.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Local Basement Dweller ִ ࣪𖤐

Yandere Batboys x Neglected!Reader - Chapter Two

Previous Part

Damian is preparing for school. He grabs his lunchbox from the countertop and places it into his perfectly packed school bag. “I’ll see you for dinner, Pennyworth!” he calls out, before exiting the kitchen, but Alfred steps in front of him before he can leave the manor through the front door. 

“Master Damian,” he explains coolly, “I’m afraid your driver has caught a nasty cold. Mr. Jacque will not be able to take you to school this morning.” 

Damian seems to consider this for a moment, before reasoning, “Alright. I will just ride to school with my sibling. It’s not ideal, but it will do for the day.” 

At this Alfred raises an eyebrow. “Miss Y/N does not take a driver to school, Master Damian.” 

Even Damian can’t wipe the look of surprise off his face. “How does she get to school then?” 

“The bus,” Alfred replies plainly, with a shrug of carelessness unbecoming of a man like him. 

“There’s a bus?” 

“Yes. It’s about a twenty minute walk from here.” 

“And she takes it everyday?” 

“Since the two of you stopped carpooling, yes. Now, would you like me to see if someone else can drive you?”

Damian has a moment of internal debate. Of course, he doesn’t want to be seen on the bus. That was simply unfitting for Wayne. He scoffed at the very thought. But on the other hand, one of his siblings -even if it is just you- has been walking to and from public transit everyday for at least a few months. Were you out of your mind? What if someone saw you? What if someone hurt you? Do you have any idea what kind of ruffians take the bus in Gotham? 

“No,” he says after giving it some thought. “I’ll join my sibling on the bus.” Alfred gives a nod, before stepping aside and letting Damian pass. The robin has to jog to make it in time, as you had left about ten minutes ago, but he will catch you. He isn’t worried about that. 

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You are the kind of ruffian that takes the bus. Everyday since the year started, as you are a senior and Damian is a freshman. You enjoy the bus. Each morning for roughly a half hour, you’re able to pop in your headphones and read. And the bus driver knows you by this point, so sometimes there’s light conversation when you enter/exit. It’s a ritual you look forward to. 

This ritual is interrupted when you hear the light footsteps of somebody approaching from behind. You immediately rip your headphones out, so that you can clearly hear them coming. This is Gotham, afterall. Turning around to catch a glance of the person drawing closer, you’re shocked to see it’s none other than Damian Wayne, the youngest bat child.  

When he reaches you, he gives a firm nod. “Sibling,” he greets, and you can hear the faintest sound of him breathing slightly heavier than usual. He must have run from the manor. But why? 

“Damian…”you acknowledge cautiously, the fingers on your right palm subconsciously folding inward to rub your scar, “What are you doing here?” 

The baby bat looks at you like you’re the dumbest person alive. “I’m taking the bus with you, clearly.” 

And now you feel like the dumbest person alive. “But you never take the bus. Jacque’s not driving you?” 

“He’s fallen ill.” 

“Ah.” The two of you complete your walk to the bus stop in silence. 

Once the bus driver, Frank, pulls up, you enter as usual. “Mornin’ Y/N,” he greets you with a headnod your way. 

“Good morning, Frank,” you grin out, tossing a muffin his way. You turn back to watch Damian get on and mentally face palm when you see him drop a crisp twenty-dollar into the change slot. He has literally no idea how much a bus ride actually costs. 

You sigh inwardly, before making your way over to your usual window seat. This morning is still salvagable. Just when you move to pop your headphones back in and pull out your book, you feel a weight come down in the seat next to you. Tilting your head up, you can’t stop the look of disappointment that flashes fleetingly across your face when you see Damian has sat next to you. The look does nothing to deter him. 

“Why do you take the bus?” 

This catches you off guard a bit. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to ride in the same car as me.” 

He seems to think back to doing so for a moment. “So I did,” he nods, “I assumed Father would find you another driver.” 

