magnolia

crack baby 'went to your room thinking maybe you'll feel something but all i saw was your burning body waiting'

yandere! batfam x neglected! reader after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing?

(not Bruce Wayne the billionaire pulling the “I’ll hold it for you so you don’t lose it”)

THATS LITERALLY HIM

wc ; 3539 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; mentions of death and suicide, abuse, cursing, neglect, mentions of violence

prologue, one, two, three, four, five, six, tbc..

It was warm, unnaturally – almost grotesquely – warm for a city such as Gotham, a city whose soul had long since fossilized into soot and shadow, yet, on that particular day, the sun, like a hesitant, long-suffering god, peered between the clouds and cast its light upon the grizzled streets. The city, always brooding and penitential, seemed briefly baptized in grace; mothers pushing prams, the laughter of teenagers gossiping and gasping echoed like a hymn, and in the corners—the unavoidable corners—those same familiar shadows where figures, too skittish to be innocent, were tailed by officers who had seen too much and believed too little.

Your heart, a disobedient thing, beat not with trepidation, but something much more innocent as you stared at the woman before you, “It’s been a while, (Name).” Your mother smiled, her face had changed – that’s the first thing you noticed as you took her in. Your dear mother, you never thought you’d see her again. Her face has lost it's sickly pallor and her eyes seemed more alive – the whole air around her was more vibrant, warm, it filled you with a familiar joy, a joy you thought you’d outgrown. “You’ve grown.”

“I guess have.. I– I missed you, I missed you, mama.” You say, your voice much more childlike than usual – you’re not sure you’ve sounded this joyful since, well, since you left her to live with Bruce, “so, have you been released.. permanently?”

“I have.. I realised something important while in that hospital,” Your mother begins, her eyes drifted from your form to the park where residents of this forsaken city roamed, each person was living their own life with their own thoughts and their own experiences, “I’ve come to enjoy life as it is, I lived my life in resentment, hating those who hurt me.. By living with that anger, I forgot those who were important.”

Silence stretched between the two of you, her eyes softened as she lowered her head, “My dear (Name), I’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t I? I’m sorry.” Her words struck you, an apology. But truthfully, you’d never craved an apology from her. You’d lived with a heart that beat with the desire for acknowledgement every day, with the idea that one day, one of those disgusting bastards will reach out and apologise, that they’ll admit their faults and see their errors. 

But an apology from your mother? Why? You understood that – fundamentally – she’d hurt you the most, physically – but she had spent her twenties working to provide for you, you don’t know half of what she did to keep you fed and warm, but you knew it wasn’t easy, because you were the one to care for her when she’d pass out, when her mood would switch. She hurt you, but she hurt herself more in exchange.

“Mama..” You begin, your hand reached out to comfort her – perhaps? But she beat you to it, looking up with an expression you couldn’t describe, because you’d never seen it on anyone. Not her, not Bruce, not even on yourself. It looked content, perhaps thats the only word to describe it, though even that wasn't accurate.

“(Name), I won’t see you again, I’m going to go live on your Grandpa’s farm, I’m going to be happy. I’m truly sorry, (Name).” She sighed, her hands gently snaked around you as she embraced you tightly, your head instinctively fell onto her shoulders, her touch was a benediction to your sorrowful existence, “Mama’s proud of you, (Name). I know you suffered, it was scary, huh?”

Her voice starts to feel distant, muffled, like you’re talking through a glass wall even though she was holding you, cradling you, just as you had wished all this time. Your hands immediately went to clutch onto her, clinging to the last memory of her that you’ll ever experience.

“(Name), don’t give up, don’t give in.” Her voice suddenly took on a strange edge, suddenly warping into something that sounded nothing like her – something had alienated this precious memory. This wasn’t how the memory goes – no, she’s supposed to say goodbye, leave you with a kiss on your forehead– “Don’t forget who you are, and what they did to you. (Name), be strong.”

Then – she disappeared, not metaphorically, literally turning into nothing – your body instinctively falls, you reach out with a gasp, but nothing comes out because your voice is gone, the ground turns to nothing before you can hit it, plunging you into an abyss of darkness, a darkness so looming it feels like judgement. It’s scary, you can’t feel anything but the pressure against your ear as you try to scream, the words clawing in your larynx like a stubborn cat, refusing to come out.

Then you wake up, your eyes blurring until your surroundings turn into a mix of colours and visible sounds. Blinking rapidly, you realise you’ve been crying. When did you fall asleep? You tucked yourself in?

With a glance down you realise you’d been crying straight into the teddy bear your mother gave you, clutching it so tightly that you’d accidentally reopened a hole in the tattered fabric.

“Oh,” your voice is hoarse, rough against your throat, cracking across the edges of each syllable, “I’ll have to stitch it back up...”

You strike the back of your head against the cold wall behind you —once, twice — the dull thud echoing through your skull like the toll of some distant bell, and with that sound, you break loose from your daze —memories, spectral and uninvited, poured in, each one gnawing at your ribs with merciless familiarity, reminding you of your twisted situation. What a sweet dream, oh, how you miss your mother, but you’re not granted the grace to mourn her, not when your world is collapsing around you – you’re sure that if you break down now, you won’t be able to pick yourself back up in time.

But – that dream poses the immediate question you’ve been trying to avoid, she shouldn’t have died, no, she should’ve gotten better, moved to Grandpa’s farm and lived happily, lived so peaceful it’s almost comical. So what happened? You’ve known that something fundamental changed the moment you came here because you’ve never in your life experienced such attention. Every five minutes somebody is materialising around you with that smug air of arrogance and a mocking “are you okay?” You had barely begun to live in this new reality, you’d just started dreaming dreams of a less shameful future, and already the seams are coming apart.

It’s sickening, so disgusting it makes you want to puke, you really hate them.

“Oh. The letter.” You suddenly remember, you were going to read it, what happened? Fuck, your limbs feel heavy – you feel as if they were filled with molten lead; each movement a betrayal of will. Rolling over your bed like some wounded animal, you reached for the crumpled letter. After flailing your hand around you gather all your energy to slump over the edge of the bed, reaching for the discarded letter.

A wave of shame swept through you at the sight of its abused form. Was there nothing in your life you could preserve? You’re unable to keep anything she gives you clean. Even after death, you continue to defile her memories. What a terrible child you are

You’re about to finally read it, when you notice something is off, something’s moved, and then—like the blade of a guillotine—it strikes you.

Where is the money your mother gave you?!

You tumble off the bed as you lurch forward, your head hitting the hardwood floor, though the dull ache that follows immediately seeps into background noise as you practically crawl under your bed. You rifle through the flotsam of the life you once lived: discarded sketchbooks, old boxes, empty bottles—all there. All untouched. Except the one thing that mattered.

But the money you got from your mother? The parting gift she gave you – it’s gone! You try to cry out—but your voice fails you. A stammer weakly slips off your throat. A series of sounds that were neither words nor screams, but something closer to spiritual gagging.

How could this have happened? Who the hell in the Manor would steal from you?

Dick was the last one here, but you saw him leave, or you’re sure you did. Jason hasn’t been in the Manor for months.. during the day at least, you can’t fathom the idea of Damian stooping down to stealing money from you, and you can’t begin to reason why Tim, Cass or Duke would do anything like this. And Bruce.. Well, why the hell would a billionaire steal money from his underage child. You’d hope Batman would have more pride.

You shoot up, your breath ragged, your legs trembling like some emaciated fawn just learning to stand. You reach for the door, hand trembling. Locked. Locked!? The knob jostled in vain, once, twice—then with the ferocity of despair, you threw yourself at it. The wood groaned, but did not yield, you fell backward, spine hitting the floor with a thud that feels biblical and a pathetic yelp that echoes in the room.

You feel an itch form underneath your skin.

“What the–” You feel your breath pick up at an unhealthy pace, “it’s fine, we’re fine, I’m fine… I'm sure I have a key in here, somewhere.”

Except you don’t.

You tore through the room like a madman, dismantling your life drawer by drawer, box by box. Nothing. The walls themselves seemed to leer at you with amusement as you forage for the damned key, pushing past everything that resembles the pathetic child you once were.

Something feels strange in the way your room is laid out, perhaps it’s paranoia or the lingering effects of going back in time but you’re sure something in your room’s changed. Something feels off. Though, you’re too shaken up to analyse any further.

