick Grayson.” She pointed to each of them.

They froze.

“…how do you know that..?,” Damian said immediately, though the crease between his brows deepened.

“I already told you,” she sighed, exasperated, “I know you guys, I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“And yet you appeared in the middle of our headquarters,” Tim snapped, arms crossed.

Dick folded his arms too, brow furrowed as he stared at her, still unbelieving, “Where did you even get that suit?”

The girl hesitated. “you got it for me.”

Dick raised a skeptical brow. “I don’t take on sidekicks.”

“Not yet,” she replied quietly. “But you do. In a few years. You call me Kestrel.”

Duke blinked. “Kestrel? That’s kinda cool, actually.”

“You’re dodging the real question,” Tim said, stepping closer, voice sharp. “If this is a time travel thing, why now? Why here?”

Before she could answer, a familiar low voice cut through the cave like a blade.

“That’s what I want to know.”

All heads turned as Batman emerged from the shadows at the far end of the platform, cape trailing behind him, his towering presence swallowing the room’s tension whole. The girl’s breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes locked on him.

Bruce Wayne.

Alive.

He stepped forward slowly, voice low and commanding. “Uncuff her.”

“Are you sure?” Dick asked.

Bruce gave a single nod. “If she meant harm, we’d already know.”

Dick hesitated before reaching forward and removing the restraints. The girl rubbed her wrists, glancing up at Bruce with something unreadable in her expression — awe, reverence… grief?

He noticed.

“What’s your name?” Bruce asked.

She hesitated. “(Name). Just (Name).”

“No last name.” Damian pressed again, arms folded, unrelenting.

Bruce cut in. “You said you’re from the future. Are you here to stop something?”

“I… can’t say.”

“You will say,” Bruce pressed. “If you’re here because of a threat—”

Suddenly, an alert blared across the Batcomputer screen. All eyes turned.

“Priority Alpha. Location: Gotham Docks. Target: Deathstroke.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “Slade? Now?”

Bruce was already striding to the computer. “He’s resurfaced. And if he’s here, it’s not for anything good.”

“I’ll go with—” Dick started, but Bruce cut him off.

“No. I need stealth. And backup on comms. I’ll go alone.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Tim interjected.

“Not up for debate,” Bruce said, already suiting up.

The girl’s heart pounded. Her entire body tensed. This was it — the mission. The catalyst. The moment it all went wrong.

She waited until everyone was distracted, then slid back, creeping toward the shadows. No one noticed.

Except one.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dick asked, turning sharply.

She froze. But didn’t answer.

Ten seconds later, both she and Bruce were gone.

Gotham Docks – 3:14 AM

The rain hit like bullets against the metal containers. Bruce stood silently atop a crate, scanning the area with infrared.

“You shouldn’t have followed me.”

He didn’t even turn. But he knew she was there — crouched in the shadows behind him.

“I wasn’t going to let you face Slade alone,” she whispered, stepping out. “I can’t let you die again...”

Bruce turned, narrowing his eyes behind the cowl. “What did you say?”

Her breath hitched. “…Nothing.”

Footsteps echoed. And then the ambush began.

Slade dropped from the rooftop, twin blades drawn. Gunfire erupted from every side — a trap. Just like in the history files.

“Move!” she yelled, lunging forward and knocking Bruce out of the way as a grenade rolled past them.

They fought together — surprisingly in sync. She moved like she’d trained with him a thousand times. Like she knew his style, his counters. Even Slade noticed.

“You picked up a new Robin?” he taunted. “She’s faster than the last one.”

“I’m not a Robin,” she hissed, swinging her escrima sticks with blinding speed.

In the chaos, Bruce got hit — a shrapnel piece slicing deep across his side. He staggered back, weakened. Slade advanced.

The girl stood in front of Bruce, protective, wild-eyed. “Stay down, grandpa—!”

Silence.

Bruce blinked.

“What… did you call me?”

Her eyes widened. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

A voice cut through the comms: “Nightwing en route. Just got to the docks. What’s going on?”

Bruce was patched up. Alive. And silent. He hadn’t spoken since the docks.

The girl stood awkwardly near the medbay, arms crossed.