“Well, he didn’t,” you answer with a shrug. The speed with which you reply reveals a bit of your bitterness, even though you try to play it off with casualty. 

The rest of the ride passes in silence, but when you exit the bus Damian grabs your forearm. “I’ll see you on the way back.” 

“I have clubs, so I take the later bus back,” you reply, shrugging his hand off of you. 

“Fine,” he acknowledges, and walks away without another word. He’s always so pleasant to talk to. 

And with interaction the day goes on as usual. Class goes by without a hitch. You sit in the back, answer questions when asked. Nobody knows you’re a Wayne, and it’s better that way. Normal lunch. Today you sit in the library and do homework. Shifts at the diner end really late, so your only option is to do your work now. 

By the time the final bell rings, you’re more than happy to head to work. Grabbing your duffle bag from your locker, you slide your text books in and head to the bus station. This particular bus doesn’t stop at the school, so you won’t have to wait at the same station as Damian. That thought brings you comfort as you begin your short walk. Popping your headphones in, you let the music drown out the sounds of Gotham: construction work, police sirens, car horns. 

The peace washes over you to such an extent, that you don’t notice the youngest Wayne trailing behind you. 

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Damian begins following you after the final bell rings. Something about your conversation this morning made him curious about your daily routine, even though he’s never given it any thought before now. He watches as you grab your bag, unsure of its contents, and he watches as you walk right out of the school—despite your claim that you had club activities after school today. 

The youngest Wayne stays about twenty steps behind you as you walk right past the bus stop in front of the school. He’s not sure where you’re heading, but he knows it’s not home, and he knows it’s not school. Which are the only two places you should be. Does Father know about this? 

Keeping a distance while you board the bus, Damian tugs his hood up to hide his face as he boards afterwards, dropping another twenty into the slot. Damn, this bus thing is a rip-off. He allows you to find your way to the back, as he takes the first row. As the buildings and street signs begin to blur outside the window, he notices you’re moving into the heart of Gotham. The surroundings become noticeably more run down. There’s a heavier police presence. It’s certainly a far cry from Wayne manor. The kind of area he and his brothers only frequent on patrol. What the hell could you possibly be doing here? 

Another few stops pass before you get off. When you move to the front, Damian’s sure to turn his head so that only the back of his hood is visible. You don’t suspect a thing. Then he follows you off. 

Not far from the bus station, he watches as you enter a dingy looking restaurant. Really, it looks like shit hole. Is this why you never eat dinner with them? You’re too busy eating here, in this dump?  He contemplates as he watches you from outside. Surely Alfred’s food is far superior to this place. But his thinking is interrupted when he sees you re-emerge from the bathroom…wearing a uniform? 

Damian spends the next two hours watching you work. He can’t help but be mesmerized by the way you speak to the customers. You refill coffee with a smile before they’ve even realized their cup has run low. Regulars make pleasant conversation, and you slip from booth to booth as if floating. He’s never seen you look so natural. So…not on edge. The thought disturbs him. 

And don’t think he hasn’t noticed that boy you’ve been talking with. Laughing at his jokes, which are probably so dull you feel the need to show him pity. That waste of space probably has no idea you're even a Wayne. I mean, not in the same way that he is but still. That boy isn’t worthy of cleaning the dirt off your shoes. 

Damian is debating on whether or not to confront you when he feels a vibration in his pocket. Slipping into the nearest alleyway, he flips open his phone to find Red Robin’s contact flashing on the screen. 

“Drake?” 

“Damian,” comes the frantic voice, “Where the hell are you? You’re on patrol with Bruce tonight! He’s going to be pissed if you don’t sh—” 

“Did you know Y/N has a job?” 

A moment of silence passes. “A job?” 

“Yes. In downtown Gotham.” 

“Downtown Gotham?” 

“Can you stop repeating everything I say like a dolt and engage in conversation like a normal human, Drake?” 