A miserable sound of panic escapes you as you frantically try the door again, locked. Biting your lip your eyes zero in on your window – except that’s fucking locked too. Why would anybody do this? Which clown has decided to take amusement through messing with you? Why can’t you have one good thing happen to you without a catastrophe following? 

Not one good thing has come since you’ve turned back time.

Mockery. That’s what this is, you’re sure. You can picture them  – all sat together in the Batcave as they mock your helplessness. Well screw them! You’ve spent one lifetime too many chasing after idols you’d cultivated in your mind because your mind is all you had, people you’d glorified because you can’t become one of them, family who see no value in you. You won’t let yourself be mocked anymore!

Except, what the hell are you supposed to do?

With gritted teeth you change tactics, springing up and running to your desk, you push through piles of revision from the school you're supposed to be attending at sixteen to the side as you reach for an inconspicuous container full of things you don’t need but shouldn’t waste either, you pull out two bobby pins as though they are a gift from the divine, salvation via desperation. You learnt to pick locks through social media, you saw a video three years ago.. You’ll probably do fine, it’s not like the technique’s changed.

You fiddle with one of the bobby pin until one side of the pin is a straight metal piece, you take off the rubber tip, curve the other end of it into a handle, before taking the other pin and bending it in a right angle – you then place the pin acting as the key on the bottom of the lock, you turn it gently, as the other pin – the pick – slides in to press against the top of the lock to lift each little pin inside, your tongue protrudes slightly, absurdly, as if your entire soul had become focused on this single act of resistance.

Then—a click. A deafening click that makes your shoulders relax.

Triumph surged in your chest like fire, the pride that fills you is so heavy you’re sure it’s been added to your ever growing list of sins.

You brush your hands proudly, open the door and –..

Your father is on the other side, looking grim, like an executioner carrying the final verdict.

“(Name).” That voice—deep, grave, steeped in something you cannot name—slithers down your spine and sinks its teeth in, you suddenly feel like that pathetic child you just condemned moments before. He doesn’t look pleased as he peers down on you. What is this? He’s unhappy with you. Is he going to hit you? “I think we need to sit down.”

You feel numb, it’s almost a routine at this point, the world narrows like the throat of a noose as his words passing through you like wind through a corpse

It’s a routine you’re slowly getting sick of, you take a single, minuscule step toward something resembling a future where you’re free, and like clockwork, the unseen machinery of this place pulls you back — snapping its teeth around your ankle and dragging you into the same suffocating loop. Was this fate? Providence? Or merely cruelty with a well-pressed suit?

Seeing Bruce Wayne sat at your desk, his large frame hunched forward like some weary confessor  – elbows on his knees, hands clasped together – in your room, surrounded by band posters and notes of upcoming exams, it’s surreal, this whole experience is surreal. It’s an almost entertaining juxtaposition, Bruce Wayne, the monolith of Gotham, sat amongst the joy of silly teenage knick-knacks.

“So, (Name), I–” He begins, his voice solemn, almost mournful, the way one speaks of some distant misfortune one cannot be bothered to change, “I thought I told you that if you want to leave the Manor to go out, you need to inform me first, you’re still a child–.”

That’s what this is about? A sudden nausea you're becoming increasingly familiar with climbs your throat as you recount the feeling you felt in that hospital. The memory of that institution's air curls in your mouth — the sterile scent of resignation, the nurse’s pained expression, the way her words had coiled around your heart like barbed wire. 

Had she died before you’d returned in time? Or had your very presence shifted the trajectory of time? But how? What force had you disturbed? Because as it stands, you’ve done nothing out of the ordinary – they’re the ones acting weird... Have you killed her?

“..-- Are you listening to me?” His voice interrupts your thoughts before they can further unravel your mind. “Oh, right. Sorry.” You say halfheartedly, you’ve got deeper problems than whatever crisis this bastard’s going through, his concerns felt small, like gnats buzzing around a carcass.

He sighs deeply through his nose like you’re some burden he bores out of nobility, his fingers massage his temples as he steadies you with a gaze, “(Name), I understand that you’re growing up, but I think you’re getting ahead of yourself. You’re much too young to be going out without informing anyone, and you’re also much too young to be moving out – ..living alone.” The last words are pronounced with a bitterness you don't miss.

You blink, oh, right. That was the original plan, you’d forgotten about it through all the madness that had transpired, that hopeful thought seemed so far away, dimmed by – whatever this mess was.

“Are you deciding this now?” You ask bitterly, the dull ache from when you had hit your head intensifying, simply solidifying the impotence you feel, “You’re a bit too late, Bruce.” You make sure to enunciate her syllable of his name. Screw this guy, acting like a father!

He winces, if only slightly. But he recovers quickly, the way all practiced liars do, “Listen, (Name), I understand we may have had some.. misunderstandings in the past, but I do care for you, I don’t think you’re ready for the responsibility that comes with living alone, I want the best for you.”

For a moment, you’re transported through time once more, standing centre-stage at a school play, countless people in the audience, your classmates besides you, singing some absurd ballad about seasons, the weather, and vegetables. The hot, radiant lights of your school’s stage blinded your eyes as you bit back tears, nobody noticed the way your voice trembled, nor your sniffles that were drowned by the choir of innocent children  – because nobody was looking at (Name), everyone came for their own child – everybody but Bruce Wayne, who Alfred had promised would come.

Among a sea of cheap cameras, murmured coos and the song that spilled from your lips like a memory – only you were alone. That is what you remember, that is what you know.

“Is this what this is all about? I don’t have – I don’t have the time for this, Bruce.” You feel so.. numb. The words he spoke – they would have once filled you with joy, you would’ve fallen to the ground, crying and thanking him as if he’d given you some sort of grace by doing simply what was expected, but those are just the ordinary words a father should say, he shouldn't get praise for doing what he's morally obliged to do, he isn’t allowed to show up and play daddy whenever it benefits him.

“You don’t have time for this, huh?” His voice took on an edge of seriousness, his eyes bore into you in a way that made your hairs stick on end – it was a similar look to that of Dick’s, like you’d said something wrong by wanting freedom, like you’re wrong for stepping out of the mold of the child that yearned for attention. Bruce’s head tilted as though he is thinking deeply, eyes still trained on you, he speaks carefully, “Is there something bothering you? You know you can tell me anything, I am your father, after all.”

“.. Did you know that mama’s killed herself?” You truly didn’t mean to ask that, to be so blunt, you’re honestly scared of how well you’re taking this. Though you also know it’s only a matter of time before your subconscious can’t take anymore, avoidance will do you no good.

Bruce’s expression shifted, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly before he schools it into something akin to pity. Disgusting. “I’m sorry, (Name), I had no idea.. truly, that’s awful.” He reaches forward, perhaps to comfort you but you physically recoil, afraid of those rough hands that have mangled so many criminals, afraid of the memories of your mother getting angry at the mention of him, afraid of the fact that she was indeed correct in every assumption about the man before you.

His outstretched palm hovers in the air awkwardly for a moment before he drops it with a sigh, “..If there’s anything you need, I–”

“I want my money back.” You say firmly, hands clenching until your nails dig into your skin, until you feel a burn crawling up your veins, blood rushing like truth, “Mama left me money, and– I want you to let me leave. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

The air shifts, and his worried expression hardens for a second, it’s so quick you’d have missed it, if not for the sudden heaviness in the air crushing you down like some invisible force, tightening around your neck until you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t–

“I understand your grief, (Name), I really do,” Bruce sighs, standing up with a soft grunt before looking down at you like a judge would look at a perpetrator, his judgement final – his voice the gavel that will ensnare you. “But you’re clearly talking out of mourning, let’s not do anything rash yet.” 

He truly takes you in at that moment, his poor child, how sad you must feel. His eyes study each of your features like an artist taking in his greatest piece, the way your brows furrow, the miserable pout on your lips, the sheen in your eyes. As he examines the weight of your sadness, the shape of your anger, the line of your suffering he’s taken back to that rainy day, when you were broken, bloodied – staring at the world with your sad eyes – like you’d already given up on life. 

“We can discuss the matter of your money at a later date, (Name), take some time to rest – if you need anything else.. that isn’t leaving, you need only ask.”