“You called him ‘grandpa’” Tim muttered. “She called him grandpa...”

“You think it’s a play?” Duke asked.

Damian stepped forward, pulling something from his pocket. A vial. “I took a sample. Hair from her mask.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “Damian—”

“You’re all fools,” Damian scoffed. “I ran a rapid sequence DNA test. The results came in ten minutes ago.”

He looked at Bruce, then at the girl.

“She’s Grayson’s. 99.7% match.”

The cave went deathly still.

Dick stared at her, throat dry. “You’re… my daughter?”

She bit her lip, shoulders hunched. Then nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to tell you. I’m not supposed to.. Not like this.”

“Why?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Why not?”

“Because in my time… you’re gone. You died a year ago. And Batman… he died tonight. I came back to stop that. I couldn’t lose you both.”

Dick looked at her for a long moment. The tension cracked. He stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug. She froze, then melted into it.

“Beloved,” Damian said, one hand still on the wheel as he passed you another paper bag, “you are not throwing up in this car again.”

You groaned, clutching the bag like a lifeline. “I can’t help it, Dami. I think it’s the jerky. Or—or maybe the chips?”

“You’ve eaten those same snacks dozens of times,” Damian muttered, eyes narrowing at the road. “You’re never carsick. This is… unusual.”

“Gee, thanks, Doctor Wayne,” you grumbled, rolling the window down.

He glanced at you briefly, his sharp gaze softening for half a second before returning to the highway. “We’ll stop soon. Get some water, stretch your legs.”

You nodded, but your chest felt tight. You already knew it wasn’t carsickness. Not really.

A late period. Nausea. Mood swings. Headaches. Strange stomach cramps.

It all led to one terrifying possibility.

At a gas station stop, you slipped into the bathroom and took three tests, each one making your heart drop.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

You sat on the floor for what felt like hours, head spinning, tears blurring your vision. When Damian’s voice broke through the doors, you almost screamed.

“Beloved? You’ve been in there for ten minutes. Are you—are you ill?”

You quickly wiped your face. “I’m fine! Just—uh, fixing my hair.”

“Fixing your hair?” His voice was skeptical. “It’ll mess up again, there’s still an hour to go-“

“Damian!” you snapped, panic making your voice sharper than intended. “Just give me a second, okay?”

There was a pause, then a reluctant sigh. “Fine. But if you’re not out in two minutes, I will break the lock.”

You emerged moments later, trying to look normal.

“I’m here,” you said, breathless.

Damian frowned, stepping closer, his sharp green eyes scanning your face. “Were you crying?”

“No,” you lied, crossing your arms and straightening as if that could hide the redness in your eyes.

“Beloved…” He leaned down slightly, his voice low. “I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m fine, Damian. Can we just go? And give me your hoodie.” You stated as you walked over to Bruce’s car.

His brows furrowed but he handed it over, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird. Just drive.” You pulled the hoodie over your head and curled into the seat, avoiding his gaze.

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white.

By the time you arrived at the Kent farm, guilt was bubbling in your chest like acid. What were you supposed to do? How would you tell your parents? How would you tell his parents? How would you tell him?

When Damian opened the car door and went around to the back, you caught the way his head was down, his frown deeper than usual. He wasn’t angry—just… hurt.

You stepped out rushed to his side, grabbing his hand. “Damian, I’m sorry,” you sniffled, your lips trembling.

His gaze softened instantly, confusion replacing the frustration. “It’s… okay. Don’t cry, please,” he said, voice low and careful as he let you pull him into a hug.

“You’re so sweet,” you mumbled against his shoulder, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re so sweet, and I’m such an asshole”

“Don’t call yourself that, beloved,” he interrupted firmly, his hand sliding soothingly along your back.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he tried again, but you just shook your head and walked toward the front door, wiping your face.

“Hey! You made it!” Jon grinned as soon as you stepped inside.

You hugged him instantly, grateful for a familiar face. “Jon! I missed you.” Damian brought your luggage with, obliviously scowling.

“Whoa, I missed you too Damian,” Jon teased, shooting Damian a grin before pulling him in a hug as well.

The evening was… nice, at first. Lois and Clark were at work, so it was just the three of you snacking, telling stories, and playing video games.

