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Hi my name is Maressa, but you can call me Mar. I mainly write for fun and to better my English skills, because English is not my first language. I love reading books, making art and I also love One Piece and HxH.
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Warnings: Angst no comfort, major character death. Mainly Damis pov.
3.2k words.
In all his life Damian never had opportunities to be loved, even more when the said love didn't demand something back from him. Of course his mother loved him, but this was different. When he first came to Gotham to meet and live with his father, he already knew about his siblings, but the one who caught his attention was Y/N, his blood brother, with an eight years age gap, and Bruce's firstborn. Unfortunately for him, he was on a mission outside Gotham, so he got to know each one of the family members except them.
“Damian uses a katana too…”- Drake acknowledged, making Damian frown at the word ‘too’.
“Who besides me uses it?”
“Y/N, though he uses it in a dual style. Twin katanas.”
The youngest grumbled a small ‘Tsk’. That was his thing, he trained with it since he learned how to walk properly, despite not admitting it, it did hurt his ego. Not only he wasn't his father's only blood child, but now something he learned since a toddler wasn't unique for him anymore. Even so, Damian held himself high trusting his hard work and precision couldn't get outdone by anyone.
That is, until he saw you fight…
Graceful
That's the only word that came to his mind. Having come to patrol with his father, after what felt like an eternity on time out, he didn't expect for you to join the fight right after coming back from the mission. It was a dance, dangerous and alluring in the way both katanas moved at your will. Your body moved with precision and control, every motion seemed measured, nothing unconnected.
He saw the way your eyes lit up when looked at Bruce. The way you had no shyness when hugging at Bruce, arms circling his body and moving under his cape, as if you were still a child.
His brother exuded love and care, everything unlike Damian. So imagine the surprise of the ten year old when the same warm eyes looked at him as if he was something precious, he felt that even if he crossed the katana in his hand through the older one he would still look at him with those molten eyes. And what a dangerous thought that was, it made Damian's chest turn into something he couldn't quite name it.
In the cave, the atmosphere felt warm, everybody welcoming Y/N with open arms and smiles. Even Tim, who Damian noticed not liking much physical affection, did not complain when the boy wrapped his arms around him. Being born as the heir of the league of assassins and coming to Gotham determined to be Bruce's rightful heir, for the first time the boy felt threatened.
“You.”- His voice came out sharp, making Y/N as well as the other sibling turn to him.- “Fight me.”
The older boy stared at him confused, a small ‘huh?’ coming out of his mouth and before he could answer Drake interrupted.
“Don’t listen to him, I already had a hard time with all this bullshit of legacy and rightful place”- Tim said, putting his arms in front of the older one and barring him from Damian.
“Tim. Damian.”- Bruce, tired of stopping the fights, called both the teens with a stern voice.
“Tsk. Don't meddle, Drake.”
He wasn't going to let it go, even if it cost his patrol privileges. Despite the youngest determination, Y/N just let a small chuckle and crouched down to the boys level.
“You can have everything you want Damian, but grow up healthy, will you?”
The wide smile of his older brother made him uncomfortable, not because it hid something, actually Damian preferred it did so the feeling in his chest would be easier to die down. Yet, the warmth in it woke up something he did not know he was hungry for.
To be loved even in his flaws, with nothing in return.
After a few months, Damian had got used to it. No more fights, no more attempts in hurting or scaring his brother away, even because nothing worked on the young man.
“Careful Dami, I still need my arms.”- Y/N said with a small smile.- “I think I would die of sadness if I had to give up on my swords due to an injury. Y'know right, Dami?!”
And god… He knew. The feeling of losing something you loved with body and soul, something you worked so hard to achieve and keep. He knew. That peaceful demeanour you had while training had always left Damian staring, though he would never admit it.
Murmuring a low ‘TT’, the boy decided to leave you alone that day, which came to bite him back, as you cling to him thinking he finally accepted you. He did…
Mornings at the manor were always calm, including this one, but this time something couldn't quite sit right with Damian. Everything was the same, Titus was alright, his father too and his siblings were all there. So why?
Descending the stairs with the calm demeanour he always had, Y/N soon joined the table, only stopping to kiss Damian's forehead.
“Tsk, the people in this house lack respect for boundaries.”- He complained, but the faint redness in his face gave him out, making his siblings laugh and a wave of jokes filled the table.
Bruce stared at them with a proud smile, features softening at the sight of the children he loved so dearly. Treasuring the moment as if it was the last.
Because it was, at least for Y/N.
The afternoon passed as slowly as it could, the pressure on Damian's chest filling his whole day with anxiety. He couldn't pinpoint what left him feeling this way, only that it held his throat tight not letting the air in or out, despite not physical impediments. Bruce noticed, of course he did, be it the way his youngest fidget his fingers or the unusual tremble in his words, he took notice of it all.
“What is bothering you?”
Damian thought about lying, not really used to sharing his feelings, but he knew it wouldn't fool his father.
“I don't know, I never felt like this.”
“Like what?”- Bruce pressed further.
“Like I'm about to choke on my own tears.”
Bruce took a look at his son, aside the frown in his face, Damian showed no signs of crying. Despite that, he still understood what the boy meant, bringing his hands to rub small circles on his son's back. A small reassuring gesture.
“Thank you for sharing it with me. I'll ask Alfred to brew some chamomile tea and since you're staying home today, try tiring your body a bit with training, okay? If it doesn't work to soothe your anxiety, we can look for other methods."- His father said, a firm hand rubbing his shoulder carefully and Damian nodded.
Following his father's advice, he tired his body in order to ease at least a bit of the turmoil in his mind. Still, it was when he heard the frantic voice of Tim in the cave that all his progress was lost.
“Shit, it is at the mall. The whole building is filled with Joker's henchmen.”- The monitors displayed the whole security cam system.- “Fuck B, Y/N is struggling to protect a room of civilians, wheres Red Hood? We need reinforcements.”
It was all the youngest heard before slipping in his gear and charging his way to his older brother. His mind was a race of thoughts, that uncomfortable unease crawling its ways to the pit of his stomach, yet he kept going.
The mall was a mess, people running, cops fighting the henchmens as Damian made his way towards Y/N. Having just ended an intense training, his body was already worn out, making the boy slower to what he is used to in a patrol.
“Robin, what are you doing there?”- Drake's voice filled the comms, finding the small shadow through the cameras.
“Robin?”- Bruce questioned, voice hushed and dark.- “I told you to stay at home.”
“You need reinforcements”
“Thats why we called Hood.”
“Tsk, my brother needs me.”- That was all the boy said before stopped answering the comms.
He was close to the place he saw in the batcomputer, just a bit more until he found his brother. Y/N held a door, which should be an automatic one, with both hands keeping it open, as the door still tried to close. The joker gas filled the room, but escaped through the door the young man kept open, the civilians there making their best to not inhale any of it.
As long as the door stays open, nobody dies.
“Y/N, behind!”- Damian called through the comms meeting the eyes of his brother, who looked back at his call and showed him a small smile.
As fast as he could, Damian entered the room passing under his brother’s arm and started to evacuate the citizens carefully, struggling a bit with the ones who were already affected by the Joker’s gas.
“Good job, Buddy.”
Bruce heard the exchange, his mind at little more at ease that both his sons were together. Still, things were far from being fine, he still had not found Joker.
“When you finish, go back home Robin.”
“Tsk, I'm fully capable of helping…”
“Robin, please.”
This time Y/N intervened, which led to the youngest agreeing. It was when Damian was rescuing the last civilian that everything went downhill, in the blink of an eye the sharp dagger crossed his brother’s back until it reached his stomach. One side of the door closed on one of the Y/N sides as he lost the strength in his arms.
Damian yelled for his older brother, forgetting the civilian behind as the henchman threatened to stab his brother once more. In the cave, Tim felt a shiver run down his spine at the image, the words came out trembling as he begged Bruce to go help, which already changed routes to meet his children.
“Robin, the civilian.”
“You're bleeding.”
“Robin!”- He yelled, making the boy retreat.- “The civilian, please.”- Softer this time, Damian decides to obey.- “When you get them out, I'll let go of the door. Don't worry about me, I got this okay?!”
His reassuring smile flashed through Damian's eyes and he nodded at his brother. Just a bit more. Grabbing the civilian by the arm, the small vigilante made his way to the exit of the place. He didn't see it but he heard the sound of the sharp blade finding its way towards his brother again and also when the doors closed behind him.
“Y/N, where are you? Please answer.”- Bruce practically begged his firstborn to reply.
“third floor, close to the movie theater”
The answer came weak and with it a wave of blood invaded Y/N mouth, both wounds in his middle leaking the thick crimson. But he didn't have any time to spare, fighting back at the man that stabbed him not knowing the worst was yet to come.
Caught in the heat of the fight against the Joker's lackey, the young adult didn't notice when the structure above them started to collapse. The beam above them groaned, dust drifted from the ceiling with every tremor, settling in Y/N hair. With one last noise of metal scratching metal, the structure gave way. The pain that followed was excruciating, taking away from the young man a cry of pure and hallucinating agony. Bruce's voice invaded the comms asking about his son's well being, but never got an answer from Y/N, only for Drake who was still monitoring the security cams. His arm remained pinned beneath the twisted steel support, numb from the elbow down. He had pulled, twisted, and screamed himself hoarse trying to free it. Nothing worked.
Trying to calm himself down, Y/N did what he could to control his breathing, the adrenaline in his veins slowly making the pain subsidize. It was in the middle of high-pitched and deafening noises that Y/N heard Damian's voice, terrified and worried that the man noticed that he was no longer alone, but this time it was worse.
"Y/N!"-The scream cut through the smoke.The older brother jerked his head up.
Across the chamber, Damian struggled against a man twice his size. The attacker had one arm locked around the boy's chest and a knife pressed against his throat.
"Damian!"-The man tightened his grip. Through the comms, the exchange of words causes a shiver to run down Bruce's body.
"Drop the weapon,"-he shouted.- "Or he dies."- Y/N pulse thundered in his ears.
He tried to move, but the collapsed debris still pinned his arm beneath several tons of twisted metal. The attacker laughed.
"Looks like you're out of options."
Damian's frightened eyes found Y/N. Not angry. Not pleading. Just scared, not for himself but for his older brother. That was worse.
Y/N pulled against the wreckage until pain shot through his shoulder. The metal didn't budge. The man began dragging Damian toward the exit.
"Say goodbye."- Y/N stomach dropped.
There was no rescue coming. No backup. No miracle.
Just a choice.
“Careful Dami, I still need my arms.”- Y/N said with a small smile.- “I think I would die of sadness if I had to give up on my swords due to an injury. Y'know right, Dami?!”
The world narrowed to Damian's terrified face. Y/N gritted his teeth.
"Hang on,"- He whispered, more to himself than to the youngest.
Then he did the only thing left to save his brother. The movement was smooth, body in command rather than the brain, one of his katanas cut his arm in a single and clean movement, a cascade of blood gushing from his amputated member. He didn't have time for pain and much less to care about saving his stuck arm, the only thing filling his mind being the worried green eyes of his younger brother.
Time was running out, he had only a few minutes to save his brother before the loss of blood left him without any strength. And that's what he did, running as fast as his already weakened legs could handle. The katana in his right hand pointing at the henchman holding Damian, the same man answering back, the long blade of his dagger colliding with the katana. The rest of the fight was a blur, his movements growing more and more sloppy each second.
“Father! Father, please.”- Damian pleaded in the comms, his voice shaking with hurt.
“I'm arriving”- Bruce said, but unfortunately everything has already come to an end.
The fight was over.
The man lay motionless several feet away. Damian barely noticed, he was too busy staring at Y/N
"No."- The word came out as a whisper.
Y/N fell on his knees, pale and trembling. The torn piece of his gear around his shoulder was soaked through, falling onto his chest as well as the ground.
"No, no, no..."- Bruce felt his heart stop listening to his youngest son.
Damian dropped beside him.
"We need to go. Come on."
He hooked an arm under Y/N's good shoulder and tried to pull him up, and the oldest winced.
"Damian."
"We have to leave."
"Damian."-His voice was softer this time, contrasting with Robin's one.
The kind of voice people used when they already knew the outcome. The realization hit Damian like a punch.
"No."- Y/N smiled faintly.
"There you are."
"What?"
"You've been saying that word a lot."- Damian shook his head.
For the first time since the youngest came to Gotham, he didn't care if the family saw him cry.
"Don't do this."- A silence stretched between them.
Then Y/N reached up and rested a shaky hand against Damian's cheek. The gesture was so familiar it hurt. It was what he always did when he could sense Damian feeling out. After bad days. After every scraped knee and wound in patrol.
Everything 's okay.
Except this time it wasn't.
"You know what I'm proud of?" Y/N asked. Damian couldn't answer.- "You kept going."- A tear slid down Y/N's face.- "You were always stronger than you thought."
Damian grabbed the hand in his cheek, his own hands shaking. Barely keeping himself together.
"No. I'm not. I can't…"
"Yes, you can."- His voice was barely audible now.- "You'll have to."
The room felt impossibly quiet, Y/N eyes drifted toward the ceiling, then back to Damian.
