Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.

“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—” 

Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident. 

“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.

You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”

Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done. 

You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.

He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”

“Dick.”

He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes.

He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.

You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”

Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”

You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically. 

Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.

“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”

Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”

Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”

A deadpan from Tim. 

“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”

Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”

Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”

Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?” 

“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.

“Oh my God.”

He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?

He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.

The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”

The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”

Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.” 

Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”

Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”

Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.

“I can’t help you.”

Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.

Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”

“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”

Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”

Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”

Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom. 

You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you. 

“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.

“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.

He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you. 

Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back. 

You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”

“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”

He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you. 

You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”

The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature. 

He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.

“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”

You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”

He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.

He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”

You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.

Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt. 

“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following. 

“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”

He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”

He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”

You nod, happy to ease his mind. 

You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.

You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.

You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.

He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.

“Fucking idiot—”

You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.

“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.

“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”

He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.

You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him. 

He scoffs, “It better have been.”

You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”

“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”

You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”

“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly. 

You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”

He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”

His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”

You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”

He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”

He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”

“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.

“Dick!”

The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.

He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes. 

“Where is he?”

Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding. 

Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.

He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”

But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.

He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.

There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail. 

“Really? Really?” Jason shouts. 

“It was an accident! It was a fucking—” 

He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.

“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”

Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.

Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”

Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”

He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him. 

Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”

Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”

“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option. 

“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring. 

Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to. 

“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—” 

Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”

“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”

Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”

 “Yeah, of course I did!”

For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body. 

The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.

It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more. 

“Jason.”

Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption. 

You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.

He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.

“I didn’t hit him.”

From all of his children, Dick and you would be the ones most competent, so he paid no mind when you were not assigned a partner, he knew you were used to going on solo missions. But it was when your pained scream through the comms that Bruce knew he shouldn't have brushed aside your lack of company. Your ragged breath made a shiver run down Bruce's spine, your siblings voices soon filling the device but you didn't respond.

It wasn't until Barbara's voice came through ‘They are going to kill them, B’ that his legs finally moved, he was the closest to your location and yet when he got there, it was already too late. Your blood was still warm when Bruce hugged your body close, but your heart was no longer beating, the silence of it making Bruce's head dizzy.

It didn't take much time for the rest of his children to gather around the scene, with each of them digesting the image in front of them in different ways. Tim was the one who took it the worst.

“No, I calculated everything, that was not supposed to happen. They are fine right, B? Please, tell me they are fine.”

Being the one to make the plan, he couldn't help but think that it was because of him that your body laid lifeless on his fathers arms. Dick hugged Tim trying to comfort him, but his tears just made the younger one panic even more. Shoving his older brother's body out of the way, Tim started to vomit, his limbs trembling in fear and guilt.

Bringing his fingers to close your eyes, Bruce finally moved. Standing up with your body, the man hid the sight of you from his other children by pulling his cape over you, he didn't want to show your condition to them. Bruce's face was covered by his own tears,the feeling of your body now turning cold was like a whiplash to his consciousness.

And just like that, Bruce lost you for the first time. He didn't know what was coming for him.

The pain of losing a child is one of the rare things people can overcome. Grief doesn't go away, you just learn how to manage your life around it and because of that Bruce still occasionally had some flashes of it through his mind.

The image of your body in his arms. The sensation of the blood running through his fingers. The stillness of your eyes, as he closed your eyelids. 

But that… It must be some kind of sick joke, otherwise why was he seeing you sitting at the table, eating breakfast as if nothing happened. Your eyes looked at him in confusion of the way Bruce was standing looking at them, but Bruce could only notice the way your eyes were full of life. His legs moved with urgency, reaching for you and embracing your body against his, face tucked between his shoulder and the crook of his neck.

“Bruce…? Did you have a nightmare?”- Their voice came cautious, not used to the man displaying any physical affection to them.

‘Bruce, not father’

Despite calling him by his name, Bruce felt relieved. After your death, he longed so much to hear your voice, the last bits of it being the pained scream that haunted his mind every so often. 

“Yes, baby. It was a nightmare.”- He said, still holding your body.

Looking at him wide eyed, still confused, you gave a few pats on the man's back before trying to get out of his hold, which failed as he kept hugging you. Soon enough, your sibling started to fill the room, each of them having the same reaction as your father.

“Why are you guys acting like that?”- You said, you were confused,after being hugged in one morning more times than the last ten years.