You feel a heavy sense of justice overtake you at his wording, causing you to straighten up with a glare that you're sure doesn't affect him.

“You took the money?”

“I have the money.”

“So who took it?”

He looked away thoughtfully before ruffling your hair, causing a genuine sickness to crawl up your stomach, you swallow down the bile.

“Don’t worry about that, just focus on getting better.”

You watch his back as he walks away, you can’t hear his footsteps, you can’t feel his presence – the moment he leaves your line of sight you feel as though he was never there. And then you get up too – because you’re sure you’re about to throw up

yeah uh, dropping chapter six the very next day, ladies, ladies one at a time

i dropped some alnst references in here teeheehee :3.

I CANT WRITE DIALOGUEEEEE. also like i dont know if i maade it obvious but (name) is a very unreliable narrator. i do NOT CONDONE abuse yall dont hit yo children

taglist; @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things @iimichie @meepmoopbadabeepboop @eloriis @froggy-voidd @shycreatorreview @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @devotedlyshamelessdetective @peehall @bigeyedbambi @chaeugwi ii @lover-girl009 @lostsomewhereinthegarden @bunniotomia @d3ly-p4v @moonstonedust24 @girlithinkimgay @snailpebbles @fandomly-obsessed @kitkatkitmeow @the-holy-pigeon @depressed-bitchy-demon @staarflowerr @imhere2dosomething @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue @glitchmshade @teabutnerdy @type-ink @goodsoup19 @asianfrustration13 @c4xcocoa @twismare @confusedparticle @nininehaaa @cssammyyarts @bronermalls @whaaaaaaaaat111 @icryat2 @bp-the-chilly @ratterpatter

if you have posted a request, i will get to you but im so flooded rn so i'm just finishign up drafts

masterlist

(name). you fool..

maybe out of boredom, or morbid curiosity, but for a day you gave into your families deluded nonsense..

you smile at bruce and let him take you for a walk through the manor's garden, listening to him drone on and on about how smart you are, how proud he is of you.

you don't fight dick when he coos and cuddles and smothers you, smiling as he talks on and on about how much he loves you, kissing your forehead, you even show him your rusty gymnastics as he claps his hands excitedly.

you tell jason about your high school, your friends, lessons, memories of drama... you get a bit caught up in it and start getting mad when thinking of your opps in high school, clenching your fist and raging at those who've wronged you, forgetting about the fact you're talking to jason -- who tries to chime in with some comments but is silenced by your rambling, cute.

you and tim go to get some fast food, he pays for you, he engages in conversation with you, a genuine one where it feels like you're siblings. like he's your brother, like the past doesn't exist. you don't move away when he moves closer, you don't make the 'sos' signal behind your back while you're walking together!! he's ecstatic.

when damian asks you to paint with him, you agree with a smile, you let his calloused hands take yours, leading you. he draws a masterpiece of you, comparable to mona lisa with watercolours and intricate shading while you draw an anime-cutesy version of him with a peace sign smiling. it's almost nice.

cassandra doesn't pretend the past doesn't exist, she's genuine and isn't as smothering as your brothers. maybe that's why you find yourself genuinely laughing. it's sweet, until you notice her hand practically squeezing yours -- as if she's afraid you'll slip away, that you'll leave her side.

duke, well, there's no charged history between the two of you -- with all his obsessive quirks -- the two of you just gossip about the rest of the family. it's mostly you complaining while he nods politely. but still, you find that you don't mind his company for a while.

until you wake up the next day and you're back to kicking and screaming and biting dick, who's hand bares your teeth marks.

that wasn't nice, (name), dangling their desire before them before ripping it away, you did this -- so don't complain when your binds tightened. you really hurt their feelings :(

Or what if MC manages to escape and be free from them how would they all react?

Have a wonderful day or night!

teehee hee...

masterlist

imagine you just watching girl from nowhere or somewhere, and you're watching the male pregnancy episode and.

it's so peak.. peak cinema..

you're enamoured! eyes wide, leaning in as the man freaks out over the child in his stomach, nanno is so.. cool.

the episode ends and you're in awe, that was so beautiful.

then you hear a gaping sound, you turn and damian is stood there, mouth agape -- a horrified expression.

"uh.. hey" you begin.

the next day, you go back into one of the many, many, living rooms, turn on netflix.

"why the fuck is my netflix profile set onto kids!" you shriek at bruce who's calmly drinking what you assume to be coffee.

"i heard you've been watching.." he pauses, his eyes drifting away with a wary expression, "some interesting things."

you are flabbergasted, mouth agape, eye twitching.

"what!? i'm 16 bruce, are you-- are you for real?"

"16.. yet you're still a child, as your father, i must restrict you from anything that can damage your growth and development."

all you hear is his voice jumbling into one big drone -- and you wonder how the hell he even knows, then you remember.. damian.

(you try to strangle damian later, he asks if this means you accept him -- you get up and walk away.)

after many attempts to change your profile from kids, you try your different siblings to ask them if you can use their profile.

dick smiles and ruffles your hair with a chuckle that makes you sick to your stomach (you bite him)

jason is inclined but he just got back onto bruce's account after a year-long-ban so he just apologises.

tim agrees but with the condition he gets to watch with you, you walk away.

cassandra smiles, she doesn't say anything. just smiles, it's unnerving. you walk away again.

duke says no and you walk away dejected -- later you go on your phone and find you've been logged into a seperate account with a subscription paid already. could he be your saving grace!?

the way you embrace him later was unplanned -- duke just wanted to do something nice so you can grow closer to him.. and, if he notices everyone's glares when you smile at him the next day, whispering thanks... he pretends not to notice.

as for your second ask. i don't want to spoil anything so let's wait a little while and perchance your question will be answered..

yes weige MURDERED me and i had to take months to recover..... jk (not, mizi my poor baby sua's cameo had me actually crying).. i was lowkey FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE bruh i had to move houses mid exam season then i had to look after my drooling age siblings while my mum was in hospital THEN i lost my email with the next two chapters written.. i almost gave up but then i logged in and saw yall cuties and i knew i couldnt give up..

forgive me though.. i'm already working on the next chapter. yup, yup, yup. it will be out SOON. like.. sooner than you think.

On another note, I'm imagining Reader getting so frustrated with the doors being barricaded or locked that they decide to leave threw their windows. They end up doing so a few times without anyone noticing. But one day, they fall while escaping and get bruised up. It's only on Reader's arms and legs. Reader goes back into their room without anyone noticing. Long sleeves and long pant legs cover everything. But Dick tries to cuddle them, Jason pushes them, or Damian grabs them, and Reader flinches. Their eyes get watery.

They find out about the bruises but don't know how Reader got them. And Reader refuses to say anything in case they start locking the windows too.

Really like your writing and will wait patiently for the next chapter, cause you're worth it. 💓

cracking my knuckles rolling my back getting back in the zone.

if anyone saw me use the wrong your YOU DID NOT I DIDNT

masterlist

for the first ask, yeah i see that happening, in the og timeline everyones gripping their hair desperately trying to bring you back, only for john to pull up with all the commotion and casually drop, "yeah, their souls gone."

meanwhile, in the second timeline, you're getting sick like crazy. literally dizzy every waking moment, you throw up at random times -- you're just all 'round unwell and your family is freaking out because -- ?? what the flip? why are you sick?! and no matter how many doctors they send to you, or how much medicine you take. you're still sick!! (but it does make you less likely to run away.)

but neither timelines are willing to give you up.. good luck!

as for the second prompt, ugh i love this.

you sneak through your window, climbing down the tree and jumping into some bush just to hang out, get some ice cream and relax for once. but the jumping and climbing tend to bruise you, and with your stupid family constantly pushing you around -- someone's bound to notice.

dick notices it while he's cooing and hugging you, holding you so close that he can feel the frantic beating of your heart merge into his own steady rhythm, when he notices a pained expression on your face that would usually hold an annoyed scowl. then he notices that you're wearing long sleeves in summer -- his thoughts spiral into you, his poor, baby, sibling lying in a bathtub of their blood and--

"ow! dickhead, you're crushing me!" you grit, trying to wriggle out of his iron-clad grasp as he pushes against your bruises.