"Hey."- Damian squeezed his hand tighter.- "Grow up healthy, will you?!."- A small smile appeared.
"Yes."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N breathing slowed, his hand relaxed in Damian’s grip. And then nothing.
Damian waited, surely there would be another breath. Another word. Another smile. But the silence remained.
Slowly, Damian pressed his forehead against his brother's hand.
And for the first time after a while, he felt completely alone.
Y/N was dead. Damian knew that. The others knew that.
Yet he still found himself looking over his shoulder every few minutes, expecting to hear familiar footsteps. Days passed. Whenever someone mentioned Y/N, Damian left the room.
Whenever someone offered condolences, he nodded once and changed the subject.
They called him strong. They were wrong, strong people accepted reality. Every morning, Damian woke up expecting his brother to be alive.
The worst part wasn't the memory of Y/N death, it was the memory of his last words. Until the end, he still looked out for Damian.
Every night he wondered if that had been a mistake, if he had stayed at the manor, maybe Y/N wouldn't have died.
Maybe he could still have his brother. Maybe.
“He is dead.”- Damian said to his mother, yet his eyes didn't reach hers, instead he stared at the ground. The waterline is dry, he hasn't cried since.
“He is.”- She said simply.
“Because of me.”
“Not because of you, but for you.”- Her words caused a turmoil on Damian's chest.
For him.
"I would have died for him too. The difference is that he got the chance."
“I know, beloved. And he knew it too, that’s why he did it.”
One evening, while unpacking his painting supplies, Bruce entered his room. In his arms, two katanas. Y/N katanas. The same scratches on the handle. The same worn leather cord.
He froze in place, and for several seconds he stared at it.
Then Bruce carefully placed it in Damian's bed, sitting beside it and hugging Damian's side, carefully rubbing the boys back. Comforting him.
“Why don't you resent me?”- His voice trembled at his father's demeanour.
He basically killed his son and yet, not only Bruce but the whole house didn't hold him accountable for it.
“Why would I hate someone he loved so dearly?”- Bruce's voice came calm, but the only thing he could remember was the hollering cry at the sight of his oldest dead body. Noticing his son thoughts wandering, he added.- “You are my son just like Y/N is, Damian. Take you time to forgive yourself, nobody in this house blames you for what happened. Ease your mind, son.”
Giving the youngest a last hug and a small kiss on the forehead, Bruce walked outside.
And finally, for the first time since Y/N died, Damian cried. The pain in his chest pressing his heart further in his ribs. He wouldn't cry anymore, not because the grief didn't hurt anymore, but because he promised to stay healthy. And he will do it. Do it for you.
Ever since you've been rescued, Damian wondered how he would insert himself in your life. Would you hate the family? Would you even want a relationship with him? The answer came worse than expected, you are broken. He would, a thousand times, prefer you to retaliate against the family.
To argue.
To scream.
To hurt.
But that's not what happened. Now he had to see you like this, broken.
The bedroom door cracked open. His older sister sat on the edge of the bed, trembling hands rubbing at her eyes. The tear stains were still visible on her cheeks.
Damian peeked inside, Tim behind him also looked at the room. For a moment, both simply stared, but then Damian clicked his tongue.
“Tsk. You look like a puffer fish.”- Y/N blinked and Tim interfered.
“What?”- The second oldest asked, incredulous.
“A puffer fish.”- He repeated confidently.- “All swollen and grumpy.”
Now both boys entered the room, Tim carried with him a canvas, while Damian brought a few things in a bag. Y/N touched her face, looking for the traces of swollenness the boy had pointed it out.
“That 's mean.”- Drake rebuked.
“It isn't.”
“It is.”
Tim grabbed a pillow and threw it at Damian who caught it, before it hit him, with a small grin. The sight of it made you chuckle.
“There it is.”- Tim said, a smile displayed on his face.- “Smiles look better on you than tears.”
The teasing had vanished between the boys. Tim got a bit further in the room, setting the canvas there, while Damian shuffled closer and sat beside you on the bed, his shoulder bumped yours. For a second, Damian didn't say anything, being a bit shy, but then he handed it out a few charcoal and an eraser.
“I saw your drawings in your old room, thought I might bring a few supplies so you wouldn't get so bored.”
You held the charcoal close to your chest, fingers trembling slightly as you got up and sat in front of the canvas. Tim sat behind, on your bed and soon Damian joined him.
The only sound in the room was the scratch of charcoal against the canvas and the occasional rustle of paper. Her brother watched, for once, neither of them was talking. The older boy leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the youngest on the carpet, chin propped on his hand. At this point, Y/N barely notices them anymore, too focused on the portrait.
A few dark strokes shaped the curve of a jaw, a gentle smudge softened a cheek and another line the bridge of a nose. Slowly, a face began to emerge from the blank white canvas. Tim tilted his head, the familiar profile in the canvas was the same he had seen in the files when he was looking for you.
“Your mother was really pretty.”- The charcoal paused and Y/N turned to him with a smile in her mouth, eyes turning on an upside down half moon.
The girl nodded, seeming happy that the boys knew the woman in the canvas. She continued drawing, behind her the boys exchanged a glance before returning their attention to his sister. More shadows appeared, more detail, the portrait looked alive. Then came the eyes, the girl hesitated before drawing them. Those were always the hardest part, not because she couldn't remember them, but because she remembered them too well.
The warmth.
The kindness.
The way those beautiful eyes would crinkle when she laughed. Her chest tightened, for a moment she thought she might have to stop. Then she felt a small weight against her back.
Damian now sat with his back on Y/N’s back, not looking at the canvas and not looking at Drake either, knowing the oldest would tease him endlessly. The youngest didn't say anything, he simply leaned against her, his silent gesture grounded her until she finished the eyes.
“Our youngest has quite the sweet side, huh?”- Tim teased, watching as Damian's ears adopted a shade of crimson.- “I found a video of her singing.”
Her hand froze, again. Swallowing the slump on her throat, the girl nodded. Her mother would always sing while cooking. While cleaning. While folding laundry. She had sung for everything. Staring at the portrait, Tim continued.
“She sounded very happy.”
That was enough for the girl, the tears came to her eyes. The drawing wasn't finished yet, but she let go of the charcoal, grabbing Tim's hand instead.
Don't remember…
Tim watched your face carefully, the wobble lips and the tears back at your already swollen eyes.
“I’ll bring it for you, okay?!”- The fast nod of the girl was what made him get out of the room, looking for his laptop the faster he could.
Just as fast as he was gone, he returned. Crossing the room towards Y/N, his hands trembled slightly as he offered the laptop to his sister. The file was old. Years old. A blurry thumbnail showed a woman standing in a kitchen. Y/N heart nearly dropped at it. Tim sat beside her, as well as Damian.
Damian pressed the play, for a second there was only static, the sound of dishes, and Y/N laughing off camera, the sound of it carrying all the innocence the universe could grant her before everything went downhill.
Then, a voice.
Warm.
Gentle.
Familiar, and yet completely forgotten.
Tim watched as his sister froze, the world fading beside her, her mind making room only for her mothers voice. Singing softly to herself while washing the dishes. Not performing, not speaking to the cameras. Just singing because she was happy. Y/N caught her breath.
For years she had remembered her mothers smile. Her eyes. The way she braided her hair. The way she hugged you. But the voice… The voice had faded. Little by little, until it only left the hollow feeling of want. A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.
On the screen, her mother laughed at something her younger self did. The sound hit her like a physical blow and her hand flew to her mouth. Tim immediately reached for her, his arms snaking at her torso and bringing a hand to her nape. Her face hid between her brother's shoulders
it was brief. Barely a whisper, but both boys heard it.
“Thank you.”
That laugh. That exact laugh, the one she was terrified of losing forever, and suddenly she could hear it. Clear as day. The video ended, the room fell silent, except for the sobs coming out of Y/N mouth. Neither sibling moved, as the girls stayed clinging to Tim.
It was in this same position that she slept, the older boy later getting her to her bed. Still astonished for the oldest, who hadn't talked until now, both boys stayed in the room. Tim sat at the chair beside your bed and Damian lay into the bed with you, his hand holding one of yours. It was a quiet promise. One who told you that they would be still there once you woke up.
warnings: Grief, violence, death, mischaracterization, English not being my first language
Bruce.
Bruce had never known how to properly raise kids.
He spent years improvising.
He convinced Cass to forgive herself.
He accepted and embraced who Jason was.
He still looked to Dick whenever he wasn't sure what the right thing to do was.
Took responsibility for every kid he felt he had failed.
And yet he doesn't know how to fix this.
He takes a few deep breaths and adjusts his grip on the bouquet.
He doesn't really know which flowers you like, but he knows you like yellow.
Right?
Your favorite superhero wore yellow.
Invincible.
Invisible.
Something along those lines.
The boy spent most episodes getting punched, which seemed misleading.
Bruce huffed a quiet laugh.
Maybe when he gets home and you're locked in your room—as you usually are when he misses big events—he'll order from that burger place you liked.
You always seemed more willing to talk when food was involved.
And then he'll apologize properly this time. No explanations. No excuses. No promises. Just the apology you deserved.
The silence hits him first.
Not unusual silence.
Wrong silence.
The kind that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
No television.
No music.
No footsteps.
Nothing.
Bruce steps inside.
"Alfred?"
No answer.
His grip tightens around the bouquet.
A second later he spots him.
Alfred sits slumped on one of the living room sofas. He's not breathing. He's not taking a break. He's not working. His hands shake as he sweats and even that seems to take a lot of effort out of him.
And beside him—
Commissioner Gordon.
Bruce stops.
For a moment he thinks someone has died.
Again.
Dick.
Jason.
Tim.
Damian.
Steph.
Cass.
His stomach drops.
"Alfred."
The older man's head lifts.
Bruce feels his pulse quicken.
Alfred looks exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Like someone who has spent hours carrying something far too heavy.
Something is wrong.
Very wrong.
The bouquet shifts in his hands.
"Is everyone alright?"
Alfred opens his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Bruce turns toward Gordon.
The commissioner won't meet his eyes.
The cold feeling in Bruce's chest deepens.
"Alfred. Is it Dick?"
Silence.
"Jason?"
Silence.
"Tim?"
Nothing.
"Damian?"
Still nothing.
He names every single person except you.
Because it couldn't be you.
You could handle yourself.
You were normal.
You were just a kid.
You had refused to be Robin or Batgirl or any kind of vigilante because you were scared.
Scared of dying.
Of being tortured.
Of breaking a bone.
So no.
It couldn't be you.
Another pause.
Then, quietly—
"Master Bruce..."
His voice breaks.
The flowers slip from Bruce's fingers.
Yellow petals scatter across the marble floor.
A drop of water rolls from the crushed wrapping.
Bruce stares.
Alfred never breaks.
Not like that.
Not ever.
"Where are they?"
Alfred closes his eyes.
Just for a moment.
As though gathering strength.
When he opens them again, they look older.
"I am so sorry, Master Bruce."
"No."
The answer comes immediately.
Instinctively.
Without thought.
"No."
"Master Bruce—"
"No."
Because Alfred is mistaken.
Because you had called him.
Because you were supposed to be home.
Because you were waiting.
Because Bruce still has things to say.
Because there is still time.
There has to be.
Alfred looks away.
And Gordon finally speaks.
Quietly.
"Bruce..."
Bruce's head snaps toward him.
No.
No, no, no.
Not Gordon.
Not sitting in his living room.
Not looking at him like that.
Because Gordon only came here for one reason.
Bruce feels the world tilt.
Because this doesn't make sense.
You weren't Robin.
You weren't Batgirl.
You weren't anything.
You were supposed to be safe.
That had been the deal.
The entire point.
The reason Bruce had spent years arguing with you whenever Gotham came up.
The reason he never pushed.
Never trained.
Never insisted.
You had chosen a normal life.
And Bruce had let himself believe normal meant safe.
"Where are they?"
His voice rises.
Sharp.
Desperate.
Alfred's face crumples.
Bruce hates that expression.
Hates it.
Because he knows it.
He has seen it reflected in hospital windows.
Police stations.
Funeral homes.
The faces people make before they shatter his world.
"Tell me where they are."
Silence.
Bruce's pulse thunders.
"They're at the hospital."
You could survive being in a hospital.
You fought tooth and nail as much as your body allowed you to.
"They're unconscious."
A coma?
Did you pass out on stage again? You had when you were small. You sobbed for an hour until he came to pick you up.
God, you'd hate that.
"They're hurt."
God.
Let that be it.
Anything.
Anything except—
Gordon lowers his head.
Alfred's eyes fill with tears.
And suddenly Bruce understands.
The room goes silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
The kind of silence that swallows everything.
Bruce can't breathe.
His chest expands.
Nothing happens.
For one horrible second he thinks his heart has stopped.
"No."
The word comes out weaker.
Smaller.
Almost childish.
"No."
"No."
Gordon's jaw tightens.
"Bruce—"
"No."
The word rips itself out of him.
Louder this time.
Sharper.
"Stop."
Nobody moves.
Nobody speaks.
And somehow that makes it worse.
Because if there was hope, someone would have said it already.
Someone would have corrected the misunderstanding.
Instead Alfred is crying.