“Okay, okay! Sorry,” he admits, “I’m just a little shocked. No, I had no idea Y/N was working. And you said it’s downtown? Is she safe?” 

“Of course she’s not safe. It’s downtown Gotham, and she’s a weakling." 

“Right,” Tim acknowledges. “Well, either way,” he continues, “you need to be back at the cave as soon as possible.” 

“Tch,” Damian hisses out. 

“Don’t worry,” Tim reassures, “I’ll make sure she gets home safe.” 

“Good.” 

“Everyone in Gotham falls under our protection, afterall.” And even though Damian agrees, there’s a tugging in his stomach telling him it’s more than that. 

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When Jason receives the call, he’s actually not too far off. Pulling his bike over, he makes sure the side road is deserted before flipping up his helmet to answer. 

“TImmy,” he greets. 

“Don’t call me that, Red Hood.” Jason just rolls his eyes, wearing that antagonist grin of his. 

“Sorry, Kid.” Tim audibly sighs, not loving that nickname either but having no energy to spend his time correcting his older brother. 

“Listen, d’you know Gibson’s Diner? It’s off of 42nd street.” 

Jason takes a moment to examine his mental map of Gotham. “Yeah, that’s like a ten minute ride from here. Real cesspool.” he responds, “Why?” 

Tim releases another sigh before pausing for a moment. “Well, it’s just…Damian swears he saw Y/N working there tonight.” 

Even the ever-stoic Red Hood can’t contain his shock, “Y/N has a job?” 

“Accoriding to Damian.” 

“Why,” he scoffs, “God knows Bruce’ll just buy her whatever she wants.” 

“I don’t know, man,” Tim groans, “but I’m making it your problem. Can you make sure she gets back to the manor alright? It’s not a good area.” 

Jason, clearly annoyed, sighs. “Yeah, alright.” He ends the call, kicking up his bike and hopping back on. Then he proceeds back onto the main road, eventually pulling up to the diner Tim had mentioned. 

Sure enough, there you are. The warmth of the scene makes his teeth hurt. The diner looks toasty against the Gotham city-scape. Your hands are stacked with plates that you pass out to weary customers with grace. He swallows at the dryness mounting in his throat, grasping at straws to remember the last time you two caught up, the last time you looked at him with all that adoration that shined in your eyes when the two of you were kids. But he can’t. 

He spends another few hours alternating between sitting on his bike and patrolling the nearby area, jaw clenching tighter and tighter as evening turns comfortably into night. Why the fuck are you working so late? And here, of all places. 

When it finally hits 11:00 p.m., he watches as you remove your apron and step into the back. A few minutes later you reemerge, duffle bag on shoulder. Before exiting, you make the effort to cross the diner and bid one of your coworkers goodnight. A boy about your age. Interesting. 

While you move to the door, Jason pulls deeper into the alleyway, so that his bike is hidden from your view. He watches as you walk about a block to the nearest bus station, before jogging a bit to catch the bus pulling up. Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’. You seem to know the driver, as he observes you make brief conversation with him before heading to the back. It’s just you and two others on the bus. When the vehicle pulls off, Jason slips his helmet back on before following from a safe distance, waiting for when you disembark safely. 

The bus reaches your stop in about forty-five minutes, making it almost midnight by the time you step off. And then you begin your twenty-minute trek back up to the manor. Exhaustion weighs you down, dulls your senses, and you don’t hear the rev of a motor trailing behind you. 

Pushing open the metal gate, you enter and close it quietly. Now seeing that you’re safely home, Jason peels off with a slight hesitation—distrubed by the information that has been gathered tonight. 

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It was not uncommon for Tim to be awake at ungodly hours of the night. He was practically a nocturnal animal. It also wasn’t uncommon for Dick to come interrupt him at these aforementioned ungodly hours either. He was a bit of an insomniac himself. 

“Watcha’ working on,” he calls out, opening the door without knocking. 