"oh-- my poor (name)!" he coos, rubbing his cheek on the top of his head as his hands slide towards the hem of your sleeves -- inching to reveal what he fears the most before you throw yourself out of his arms with a gasp and running away.

dick stands for a moment before running after you with a gleeful call of your name.

after a series of bumping into jason, running from damian, parkouring from tim and trying to hide from cass -- you thought you were in the clear.

later, with a relieved sigh you go to open your window -- only for it to not budge.

..

you push once, twice, thrice! before gripping the damn handle with both hands and practically brawling with it, grunting and cursing and huffing.

"what the fuck." you grumble, only for a larger hand to gently take your wrist. you feel your heart stop with a deafening thud -- with comical slowness you look up to see bruce.

fuck's sake.

"you're hurting yourself." he hums worriedly, his thumb running over a particularly deep bruise on your wrist. his frown deepens as he pushes up your sleeve to reveal a series of bruises, cuts and splinters. "(name)..."

thats how you find yourself smothered by your family as they bandage and rub ointments on your wounds, cooing and scolding.

so annoying.

uh hey

wc ; 3068 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; death, suicide, abuse, cursing, neglect, panic attacks, mentions of violence

prologue, one, two, three, four, five, tbc..

You didn’t have much as a child.

You lived in a shitty apartment on the outskirts of Crime Alley. It’s been years since you’ve stepped foot in that place, but you remember it so clearly.

The wallpaper was peeling, there was always mold crawling around the corners of the roof, and the window in the bathroom was broken – all your appliances were left over from previous tenants, so you’d have to give the oven a hard smack before cooking. Your TV was surprisingly nice, the grumpy, old man gave it to your mother before he killed himself.

His death upset you, despite what everyone thought – he was a nice man. When your mother was working or in a bad mood, he’d occasionally let you sit in his house. He’d offer you a lollipop and then go to sleep. You always got the feeling he was similar to your mother. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes?

Your bedroom – if it could be called that – was actually just a small storage room. Your mattress was old, found in a dump, so it had many holes that would cause springs to dig into your back, scratching you through restless nights, and you only had a thin blanket to keep you warm. 

Compared to your mother’s sleeping arrangements, it was perfect. She let you have that box, in return she slept on the dingy, old couch next to the door. She said it was fine, but you would always hear her panicked cries whenever the gunshots got too loud.

Despite that, those days in that shitty apartment would always be worth more than your life in Bruce's care. Why?

The heating that stretched to every corner of the manor, it didn’t compare to cuddling with your mother for warmth. And the meals, prepared to suit your every tastes, didn’t compare to the take-away your mother would place before you, leftovers from her job, a grin on her pretty face that was always etched with exhaustion (that sometimes twisted into something scary).

That’s right. The cold stares would never compare to your mother. Even if she was unpredictable – hysterical, as the man next door would say. She looked at you, held you, consoled you.

And when she’d lose her mind and grab at your throat, and cry about how you’re a curse. She’d make up for it, eventually.

“My dear [Name].” Your mother called, her eyes softening as she crouched before you. She smelt of grease and cheap burgers, a rather comforting smell despite how nauseous it made you. Her hands gently, hesitantly, reached forward. Resting on your face as her thumb caressed the bruise forming on your cheek with a grimace.

You knew better than to flinch.

“How do you feel?” She asked softly, her eyes glossed with unshed tears. She was frowning. The sight made your chest ache as if someone were reaching through and prying open your ribs, leaving your heart vulnerable. 

She didn’t let you answer, she never did. Instead, she pressed a soft kiss to the blooming ache on your cheek before reaching into her old bag.

“A teddy bear?” You questioned softly, your head tilting at the sight of the toy. You’d never had something so.. innocent before. Nothing so clean, all your toys were second-hand, given through preformative charities.

“Yes. A teddy bear, it’s for you.” She placed it into your hands with a gentleness that belied the dead gaze she always wore. It was soft, unblemished. New. Not once in your life had you ever had something new, something that belonged only to you.

“How much did this cost?” 

“Well, that’s not for you to worry about, my dear.” Your mother smiled, her lips curving into that familiar grin. But you saw the ache in her bones, in the very way she moved. She had worked too hard, but she had done it for you.

Was it selfish that you didn’t feel bad? That you felt happy?

“I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.” The words were spilling out and you didn’t even realise it.

You were outside the hospital, looking like a lunatic. You were soaked to the bone, shivering, and muttering to yourself like a moron – right outside a mental institution. It was no wonder everyone took a detour at the sight of you, crossing the road as if you were some sort of pervert. Though you couldn’t blame them – living in Gotham, you learn it’s best to steer clear of the crazies.

Your heart was racing, your stomach was churning. You were scared. You hadn’t seen her in so long, not since– not since you were eighteen in your previous life. 

And now you were sixteen, standing outside, stalling. Well, shivering in the rain was much better than being in that damn Manor, surrounded by those damn bozos…–

It was strange, why are they always hovering? Each time you’d ever try to leave, someone is there. Someone is around. 

Why? It’s sickening. The thought of them perceiving you. Why did it make your skin crawl? Why did it make you feel so.. Filthy?

You’re sure, back before you died, that you would’ve jumped at this chance, at the chance to really incorporate yourself into the circle that you’ve always been pushed out of. Why was now different? 

Why did you want to reach out and rip out Dick’s eyes whenever he regarded you with such a condescending gaze? Why did you feel nauseous at the very way Bruce looked at you – like a puzzle piece that’s been misplaced in the wrong set? A puzzle piece he wants to throw away. Or– Or the way Tim looks at you – Or Jason’s stupid arrogance, from the beginning he’s always thought he was better than you. And you just dread thinking about Damian.

You just want your mother.

And yet, your feet remain stuck to the floor. The rain continued to patter around you, is this a good idea? You have no idea what condition she’s in, when you last saw her (when you were 18), she was better. Stable. She smiled at you and her eyes seemed brighter.

“It’s fine, it’s either this or I go back to that abhorrent house.” You mutter bitterly, filled with sudden determination at the thought of returning to that hellhole. With a huff you shove open the doors to the sterile hospital. 

The fluorescent lights hit you first, then the overwhelming smell of antiseptic, the sound of beeps and overworked nurses mumbling about evaluation reports and the latest Gotham news. It was overwhelming – but you have to push through!! For your mother!

With another sigh you begin to walk forward, and the air seemed to thicken – as if something was trying to stop you from walking forward, from facing something horrible, though that was crazy. It was probably just the lingering fear from your past, but so much has changed in this life, there’s some comfort in knowing that your mother will be waiting.

“Excuse me,” you say to the lady working as a receptionist, she looked tired – eye bags heavy under her eyes as she looked up at you with something akin to annoyance, “I’m here for (Mother’s Name).”

Immediately, the woman’s eyes softened into something soft, pity? Impossible. “Oh, I’m sorry, what were you to her?” She immediately mumbles, typing furiously on her computer that you could tell was funded by Wayne Enterprises.

“I’m– I’m her child.” You say nervously, a sickening fear crawling up your stomach into your throat, like a parasite that’s been festering through the grief you’ve felt through the years. You want to ask if something’s wrong, but the lady beats you to it.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, have you come to collect her things?”

“Her– Her things? Has she been dismissed?” Your heart is racing so fast, beating so intensely that it drowns out her words, as if protecting you.

“..She’s died.” The receptionist says, her eyes looking away as she reads something on her computers, “You didn’t know? That’s strange, all her immediate family should’ve been notified, but–”

You don’t hear the rest of her words, you hear nothing but the beating of your damn heart. It’s so loud, why won’t it just shut up!? Why can’t you reach into your chest and rip the disgusting thing out, to rid yourself of the useless organ. The parasite’s that’s kept you alive — the parasite that always tries to protect you when it’s too late.

It’s sickening, everyone is always too late.

“She can’t be dead…” You mumble, your hands are trembling. Why? “She had– She was supposed to live longer, this isn’t how it goes.” 

The image of her, when you were older, flashes through your mind. You remember it clearly, her face – finally with some colour as she smiles gently at you.

“My dear (Name), I’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

“It happened fairly recently, I’m so sorry.” The receptionist said clearly, her eyes filled with the kind of sorrow that can be held by people who’ve seen this a thousand times before. But you can’t see it, you can’t hear anything but that damned phrase.

“My dear (Name), I’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

“How did she die?” 

“My dear (Name), I’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

“She–” The receptionist shares a wary glance with her coworker, who’s holding a stack of papers.