And Gordon is looking at him with the same expression he's worn outside morgues, hospital rooms, and crime scenes for years.
"Bruce."
"Stop talking."
For a moment Gordon says nothing.
Then he straightens his shoulders.
Because he knows Bruce.
Knows what happens if he leaves even the smallest space for denial to grow.
And Bruce is already trying.
Already reaching for explanations.
A coma.
A mistake.
A bad identification.
Anything.
Anything except this.
So Gordon forces himself to continue.
"They were attacked this afternoon."
Bruce shakes his head.
"They were found by emergency services."
"No."
"There wasn't anything the doctors could do."
"Stop."
"The injuries were severe."
"Stop."
"Bruce."
Gordon's voice drops.
"They were struck multiple times with a hammer."
The world stops.
Not metaphorically.
Not poetically.
It genuinely stops.
Bruce can't feel his hands anymore.
Can't hear the clock.
Can't hear Alfred breathing.
Can't hear Gordon's voice.
Only those words.
Multiple times.
A hammer.
Multiple times.
His mind rejects them instantly.
Because those words belong in police reports.
In case files.
In photographs he keeps locked away.
They belong to strangers.
To victims.
To people whose names become statistics after a few weeks.
Not you.
Never you.
You were supposed to be home.
You were supposed to be angry.
God, you were always angry lately.
Always rolling your eyes at him.
Always pretending not to care when he forgot something important.
Always saying "it's fine" in that tone that clearly meant it wasn't.
You were supposed to be upstairs.
Locked in your room.
Ignoring his texts.
Making him work for forgiveness.
You were supposed to take one look at the flowers and tell him they were ugly.
Supposed to laugh at him for not knowing what kind you actually liked.
Supposed to complain that he bought too many.
Supposed to steal his food when the burgers arrived.
Supposed to exist.
And suddenly Bruce realizes there won't be another birthday.
No awkward family dinners.
No arguments.
No chances to apologize.
No future conversation where he finally gets it right.
There won't be a next week.
There won't be a next month.
There won't even be tomorrow.
Because while he was driving home thinking about burgers and flowers and apologies, your life had already ended.
You died.
You died.
The thought enters his head and immediately shatters something inside him.
Because death had always been something Bruce fought.
Something he chased into alleyways and abandoned warehouses.
Something he punched and kicked and bled against.
Death was supposed to be the enemy.
An opponent.
A thing that could be beaten if he was fast enough.
Smart enough.
Strong enough.
But he hadn't even known there was a fight.
He wasn't there.
He didn't save you.
Didn't protect you.
Didn't even know you needed protecting.
For all his training.
For all his plans.
For all the satellites and contingency files and years spent turning himself into something impossible—
he had still failed the one person who wanted nothing to do with any of it.
And the worst part—
the truly unbearable part—
was that the last thing between you wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't understanding.
It wasn't even a proper goodbye.
Was there even a goodbye?
And in one final act of desperation,
Bruce remembers you had called him.
“No but they just— they called me. How could they be dead? They called me—”
He scrambled for his phone, hard shaking as he looks for the voice,ail you sent him.
God, you were such a smart kid, weren’t you? You were probably telling him where you’ll be hiding until he comes. He’ll pick you up and fix everything and—
The audio starts to play.
there is silence for a while. White noise.
then—
“fuck.”
An immediate gasp from your part. He can hear the door opening as you let out a scream.
a thud.
your scream.
“please— please don’t—”
another thud as you let out loud, gut wrenching animal sounds.
Bruce looked around the room.
For what? Confirmation? For someone to say that maybe this was a sign that your injuries weren’t fatal? That there was a slight chance you were alive?
Alfred flinched at each hit. Stared right at Bruce. Begging him with his eyes to stop it.
Bruce didnt turn off his phone.
There had to be something.
Anything.
And then he looked at the top of his screen.
The voicemail lasted 2 hours.
2 hours you were beat.
2 hours you suffered. Begged. Screamed.
He turned off his phone.
Looked at it for a second.
Five.
Half a minute.
And slammed it against the wall. Once. Twice. Five times.
And stormed out.
Damian
Damian knows something is wrong.
He can feel it in his bones. There’s a tightness on his skin, as if there was something underneath it. He’s pacing on his room, suit now discarded on the corner of his room.
Did he push too far?
Did he truly hurt you that much?
He knows you’re a volatile, sensitive person and yet he still said what he said.
He thought he had grown so much as a person, yet that attitude and behavior of yours could make him regress back into the boy he used to be when he first arrived at the manor. He had worked so much to learn how to be vulnerable. Disciplined. Sensitive. A child.
You were always irritated lately.
Even if he won’t admit it, he had worked so hard to make you feel included. Part of his this family. The same way his father and brothers had. And yet you mocked and ignored him.
Simply because of his age?
Well, as always, he had to be the bigger person.
You were probably asleep by now. He was going to apologize tomorrow. Over breakfast. You seemed more forgiving when food was involved.
It was settled.
He had all the time in the world to fix this. And you had all the time in the world to fix your attitude.
Dick
It was strange, chasing and looking for Bruce late at night.
It was usually him or one of his brothers who had to be chased by Bruce.
What the hell had happened?
For Bruce to react like that, it sure had to be something very serious. The man was so focused on being made of stone when it was so obvious he was actually the most sensitive out of all of them.
This was wrong.
He had tonight to fix this. And Bruce seemed focused to fix this tonight too.
whatever “this” was.
Bruce.
At first, being Batman was strange.
Most people thought he was a monster. A spirit. He was an urban legend, chasing down criminals and disappearing right as he took care of them. Most words didn’t stick.
Monster did.
Did he look like this right now?
Punching the man who took your life’s face again and again?
They said you looked unrecognizable.
Maybe the man needed to be unrecognizable too.
Dick
At first, being Robin was strange.
Most people thought he was just a kid. Happy. Excited. And he was, at first. Then had to be. Even after he found out about the reality of his parents’ death.
And then he couldn’t pretend anymore.
He was angry.
And Bruce looked angry.
Punching some guy again and again.
He grabbed Bruce by the shoulders and pulled him off.
“Bruce, what the—
Bruce
— hell?!”
Bruce looked up at his son. Breathing hard. He knew how he looked right now. Wild. Lost. He could see it in Dick’s eyes, the moment he realized his father wasn’t himself right now.
Bruce opened his mouth. Trying to explain. Nothing came out.
Because saying it meant admitting it.
And admitting it made it true.
“[name]’s dead—
Dick
—Dick.”
Bruce had said it so calmly, he thought Bruce didn’t say it at all.
You? Dead?
Bruce’s voice didn’t shake when he said it, which contrasted with the way he was moving before.
Like he wanted to kill the guy.
“..what?”
Bruce just stared up at him.
You were dead.
But how?
You were— you were you. How could your life be in danger— be over when they were supposed to take care of people like you?
Civilians.
Kids.
Dick took a sharp breath. And shook his head.
His eyes filled with unwanted tears.
His hands shook.
And with that, he turned around.
If Bruce wasn’t going to take responsibility, if he wasn’t going to help everybody else process it— he would.
He takes responsibility. (tell me you get it guys)
For you.
All he did lately was for you.
And now, it included this.
As he rushed back home, his brain refused to accept it.
But he had to.
If he couldn’t deal with this, how did he expect anyone else to do so?
Just yesterday, you were in one of your moods. Slamming doors, spamming him to go to your recital.
He had to.
You were munching on your Korean corn dog as they dressed up for patrol.
He had to.
Complaining about no one coming to your recital.
He had to.
Hugging him goodbye and apologizing for being so mean.
He couldn’t.
Hugging you back.
How could he?
He stood in front of the doors of the manor.
Saw Jim, who looked like he wanted to talk to him.
And had to.
Duke
Seeing the whole family sitting together was a weird sight.
Even weirder when you weren’t there.
Were you mad? It was the most reasonable response, being mad.
Hell, he’d be mad too.
If he played piano.
Or had a recital.
And no one came.
He liked you. He really did. You were a normal person he could talk to. You kept him grounded. The only other person who didn’t wear a mask at night. You didn’t even wear a mask at all.
So he understood why you were angry.
At least this time it made sense. You always got mad for anything. Wether someone was breathing too loud chewing too much, staring at you.
You were still a kid.
Duke looked up at Jason. Red-eyed. Hands shaking. Breathing too controlled. In. Out. In. Out. As if he didn’t control every single part of his body, he would break down.
Dick took a deep breath, as if there wasn’t an easy way to say this. There was an attack this afternoon. At the recital hall. It wasn't a Rogue. It was just... a robbery. A mass casualty event. Jim just confirmed the ID. It’s [Name]. They're dead."
What?
The room went silent.
Dick’s words sounded practiced. Like he had said them over and over until they lost their meaning and became sounds and nothing else.
Duke flinched as Jason kicked a table over, and rushes out the room, taking his gun with him.
Watched as Damian followed after.
Then Tim. Followed by Steph and Cass. Cass held Steph upright as Steph’s legs failed her. Breaking down.
Dick left too.
Every time something happened, each one of the, went their own way. They have different ways to process things. Those ways clashed. Made things worse. Caused fights. So. Yeah. Space.
Duke stared straight ahead. and wondered what to do next.
Raised by detectives, he needed proof.
He sobbed hard, barely breathing as he rushes up to your room and slams your door open.
The first thing he saw was Damian, curled up into fetal position in your bed.
Then he saw your ghost.
Or rather, your thermal signature all over the place.
Of course, the bed was the most noticeable place. You never really got up unless it involved food, malls, or piano lessons. You spent most of the time scrolling.
The bathroom was next. You spent hours getting ready.
What he didn’t know, was why there was one on the window.
Did you sneak out constantly?
Or just stood there?
God, there was so much he didn’t know about you.
His legs failed him, and before he fell he sat on the bed next to Damian, who didn’t flinch when he put a hand on his shoulder. Which was bad.
“It’s gonna be alright, bud.”
Damian didn’t reply.
And Duke didn’t talk again.
a/n: so… that was intense. Anyway. Did y’all like this chapter? I feel like I’m going way too slow. Like- I feeel like they should be going back to the past now but I’m trying to develop the story. I feel like the chapter was ass lol. Anyway tell me how you feel about this thingy. For the next chapter I’m going to incorporate the taglist. Anyway bye
Guys sorry about the delay, I was having some family problems (my grandma is really sick), so I didn’t upload the chapters I was supposed to and im very sorry for that. Also because of that matter I’m having a hard time writing and I’m not entirely satisfied with this chapter 😭🥹
The batcave was quiet, the humming of the city above barely making its way towards the room. There the vigilantes worked, a few on patrol, some investigating files and so on.
“Ive been looking through their bunkers and all of them follow the same patterns. Children from ages 1 to 7, the nature of the experiment is almost the same for them, including Y/N, though with them there are a few differences.”- Barbara said with a loud voice so everyone could listen, her eyes still glued to the monitor in front of her.
Bruce hums in response, his mind bringing several possibilities about the case in his hand. Their objective the heroes already found out, which was turning the children into metahumans, but how and why were the questions in his head.
“Look at that.”- Babs pointed at the monitor, the text has been encoded.- “Until we can decode what is in these files, we have to keep a look to Y/N, since we don't know what they went through it would be wise to have everything ready for whatever outcome.”
Whatever outcome. That sounded heavy, a bit too heavy for Bruce's heart. It felt like standing in front of a wall so tall that he knew he couldn't overcome it. Whatever outcome, he thought again.
“Well take turns looking at them, they should never be alone.”- Bruce said, his face stern while at it, he couldn't mask his worries.- “Where are they, Alfred?”
“Upstairs, Master Bruce. I supposed that young master Tim and the child had quite the tiring day, as both of them are still sleeping.”
Getting up from his seat, Bruce walked his way towards his son's room and soon enough, found the toddler cuddled in the teenager's chest, both fast asleep. A small amused smile bloomed in his face, apparently the youngest was the only one who could put Tim to sleep without much of a problem. Decided to let his children sleep a bit more before dinner, he opened the door again to get out of the room, but a faint sound escaped from your lips, causing him to stop.
Now big eyes looked back at him, hair disheveled and cheeks lightly red from sleep. The child stared at the strange room and got out of the bed, hiding in Bruce's legs. Lifting the child up, his arms snaked at their knee to support and he caressed the child's cheek with a loving hand.
“Did you sleep well?”- He asked, though he knew the child didn't know how to talk properly yet. Instead of answering, the toddler hugged his neck, their chin coming to rest at his shoulder.
The man walked out of the room, his hand in your back rubbing circles. His presence somehow grounding you away from whatever fear that chased after you. You barely notice when the man got to his study, he sat himself with you on his lap and started to look at the papers in front of him, but his movement stopped when he noticed another presence in the room.
“So that is her child.”- The voice came out low, measured.
“Talia.”
Despite calling her name, the woman's eyes were glued on you. Not in a threatening way, but rather a fonding one. She approached slowly, seemed a bit worried the child might get scared.
“They looked so much like her.”- Bringing her hand, Talia caressed your cheek.- “Damian told me about them.”
She said simply, still looking at your small body. Bruce, despite having his guard up, did not reprimand the woman.