Tim doesn’t have time to close out his tabs as Dick approaches, so he just sighs and accepts his fate. “Is that…Y/N,” he asks, “AT A JOB?” 

“Yes,” Tim concedes, sighing and rubbing his eyelids as they begin to weigh heavily. “Apparently she’s been working at this shady diner. Tryna figure out for how long,” he yawns. 

Dick jerks back in surprise. “What are you talking about?” 

“You know, like a job. A service you provide in exchange for money.” 

The joke lands flat as Dick just rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I know what a job is, Tim. I just didn’t know she had one.” None of them did. 

The two slowly turn their heads back to the screen, where Tim is sifting through employment records and traffic light footage from just outside the diner. Dick’s face devolves from concern to shame for not knowing about this huge (and dangerous) part of your life. 

As for Tim…well he had yet to find a mystery that he can’t solve. And you just got a lot more interesting. 

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Masterlist 

A/N: Thank you for reading! There will (maybe) be a part three if there’s demand for it. Let me know if you want to be on the taglist. And if you’re on the taglist and want to be taken off…I’m sorry, this is your life now. 

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Could not resist the urge to draw THEMMM,such unique designs

Seaweed Coral hair -rudos hair simplified

stakeout

jabberrrruh

Yandere!Batboys x Neglected!Reader 

Are you always alone because you enjoy solitude? Or did you grow to enjoy solitude because you’re always alone? 

Wayne Manor has been your home (prison? hotel?) for roughly twelve years now, with you having arrived at the ripe age of five. Gotham’s shining hope, billionaire Bruce Wayne, had taken you in, not out of kindness, but rather out of some obligation. 

You’d spent the first five years of your life in an orphanage, even then less alone than you are now. But your life changed when Bruce Wayne walked through those metal gates. Even now the details are a little blurry, but from what you can gauge it seems like your adoption was some sort of publicity stunt. Or maybe he wanted a friend for Jason with Dick out of the house so often. Who knows. 

That was the first one you actually met, Jason. He was around twelve at the time and the first real friend you’d ever had. He was full of life. The two of you would run around the manor, exploring new rooms and annoying Alfred. You built pillow forts spanning the manor’s massive hallways. And Jason never complained about how you clung to him, terrified of losing a tether to your new life. 

“Jay!” You would call out, chasing him across the marble floors. 

Even though he’d give chase, the older boy would always let you catch him, wrap your little arms around his waist and bury your face in his stomach. You were especially persistent when he began his new Robin duties, practically begging him not to slink off in the middle of the night with Bruce. 

“Don’t worry, Birdie,” he would sooth, patting your head, “I’ll be back before you wake up. Promise!” 

He kept that promise, for the most part, until one day he didn’t. 

Dick Grayson has always been sort of an absentee, but that got even worse after Jason died. Before then, he would at least lie about wanting to spend time with you. Whenever he’d visit, the eighteen year-old would scoop you up in his arms and plant kisses all over your cheeks. Dick would always make promises to take you out for ice cream or to the park just to escape the dull gray of the manor for a little bit, but Nightwing always had other plans. 

It wasn’t uncommon for the two boys and Bruce to do things just the three of them. That didn’t surprise you, of course, with them being vigilantes they had something in common that you didn’t. But you can’t lie and say it doesn’t sting to think back to your early years and remember dinners by yourself and the resounding emptiness of the manor. 

This too got worse after Jason had died. He had been your advocate, if you could call anyone that. Without him there, nobody reminded Batman and Nightwing of the other Wayne. Dick grew more and more despondent, the light never quite meeting his eyes anymore. When he visited then, you were lucky if he would even ruffle your hair before disappearing into the bat cave. Bruce just retreated into himself. Throwing himself into work. Putting more distance between himself and you. 

As for you, the news had felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest. Jay, your Jay, wasn’t coming back. Now you were more alone than you had ever been, having known and lost a bond of that magnitude. Grieving was something that had been done completely internally, as nobody in the manor made themselves available for you to lean on. You wish you could say that was the darkest time of your life. 