“My dear (Name), I’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

“She killed herself – We’re so sorry, it’s through our neglect that she was able to–”

“My dear (Name), I’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

“..-- Tie a noose and…–”

“My dear (Name), I’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

It’s only when you feel the rain trickle down your cheek that you realise you’re outside, car’s illuminating your hunched figure with headlights as the distant sound of a gunshot pierces the air. You look down, you’re holding papers.

Your mother’s will – that’s right. The receptionist gave it to you, as well as her regards, and some numbers to some people to handle things you don’t want to handle.

“Are you okay?” A soft, quiet voice pierces the air, you turn and–

Another clown has entered the circus.

The sight of Orphan, rain trickling down her suit. What is she doing here? What time is it? You swallow thickly, everything feels so fake that you can’t process anything.

“(Name)? Why are you out so late?--”

What is she saying? You can hear her but.. You can't understand a thing she’s saying. When have you ever spoken to her? Has she also come to play pretend? She’s too late. Everyone is always too late.

“Why are you talking to me?” Even you are surprised by the venom in your voice. Why are you being so mean? Cassandra’s not– bad.. She’s certainly not someone you.. She isn’t someone you know, why is she acting like she cares? 

“I saw– Well, you looked upset. I just wanted to check that you’re–”

“Don’t talk to me, don’t act like we’re anything more than strangers.” Who’s speaking right now? You don’t feel like it’s you. No, your mother would feel upset hearing you so angry. “You’re all so fucking annoying, please, just leave me alone.”

You don’t see her face through her mask, nor can you decipher her body language. You just clutch the crumpled up, soaked papers, to your chest and walk home.

“It’s not safe to walk Gotham alone at night.” You hear her say, it’s the most you’ve heard her talk. Though you’ve never spoken to her, never experienced the warmth she gives to the other clowns.

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm though you feel nothing but genuine emotions, “I have Batman to protect me.”

You don’t see her face, you don’t have the energy anymore - for anything. 

It’s not an understatement to say you feel nothing, not as you walk Gotham – with eyes upon your back, not when you trudge through the Manor past someone who might’ve been Alfred, or Dick. But Dick’s supposed to be Nightwing, right? He shouldn’t be in Gotham. Silly you.

You feel nothing at all, until you enter your room, until you see the familiar layout, exactly as you left it. Until you see the teddy bear, worn and broken, sitting on your bed with it’s sorrowful eyes cast upon you.

Then, you feel everything.

The hardwood floor hits your knees with a deafening thud that echoes throughout the lifeless manor. Tears scorch your skin as the air suddenly thins swiftly, like someone’s trying to kill you. You clutch your hands to your chest, snaking under your shirt to dig into your disgusting chest, nails desperately clawing at your thick skin. Your heart is too loud, the floor is too hard against your legs – your hair, it sticks to your scalp, each strand tickling your skin as you pant heavily, your breath escaping before it can reach your lungs – you’re going to pass out. You’re going to die.

“My dear (Name), I’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

Why did this happen? She wasn’t supposed to die. There’s no way she would’ve killed herself, no.

No matter how much she gripped your throat, no matter how much she cursed you, throwing glass and plates at you, dragging porcelain across your skin then crying while patching you up. Peppering each wound with kisses that carried words of sorrow that couldn’t be conveyed through simple speech.

She would’ve never left you.

Even if you were the one to ruin your life, she’d always come back with a smile. This can’t be it. She’s supposed to be happy.

You’re supposed to be happy.

Her will remains soaked on your bedroom floor, the ink smudged through rain and tears, mingling each word and telephone number together. Though, there’s an envelope that remains unopened, the envelope that the nurse gave to you. The one belonging your mother left to you.

What an incredible woman.

With trembling hands and blurring eyes, and lungs with no air, you rip open the soaked envelope. Your hands are surprisingly gentle despite the insistent tremor, as if holding a priceless artifact.

The moment the envelope opens, money flows out. And not just pocket change, stacks and stacks of bills that no lower-class-woman could achieve alone. Afterwards, a single letter falls out.

You’re barely able to pick the paper up, barely able to comprehend the words that seem to dance together – taunting and mocking your grief. But there’s no time to grieve; you push those disgusting emotions deep into your subconscious as you calm your breathing – counting to 10 in between each gasp for air until your heart finally shuts up.

Your eyes clear, you can see again, the moment your eyes fall upon the paper you hear your door click, and your heart stops. In speed that could rival the flash himself  you swipe the money under your bed before Dick walks in with a pitying smile.

“(Name)...” He says gently, his eyes flickering with something similar to surprise as his gaze falls onto your disheveled, wet, grief-stricken appearance  (disgusting, you want to reach forward and smash his head against your wall), “You.. stormed out earlier, are you okay?”

“Why are you here? Don’t you have better things to do.” It’s almost scary how quickly you’ve grown accustomed to creating conflict with the very people you once sought to cradle close.

“.. I was worried, I can’t just up and leave when my precious sibling is..”

Bullshit. It’s all fucking bullshit.

“If you’ve got nothing meaningful to say, then shut up and leave.”  You snap, your hand clenching around your mother’s letter, it’s slightly damp and you don’t want to smudge the ink so you release it from your hands – letting it drop to your floor slowly, it sways in the air as if it doesn’t want to leave your embrace. “I’m so sick of everyone fucking hovering, you’re so annoying.”

Your gaze moves from the paper to Dick, and–..

And you freeze.

His eyes are relentless, boring into you with such an intensity it makes you feel like a criminal he’s interrogating. No, it’d be more accurate to describe yourself as a bug he’s placed under a microscope, studying you with such a cold gaze you’re stopping yourself from apologising on instinct.

It’s genuinely terrifying, his mouth is pressed in a thin line, his brows are furrowed ever so slightly and his hands – his hands are clenching and unclenching.

Is he going to hit you?

“My dear (Name), I’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

“My dear (Name), he’s caused you a lot of pain, hasn’t he? I’m sorry.”

“My dear (Name), they’ve caused you a lot of pain, haven’t they? I’m sorry.”

“(Name), I’m going to cause you a lot of pain, aren’t I?”

“(Name).”

“(Name)!” A voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you blink, oh, it’s Dick. He’s closer now, glancing at you with a sorrowful expression as he grips your shoulders with a force that makes you uncomfortable, “you seem out of it lately, are you okay? You know, you can tell me everything.” You feel a bit disoriented, what was that just now? 

“I’m fine, I’m tired.” You shove his hands off with all your strength – though you suspect he let you go to appease you. Jackass. “I’m going to bed, please leave me alone.”

He frowns – clearly wanting to say more, but the blank look on your face tells him that you’re not in the mood. What a shame, and he was going to invite you to spend time with him.

Oh well, he has all the time in the world, he doesn’t want to strengthen this relationship on an uneasy foot.

“I understand, (Name), I’m always here for you.” He smiles lovingly, his hand ruffling your hair like he’s actually your brother, “I do care for you, y’know. You've been so distant recently!” 

His chuckles fade in your silence as he awkwardly shuffles out of your room with one more lingering glance. So fucking annoying. Your eyes wander down and-..

He was standing on your mother’s letter.

um hey guys.. hey... uh hey,,, i feel like i owe yall an explanation but um, basically i had this all written out and then i have to move cities because i was unsafe, and i lose THE FUCKING DOCUMENT WITH THIS WHOLE CHAPTER. i was so devastated because i had expanded on literally everything so i had to rush this.. sigh.. maybe i'll rewrite this bs when exam season is over, but i feel like if i pump this chapter now i'll have more motivation to write the rest because i am so excited for the ending tee hee hee!!! anyway, thank you all for your patience. as a thank you, i will try my best to pump out all the inbox requests and, i'll try my hardest to add everyone to the taglist but it'll probably be a while..

anyway enough yapping, thank u for reading, sorry for the short chapter! and i want to thank everyone who checked in on me, yall are awesome

can you guys tell i have motherly issues or.

taglist -

wc ; 2114 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ?

tw ; brief mention of death, cursing, neglect, panic attacks

prologue, one, two, three, four, five, tbc..

The rain outside casted a shadow of gloom over the morose city, the rhythmic pat-pat-pat on the windows creating an uncomfortable backdrop to your inner thoughts. Your head was resting in your hands, fingers scrunching at the edge of your scalp, tangling your hair with such force it felt like your mind was being split in two.