“I remember when R/M first entered Damian's life. She instructed him in ways I couldn't or simply didn't know. And yet, she never overstepped when it came to him and me.”- She paced in front of the desk.- “So, I may not be the best at it, but if you need a mothers hand rather than a fathers one, you can call me anytime. I'll be sure to repay her kindness with my son.”
Talia didn't wait for a response, getting out of the study and letting the kid with Bruce. Thinking about her words, the man caught himself reminiscing the memory of his lover. The one who had always been so patient and understanding with him and his child, despite everyone's flaws. He looked down at the child in his chest and quietly vowed to protect and cherish the remaining bits of R/M in this world.
Outside the sky was covered in angry grey clouds, a cold breeze howling through the many buildings. Contrasting with it, the manor inside was warm, the smell of the dinner filling the place in a comforting way. Everything there screamed home and security in a sense you had never experienced.
Bruce descended the stairs with you in his arms, your small body recoiling a bit every time a thunder striked down outside. The man shushes you slightly, his hands in your back, holding you away from whatever threat.
Soon the table filled with the rest of your siblings, each of them talking and joking with each other. The atmosphere was light, everything felt in place. Until it wasn't.
Your head felt heavy, limbs trembling a bit. Bruce occasionally fed you with the amazing dinner Alfred had prepared. You tried making yourself small in your fathers lap and that was enough to alarm both him and your sibling.
“Littlewing, are you okay?”- Dick brought his hand to your face, the cold of skin contrasting with the warmth of yours.- “Damn it, B. They're boiling.”
The panic in his voice did enough to alarm the family. Damian went to the kitchen, bringing back with him a small bowl of water and a cloth. Alfred kneels down to look at you, your eyes stared dazed through his frame, confused and unfocused. You felt your head spin, a cough stuck in your throat made its way out, bringing with it a gush of blood. Your little hands came to be in front of your mouth, barely holding the blood that was coming out, looking up you saw Bruce startled eyes.
In Bruce's sight, the image of your new self and the one who had been rescued a few days prior, kept relapsing. The sight of you thin, pale and frail did not to appease his worried mind.
With your eyes still on him, you felt everything go dark, the hurried voice of your father and then nothing.
Outside, one more lighting stroke down, the bad weather approaching Gotham with fierce fury, no plans to cease any time soon.
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You always had been one to notice things too fast, it was your job as a hero and detective after all, so it wasn't particularly hard to notice the changes within your family. The way Cass eyes linger a beat too long on you. How Dick hugs you a bit too tight, you actually don't even remember the last time he hugged you before that chaotic morning. The constant feeling of Damian watching you and also Tim who began to record videos of you. Videos during patrol, videos doing mundane things, something that would never caught his eyes before. Why now? You don't understand.
With all that, the one that bothered you more than the others, Bruce. Your father had never been one to share physical touches with you, and yet now he did. A hand circling your wrist, as if to make sure you were still there. His eyes panicked every time you disappeared for a while. Before, you would have been over the moon having the attention that you longed so much, but this uncomfortable feeling filled your chest and because of that you couldn't be happy about it.
It is strange. Suffocating.
It was hard to admit, but he was getting too paranoid. Bruce knew it. Everyone did. But every time he closed his eyes, the image of your body filled his mind.
He saw the blood before anyone else.
He saw the dirty alley.
He saw your terrified expression.
He saw how you were alone.
All that haunted him remained in his mind, but he also remembered what came next.
Your funeral.
Your pale body, devoid of any blood.
Your cold hands.
Your mothers screams of pain crawled through his skull.
So waking up to find you back, was both everything he wanted and feared the most. He could prevent your death now, he should just let you out of the mission. However, this odd feeling wouldn't let go of him. Shivers run down his spine as he thought about the contrast between the you of now and the one who died. He couldn't let that happen again and because of it he is spiraling, mind getting dizzy at the thought of losing you again.
And that's exactly what is getting him crazy.
When he lost Jason, Bruce himself was lost. Lost in how he could heal. Lost in how to understand how the world could continue without his child in it.With your death, having lost a child for the second time, he should have known what was being taken from him, but he didn't. A parent's grief is often filled with memories, and differently from Jason, Bruce saw all your beginnings.
The first steps. First word. First scraped knee. Your birthday. His absence.
Bruce doesn't remember when he began pushing your existence aside, but he did. That night at the mortuary, he screamed his lungs out. He grabbed you by the shoulder, shaking your body, begging you to wake up. God, that hurt so much. A parent isn't supposed to outlive his child, yet your body laid lifeless in front of him. It felt like a joke. A really mean and cruel joke. Still holding onto your cold hands, he barely noticed when the doctor came to the room.
“Im sorry for your loss.”
Despite continuing talking, Bruce didn't hear a thing. Loss. As if he had only misplaced something unimportant, like a wallet or a phone. As if his child didn't lay motionless in front of him.
Passing a hand through his hair, the man exhaled briefly, the air coming out shaking. The memories were too painful for him. Adding to his poor mental state, his phone screen lit up, ‘Damian is calling’ displayed through it. He barely had time to say something when his youngest voice took place in his ears.
“Father! We need help, Y/N is coming here.”
He felt his stomach sink. Damian's voice went frantic as he explained to Bruce about the warehouse he had been and how his older sibling followed him, afraid he might get in trouble going alone. Now, both of them were hiding in the place, as the numbers of goons turned out to be more than they could handle.
It didn't take much time for Bruce to slip into his suit, alerting the other vigilantes about what was happening. He drove his way to the warehouse without waiting for the other, he had no time for it.
The entire dirve, Bruce kept looking at the clock.
Seven minutes.
Six minutes.
Five.
Too long.
The feeling in his chest showed no signs of diminishing. His hand gripped on the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached.
Hold on. Please.
He got out of the car before it fully stopped. His gut closed tightly at the unusual feeling. The sky displayed an ominous purple color, the clouds circling the city with intensity, he couldn't help but remember the morning he returned to the past. The way your eyes locked in those same clouds. A lightning struck and with it the sound of gunshots could be heard.
“Y/N! Damian!”.- He yelled, but had no answer.
That's when he saw it. Blood. His eyes spinned, refusing to focus on the crimson liquid in front of it. His hurried voice echoed through the abandoned and rusted corridors. No answer again. He ran harder, not caring if his lungs had enough air for it. And then, at the end of the corridor a broken door caught his eyes, in it a trail of blood. His heart lurched.
“No, no, no.”- He muttered low and faint, but the other caught, through the comms, the fear in his voice.
Just then he saw his child. For a single glorious second, relief flooded through his mind. The oldest held Damian into a hug, the youngest face hidden between Y/N shoulder and neck.
His children were there, safe. Everything would be okay.
Dropping to his knees beside both and just then he noticed the oddness in it.
“Hey, hey, I'm here.”- His shaking hand came to his oldest shoulder.
It was cold. Not cool, cold. The kind of cold Bruce unfortunately knew too well. Under Y/N's body, Damian hyperventilated, noticing earlier what Bruce hadn’t.
“No.”- Bruce searched desperately for a pulse. Nothing.- “No, no. Please.”
Again, nothing. His vision blurred.
“No!”- He said again, the word reverberating through the room, still, nothing.
Y/N didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't laugh. Didn't cry. The silence answered for them. Once more he had found his child too late. Once again he had to hold their cold body. The realization settled over him like a crushing weight. Gone.
Touching his forehead to his child one, Bruce cried.
Warning: Death, mentions of violence. Reader is GN.
Bruce, in all his flaws, never thought he would pass through the feeling of losing another of his children. So why? Why was your body in that alley? Why are your blood painting the walls red? Both his knees gave in, hitting the ground with force and despite the foreigner sensation, the only thing he could do was reach for your body.
Y/N Wayne for all their life, be it in action or in appearance, resembled Bruce too much. To the point, Bruce couldn't help but drive himself away from his firstborn. The child was everything he hated about himself. But now, as he cradled the child's body in his arms, nothing could get through his mind, except the way he treated you along the years.
Was he even worthy of holding your body like that?
From all of his children, Dick and you would be the ones most competent, so he paid no mind when you were not assigned a partner, he knew you were used to going on solo missions. But it was when your pained scream through the comms that Bruce knew he shouldn't have brushed aside your lack of company. Your ragged breath made a shiver run down Bruce's spine, your siblings voices soon filling the device but you didn't respond.
It wasn't until Barbara's voice came through ‘They are going to kill them, B’ that his legs finally moved, he was the closest to your location and yet when he got there, it was already too late. Your blood was still warm when Bruce hugged your body close, but your heart was no longer beating, the silence of it making Bruce's head dizzy.
It didn't take much time for the rest of his children to gather around the scene, with each of them digesting the image in front of them in different ways. Tim was the one who took it the worst.
“No, I calculated everything, that was not supposed to happen. They are fine right, B? Please, tell me they are fine.”
Being the one to make the plan, he couldn't help but think that it was because of him that your body laid lifeless on his fathers arms. Dick hugged Tim trying to comfort him, but his tears just made the younger one panic even more. Shoving his older brother's body out of the way, Tim started to vomit, his limbs trembling in fear and guilt.
Bringing his fingers to close your eyes, Bruce finally moved. Standing up with your body, the man hid the sight of you from his other children by pulling his cape over you, he didn't want to show your condition to them. Bruce's face was covered by his own tears,the feeling of your body now turning cold was like a whiplash to his consciousness.
And just like that, Bruce lost you for the first time. He didn't know what was coming for him.
The pain of losing a child is one of the rare things people can overcome. Grief doesn't go away, you just learn how to manage your life around it and because of that Bruce still occasionally had some flashes of it through his mind.
The image of your body in his arms. The sensation of the blood running through his fingers. The stillness of your eyes, as he closed your eyelids.
But that… It must be some kind of sick joke, otherwise why was he seeing you sitting at the table, eating breakfast as if nothing happened. Your eyes looked at him in confusion of the way Bruce was standing looking at them, but Bruce could only notice the way your eyes were full of life. His legs moved with urgency, reaching for you and embracing your body against his, face tucked between his shoulder and the crook of his neck.
“Bruce…? Did you have a nightmare?”- Their voice came cautious, not used to the man displaying any physical affection to them.
‘Bruce, not father’
Despite calling him by his name, Bruce felt relieved. After your death, he longed so much to hear your voice, the last bits of it being the pained scream that haunted his mind every so often.
“Yes, baby. It was a nightmare.”- He said, still holding your body.
Looking at him wide eyed, still confused, you gave a few pats on the man's back before trying to get out of his hold, which failed as he kept hugging you. Soon enough, your sibling started to fill the room, each of them having the same reaction as your father.
“Why are you guys acting like that?”- You said, you were confused,after being hugged in one morning more times than the last ten years.
‘They don't remember.’ Was their first thought at their sibling demeanour, being completely oblivious of what had happened. And despite seeing how uncomfortable you were, none of them could bring themselves to stop.
Outside, out of the detective's sight, a funnel of purplish clouds was forming. Thunder and lightning occasionally strike between them with loud noise. It was the premise of unfortunate times.
You feel your body tingle, shivers run down your body and as if hypnotized, you shift your attention from your family to the window beside you. Following your gaze, Bruce set his sight at the sky, his hands unconsciously grabbing you and bringing you close to his body. He tried calling you, but you didn't answer. Just like last time, you didn't answer their calls either.
It was only when he held your chin and shifted your head back to him, that you stopped looking at the window.
“Are you okay?”- He asked, brows furrowed in worry.
You didn't answer with words, only nodded your head. Your mind felt numb, something scraping your guts. You don't belong here, something said in your mind and you looked again to the ominous looking clouds. Bruce felt his heart accelerate beyond measure as he noticed your eyes hollowing it each time it set its sight in the sky.
The same eyes he closed carefully.
His chest aches as his breath fails to reach his lungs properly.
It was in that instant that Bruce knew he would lose you again.
Ever since you've been rescued, Damian wondered how he would insert himself in your life. Would you hate the family? Would you even want a relationship with him? The answer came worse than expected, you are broken. He would, a thousand times, prefer you to retaliate against the family.
To argue.
To scream.
To hurt.
But that's not what happened. Now he had to see you like this, broken.
The bedroom door cracked open. His older sister sat on the edge of the bed, trembling hands rubbing at her eyes. The tear stains were still visible on her cheeks.
Damian peeked inside, Tim behind him also looked at the room. For a moment, both simply stared, but then Damian clicked his tongue.
“Tsk. You look like a puffer fish.”- Y/N blinked and Tim interfered.
“What?”- The second oldest asked, incredulous.
“A puffer fish.”- He repeated confidently.- “All swollen and grumpy.”
Now both boys entered the room, Tim carried with him a canvas, while Damian brought a few things in a bag. Y/N touched her face, looking for the traces of swollenness the boy had pointed it out.
“That 's mean.”- Drake rebuked.
“It isn't.”
“It is.”
Tim grabbed a pillow and threw it at Damian who caught it, before it hit him, with a small grin. The sight of it made you chuckle.
“There it is.”- Tim said, a smile displayed on his face.- “Smiles look better on you than tears.”