Then Tim showed up. You were around nine then, which put him about four years older than you. He was nice enough, you guess, when you actually saw the guy. He was your average recluse. Always glued to one screen or another. The lack of natural light made him almost translucent, save for the dark bags typically under his eyes. The two of you had some casual conversation about computers, but as soon as he realized you weren’t really into that (and were nine) he quickly lost interest.  

What hurt most was how immediately the boy was accepted into their little crew. Bruce had spotted his usefulness a mile away, and clearly you hadn’t shown the same potential. How could you compare with a genius after all? 

Either way, the lonely duo became a well-oiled trio once again, and you were resigned to your continued solitude. Vigilante work had never appealed to you, but a family sure did. It was unbelievably difficult to watch the three of them work closely, develop little inside jokes you weren’t a part of, retell stories you hadn’t been there for. At some point, you just stopped showing up to family gatherings, and everyone seemed better for it. 

Somewhere around eleven is when you decide to get it together a little bit. They think you’re useless because you’re not a vigilante? Fine. Make yourself useful in other ways. Easy, right? 

You’d approached Alfred early one morning, peering into the kitchen’s open door until you built up the courage to walk in. Your relationship with the butler had always been…alright? He certainly didn’t dote on you as he did the boys, but he didn’t flat out ignore you either. He made sure you were fed. Made sure you’d had lunch for school each morning before the driver picked you up. Because you weren’t a genius like Tim, you attended regular Gotham public school like everyone else. No fancy home school training for you. 

“You may enter, Young Master,” he called out, not even looking up from the vegetables he was expertly cutting. 

You should've known there was no sneaking up on Alfred. Getting out of your crouched position, you approached with caution, little feet making light noise on the tile. 

“Do you require something?” He asked, poised, professionally. 

You shook your head, swallowing down your nerves. “N-no, I just, uh, I wanted to help.” 

This finally made him look up from his tasks, judgemental eyes sweeping over your disheveled appearance. “Help?” 

You nod. “With…help with breakfast,” the words stumbled out of you.

He raised an eyebrow. “I have been preparing breakfast for the Wayne’s for decades. I’m afraid I don’t need any help.” 

Your shoulders slumped, and you tried to wipe the disappointment off your face. “Al-alright. Sorry for bothering you.” 

But when you turned on your heel to skulk back to your room, you heard him sigh and call out, “Wait, Young Master,” you freeze and slowly turn back, “I suppose there’s no harm in allowing you to observe…” There was no stopping the excited squeal that left you, and you ran to perch yourself atop one of the stools and watch the master at work. 

By the time you’re almost twelve it’s as though you’re completely self-sufficient, some may even say to a degree children your age shouldn’t be. You pack your own lunches, help Alfred cook meals for the family, clean your own room, do everyone’s laundry, etc. etc. All of this gives you an immense sense of pride. Sure, you can’t knock a man out with your bare hands, but you have yet to see Tim Drake make a soufflé. This is enough to bring you joy, fulfillment, for a while. That is, until Jason comes back. 

Nobody thinks you’re important enough to tell directly, but they’re also so used to just speaking around you that you find out anyway. Jason. Is. Alive. But…they also say he’s different. Aggressive. Violent. A killer. Everything you thought Batman and his batlings stood against. You don’t believe it until you see him for yourself. 

You’d overheard Tim say that things with Jaso—Sorry, Red Hood, had made a little progress. But even so, that he would not be moving back into the manor. He and the bat were working on the same side(ish), which is different from working on the same team. Even if it may be for the best, you can’t help the wave of sadness that fills you at the news, knowing your friend won’t be coming home to you. Which is why you’re thrilled when he finally does. 

The scones are about halfway done baking when you hear the kitchen door swing open. You’d gotten up early to get started on breakfast and clear your head a bit. Nothing made you more happy than solitude in the kitchen. The brute force with which the door hits the wall, however, shatters your tranquility and makes you duck under the countertop. Could there possibly be an intruder in Wayne manor? 