‘They don't remember.’ Was their first thought at their sibling demeanour, being completely oblivious of what had happened. And despite seeing how uncomfortable you were, none of them could bring themselves to stop. 

Outside, out of the detective's sight, a funnel of purplish clouds was forming. Thunder and lightning occasionally strike between them with loud noise. It was the premise of unfortunate times.

You feel your body tingle, shivers run down your body and as if hypnotized, you shift your attention from your family to the window beside you. Following your gaze, Bruce set his sight at the sky, his hands unconsciously grabbing you and bringing you close to his body. He tried calling you, but you didn't answer. Just like last time, you didn't answer their calls either. 

It was only when he held your chin and shifted your head back to him, that you stopped looking at the window.

“Are you okay?”- He asked, brows furrowed in worry.

You didn't answer with words, only nodded your head. Your mind felt numb, something scraping your guts. You don't belong here, something said in your mind and you looked again to the ominous looking clouds. Bruce felt his heart accelerate beyond measure as he  noticed your eyes hollowing it each time it set its sight in the sky. 

The same eyes he closed carefully.

His chest aches as his breath fails to reach his lungs properly.

It was in that instant that Bruce knew he would lose you again. 

The only sound that fills the air is the steady tempo of your skates pummeling against the face of a large man covered in head to toe with black tattoos. You can't help but giggle as you do a backflip, landing one more hit on his face- right in the nose, as you avoid the large black blur headed your way. The blur slams into the man as you spin away to try and calm yourself down from the adrenalin high you were getting.

It's not your fault it was so silly. Honestly you'd think this duo of Dark-and-Edgy™️working together with All-Brains-No-Cells, for almost two years mind you, would have gotten their act together by now. You reach into the pocket of your brightly colored suit and manage to pull out a rather impossibly long party streamer.

"You guys look like you should do more trust exercises!" You pull at the neon blue streamer and start skating circles around the two. "Don't worry, I'm sure you two will love this one! It's a classic" By the time they are aware of what you were doing it's already too late.

The two of them were tied up with a neat bow and were unable to break free despite their struggling. You do a little bow as you continue to skate around the floor and grab whatever document seemed important. You spin to a stop as you lean on a metal table, flipping through the folders in your hand with precise speed before you dig into your pocket and pull out a fancy looking zip-lock bag. You give the files a once over and drop them in the bag for safe keeping. Seems they were trying to build a portal of some kind?

You crack your knuckles and put the zip-lock away into your bag, then you turn your eyes on dumb and dumber. You raise a brow as you find the two of them arguing with each other. "Wow, do you guys need to go to couples therapy? I know of a good one, well obviously not because I need it but- well, you know your pal can get a bit curious and fall down the occasional rabbit hole... hm anyway- I could totally set you two up!"

The two share a look before both screaming that the two of them weren't a couple. You can't help but laugh as you easily pick them up and sling them over your shoulder. "Hah, you don't have to hide it from me. I'm, like, the last person who'd judge you for being gay. Live and let live and all that."

You make your way out the door, jumping over the fallen rubble with ease, but on the way out you grab the small looking portal in case it actually worked. You didn't want it falling into the wrong hands and all that!

Just before you could leave the building something almost slammed into you from behind. You turned just in time to kick the katana away from you without it cutting any of your flesh. Behind you stood a tall woman with skin as pale as the moon and hair as dark as tar. Her eyes were a striking ice blue and she wore nothing but a traditional Japanese wedding dress, her hands were covered in red paint that mimicked blood splatter and her face held little cracks that span across her face like a spiders web.

"Ah, how wonderful to see you once more Star Hero" Her voice was smooth and cold like a frozen pond that could withstand anything thrown at it. Her eyes narrowed as she held out her hand. The katana that you had kicked away dissolved into a cloud of ice shards and remade itself back into her hands.

You smiled, albeit a bit nervously. You always had trouble facing off with Onryo as she never pulled her punches and always seemed to be trying to either take your life or try and recruit you into becoming part of her family. It was never easy when she decided to try and tempt you into joining her side as she always seemed to find each and every flaw of yours to point out in hopes that you'd be entrapped with the idea of her helping you fix it.

Of course it never worked, I mean why would you try and spend time with her after she just pointed out an embarrassing flaw of yours? Sure you felt bad after you heard her tragic backstory- on the night of her wedding her husband ran away with her own mother, who was never kind to her and often called her a 'blemish on her perfect life', after slipping poison into her sake. Of course she did end up dying but there was a large chemical spill during the winter time that ended up leaking into the poor ditch that was her grave. She ended up coming back to life but totally different and with a thirst for blood.