The pain was nothing compared to the pounding of your heart, ricocheting so loud that you felt it in your shoulders, in your fingertips – in each cell of your body.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? Those three words echoed in your mind like a beat rebounding off a drum, what is going on? This is–..

When you miraculously turned back in time, you naively believed it would be easy – you’d silently leave without fuss, everything would progress as it should and you’d live life away from the looming Manor they called home. 

So why, why does it feel like every time you try to leave, someone’s there holding their hand on your neck. Why? Why can’t you just leave? It was so easy before, you could leave the Manor, disappear for days on end and nobody would notice, now it feels like someone is always hovering around.

Every time you leave your room, every time you try – they’re there! Why? What caused this sudden shift? You didn’t do anything drastic. So why? What changed? You’d spent years of your pathetic life scrambling for any sort of attention. For them. What secret trick have you pulled to put yourself in their spotlight? And why now?!

“Fuck.” You grumble, crumpling into yourself pitifully. There is absolutely no light at the end of this stupid tunnel. One of those stupid circus clowns is always there to stand before the small glimmers of hopes that shine through, much like the sun through a window. They curtain the light, under the pretense of protecting you from the sun’s burns, but how can you live without the sun’s warmth?

The rain outside grew more intense as you spiral, a testimony to the raging shit-show inside you. There is– one option. An option you loathe to think about. Bothering her would be.. It’s not something you’d like. You’d promised yourself – all that time ago, that you would never look her in the eyes, that you’d never speak a word to her. For her sake, not your own.

It’d be selfish, you really, really shouldn’t. But still, as a precaution, you open up your night stand, reaching to the very, very bottom to pick out a letter. A letter with an address and a phone number. Just in case.

The rain doesn’t seem to be stopping, which is a shame – you’ve always hated the rain.

“What is wrong with you?” A voice calls out, and you just narrowly avoid screaming. You tilt your head with much effort, your eyes zeroing in on Damian. Of course, it’s like a fucking roster. You’re not even safe in your own room.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You respond curtly, resting your head in your hands once more. You can’t stand looking at him. You can’t stand him. You can’t stand his stupid expression, always so prideful. Always so above you. You hate him.

“Why are you acting like this? You’re a Wayne, stop being so… pathetic.” You let out a sharp laugh at his words. Again, a few years ago, those words would’ve filled you with immense joy – enough to power yourself through the loneliness that plagued your whole being. But you’re not that pathetic waste of space, ghosting through the Manor. You’re just [Name],

“I don’t know what you mean.” You repeat, not picking up your head as you sigh. The rain is heavy, you really hate rain. “I’ve always been pathetic, right?”

You can’t see Damian, but you feel the air in the room shift. It’s strange, everything feels surreal. You almost have half a nerve to–

“Why are you trying to leave?”

His voice sounds weird, he sounds concerned. That’s impossible, you’re speaking to Damian. The boy who’s refused to acknowledge you as his sibling, the one who made it very clear what he thought of you. You raise your head once more to meet his eyes. 

He looks young. Younger than you’ve ever seen him look. 

“Why does it matter to you, this is what you’ve always wanted right?” Your hands begin to tremble, why are you trembling? You’re not scared. You’re– You’re angry. The fearful knot in your stomach frays, anger burning the rope until it tightens around your organs like a springtrap. “You’ve made it very clear what you think of me, don’t try to take the high road now.” “[Name]--”

“I’ve spent my whole life, chasing like a fucking stray for something – anything. Now you wanna act concerned? I’m fucking sick of this. I’m sick of you– I’m sick of everything!” Words were spilling out before you could catch them, the raindrops on the window fueling your anger. The patting making your head fucking pound, you wanted to rip your filthy mind out – everything was loud, too loud.

“Calm down, you’re acting–” 

“Out of everyone in this house, I hate you the most.”

“Huh?” Damian’s voice was soft, quiet – barely audible over the relentless pounding of the rain.

“However much you might hate me, I hate you a hundred, no, a thousand times more.” 

You pushed past him, your anger exploding inside your very core. Your blood was rushing through your veins, squeezing until it threatened to blow. If you had half the mind to look back, you’d see the expression on his face.

The walls in the Manor had never felt so looming, so large. It felt like each painting was looking at you, mocking you. The eyes of the soulless characters locked on your form as you marched down the halls.

You had no destination, no goal, but you needed to get out. Each wall was closing in, the roof threatening to collapse – to swallow you whole, to crush you under it’s unforgiving weight. Would that be better? Would you be happier under the sweet mercy of death?

Well, you’re not willing to find out. You’re not that gone, yet.

You could barely register anything as you stormed out the Manor, you heard nothing but the ringing in your ears as you walked. 

The moment the cold rain hit your skin, you ran. Your legs moving before your brain could process it. The downpour soaked you. Your hair and clothes sticking to your body. You weren’t wearing a coat, you had some shitty shoes that you had on from earlier, your whole body felt like it was aflame.

And then you stopped. Your frustration wore off leaving only the ache in your body behind. Your lungs were being squeezed against your ribs, air clawing against the sensitive flesh leaving you breathless. Your legs were shaking, your bones too weak to hold you as you slump against a tree.

Your body hit the cold, wet ground below you. Your head falls on your knees as you cradle yourself. Curse Bruce for living in some fancy ass Manor, away from the rest of Gotham like some fancy jackass. Curse him for being a billionaire. From behind the tree you had slumped yourself on, you could hear some lingering paparazzi – eager for some sort of scoop.

It’d be funny if you jumped out and gave them a real scoop. But you’re too caught up in your own shit for any scandals.

“I really hate the rain.” You mumble, a warm raindrop falling from your eyes. Strange, isn’t rain supposed to be wet? Whatever. 

You felt pathetic. So, truly pathetic. You’d ran away like some brat having a tantrum. Whatever, it’s not like anyone would notice. Nobody ever noticed, that was how life was, how it’d always be. You were destined to be sidelined forever, and you’d finally grown fine with that. So why? 

Your ass was muddy, you were wet, cold, sad – this scenario felt oddly reminiscent, reminiscent of a time before all the neglect, before loneliness was your only companion.

“Your name is [Name]?” A deep voice asked, his tone kind, patient as he looked at you.

Rain stuck to your small form as you looked up at him, your supposed father. The man you’d seen on TV everyday, he was looking at you – his eyes full of kindness that felt unfamiliar. But–

“Where is my mom?” Your voice was hoarse, quiet – afraid. The blooming pain in your head seemed to dull under the rain’s touch, blood seeping down your forehead, dripping down your nose – mingling with the heavy precipitation. The lights from the blaring sirens were shadowed by the man before you, the man who was looking down at you with something akin to pity. 

The teddy bear in your hands was unsalvageable. Between the missing eye, limbs, and now the rain that had drenched it. It was a hard thrust away from falling apart, but it rested in your palms nonetheless. Your fingers curling into the flat, synthetic fur as though it were your only tether to reality.

He slowly kneeled down before you, reaching eye-to-eye before extending his hand. “My name is Bruce, I’ll take care of you and your mother, I promise.” He smiled, he looked so much more human now, he was no longer an untouchable figure, no longer would you have to touch the warm screen of your TV, quietly pleading for him to save you. He was looking at you now, and he’d never look away.

You took his hand.

“Fuck this.” You huff, standing up with way too much effort, your joints still aching because of your little escapade. You weren’t going to sit around and wait for him to hold your hand again, you weren’t going to have him sign anything or give you anything – why should you rely on him? He’s given you nothing. You owe him nothing.

Your wet hand instinctively goes to your pocket, taking out the card with the address. The heavy downpour immediately enveloped the laminated card. Your throat felt heavy immediately as you reread the words on it, soaking in each letter. Swallowing back your nausea, you begin running again – this time, with a purpose.

It was rare for Bruce to lose his composure, but as he stared into your empty room – he felt his control fraying. 

“You’re sure they’re not hiding somewhere else?” He managed to keep his voice calm, despite the pounding of his heart. His eyes scanned your room. So small, he really needs to upgrade it.

“No, Master Bruce, they.. can’t be found anywhere else.” Alfred said, his expression uncharacteristically tense as he stared at the black curls at the back of Bruce’s head. 