Until the pillow fight.

It had started off fun—Jon barely using any strength while you and Damian play-fought—but then Damian tossed a pillow a little too hard, and it hit you square in the stomach.

“Damian, what the hell?!” you snapped, clutching your middle as a flash of panic rose in your chest.

His face fell, his hands half-reaching out. “I’m sorry, beloved. Did I hit you too hard?”

“Yes. Yes, you did,” you bit out, standing abruptly.

Jon froze, the air going uncomfortably quiet as you stomped upstairs. Damian sank into the couch with a frustrated huff, running a hand down his face.

“So…” Jon said after a long pause. “Trouble in paradise?”

Damian shot him a glare. “I don’t know what’s going on with her,” he admitted finally, rubbing his temples. “She’s been… off. For weeks. Moody, picking fights, crying over nothing. I asked her what’s wrong—she won’t tell me anything.”

Jon winced. “Maybe she just needs space?”

Damian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “I don’t want space. I want answers.”

Jon sighed, standing. “I’ll talk to her.”

Damian’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “What makes you think she’ll talk to you?”

Jon shrugged with a grin. “I’m just better with girls.”

The thing was—Jon already had an inkling. From the moment you arrived, he’d been hearing an extra, faint heartbeat whenever you were close. At first he thought he was imagining things, but now?

He walked into his room, expecting to find you sulking. Instead, his breath caught when his x-ray vision flicked on without thinking.

There it was.

A small, faint fluttering in your abdomen.

Oh.

“Uh…” Jon scratched the back of his neck. “I’m guessing hot chocolate isn’t gonna fix this?”

You groaned, clutching his Superman plushie to your stomach. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes.

“(name)…” Jon said softly, sitting next to you.

Your lip wobbled. “What is it?” you asked, voice trembling.

Jon swallowed. “You know how I have… powers.”

“Yes…” you said slowly.

“And… one of them is x-ra—”

“Jon,” you gasped, hands flying to your mouth, eyes going wide.

“(name)…” he winced, trying to find the words.

“Jon!” you half-sobbed, grabbing his hand.

“Damian’s an idiot,” Jon said flatly.

You let out a tearful laugh. “Jon… I don’t know what to do. I just found out today.”

“That… explains a lot,” he said awkwardly.

“Don’t tell him,” you begged, smacking his arm when he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll tell him when I’m ready.”

“When’s that going to be?” Jon asked softly.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

“C’mon,” Jon said gently. “Wanna go play with Krypto?”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

The weekend had gone by in a blur of dinners with the Kents, tourist spots in Metropolis, and a handful of awkward moments trying to avoid Superman’s eyes.

But for Damian, something felt… wrong.

You and Jon were whispering, giving each other knowing looks, and he couldn’t stand it. He was a detective—one of the greatest, trained by both the League and the World’s Greatest Detective himself—yet for the life of him, he couldn’t figure this out. Why were you closing off to him? Why was Jon the one you confided in?

He trusted you both. He did. But it still burned.

That night, Damian sat on the edge of Jon’s bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. You’d gone to bed early again without saying anything—something you never did when he wasn’t with you—and left him feeling like the unwanted third wheel.

Jon leaned against the doorway, watching him with an uneasy look. “You okay, dude?”

Damian exhaled, a long, sharp sigh. “No. Not really.”

Jon raised a brow, stepping inside. “That’s a first. Usually when I ask, you say something like, ‘Of course I am. Don’t be an idiot, Kent.’”

Damian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t test me right now.”

Jon sat down across from him on the bed. “So… what’s going on?”

Damian gave him a look. “You tell me. You seem to know more about what’s wrong with her than I do.”

Jon flinched, guilt washing over him. “Dude, it’s not like that—”

“Then explain why she barely looks at me anymore but spends hours talking to you.” Damian’s tone was sharp, his green eyes narrowing. “What did I do wrong?”

Jon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t do anything wrong, man. She’s just… going through something. And I think she’s scared to tell you.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “She has no reason to be afraid of me.”

“Not afraid of you,” Jon said quickly. “Afraid of your reaction. She doesn’t want to make things worse.”