The teasing had vanished between the boys. Tim got a bit further in the room, setting the canvas there, while Damian shuffled closer and sat beside you on the bed, his shoulder bumped yours. For a second, Damian didn't say anything, being a bit shy, but then he handed it out a few charcoal and an eraser.
“I saw your drawings in your old room, thought I might bring a few supplies so you wouldn't get so bored.”
You held the charcoal close to your chest, fingers trembling slightly as you got up and sat in front of the canvas. Tim sat behind, on your bed and soon Damian joined him.
The only sound in the room was the scratch of charcoal against the canvas and the occasional rustle of paper. Her brother watched, for once, neither of them was talking. The older boy leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the youngest on the carpet, chin propped on his hand. At this point, Y/N barely notices them anymore, too focused on the portrait.
A few dark strokes shaped the curve of a jaw, a gentle smudge softened a cheek and another line the bridge of a nose. Slowly, a face began to emerge from the blank white canvas. Tim tilted his head, the familiar profile in the canvas was the same he had seen in the files when he was looking for you.
“Your mother was really pretty.”- The charcoal paused and Y/N turned to him with a smile in her mouth, eyes turning on an upside down half moon.
The girl nodded, seeming happy that the boys knew the woman in the canvas. She continued drawing, behind her the boys exchanged a glance before returning their attention to his sister. More shadows appeared, more detail, the portrait looked alive. Then came the eyes, the girl hesitated before drawing them. Those were always the hardest part, not because she couldn't remember them, but because she remembered them too well.
The warmth.
The kindness.
The way those beautiful eyes would crinkle when she laughed. Her chest tightened, for a moment she thought she might have to stop. Then she felt a small weight against her back.
Damian now sat with his back on Y/N’s back, not looking at the canvas and not looking at Drake either, knowing the oldest would tease him endlessly. The youngest didn't say anything, he simply leaned against her, his silent gesture grounded her until she finished the eyes.
“Our youngest has quite the sweet side, huh?”- Tim teased, watching as Damian's ears adopted a shade of crimson.- “I found a video of her singing.”
Her hand froze, again. Swallowing the slump on her throat, the girl nodded. Her mother would always sing while cooking. While cleaning. While folding laundry. She had sung for everything. Staring at the portrait, Tim continued.
“She sounded very happy.”
That was enough for the girl, the tears came to her eyes. The drawing wasn't finished yet, but she let go of the charcoal, grabbing Tim's hand instead.
Don't remember…
Tim watched your face carefully, the wobble lips and the tears back at your already swollen eyes.
“I’ll bring it for you, okay?!”- The fast nod of the girl was what made him get out of the room, looking for his laptop the faster he could.
Just as fast as he was gone, he returned. Crossing the room towards Y/N, his hands trembled slightly as he offered the laptop to his sister. The file was old. Years old. A blurry thumbnail showed a woman standing in a kitchen. Y/N heart nearly dropped at it. Tim sat beside her, as well as Damian.
Damian pressed the play, for a second there was only static, the sound of dishes, and Y/N laughing off camera, the sound of it carrying all the innocence the universe could grant her before everything went downhill.
Then, a voice.
Warm.
Gentle.
Familiar, and yet completely forgotten.
Tim watched as his sister froze, the world fading beside her, her mind making room only for her mothers voice. Singing softly to herself while washing the dishes. Not performing, not speaking to the cameras. Just singing because she was happy. Y/N caught her breath.
For years she had remembered her mothers smile. Her eyes. The way she braided her hair. The way she hugged you. But the voice… The voice had faded. Little by little, until it only left the hollow feeling of want. A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.
On the screen, her mother laughed at something her younger self did. The sound hit her like a physical blow and her hand flew to her mouth. Tim immediately reached for her, his arms snaking at her torso and bringing a hand to her nape. Her face hid between her brother's shoulders
it was brief. Barely a whisper, but both boys heard it.
“Thank you.”
That laugh. That exact laugh, the one she was terrified of losing forever, and suddenly she could hear it. Clear as day. The video ended, the room fell silent, except for the sobs coming out of Y/N mouth. Neither sibling moved, as the girls stayed clinging to Tim.
It was in this same position that she slept, the older boy later getting her to her bed. Still astonished for the oldest, who hadn't talked until now, both boys stayed in the room. Tim sat at the chair beside your bed and Damian lay into the bed with you, his hand holding one of yours. It was a quiet promise. One who told you that they would be still there once you woke up.
In his life as a vigilante, Bruce could count on his fingers the time his body acted without a prior thought. This was one of them. He barely registered his body diving two seconds before his daughter did, adrenaline pumping into his veins, to the point he could hear an agonizing whistle in both his ears, heart beating so fast it ached his chest in response.
Adjacent to him her body fell, eyes closed waiting for impact. How many times a father has to lose his children in order to break? Bruce doesn't know. He definitely doesn't want to know. For all these years, he glued together whatever place in him that was broken so his children could stand tall and yet here he is again. The day Bruce rescued you was the day he decided to become the safe haven you never had, it was his duty. His way of redeeming himself to you, though he knew no matter what he did, nothing could take back the years you lost in the hands of those two damned criminals.
His hands flew forward, fingers grazing at the hospital gown you wore before gripping the material with all the strength he could gather. The fabric didn't have time to tear, as he brought you closer to his body, hands locked around your body as if you would vanish at any moment. Seconds later to having your body, Bruce used the grappling hook, which now held both of you, descending slowly and safely towards the ground.
Your body was limp on his arms, having passed out during your fall. Bruce was dizzy, hands trembling both around the hook and around your body, it felt like Bruce himself was about to pass out too as the adrenaline left his body. His throat was closing, the sensation of having swallowed a ball of nails, he made no effort to stop the tears in his eyes. He understood now. They were targeting him with the only thing that could take his sanity away, the safety of his children.
“Dad! Dad, please!”- Jason called, voice frenetic through the comms.- “Y/N, she-”
“She is safe, Jay.”- Bruce interrupted his son. His arm is tightening around you even more.
On the rooftop the young man felt his knees give in, hitting the ground with a ‘thud’, his trembling hands coming to cradle his own face in relief. Jason could only stand up again after a few minutes, when his strength came back. He promised to protect and yet he fell hopeless in this cliff called despair again. Weak.
Reaching the ground safely, Bruce laid your body in one of the walls and turned himself, emptying his stomach after the sudden burst of adrenaline. Though it was only a moment before the haunting voice filled the comms again.
“Feel fear, Batman.”
That was the only thing the man said before hung up. This was the outcome Scarecrow always wanted. You were his undeniable most successful subject, the very first one to make the bat feel fear. How delightful this is.
Cradling your body in his arms again, Bruce told the others he was going to bring you back home. He no longer could ensure your safety in that hospital.
Hide and seek with your mother has always been your favorite game. You didn't know if it was because she always found you or if it was the tickle session after it that made you love it so much. Always so bright, so loving. There were times that, after playtime, mom and you would eat cookies and ice cream on the small porch of your house. It was precious, and it was yours.
I miss you, mama.
A low uncomfortable sound came out of your mouth as you opened your eyes. The light passing through the curtains made your retina sting. Beside your bed Tim, who you came to know as a new sibling, poured a bit of water on a cup and offered it to you. Your body feels stiff as you reach for the cup, eyes scanning the space which you recognized as one of the manors room.
“We brought you home.”- He said simply after noticing your confusion. You nodded and soon your brother helped you sit on the bed.- “Alfred will bring food soon.”
The younger one seemed a bit shy, after all you hadn't met him before, yet he did his best to accommodate you. Knocking on the door frame, Bruce made his presence aware, his eyes on you as he asked Tim to let the two of you alone for a moment. He came closer, sitting at the edge of your bed.
“I… I have not been good to you, my daughter.”- His voice trembled, fingers fidgeting in anxiousness.- “It is my fault you had to pass through this.”
You felt your breath shuddering. Why? Why now? After all that, why now? Why? Your eyes sting as tears begin to gather in them. You want to scream, to yell, to ask, to be your old self who wasn't afraid to say things to him. But now… now you are broken. Broken things don't talk back, that's what you learned. So why? Why does your throat feel clogged with words that wouldn't come out of your mouth?
Hyperventilating, the air refuses to stay in your lungs, the blanket feels heavy over your legs, the room too small for whatever feeling is taking place in your chest. Noticing your state, Bruce reaches out to you, tucking you in his arms. His tears fell on you as well as yours soaked his shirt. Your hands punched his chest, but your body was too weak for it to hurt, yet he did nothing to stop you.
“I won't ask for you to forgive me. I can’t even dare to think of it, but at least let me protect you now.”- The words barely came out of his sobbing mouth.- “Please, I know I don't deserve it, but don't take this from me.”
Your trembling hands stopped the punches, instead reaching for his hand, tracing letters on his palm.
“Why… Papa?”
“Why? Because I'm a fool. A fool who breaks what he is supposed to protect. I'm not worthy of any of this. Not your love. Not Jason's love. But, just this once, can you trust papa? Just one more time.”
The whole manor could hear your cry, pained, broken. Inside the room, you held Bruce's shirt as if your life depended on it, nodding your head at your father. Emptying your heart through your tears, Bruce kissed your forehead as he thanked you for the chance.
“Just… one… more… time”
The letters revealed the last time you decided to lay your heart on your fathers embrace.
Warnings: ⚠️This chapter contais torture, violence and mentios of suicide. Please proceed with caution.⚠️
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The room smelled pungent, a mixture of blood and rust filling your lungs. Your hands here chained up, neck barely keeping the position of your head standing. The sounds, which once were far away, were getting closer and closer, the wheels of whatever being brought making a bothersome scratching noise.
“So you have woken up already, child?”- The deep voice entering your ears was from the same man that brought you there. Scarecrow.- “I was expecting at least forty more minutes until the sedative wore off.”
Scratching his chin as if lost in thought, the man suddenly smiled, the wheel's noise getting even closer until it stopped in front of the room. Crane opened the door and brought inside an old TV-cart.
“During many years I've been wondering what fear truly is, y'know?!”- The man circled your body and stopped behind you. He wasn't smiling anymore.- “But, I never achieved what I was looking for. You see, fear is quite subjective, what can make someone scared can be completely different for another person. So what about you? What do you fear, child?”
You refused to speak. His cold hands came down to your neck, you thought he would hurt you, but he didn't. Instead, he bound something to your neck, forcing your head up and despite you trying, the apparatus didn't let you move your head in any direction.
The TV in front of you reflected your poor appearance, dry lips and disheveled hair.
“Not answering?”- He chuckled when you glared at him.- “From now on, pay attention okay?! It might benefit you to know what is coming ahead.”
Giving a small pat on your head, the man turned the tv on. Now, knowing who he was, you thought that everything could happen and yet, this… This hasn't crossed your mind. Your chest starts rising and falling, each time faster than the last, as if the air refused to stay in your lungs. Eyes stinging as the tears filled them.
“Jay…”
In front of you, the video playing was inhumane. The terrified screams and the sound of the metal hitting his body made your stomach turn, every plea and cry filled your eardrums going directly to your heart and squeezing it. The one who always protected you, now had no one for him.
You try closing your eyes, but the sound just continues to torment your mind even without the recording. The man observed you. How your tears made their way down to your chin. How your lips trembled and your nose scrunched red.
“This won't do. Open your eyes, sweets.”
Seeing that you wouldn't obey him, the man signed to someone outside the room, murmuring a ‘bring it’ under his breath. Soon enough, you felt your eyelids being forced open by his fingers and later being invaded by some scissor looking apparatus. With your eyes no longer being able to close, the scene was now being hammered to your mind to the point that you would never forget about it.
Crane only stopped the recording when you parted your eyelids in half attempting to shut your eyes. The blood felt warm in your eyes, adrenaline making sure you didn't pass out.
“Did you see how many times he called him…?”- Whispering in your ear, it was clear who he was referring to. “You should call him to. Shouldn't you, sweets?”
Your lips trembled, holding back tears. Grabbing you by the chin, the man once again told you to call him.
“Hum… You don't seem too cooperative, should we watch everything again?!”- The thought of it making a shiver run down your spine and making you head shake desperately.- “Then do it and we can finish it off for today.”
Your mouth opened with a small sigh, the words felt choked on your gut.
“Papa…”
“Louder, doll.”
“Papa…”
“I said louder.”- His finger came to your cheek, cupping the next tear and bringing it to his mouth.
“PAPA!”
“Good job. Now listen…”- Everything was quiet, nobody to answer.- “He won’t save you, sweets. No one will.”- His words were purely to mock you.- “That is all for today, see you again tomorrow.”
With your head and face throbbing in pain, your body couldn't hold it anymore. Your eyes felt heavy and soon you passed out.
Waking up hyperventilating, you sat at the hospital bed. Eyes darting everywhere until you feel some hands hold you.
“It's okay, I'm here.”- Your body relaxed a bit at the sound of Jason's voice, his concerned eyes looking at you with caution.
Stabilizing your breath, the two of you barely notice the door opening and a nurse coming in with a bowl of water.
“Oh you're awake!”- She placed the bowl in the night stand and looked at the monitor, your heart rate was high.- “Did something happen?”- When Tood answered her with a ’nightmare’, she nodded.- “Well, I came to help the young miss to clean her body. Could you leave us for a while? It will be super fast.”