The sound of heavy boots along the tile fills the room, and you hear the thud of weight landing on the counter above your head. You see the boots approach the oven, and the legs of a hulking man come into view as he leans down to look at the contents. 

“Alfred,” the man grounds out, extending back to full height, “that you in here?” Does he know Alfred? 

You try to regulate your breathing as the boots approach the countertop once again. “Drake?” He pulls out the stool nearest to you, the sound of the legs dragging against the floor almost drowning out your whimper. But not quite.

And then he leans down, and you come face to face with Jason for the first time in years. So it is true. “Birdie?” He asks, stunned. 

You can only nod numbly and grab the calloused hand he reaches out to you, allowing him to pull you out from underneath. 

As he takes you in, eyes traveling down and back up your flour-ridden pajamas, you observe him too. He definitely doesn’t look like the boy you knew. His arms are corded with muscles and decorated with scars. A jagged line tears through his face, pulling up at the corner of his lip and making him look like a comic book villain. 

“Whattre you doin’ here?” He asks sternly. 

You raise an eyebrow and answer dumbly, “I live here.” 

Jason shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s what surprises me.” His large hands come down to lift you onto the counter, so that now the two of you look eye to eye.

“What’s so surprising about me still living here?” You ask defiantly, crossing your arms at your chest. 

“The bat just never mentioned it. Figured he shipped you off somewhere else after I left,” he admits sheepishly. The bat. He says it with almost no familiarity. 

“What do you mean left, Jay? They told me you died.” The tears are bubbling up in your eyes now. The shock of seeing him again, and so different, is too much for you to take. You don’t understand what’s happening. 

His jaw tenses at your question, all the kindness that had shone in his eyes drops out, leaving pits of nothingness. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, and neither do they.” 

His coldness practically slaps you across the face. You’re staring into the eyes of a killer. Of an adult that you don’t know anymore. 

“I-I’m sorry…I only know what Mr. Wayne and Red Robin told me.” 

The mention of Tim or maybe Bruce, or maybe both, seems only to piss him off further. A cold bark leaves him, “Of course you do,” he growls out, his voice steeped in patronizing mockery. 

Unsure of what to do, and looking for evidence that this is not a dream, you reach your little hands out to cup his face, only for him to jerk back the second your fingertips graze his cheek. 

“DON’T FUCKIN’ TOUCH ME!” He practically roars, making your body shut down in response to the fear coursing through your veins. He leans in close, hot breath on your face. “I’m not your Jason anymore, Birdie,” your nickname sounding like an insult for the first time, “the Joker killed him. And if you don’t stay out of my fucking sight, I’ll show you just how much I’ve changed.” 

With that he grabs the bag he’d set down besides you, along with a handful of muffins you’d baked the other day. “And I’m taking this shit,” he calls out, exiting the kitchen without sparing you a second glance. 

The oven timer dings as the door swings closed, but all you can do is collapse, hugging your knees to your chest as your shallow breaths turn into deep sobs. You drown them out with a dish towel, so as to not wake up any of the other bats. 

Damian arrives about two years after that night. In some ways things are quite different, in others nothing has changed at all—for you at least. Red Hood has been reintegrating into the family, repairing his relationships with his brothers and with Bruce. You, however, have not spoken more than a handful of words to him since that night. 

Him, Tim, Dick, and Bruce have a pretty good thing going, which is why it is so surprising when Damian Wayne enters the picture. 

It’s Nightwing you see first. He’s covered in a bunch of small cuts and walks by you without any acknowledgement. You swear you hear him grumbling about “that little shit.” 

Then Bruce enters, and while his stride is solid you can see the exhaustion weighing him down. And walking right behind him is a boy you’ve never seen before. He’s wearing some sort of uniform, and you can’t help but notice the red-speckled katana strapped to his back. 