Damian blinked, his mind whirling. “Make things worse? What could possibly—” He cut himself off, running a hand down his face. “I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t know what’s happening.”

Jon hesitated. He couldn’t do this anymore—the secret was eating at him. “Look… maybe I can get her to talk. She should tell you.”

Jon found you in the guest room, sitting cross-legged on the bed and absentmindedly playing with the hem of Damian’s hoodie. Hair messy like you’d try to sleep but didn’t. You looked up when he stepped in, trying to force a smile.

“Jon,” you said softly. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with Dami?”

He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, about that… you know you’re killing him, right?”

You blinked. “What?”

“He’s losing his mind. He thinks you’re mad at him or… I don’t know. That you don’t trust him anymore.” Jon leaned forward. “You have to tell him.”

Your stomach twisted. “Jon, I can’t. I don’t even know where to start. What if he—”

“(name)” Jon interrupted gently, “he loves you. Like, annoyingly so. He might freak out at first—he will freak out—but he’ll want to help you.”

You hugged your knees to your chest. “I’m scared.”

Jon sighed, glancing at the door. “Then let me stay here and—”

The door swung open.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Kent?”

Damian stood in the doorway, his sharp green eyes darting between Jon sitting on the bed and you hugging yourself like you were hiding something. The tension in the room spiked instantly.

“Damian—” you started, but he cut you off.

“No,” Damian said firmly, stepping inside. “I’ve had enough of this secretive behavior. What’s going on? What are you hiding from me?”

Jon stood quickly, holding his hands up like Damian was a wild animal. “Look, dude, just calm down—”

“Calm down?” Damian’s voice was low, almost a growl. “My girlfriend has been avoiding me all weekend, and you—my best friend—are sneaking off with her? Explain. Now.”

Jon glanced at you. “…You should tell him.”

Your breath hitched. “Dami, I—”

“What is it?” Damian’s voice cracked slightly. He looked at you, not Jon now, his expression shifting from anger to raw confusion and fear. “Beloved… what’s wrong?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears spilling over. “I… I’m pregnant.”

The room went silent.

Damian’s face went pale, his mouth opening slightly like the words didn’t compute. “…What?”

“I didn’t mean to hide it,” you sobbed, covering your face. “I just found out. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

For a long moment, Damian didn’t move. Then, slowly, he stepped forward and crouched in front of you, his hands trembling as he reached for yours.

“Beloved… look at me,” he whispered.

You lowered your hands, meeting his wide, stunned eyes.

Jon shifted uncomfortably by the door, looking like he wanted to disappear. “Uh… I’m just gonna…” He motioned to leave, but Damian’s sharp voice stopped him.

“Stay,” Damian ordered, though his tone lacked its usual bite. He turned back to, immediately softening.

“I…” Damian swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know what this means. But I swear to you—I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone. We will figure this out. Together. Do you understand?”

Your lips wobbled, and you nodded, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumb, his hand cupping your jaw with a gentleness that contrasted his usual sharpness.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“Me too,” he admitted, voice low. “But I would rather face this fear with you than let you carry it by yourself.”

Jon, awkwardly standing by the wall, cleared his throat. “Uh, for the record… I didn’t want to keep this from you. She just needed someone to talk to.”

Damian turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “…Thank you,” he said finally, his voice clipped but sincere. “For being there for her.”

Jon gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah. No problem.”

Damian turned back to you, his thumb still brushing the back of your hand. “We don’t have to decide anything right now. Not tonight. All I want… all I need… is for you to know that I’m here. Whatever we choose to do, whatever happens—we’ll face it together.”

You let out a shaky laugh that was half a sob. “You’re too good to me.”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong. This is my fault.”

The words hung between you two and it went quiet for another moment.

“Sooo…” Jon’s voice broke the heavy silence, and both you and Damian turned to him with matching glares. He held up his hands like he was surrendering. “Uh, wow, okay. This is definitely a thing. Big moment here. But… am I the only one who’s insanely hungry right now?”

Damian didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at Jon’s face.

“Hey!” Jon sputtered as the pillow bounced off his head. “That’s not very dad-like behavior.”

“Say that again, Kent,” Damian growled, his ears turning red as you let out a wet laugh behind your hands.