Jason seemed hesitant to go, but agreed anyway since it would be more comfortable for you this way. After he left the nurse began cleaning your body with a wet cloth, letting your guard down. You didn't see the woman pick a breathing mask, only noticing it when she brought it closer to your face.
“Don’t fight it, it will be worse.”- You looked at her with wide eyes, the green gas already filling your lungs.
It was already too late.
The night at Gotham was grey, the sky seemed dead. Bruce sighed, his head was filled these past few days. Having left Y/N at Jason's care, he decided to investigate through the city in hopes to find both men that hurt his daughter. He was alone today, with each of his children going separate ways to fight the crime through the city, occasionally filling the comms with info.
Though doing his job, his thoughts were filled with only you. Before, Bruce's hopeless feeling was to try to find you, but now it was how to make amends. He never was good at it, his relationship with Jason being an example of it. Being interrupted from his thoughts, Dicks voice filled the comms.
“B, the harbor is under attack, it is Joker!”- Before Bruce could answer another voice entered the convo, this time it wasn't any of his children.
“Good night, Batman.”- The voice came in a murmur, Batman's jaw clenching his teeth at the sound of it.
“Crane.”
“What do you think about Joker's little party?”
“What do you want now?”- All other vigilantes could listen to the dialogue.
“Well, nothing much, I was just wondering how your kid is doing.”- The citation of their sibling made every one of them held the breath.- “She spent quite some time away from home and now that she is back, i can't help but wonder what will you choose, the city or her?”
They could hear the smile on his mouth as the words got out of his mouth in an amused tone.
“The clock is running, Bat. ‘Tik Tok’.”- His chuckle vibrated through the comms.- “Good luck.”
Crane's voice barely left the device and Bruce was already moving. His steps were hurried as he told Nightwing and the others to deal with Joker. Twenty minutes, that was the time he had until reaching the hospital. He was starting to grow relentless as Todd didn't answer the phone, the man could only hope both his children were okay.
In the hospital, all the corridors were filled with green gas. The rooms were locked, as that was the only solution Jason found so the patients wouldn't attack each other or him. He could have evacuated the building but his priority was to return to his sister, and his urgency grew even more as voice filled through the hospital sound system.
His heart was beating fast, rushing through the corridor looking for you with all his might, he's not willing to lose you again.
“You know what you have to fear, child.”- Crane's voice haunted Todd's mind, but it was not to him that the man was talking to.- “Nobody will save you.”
God, how he wanted to hug you and say that this was not true, as long as he is alive he will come to save you. Where are you Y/N?.
Reaching to one more upper floor was when Jason found you, limping while walking your way through the emergency stairs which led to the hospital's helipad.
“Y/N!”- He called your name, but it wasn't enough to reach you because of the mask he was using.
The wind outside whipped your face with force, your arms unconsciously held together at cold temperature. Eyes dazed and unfocused, you had no control of your body. It didn't take much time for Jason to follow, your head turned at the sound of the door opening. You frown at the man, each time he stepped close you stepped back.
This man… I don't know this man…
“Y/N, please come here.”- He asked, afraid you might get too close to the edge.
“Who… are… you?”- Your voice came out raspy, vocal cords dry from not talking for far too long.
“What?”- The stranger's eyes held pain, though you didn't understand why.- “It's me, Jason. Your brother.”
“No… My Jay… dead.”
You didn't want to, but couldn't help but shed a few tears at the thought of your late brother. Jason was about to answer you, sadness taking place in his chest, but was interrupted by Bruce landing on the rooftop. His appearance makes your body jump.
“Y/N”- The man in black called you, but you couldn't look at him.
‘You know what you have to fear’
“Why…? Killed… Jay…”-The question hung heavy between the two men. Bruce's chest aches, what did they do to his daughter? - “Dont… hurt… Dont… want… die.”
Bruce's breath faltered. He? Hurt his daughter? He would never. But he did. As if his heart wasn't shattered enough, his daughter continues.
“Papa… please… no fight… im… stop… looking… Jay… so no mo-...re mean… Papa.”
He couldn't do it anymore. Taking off his cowl, he approached you in fast steps. but had to stop again as soon as he saw you getting closer and closer to the edge.
“Darling please. Is me, you see? Papa is here for you.”- He extended his hands towards you.
Nobody will come to save you.
Alone.
He will not come.
You know what you have to fear.
Nobody will save you.
Your ears kept ringing, a whistle sound making its way from your eardrum down to your spine. It was slow, but neither Bruce nor Jason caught the way your feet moved back again, both of them too preoccupied with the pained expression in your face. You felt dizzy, the gas making your brain foggy.
I want to go home… I’m scared…
Then his voice filled in again, a cruel laugh escaping his mouth.
“What do you think of that, Bat?”- Crane didn't wait for any reaction from Bruce, instead he turned his focus to you.- “Want to see something funny, Bat?! I told you I made her an obedient doll. Sweets…”- Your mind was blank, limbs moving on its own. - "You're quite far away from the ground aren't you?”- Bruce felt a shiver run down his body, he runned to reach you, face falling in despair.- “Jump.”
Your body fell back with lightness, the last thing you saw was the man with wide and tear filled eyes, his hand trying desperately to reach for your body.
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Warnings: Mentions of wounds/Violence, this chapter is mostly fluff.
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Bruce Wayne is used to being the epitome of courage, but he does have fears, being one of them his own thoughts. He felt like any of these days his mind would eat the life out of him. Looking through the window, the sky was grey with clouds filled and ready to lash out the storm it was held in, in his mind the image of his blood covered daughter, her body sagging as if she had already given up on life. Throughout this all his body felt numb, from the moment he picked up her body, to asking Gordon to give the staff an excuse and prepare everything so his daughter could be admitted to the hospital and lastly handing her body to the doctors, seeing her sight vanishing through the corridors.
He was mad.
It felt like fire growing on his stomach and getting hotter as close to his head it got.
I'm going to kill them.
His head was a mess. A shuffle of thoughts he would never have had in a right mind.
Damian hadn't slept, he was anxious. Not about your condition, though it was bad he knew you wouldn't die, you are a Wayne after all, and Waynes are stubborn even to death. His anxiousness came from the fact that now you were here, his only blood sibling. Despite not admitting, he loved his siblings and the dynamic between them, but Damian craved closure and bond, and now he had the opportunity to have it. Turning his eyes to his bed frame, he saw the clock marking 2AM.
The visitation starts only at 8AM… Tsk.
Getting up from his bed, Damian decided he was too energetic to wait without doing nothing. With everyone being in their own rooms, nobody saw when the teenager went to the kitchen and definitely didn't see how he prepared food from scratch for his sister.
“Young Miss, What are you doing?”
Despite Alfred's calls, you stayed there. In front of you, a big glass with Robins uniform, your eyes staring unfocused in the memorial plaque.
“I made brownies, Jay likes them…”- you said eerily calm, still not looking at Pennyworth.
Bruce and Richard entered the cave quietly, both tired from a case that made them work together despite the awkward relationship. Your father was the first to notice the weird atmosphere in the place, having Alfred alerted him prior about your inability to cope with Jason's death, he could grasp what was happening there.
“I don't like this, Alfie.”- You pointed at the plaque.- “A good soldier… He wasn't only a soldier, he was a good brother, a good son… But it seems father only values usefulness.”
“Y/N”- His voice came like thunder, walking towards you with harsh steps.- “You don’t get to act like you know what my child means to me.”
Your eyes hollow and unfocused, you were under a manic episode. He knew it wasn't fair to try to argue with you at a situation like this, but your harsh words stabbed his chest with more force than he could ever admit.
“I guess I don't, you never treated me like one of them to begin with.”- The slap came fast, his hand connecting with your face with a force that wasn't supposed to hit a child but one of the many villains he fought with. Your head hitting the glass of your brother's memorial.
You felt Richard embrace your body, while Alfred yelled at Bruce. The sequence of the arguing was not registered by your brain, a few words like ‘I don't want her here’ and ‘wellness camp’ passing through your ears. That was how you left.
A cold hand pressed into your forehead and you unconsciously leaned into it, slowly opening your eyes and you saw Alfred fond smile. The man had spent the night there, nursing you -despite not having much to do-, he asked how you felt and at this point he didn't expect an answer. Alfred had seen a lot of things in his life, and your silence wasn't new to him, he had seen it before in soldiers too traumatized, in people that had seen things that would never get washed from their minds. So, the older man content himself in only being heard, caressing your hair while at it.
Outside the room you heard a small muttering, as if the people arguing were trying their best to keep it down. Soon Alfred approached the door and opened it, revealing Jason and a boy you didn't know, the arguing stopped when both saw Alfred with a raised eyebrow giving the boys a dirty look.
“Look at this guy Alfie, it's 6AM and he's here alone.”- The younger one dividing his look between Alfred and Jason, occasionally sneaking a glance at you.
“Young Master, If I am not mistaken, the hospital is open to visitations only at 8AM.”- The boy looked like a deer caught in the headlight, his eyebrow furrowed trying to maintain a tough act.
“I just made my way in, nobody took notice of it.”- He said like it was not a big deal, giving a sigh and shaking his head, the butler made space so the boys could enter the room.
This time, Damian directed his gaze solely to you but it ended as fast as it began, as the boy seemed a little shy from it, which took a rich laugh out of Jason and a small chuckle from Alfie. Having been caught on his rather adorable demeanour, Damian elbowed Jason's ribs with the latter one barely flinching at it.
“So, what are you doing here, demon spawn?”- Todd circled his way to your bed, giving a small shuffle on your hair making Damian look at him as if he had grown two more heads.
“Tsk… I've brought food…”- He muttered, looking everywhere except his siblings and Pennyworth.- “Hospital meals aren't good.”
Bringing the pot to the nightstand, the smell filled the room.
“Well, I guess the young miss could benefit from a homemade meal.”- Alfred said and started to adjust your bed for you to be able to sit.
“It is Mujaddara and is vegetarian…”- The boy mumbled the words, barely looking at you.- “I am Damian, by the way. I’m your brother.”- He introduced himself while pushing the dish to your lap, along with cutlery.
The smell hit your nostrils,you looked at the dish in front of you and also looked at the teenager. Damian… Bringing your eyes to Jason, the older sibling kept his eyes on you.
“You can eat it, Dami is family.”- With Jays words, your trembling hands held the spoon weakly and brought food to your mouth. On your other side, the youngest tried to keep composure, but he couldnt hide the faint flush on his cheeks.
It felt strange. You had never eaten this before and yet it tasted more like home than ever.
8AM sharp, Bruce Wayne was in front of the hospital. His expression somber as ever, the eyebags showing that the man didn't sleep at all. He was supposed to see his daughter already, but the receptionist said the doctor wanted to have a word with him. His other children left him alone and went to your room.
“Mr. Wayne, first of all I would like to say, the child did not need any surgery. Fortunately her wounds were most superficial, but that doesn't mean her condition is good either. When the officer Gordon filled me with the situation, I expected something bad, but not like this.”- The doctor sighs, frustrated.- “ The child is filled with scars, almost all of her bones have been broken and regenerated wrongly, because of that the she might need a cane to walk correctly. We are doing our best to ensure she can go home soon and while at that I think it would be wise if you could make a few modifications to receive her at home, Mr. Wayne.”
Nodding at the doctor, Bruce took his time to digest the man's words. Before finishing the conversation and getting out of his office, the doctor advised him to also look for a therapist. Now the only thing for Bruce to do was to see his daughter, which had already woken up according to the nurses. His steps were slow, afraid to come face to face with the child he hurted and neglected so much.
The door to her room was open and soon her presence filled his eyes, this time not covered in blood, but almost the same as when she left the manor -except for her hair color-.
Her white hair was due to the constant stress she was under.
Looking a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people in the room, she barely noticed her father, but soon their eyes connected and the pain in his daughter's eyes was enough to break his ground. He couldn't delay anymore, reaching for her his arms held her body close, face to his shoulder while his hands caressed her hair and his lips left small pecks on her head.
She is alive. She is here. My daughter. My precious daughter…
I don’t know if I liked this chapter, it felt kind meh. Idk
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, wounds, car accident.
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Right now, if one word could describe the feeling throughout the manor - even more in the batcave- would be tense. Nobody said a word. Not Grayson trying to break the ice through his jokes, not Steph trying to light the mood and certainly not Todd letting his anger slip. The quietness came with a heavy unshakeable feeling. It hadn't been long since they left you in the hospital, Pennyworth deciding he should be the one to stay in case you wake up.
The pursuit has been hard, with Jason and Dick following the bait van, though they didn't know that, while the others followed the one you were in, only to find the van crashed in the highway. Damian could still remember your sight. Bound, bleeding and hurt.
He was never one to seek for others, but the first time in his life he wanted to comfort someone. Maybe it was your hollow eyes or maybe the unnumbered scars in your body, who was covered in a thin hospital gown, but something made his chest ache uncomfortably.
Now they have her handed to the hospital and they only could hope for the best.
As if to mock the gloomy feeling in the cave, the monitors started to glow one by one, filling the screen with static, tho the device was not out of signal, letting a few of them with a furrow brow. Before any of them tried to fix the computer, a chilling voice echoed through the cave.