Bruce was beginning to feel a sense of dread come upon him.

When Damian came into his study, looking strangely panicked – that was strike one, the moment your name left the young boy’s mouth, Bruce was up and practically sprinting to your room. Strike two.

And strike three was the lack of you in your space. The lack of you in the Manor. He had everyone look around, check every nook and cranny, but you were nowhere to be found. He had told you not to go out without telling him. 

But it’s fine, he is the world’s greatest detective. No need to panic.

Taking a tentative step forward, Bruce took a moment to absorb your space, your personality. The posters on the walls, the trinkets littering your shelves, the small imperfections that discerned you.

And then his eyes fell upon it, your teddy bear. “I thought they threw this out.” Bruce mumbled, his eyes flashing to that rainy day when he had met your cold eyes, eyes too haunted to belong to a child. How could he let that child leave when he had promised to take care of you? You and your mother.

Alarm bells rang in his mind, distantly, he could hear Tim and Cass theorise your where-a-bouts. But–

“Alfred, do you remember where we sent her?” Bruce asked slowly, picking up the teddy bear gently – taking in the ruined toy, a testament to the child you were. To the child you are, his thumb running over the messy stitch marks, no doubt done by you. You had the money of Bruce Wayne at your disposal yet you insisted on keeping this trash? The reminder of your impoverished days? He couldn’t understand it, but then again, he’d never be able to understand you.

Not unless he had an actual conversation, as father and child.

“..Yes, I shall send you the details.” Alfred asked after a pause, his eyes strangely distant as he looked at the window, at the rain droplets racing down. “Please, Master Bruce, be swift.”

sorry for neglecting yall i was tryna make the book immersive ;3

dookie chapter because i am simultaniously studying for my health and social exam

tags; (asked to be added thru dms)

@estreiiuh @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things @iimichie @meepmoopbadabeepboop @buckturd @eloriis @xoxossam @verypersonaldazzel @froggy-voidd @shycreatorreview @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @devotedlyshamelessdetective @peehall @bigeyedbaby @chaeugwi

@estreiiuh @beyondblissxoxo @jjsmeowthie @vanessa-boo @delias-stuff @d3nnji @wizzerreblogs @lilyalone @strawbrysapphic @regulus-things @iimichie @buckturd @eloriis @wassupbroski55555 @eyeless-kun @anakilusmos @peehall @bigeyedbaby @chaeugwi

i will try to reply to yalls requests but im afraid to say there will be a lil delay on the next chapter. please remember to be safe everyone, report any suspicious behaviour immeditely and if a white tesla circles around your house, don't be a doofus and go to the shops when it's dark. you will get chased.

I love your batfam series and I honestly can’t wait to see more omlllll I love the way this is headed 🫶

thank u for this delicious request.. yall.. i've written soso many drafts for all ur requests but i dont want to overstimulate yall..its important to make sure to go at a pace your partner is comfortable with :(

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at sixteen, i imagine reader to be very nervous for the future, sixteen is two years from eighteen and i believe that they're scared that once they're a legal adult they'll no longer have any chance to be accepted -- that they'll be too old.

also, i know some goober is gonna ask so let's decide that 21 y/o (name) was able to return their 16 y/o body while 16 y/o kept their body, well, 21 y/o's body was drained of their life force and unlike jason with superboy indirectily healing him.. can we understand what im tryna say

so let's paint a picture, you're casually in school, feeling depressed because when are you not? your teacher drones on in the background as you scribble notes in your book lazily.

you're trying to drown out in your teacher one minute and then the next you're staring at the door to the manor.

oh. okay.

you're understandably a little puzzled but you brush it off, it's not the first time you've disassociated, it hadn't happened in a while but you're under a lot of stress with school and the crippling sorrow threatening to swallow you.

so you open the door, completely unaware you're walking to your doom, you step inside, your head hung low as you morosely walk in, not excited to be back in this manor of gloom and doom.

and then you hear it, a loud, absolutely offended shriek -- to which you don't look, it's not any of your business, they're probably just playing around without you, indulging in their inside jokes.

and then you're embraced, tightly, too tightly.

"what the--" you're.. being hugged? is alfred feeling alright?--

and then you see the jet-black hair you've seen countless times in passing, and then you feel the warmth of his body against yours, and then he looks up at you -- eyes wild and focused on you. only on you.

"what the fuck?" you're genuinely, so unbelievably confused. have you died? is this heaven?

"you're-- you're alive? this is real?" bruce breathes out, your father is looking at you. looking at you like you're his child, your lips tug into a thin line as you watch as the rest of the clowns join the circus.

oooh boyy.

you probably don't even notice the fact that you've switched universes at first.

like, you're so confused but also lavishing in the attention-- i mean, this is what you've wanted your whole life, right?

bruce is hanging off your every word, no longer does he brush you off or ignore you, he stares at you intently -- memorising every part of your face, every twitch of your muscles, every single detail of you, his precious child, alive in the flesh.

dick clings onto you way too much. every waking moment of the day he's by your side, sometimes he'll hug you tight, his hand gently snaking to press against the pulse point on your wrist, his eyes strangely darkened as he feels your pulse thumming against your skin.

jason is similar to dick in this scenario, the guilt from the incident weighing heavy on his mind, he doesn't let you out of his sight, he's always lingering. he's also way more protective in a smothering way, you're cooking? don't be silly, you might cut yourself! you're running around? slow down, you might fall! you're leaving the manor? why? what do you need? don't leave him, please, never again.

tim is a lot more .. atuned to your emotions. he regularly asks how you feel, at first it's more-so because he is truly glad you're back, he wants to make up for the past! but after a while, it gets to a point where it feels like you're being studied. he's just making sure you're not upset, that you're not thinking of leaving, again.

damian is downright terrifying, not in a violent way, but in a way that you're not sure how to react.. i mean, he used to be the one to belittle you the once, seeing him being so.. gentle. it's unnerving! he's almost kind to you? he'll soften his words, urge you to rest, it's .. strange. very strange.

after a while, the attention gets suffocating. very suffocating. you enjoy the attention, in fact, you've never been happier. but since coming home since that one day, you've not had a moments peace.

you wake up, someone's hovering over you. you go to eat, someone's making sure you don't choke. you're going for a walk? no, you're not.

it gets loathsome, you feel like a porcelain doll. you're not allowed any freedom, you don't go to school anymore -- anytime you bring it up you get strange looks.

that's not the only oddity. you feel different, stranger. not only are you taller, but your mind is different, and while buying something from the store, you notice an id. what? an id that says your age is twenty-one.

and another thing, alfred, the man you consider a father, is dead. dead. like, buried in the ground dead.

if you try to bring it up with your family, they share strange looks. they won't tell you, no, they want to keep you happy -- want to ignore the fact that you're not really their y/n, so don't bring it up too often. kay??

But I’ve been thinking why hasn’t reader gotten a job yet? Their 16 nd Gotham is in New Jersey they can get a job without Bruce’s permission. I completely understand they want out now nd I’m cheering them on. I know it won’t pay much nd they have set hours but some money beats no money.

Anyways, again love the story can’t wait for the next chapter!

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mm i was gonan bring this up in a future chapter but since their job was inadveratdly the cause of their death in the og timeline, i imagine them to be a bit hesitant.

especially considering that unlike in their og timeline, they'd be getting paid minimum wage. after immediately being sent back in time where a bunch of changes occur, they're obviously reeling.

maybe if they're reallyyyy desperate, they'd get a job, but still with that money it'd be barely enough to pay for a bus out of the city, in their reeling mind, asking a billionare for a small amount of funds was the most logical solution.

of course, as i stated, as their desperation grows and their options become limited -- maybe they'll seek employment, but i think their anxiety might hold them back.

does that make sense?

I’ve noticed that the readers ages of 16, 18 and 21 feel more important since they’re like a checkpoint for important parts of their lives. 18 is when they butted heads with their family more often, 21 is when they died and 16, well that’s the age that the returned to.

what would it have been say at 16 they were on autopilot so they went to breakfast and Alfred (and by extension the rest of the family ) didn’t realise something was off about them until later?

what if they returned at 18 instead of 16 when their relationships were more volatile with the bat fam?

or heck maybe at 21 a month, week, day or hour before getting shot- say if they were able to contact the police beforehand or at least call Alfred for help if they were shot but the last timeline warned them enough that they avoided lethal wounds?