Bruce looks around at the nearly empty room before his eyes land on you. His brows lift a little bit in surprise, as if seeing you for the first time in a long while. “Ah, Y/N, come here please. I’d like to introduce you to someone.” 

This is the first time he’s asked you for something that wasn’t to pass the salt in what feels like years. An awkward second passes of you not moving, literally frozen in shock. 

When you finally step forward, you just stare at Bruce blankly, waiting for his next request. “Y/N,” he continues, “I’d like you to meet Damian, my son.” He turns to the boy, “Damian, this is Y/N.” 

You awkwardly nod and hold your hand out for him to shake. 

He just stares at your palm, looking rather disgusted. “Another false sibling I must dethrone for my rightful place, I presume?” He asks suspiciously. 

“Uhhh…” you’re not really sure how to answer that. 

“Well you’re clearly less intelligent than Drake,” he sneers, “but no matter.” 

Quicker than you and even Bruce can react, his katana is drawn, and he slices a clean path straight through your outstretched palm. 

You howl in pain as an arc of blood splatters on the ground beneath you. You instantly move to cradle your injured hand to your chest, and you look to Bruce in a desperate plea for help. 

He’s grabbing Damian’s shoulders firmly and lecturing: “She’s not like us, Damian. You shouldn’t go swinging that sword at anyone, but especially someone who can’t defend themselves. Apologize.” It all sort of turns to mush in your pain-riddled mind. 

They both turn back to face you. At this point you don’t want an apology. You just want to get away from this little demon. 

Damian gives you another once over, taking in the fear painted clearly across your face and the fat tears rolling down your cheeks. He’s clearly not impressed with what he sees because he just scoffs and stalks off. 

For a second Bruce looks torn between helping you with your wound and chasing after the boy, but he ultimately chooses Damian. In all fairness who knows what the little devil child could do if left to his own devices in the manor…

After he leaves, you slowly make your way back to the west side of the manor. As you walk down the hallway you call out “Dick?”, but he’s too busy licking his wounds after his own run-in with Damian. “Tim?” But there’s no chance he hears you through those fancy headphones of his. And finally, barely a whisper, “Jay? Please…” 

Your efforts are for not, and you’re soon slipping into your room. After digging out the supplies you need to sterilize the wound and stitch it up, you take a moment to rest on your bed. You’ve never given yourself stitches, but you’re pretty sure it’s not gonna be a pleasant experience. 

Using your good hand to grab one of your throw pillows, you move to press it tightly against your damp face. Then you scream into the void.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

You’re seventeen now, just over halfway done with your senior year of high school. The past few years of home life have been more or less the same. The bat and his four boys have become a completely enclosed system. A unit in which you are totally unnecessary. Jason is over more often. Dick too. And Damian has been taken in as one of their own, but unfortunately that’s only mellowed him out a little bit. The manor is full of life once again, you’re just not part of it. 

But that’s alright, because you’ve been building a life of your own outside of those walls. Kinda. Everyday you complete the same routine. First you make breakfast for yourself and the others. Alfred is in charge of their lunches and dinners, so you don’t have to worry about that. You take the bus to school now instead of a private driver because Damian complained about being seen getting out of the same vehicle as you. No problem though, because there’s a bus stop a short twenty minute walk from Wayne Manor—safe neighborhood, to be fair. 

Then you do all the school things. Go to class. Eat lunch in the library. Go back to class. After school you’ve started picking up shifts at a local diner. You serve excellent burgers and shitty coffee late into the night before taking the bus back home. 

It isn’t  the most ideal situation but the tips are good, and your coworkers are cool. At the end of the day you work there for the money. You are saving up to go to college somewhere far, far away from here. In a few months you will be eighteen and a high school graduate—i.e. you will no longer be Bruce Wayne’s little burden. 

You’re going to leave and never look back. 

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

A/N: I’ve been reading a lot of these lately, so I wanted to try my hand at one. Do you guys want part two?