“I see you received our gift, right Bat?”- The voice came in a mocking tone.- “Quite late for looking for your babybat, aint it?!”
Bruce got up from his chair, slamming his hands on the table and later gripping its edge until his fingertips turned white.
“Who are you?”- His breath was ragged, fury crawling its way to his head.
“Oh, why are you acting like you don't know who I am?”- He laughed at Bruce.- “I guess you haven't heard about me for a while now right?! After all, I was spending quite the time with your little bat. I’m Dr. Jonathan Crane, but I think they call me Scarecrow now, right?”
Damian felt a shiver run down his spine, he knew the man, he studied Gotham's villains before even trying to reach for the Robin mantle and he sure knew the man's past with his researches and treatments for his "patients". Bruce said nothing, digesting just who he unintentionally handed his child to.
“You raised quite the feisty one Bat, she even took a bite off of my ear in one of our experiments, tho youll see im not really fond of using violence, i prefer damage through mind y’know?!”- He chuckled to himself before making a ‘tsk’, probably remembering his wound. - “But for this one, I need her to be broken, and we did it.”
A sharp laugh invaded the call, its high pitched tone reverberating through the cave. Jason felt his body trembling, he didn't know if it was rage or the fear engraved in his bone, a fear he made sure to keep buried in front of the family. Suddenly his mind was wandering through everything he wanted to forget.
“Batsy, did you like our little gift?!”- The haunting voice made Bruce's hyperventilate, his face going pale.- “Thank you for lending me your child, this one was quite fun. Unlike your little wing, I had the opportunity to take my time with this one.”
It was like the air around the cave suddenly stopped, Jason felt everything at once, hyperaware of his skin, his fingers, the constant whistle in his ear, of the worried look Dick sent at him. His skin tingled with adrenaline.
“Im going to kill you.”- His voice came out with a shuddering breathing.
“Oh my, you're there too?!”- Joker couldn't even fathom the excitement in his voice.- “You wanna know something, robin?! The child was easier to break than you. You should have seen it, her body trembled everytime i got near, really amusing. But then I broke her, and Crane put herself together. Then I did it again, and again, and again to the point her body didn't ever shiver at my sight anymore. By the fiftieth time she had stopped calling your name, which is quite the accomplishment, since she stopped calling the Bat by the tenth time.”
He laughed hysterically as if everything was some sort of sick joke, which for him actually was.
“To be honest I'm very impressed with you B. When I killed your Robin, it didn't take much for you to come find him and you certainly didn't measure any efforts in doing so. But with the white bat it took longer than I expected, it seems that even the all justice and fairness Batman can still play favorites, huh?! But dont worry about it, i turned her into a very obedient doll, so no need to play favorites now.”
Bringing his hand to his face, Bruce couldn't even hide his hands trembling. God what did he do… What his daughter went through…
“Now, I should get going, we have big plans for this city after all. But don't forget Batsy, two of them already fell on my hands, I wonder how many more will.”
Still laughing, he hung up the call before any of them could answer. Everyone expected a fight to start between Jason and Bruce, knowing how Jason was sensible towards everything that involved the Joker, but to the surprise of everyone, Todd just got up and left the cave without speaking to anyone. While Bruce sat back in the chair, his hand cradling his face with great pressure. He didn't know what to do and he was furious about it. Now what only remains is to wait for you to wake up and do whatever it takes to redeem himself.
Outside the hospital, Jason stands looking up at the building. He came here, but he doesn't even know what to do. His chest felt pressed, like something was fighting with his heart for a place in his chest. Running a hand through his hair, he finally decided to enter the hospital, making his way towards the receptionist.
“Y/N Wayne, can I go to her room?”- The woman looked at him, slightly displeased by the lack of a polite greeting, but said nothing because of the man's somber expression. - “Before allowing you to visit her, I need you to sign some papers, please.”- As Todd nodded at her and started to read the paper, she continued.- “You are lucky, the child just woke up.”
That was all Jason needed to hear, signing his paper, the receptionist barely said the room number before he already walked fastly towards his sister.
Everything felt blurred. You don't remember much about what happened, except the van colliding with something and the pain running through your body.
“When you reach close to Gotham, abandon the van with her in it.”
“Wont she die because of it?”
“I don't know, it was what the boss told us to do, just obey.”
And that's how it happened, how you ended up wounded and yet you don't remember being rescued. It wasn't until you looked to your side and saw the old man looking back at you, his eyes carrying tears. Alfie.
Despite his desire to reach you and ask for forgiveness and to comfort you, the man actually got out of the room and called the nurses, who came and looked at your condition. After all that, the butler tried to talk with you, but you didn't answer, not out of spite but because you didn't know how. It was like your mind wanted to answer, yet your body refused. Like a doll with its voice box broken.
The atmosphere in the room didn't get its time to get awkward, because suddenly the door opened slowly and from there Jason appeared. His appearance slightly disheveled as if he came running -which he actually did-. In an automatic motion, your body stands to sit in the bed. He was different, you couldn't pinpoint where, since in those five years you barely remembered his face anymore.
He didn't waste any more minutes, bringing himself closer and soon enough circling his arms around you. Your brother muttered some faint “Oh my god”, "You're here” and "You're alive”, all while his thumb grazed with a caring touch on your back and his tear fell silently on your shoulder. You pushed the man a bit, making him stop hugging you and look at what you were doing.
Grabbing his hand, which were just scarred as yours, and turning his palm up, you started slowly:
J… A… Y…
The touch was feather-like and your fingers trembled a lot, but he still understood it.
“Yes, it's me, babybird.”- His tears still fell occasionally, but this time your tears caught his eyes.
Your eyes tuning into two down towards half moons as you smile at him, despite your poor condition.
“God, you're back.”- He muttered once more in disbelief.
Bringing your head to his shoulder and hugging you again, Todd couldn't believe you were alive. And it was in your arms that he vowed to never let you get in danger again, your safety will be built in his own hands, since he can't trust anyone. He'll make sure of it.
Warnings: Mentions of abuse, neglect and violence, death/blood.
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That day began like this, a sun shining brightly and the sky was blue, no cloud to cover the light rays. Mom had just made breakfast, the delicious smell of bacon and pancakes filling our tiny house.
“Extra syrup for an extra special person”- Mom said, her soft fingers brushing lightly on your cheeks.
It was always like this, you didn't need reason to be loved. For mom, your own existence was a motive to be loved and she never failed to show you.
‘I wonder if this is why being rejected by Bruce hurts, I never had to beg to be loved by mom.’
You didn't know when, but it happened. In one moment you were relishing your mother's love and in the next, the house was filled with scream. Your mind couldn't grasp, but your body did, filling your senses with everything that was happening.
How your ears captured the angry voices and their threats.
How your skin felt when your mother hugged you.
How your limbs trembled when her blood, still warm, embraced you like a blanket.
How your eyes looked at hers and could see life vanishing.
No…No…No… Not again.
You trashed your body against the mattress you were in, your shoulder dislocating in the process. You wished you could scrap your face off. A pained scream left your mouth and tears gathered on the corners of your eyes.
All you wanted was to forget. Forget the pain. Forget the despair. Why won't he allow it?
Outside the room, the man observed you. Eyes closing slightly as his smile grew, satisfied with the results of his research. You are his most prized subject and he would never let go of it.
These days Dick Grayson hasn't been the same, his days are filled with that anguish that won't go away. For as long as he remembers, Dick has been the one to mend the family, his loving demeanour and patience playing a big role in it. But with you… With you he never remembers being this way, actually he mostly remembers how coldly he treated you.
When you came to the manor, he had already left for Bludhaven, only coming back occasionally for Jason, but never you.
He remembers the harsh words coming out of Bruce's mouth and, even worse for conscience, he remembers your startled eyes and how they look for him only to be let down when he doesn't interfere.
His guilt has already been eating his mind throughout the years and receiving Bruce's call saying how you never been to the wellness camp hurted him even more. Apparently closer to him than he ever thought, but that was five years ago. They don't know if you are still there or if you're even alive. His baby sibling, the one he was supposed to protect, how afraid you must have felt.
Keeping his eyes close to the place you were last seen, he couldn't find anything and that was more than enough to take his sleep away. Between his facade as a civilian and his duties as a vigilante, all the remaining time is meant to look for you - tho the thought of you remains in his mind all the time- and this hopeless feeling of not finding any more clue about your disappearance makes everything feel even more sour. But this time he will not give up on you.
“Alfie, why does father not like me?”
“He absolutely does, darling. Is just that master Bruce has been dealing with many issues right now.”- The older man patted your head with a caring hand.
“That's odd, father never let his issues meddle between him and Jason, but I do not get the same treatment…”
Bruce didn't mean to hear it, but he did. He heard the way your voice fell in the last sentence and he saw the way your little fingers held onto Alfred's sleeves. Bruce didn't know why he treated you the way he did, sometimes he just felt frustrated since your existence has been shoved to him without any warning. But your mothers death also had no warning to you, being shoved into someone's house ,even if that someone was your father, certainly was hard for you too, so why did he do that to you?
Bruce woke up with sweat gathered on his forehead, the image of you now hunting him even in his dreams. Having left Gotham's problems to his children, his focus was completely on you- though he occasionally helped-. More than just guilt, Bruce was now afraid of having pushed one more of his children to death. That video of your body hanging unconscious on that man's arms seemed to be glued to his mind. His regret found way into his heart way too late, if he wasn't so hard headed maybe you would be here today.
Seemingly lost in his thought, the man barely noticed the commotion in the manor, just when the door of his room opened abruptly showing a very disheveled Damian, did Bruce let go of his thoughts.
“What is it?”- He asked, but the youngest was already ready to fill him with everything.
“Todd is on a pursuit, two vans getting out of Bludhaven. Grayson asked us to be prepared to ambush if any of the cars come to Gotham's way, he is on his way to meet Jason. Probably one of these vans must have Y/N.”
Damian had barely finished saying when his father got out of the room, making his way towards the cave and his gear. God his daughter is alive. Soon the others filled the cave, also looking for their gear, though a few of them would remain in Gotham in case of any emergencies. Their voices were loud, but Bruce didn't listen to anything, his mind being solely on his lost daughter.
On the highway, one of the vans drove at high speed. The white haired girl, bound from hands to feet sat silently still, head down and body trembling. A hand suddenly came to her chin, bringing her face to look at the man in front of her.
“Are you ready to go home child?”- Teeth showing in a creepy smile, his eyes fixed on her face.- “You must remember. They're going to think that you're being rescued, but it's the other way around, I'm the one letting you go for a while. For a great purpose.”
His face came closer to yours and then he whispered with a bright smile, as if this was just some sort of funny joke.
“Once everything is done, you'll come back to me, okay?!”- He got back to his place, letting go of your chin.- “Now, should we go give the bats some trouble?!”
Warnings: mentions of negligence/abuse. Some of the things may be triggering.
Do you see what you have to fear, child? He sent you here for me to improve you. For you to become a daughter he will be proud of.
Two hundred and sixty weeks… One thousand eight hundred and twenty five days… forty three thousand eight hundred hours… That's the time you've been there. Days merged together after the first month being in the room. Father won’t come for me right? I’m tired…
Father. What a foreign word. It is not like he acted like one for you, maybe for Richard and Jason. But not you, you don't deserve it.
Dad… I don't remember his face. Bringing your hands to your eyes, your long uncut and uneven nails drew harsh lines from your under eyes until your chin. Jay… I also don't remember his face and certainly not his voice.
How dare you forget him. You can forget everything and everyone, but not him. No, never him. Your hero, your older brother.
Your thoughts came to halt after hearing the slow steps on the corridor. He is here again. Your body began to tremble, eyes already drifting from reminiscence to numbness.
I want to go home… I don’t have a home… Home is where Jayjay is…
The past few days have been intense. Damian didn't question his father anymore, in fact he decided to take matters into his own hands. He couldn't possibly demand assistance from the one that had sent you away in the first place, it was naive of him to think he could. So instead he looked for you everywhere, any sign of you sent him a loophole, it is too hard to look for clues without alerting the family, tho he was sure they already knew.
It was after taking advantage of his father's absence that he got to go through whatever he was keeping to himself.
“Serene, mental wellness camp”
The words stared back at him, mocking. The teen couldn't quite comprehend, he got it you lost Todd and it was affected by it, but how sending you further from the family could make you feel better? Tsk, it feels like father just wanted to get rid of her…
Searching for the place, Damian found the small farm in the outskirts of Gotham, bordering Metropolis. The place held almost only positive reviews, but one pattern caught his attention.
“I spent 5 months there. The staff are so considerate which made my stay really pleasant.”
“One year connecting with nature, out of Gotham's constant trouble, made my mind and heart more at ease. It won't be easy to get out of this safe haven and come back to the city, but im sure ill be going as a new person.”
“4 months…”, “ 7 months…”
The ward had a 12 month maximum of stay and yet his sister had been gone for five years. Did Bruce use his influence to guarantee a longer stay? Is his sister still there? Damian closed the laptop and soon enough found himself wandering through the manors corridor, looking for Tim.