(bonus: Bruce or the others - I’d expect Jason to pop up from a seedy alley- finds them after being shot and on the verge of dying, but they’re saved just in the nick of time)

(bonus bonus: they get greedy and kidnap surprise adopt multiple different versions of reader and their batfams go nuts because they “went missing”)

GRR come over here and kiss me on my hot mouth i'm feeling romantical also i will carress you for picking up on the age thing.. like damn u actually read my shi

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at sixteen, if you were to go to breakfast and act on autopilot! then congrats! you'd be able to leave (for a month). it'd be difficult because bruce wouldn't check on you so you couldn't ask him for funds. but if you were to ask alfred maybeee he'd give it to you, so long as you don't say what it's for, of course.

so then, you're living happily, peacefully even. for two months, you live your life like a normal person! until one fateful evening when you're casually lounging about -- someone knocks on your door. weird, but okay.

you open the door, and there stands fucking batman and robin just. standing there.

"we're here to--"

you slam the door on their face. now, because you've acted on auto-pilot, they didn't interact with you in the same way they did in the og story, so you're understandably confuddled. because? why the FLIP is your estranged family at your door?

over the course of the next few days, strange events occur. you go to the diner down the road to get some food and red hood slides into your booth wordlessy. you're walking home after going to the store and nightwing literally APPEARS and offers to carry your groceries. your phone's battery is mysteriously depleting fast, flipping orphan and spoiler show up at your school, hanging around.

worst of all, no matter where you go -- there's that bat-shaped shadow following you. if you look up, you'll see the outline of his cowl, and if you lock eyes he will swoop in, to save you -- of course! so keep your head down, savour your freedom for as long as possible but don't ever get too comfortable.

at eighteen? ooh i feel like a fly mischeviously rubbing it's hands together.

twenty-one year old you waking up eighteen, well, dare i say, it's better than waking up sixteen.

eighteen you had preemptively distanced yourself from the family for you. you're a legal adult, so you can work -- and best of all? (you can smoke ciggerattes) you have actual friends.

up until your eighteenth birthday, your every waking thought was on how to be better, to get better -- so with you becoming a legal adult -- well you understood that there isn't much for you to do anymore, you began to focus less on yourself and more on you. despite that, there was still the nagging feeling heavy in your chest that you'll never be accepted, never be apart of them -- there was a part that yearned for that acceptance, however late it maybe.

so your sudden disinterest wasn't alarming, not really. until you've finally found a good place, in a nice area. you're packing your stuff casually when bruce walks into your room for the first time in fuuck knows how long (because alfred asked him to).

"where are you going?" he is flabbergasted, but keeps a cool expression on his face as you give him the most diabolic side glare ever.

"i'm... leaving?"

lmao, no you're not! all of a sudden this calm procedure turns into a whole thing. give bruce the name of your landlord, he wants to see if they're good -- in fact, he can buy the house off of them so you don't have to pay a thing!

dick and jason are literally scanning every part of your new apartment, top to bottom, every single thing.

"this is not safe, these windows don't even have locks." jason sighs, analysing your windows with such scrutiny it makes you uncomfortable.

"this chain is broken! tut, tut, you can't live here!" dick adds on, ignoring the fact that the chain on your door is fine and that one chip on it won't get you killed.

tim begins to talk to you about finances, but he overexplains it using words you can't even begin to comprehend -- you're pretty sure he's doing it on purpose, what with the smug grin on his face.

"didn't bruce buy the building?" you ask, your eyes narrowed as you watch him scribble down numbers and whatnot.

"..no comment."

while those buffoons are doing that, you're being pressured by damian to stay.

"why must you leave? to live in a crappy old shack? just stay in the manor, it's safer for you." he's literally DOWN your neck with these types of comments. meanwhile, you're reeling 'cause what the fuck is going on?!

whether you give in or not is up to you -- just know, you will one way or another return to the manor.

as for the last one, let's say you get transported back five minutes before getting shock. which pisses you off 'cause what're you supposed to do in five minutes!?

nonetheless, you manage to get away with being shot once instead of five times, so you have enough energy to limp away -- and then you bump into red hood.

oh damn, oh damn, wow, so he's going to shoot you to -- or that's what you think, what you don't expect is for him to pick you up and literally shoot your offenders.

wow, okay.

you get taken back to the manor and you're literally reeling as they fuss over you, "how could you be out so late!?" this or "why do you need a job!?" that.

it's a shortcut to being locked in the manor, they take care of you like you're incapable, dick spoonfeeding you despite your protests, tim sitting silently besides you which makes you stress because he's so unnerving, cass hovering around you -- bringing you everything you need, sometimes you don't even realise you need it until she brings you a glass of water because you 'looked thirsty' (???).

this isn't just restricted to when you're recovering. you nearly died because of their negligence! so they pay extra attention to you, just so you don't get any silly ideas about walking gotham alone at night. honestly? what were you thinking, it's a good thing they're here to protect you.

(also side note ; the idea of jason being NEAR (name) when they died, but not knowing is so eghsudg to me, like he'll learn about where they died after finding the crime scene and he falls into a pit of despair because if he had taken the right route, if he had followed his instincts, he could have saved you.)

as for the last, last one. let's say you're a random variant of (name) from another universe and you've gotten transported without knowing it, you walk home morosely.

as you open the door, you are greeted with countless different versions of you -- all of them wearing the same expression of confusion. you don't know how to react when dick spots you and shouts, "we got another one"

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thank u for asking this i am feining for any chance to discuss reader's relationship, especially with damian.

personally, i think he sees reader as abnormality. in a family of greatness, they're just there. they don't contribute to anything, they don't help anyone. they just lurk around, like a fly that refuses to be swatted.

his superiority complex towards reader probably manifested for a multitude of reasons ;

firstly, reader doesn't come from anything special, unlike him, their mother isn't some great, powerful figure. just some harlot who managed to seduce bruce wayne and get lucky, meanwhile he comes from talia al ghul, he comes from a higher place than them. they may share bruce's dna, but his mother's half is superior to theirs, therefore, he is superior.

but also, reader isn't a vigilante. they were shoved into a world where the door to becoming something more was open, something reader could reach forward to, something they could grasp, but they didn't take that chance. he sees their refusal to become a vigilante less of a personal choice and moreso a weakness. he grew up in a world where fighting was neccessary, where he had to scar himself to be cradled. so he feels a rush of frustration watching reader being normal, going to school, lounging around -- it infuriates him, it could very well be envy, because a small part of him, a part surpressed by his upbringing, craves that normalcy.

but unlike jason, instead of observing, of presserving reader's 'innocence', damian loathes it.

as stated before, damian comes from the league of assasins, he had to fight to gain his respect -- these traits follow him to the manor, when he hears of reader, he seeks them out simply to remind them of their place, below him.

that's how it should be, so that's why your shift in behaviour startles him. when you walked past him, he was stunned. you looked at him differently, he could see that the way you carried yourself, the way you spoke up. he could tell something was different, but he couldn't tell what.

regardless, you gaining a back-bone was simply unpresidented! though it's easy to write it off as simple arrogance, damian's insistence on you stayed came from a place of fear. you leaving -- it'd shake damian's core values, everyone in the family helps him in some way, not in a selfish way -- but in an emotional way. he loves his family, he cares for them -- so by proxy, he loves you too.

so how could you want to leave? what you believe to be fear of the changes around you, he sees it as conceit, believe it or not! you don't know what it's like to have to bleed for respect, you've never had to sink a dagger into someone's flesh to earn your keep, you don't know what goes on outside of the bubble that bruce's kept you in -- or, that's how he sees it.

because, of course, he doesn't know what you're currently going through -- this little fit of yours, he sees it as a testament to your naiveness. you can't leave, you're-- oh, how he loathes to say it, you're important.

so, i do think in his own way, damian cares for reader. but he's always expressed his affection through his violence, it's how he was raised. but reader isn't apart of that world. the small, childish part of him which he believed to have been extuinguished yearns to reach out.

but the man he became stops him, he wants reader to stay close, stay where he can see them, savour who they are, where he can protect them, even if that protection means breaking them down, it's the only way he knows how to show his affection, so don't complain too much.