“You!”- Speeding his footsteps to reach his brother, the older one was already sensing trouble.- “I request your help.”
“Does it involve Y/N?”- Tim asked and when the youngest nodded, he sighed.- “Then no.”
“Why Drake? Don't you know how important that is?
“Let it go, Dames. B doesn't want us to meddle.”
“Listen, just this time. I just need you to look through this camp father put her in, once we see that everything is okay, then I won't bother you anymore.”
Tim rubbed his eyelids and motioned his hand, singing for Damian to follow him. The two boys followed to the cave and in a matter of minutes, Drake was hacking into the camp security cam. The farm seemed normal, just a few people here and there, feeding some animals, others reading and yet, not a sight of their sister.
“Do you know what she looks like? I can't find her.”
Before the youngest could answer, another voice interrupted.
“Long black hair, bright eyes.”
“Fuck, Jason. Why do you always have to appear out of nowhere?!”
He didn't answer, his eyes glued to the footage, scanning and eventually knitting his brows.
“She’s not there.”- His hands came to the table, fingertips whitening with the strength of his hold.
“What do you mean, Ahki? That's where father sent her.”
Not even waiting for any explanation, Tim opened another file, this time it was a list of members of the farm. From staff to visitants, all of the names were there, except yours.
“Looking at the past five years' worth of information, it never once showed Y/N.”- Tim said, eyes still glued to the screen.- “It's like she never even set foot in this place to begin with.”
The realization made Jason's heart sink. What did Bruce do? If she had never been there, then where the hell could she be now? Did she change names? Did she move cities? Fuck, is she even alive? It is not like she had anything to live for.
“Damian, call Alfred now.”
The youngest nodded and went on his way to find the butler. Which, although he had an idea on what this was about, still descended through to the cave with a confused expression.
“Alfie, Where is she?”- The urgency in Jason's voice brought the older man even more confusion.
“What do you mean, Master Jason? Miss Y/N is at the wellness camp.”
“She isn't, Alfie. Look at this.”- Tim pointed at the files and after reading through them, Alfred's face grew pale.
With trembling hands, the older man supported himself in the wall. Was that the reason his many letters were never answered?! God, his chest felt tight. Adding to the already chaos that started to ensue, Bruce entered the cave, already noticing the heavy atmosphere. He barely had time to ask what that was about, when Todd's fist connected with his face.
“What did you do to her?”- His son's rushed words almost weren't filtered in his ears.
Her? Y/N… She is the only one who could make Jason act this way.
Being held back by his brothers, he seemed almost feral. Alfred used this time of distraction to fill his master with what's been going on. Bruce's eyes seemed ready to fall from his skull,
His daughter… His baby… Where is she?
He had no time to be spiraling into his thoughts with Jason's voice filling his eardrums again.
“Fuck, i cant count on you. Not even once, not even with her…”- His son voice came out trembling with pain.- “Why her, dad?”
Dad… he called me dad again, but how come I can be happy when he looks at me with this kind of eyes? Eyes that denounce my failure once more…
“Y’know what?! Fuck this, I’ll find her myself.”- The man stormed off the cave, heavy steps doing barely to cease his anger.- “Don’t worry babybird, I’ll find my way to you. I always did and I’ll always do.”
Taglist: currently closed due to the amount of characters 🥹
Warnings: Neglect, mention of torture/ abuse. This story will be mainly on Y/N and Damian pov. Dami is a cutie in this btw.
Dark. That's the only word that could be used to describe the room where the girl was. With hands bound on top of her head, shoulders aching from the uncomfortable position. Her eyes being covered by the white streaks of her hair, not that she could actually see something with all that dark surrounding her. Chest heaving with pain and a blood string coming out of her nose. Outside, as if to mock her misery, the sun shined bright. Everyone went on with their lives, while her own kept disappearing before her eyes.
“Y/N Wayne. Who is she?”- The question hung heavy in the room.
Bruce's jaw clenched hard, not expecting to hear the name of his first born come out of the youngest mouth. It's been a few days since Damian stumbled upon the furthest room in the manor, he was bored and it didn't seem a bad idea to explore the manor that would be his one day. The room was empty, except for a few drawings and the clear signs of Alfred's care. He stared at the drawings with a careful gaze mostly unfinished, much to his dismay, and searching further in the room, he found a small notebook. Too shabby to be a diary and yet too used to be unimportant.
“Joker is out again, so dad won't be on my birthday. I dont think he even remember it to began with”
The words were too mature to belong to a child, but also the trembling letters said otherwise.
“Today Papa yelled at me. It was like the man who killed mom, my chest hurts, but Alfred said papa didn't mean it, he was just too tired because of his duties. He must be right, even if he yelled, Dad would never be mean to me. He is a hero after all.”
“Jay and I made a sleepover just for the two of us, it was good.”
“Jay is dead. I don't know what to do”
“I’m alone. I want to go where I can find mom and Jay again.”
“Me and Bruce had a huge fight today. He will send me away. Dick did nothing to dissuade Bruce's decision, I have no one. I should go see Jay one last time.”
Damian didn't know how to feel. He had a sister, one that nobody in the mansion had to bother to tell him. Does she also not know of his existence? Or she simply didn't want contact? Hell, is she even alive? He knows nothing, but soon he will. Damian is never the one to back down from something when he gets it in his head and that's exactly what he is doing now. Confronting people has never been a problem to him, even more if the said person is his father.
“Y/N… She is your sister.”- Bruce said after what felt like an eternity. The dinner Alfred had prepared, now, tasting bitter in his mouth.
“You sent her away. Where?”
As if the vibes of the dinner weren't already dull, the teen kept questioning. Now the rest of his siblings are carefully eyeing the exchange, though Jason seemed eerily quiet after having heard his sister's name.
“Master Damian, im afraid right no-”
“No, it must be now. Why do I have a sister I never knew existed?”- He interrupted the butler with some urgency.- “Why would father send her away in such a delicate moment?”
By now, Bruce already knew his son had read Y/N diary,with himself having read his daughter's words to the point he seemed to have them tattooed on his mind. He knew he was in the wrong for driving his child away, but all his attempts of reconciliation have been met with the wall standing between them. She doesn't answer him anymore, none of them. He tried going there, calling, texting, hell he even sent letter’s, but never got an answer.
“Damian, I don't want to talk about it-”
“Does she even know Todd is alive?”- The next question came as an arrow, not only on his father's chest but also on Jason, who without a single word got up and left the manor.
“Dami, please. Not now.”- Being Dick the one to intervene this time, the melancholic look in his eyes was enough to shut the youngest.
Even so, everyone on the table knew this wasn't the end of it. Her presence still remained in the manor, even if it didn't shout to be heard, even if their father tried to keep it under the rug.
Out of the mansion, Jason mind kept reminding him of the twelve year old you. His steps were automatic, not really knowing where his body was taking him.
“Always by my side, right Jay?”
“Always pipsqueak.”
A broken promise. Not by will, but by circumstances. He can't help but feel bad, after all you only had him. Bruce and Dick relationship wasn't the same, their older brother barely being at home now. And despite Alfred's care, the old man still manages the whole mansion as well as the other family activities, it is not like he had all the free time in the world. The thought of you being alone made his heart ache, even more knowing you hadn't the best relationship with Bruce.
He thought that you resented him, he tried reaching out to you also, but having received no response and after Alfred told him that your end has been silent for years, he decided to give you space. But now… Now he needs closure. He must soothe you, god… his little sister, sent away. Jason can't imagine how lonely it must have been, but don't worry he's coming for you now and he won’t let Bruce stand in between that.
Guys sorry to be not be updating frequently, my life is a mess right now, but soon I’ll be back writing for you guys 🫶🏻💕
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Ever since you've been rescued, Damian wondered how he would insert himself in your life. Would you hate the family? Would you even want a relationship with him? The answer came worse than expected, you are broken. He would, a thousand times, prefer you to retaliate against the family.
To argue.
To scream.
To hurt.
But that's not what happened. Now he had to see you like this, broken.
The bedroom door cracked open. His older sister sat on the edge of the bed, trembling hands rubbing at her eyes. The tear stains were still visible on her cheeks.
Damian peeked inside, Tim behind him also looked at the room. For a moment, both simply stared, but then Damian clicked his tongue.
“Tsk. You look like a puffer fish.”- Y/N blinked and Tim interfered.
“What?”- The second oldest asked, incredulous.
“A puffer fish.”- He repeated confidently.- “All swollen and grumpy.”
Now both boys entered the room, Tim carried with him a canvas, while Damian brought a few things in a bag. Y/N touched her face, looking for the traces of swollenness the boy had pointed it out.
“That 's mean.”- Drake rebuked.
“It isn't.”
“It is.”
Tim grabbed a pillow and threw it at Damian who caught it, before it hit him, with a small grin. The sight of it made you chuckle.
“There it is.”- Tim said, a smile displayed on his face.- “Smiles look better on you than tears.”
The teasing had vanished between the boys. Tim got a bit further in the room, setting the canvas there, while Damian shuffled closer and sat beside you on the bed, his shoulder bumped yours. For a second, Damian didn't say anything, being a bit shy, but then he handed it out a few charcoal and an eraser.
“I saw your drawings in your old room, thought I might bring a few supplies so you wouldn't get so bored.”
You held the charcoal close to your chest, fingers trembling slightly as you got up and sat in front of the canvas. Tim sat behind, on your bed and soon Damian joined him.
The only sound in the room was the scratch of charcoal against the canvas and the occasional rustle of paper. Her brother watched, for once, neither of them was talking. The older boy leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the youngest on the carpet, chin propped on his hand. At this point, Y/N barely notices them anymore, too focused on the portrait.
A few dark strokes shaped the curve of a jaw, a gentle smudge softened a cheek and another line the bridge of a nose. Slowly, a face began to emerge from the blank white canvas. Tim tilted his head, the familiar profile in the canvas was the same he had seen in the files when he was looking for you.
“Your mother was really pretty.”- The charcoal paused and Y/N turned to him with a smile in her mouth, eyes turning on an upside down half moon.
The girl nodded, seeming happy that the boys knew the woman in the canvas. She continued drawing, behind her the boys exchanged a glance before returning their attention to his sister. More shadows appeared, more detail, the portrait looked alive. Then came the eyes, the girl hesitated before drawing them. Those were always the hardest part, not because she couldn't remember them, but because she remembered them too well.
The warmth.
The kindness.
The way those beautiful eyes would crinkle when she laughed. Her chest tightened, for a moment she thought she might have to stop. Then she felt a small weight against her back.
Damian now sat with his back on Y/N’s back, not looking at the canvas and not looking at Drake either, knowing the oldest would tease him endlessly. The youngest didn't say anything, he simply leaned against her, his silent gesture grounded her until she finished the eyes.
“Our youngest has quite the sweet side, huh?”- Tim teased, watching as Damian's ears adopted a shade of crimson.- “I found a video of her singing.”
Her hand froze, again. Swallowing the slump on her throat, the girl nodded. Her mother would always sing while cooking. While cleaning. While folding laundry. She had sung for everything. Staring at the portrait, Tim continued.
“She sounded very happy.”
That was enough for the girl, the tears came to her eyes. The drawing wasn't finished yet, but she let go of the charcoal, grabbing Tim's hand instead.
Don't remember…
Tim watched your face carefully, the wobble lips and the tears back at your already swollen eyes.
“I’ll bring it for you, okay?!”- The fast nod of the girl was what made him get out of the room, looking for his laptop the faster he could.
Just as fast as he was gone, he returned. Crossing the room towards Y/N, his hands trembled slightly as he offered the laptop to his sister. The file was old. Years old. A blurry thumbnail showed a woman standing in a kitchen. Y/N heart nearly dropped at it. Tim sat beside her, as well as Damian.
Damian pressed the play, for a second there was only static, the sound of dishes, and Y/N laughing off camera, the sound of it carrying all the innocence the universe could grant her before everything went downhill.
Then, a voice.
Warm.
Gentle.
Familiar, and yet completely forgotten.
Tim watched as his sister froze, the world fading beside her, her mind making room only for her mothers voice. Singing softly to herself while washing the dishes. Not performing, not speaking to the cameras. Just singing because she was happy. Y/N caught her breath.
For years she had remembered her mothers smile. Her eyes. The way she braided her hair. The way she hugged you. But the voice… The voice had faded. Little by little, until it only left the hollow feeling of want. A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.
On the screen, her mother laughed at something her younger self did. The sound hit her like a physical blow and her hand flew to her mouth. Tim immediately reached for her, his arms snaking at her torso and bringing a hand to her nape. Her face hid between her brother's shoulders
it was brief. Barely a whisper, but both boys heard it.
“Thank you.”
That laugh. That exact laugh, the one she was terrified of losing forever, and suddenly she could hear it. Clear as day. The video ended, the room fell silent, except for the sobs coming out of Y/N mouth. Neither sibling moved, as the girls stayed clinging to Tim.
It was in this same position that she slept, the older boy later getting her to her bed. Still astonished for the oldest, who hadn't talked until now, both boys stayed in the room. Tim sat at the chair beside your bed and Damian lay into the bed with you, his hand holding one of yours. It was a quiet promise. One who told you that they would be still there once you woke up.