"Onryo! Good to see you again, find any leads on your trashy ex? C'mon, I'll even put aside my goody-two-shoes act and help you out!" You made a peace sign as you jumped over the swing of her katana, the wings on your skates start to move to keep you air born for a few more seconds. You land on her katana and flash her a smile under your classic brightly colored domino mask before you punch her square in the face.

She growls and spits out a glob of blood before she leans forward and takes off. The white robes that decorated her body moved gracefully in the air as you flipped away from her onslaught of attacks. The two villains, that were still hanging over your shoulder, seemed upset at all the jostling and you couldn't help but feel a bit bad about it.

"Woah! Time out, time out! Let me drop these two off at the station and then we can- Oh shit!" You spun backwards, hair twirling in the wind as you dodged an oncoming car. When did you get to the streets? Fuck it, you couldn't endanger these two's lives like this.

You looked around before spotting an empty cop car and without a beat you shoved the two of them inside and dug in your pockets for a sticky note to explain. You crouched down just as Onryo decided to try and decapitating you. Thank goodness for your little internal alarm that rang every time you were about to get attacked!

Well it's not like an alarm clock but more so of a faint buzzing under your skin? It felt similar to getting zapped! You launched yourself in the air as you pulled out two giant ribbons. The two ribbons, both a pale purple, wrapped themselves around your arms and you used them to launch yourself deeper into the streets, landing on a moving train.

The neon lights of the city blew past you as you pulled out a bo staff that resembled the same one the Grate Sage Equal to Heaven had in his myths. You leaned forward and blocked a slash that was a bit too close for comfort. Without thinking too much about the device in your pocket you continued to fend off the attacks, even creating sparks as your staff clashed against her katana.

The two of you were face to face and you couldn't help but smile. This was what you were after, this adrenalin rush as you fought for your life! Sure saving people brought you a heavy warmth in your soul but this was the best part of it all!!

You discarded your staff and slammed your fists together, a red hue covered your hands and as it faded two boxing gloves took it's place. You crouched before jumping forward, your fists slamming into her pale face as the two of you traded blow for blow. Sure you got cut here and there but you had also managed to land hits on her as well.

You threw yourself upwards and felt your skates shift into a hoverboard, missing the way she smiled fondly at you, and gave her a wink. She looked forward once more, her eyes not registering the giant sign headed her way, before having to do a double take. She tsk'ed before throwing herself off the train and disappearing into a cloud of ice.

Guess you won't be seeing her around for a while. You looked upward into the night sky and marveled at the stars. The icon star design in the middle of your chest glowed faintly and you couldn't help but want to touch the stars, even if for a small moment. On nights like this you'd toy with the idea of becoming one with the constellations but a small voice would whisper that now wasn't a good time.

You hovered in the air for a moment before flying away into the clouds. You flew higher until the air is thin enough that it leaves you breathless and almost needy for a proper lung full of air. You drifted further and further into the endless night before powering your hoverboard down and closing your eyes. You tilted backwards and let yourself free fall backwards with the greedy pull of gravity. The feeling of free falling would always be your favorite feeling in the whole world.

As the wind leapt past your ears to the point of deafness you spread your arms out wide as you got closer to the bustling city that floated in the sky. The device beeped away soundlessly in your pocket and you were none the wiser to it. It gave a shrill beep, that escaped you due to the wind, and since your eyes were closed you couldn't see the bright blue portal opening up beneath you that lead to a whole new city.

You opened your eyes just before your body could hit any of the buildings and you felt two giant feathery white dove wings sprout from your back, right near your center point of gravity, and effortlessly break your fall. Thankfully you didn't crash into any budlings, you wouldn't want to get stuck with fixing it while you could be doing other things for your beloved city. Sure Crestfall City was a bit lacking in some areas but the neon lights always made you happy. It was yours to protect.

Except when you looked around you noticed that it wasn't your beloved city anymore. There was no neon lights or futuristic buildings that towered over everything, nor was there any floating buildings that really made you have to look upwards just to catch a glimpse of them. And the flying cars and trains were gone!

In fact this place was really...old? As in all the technology seemed to be decades behind yours and not to mention the fact that it was also a major different aesthetic. See your city was something straight out of a Sci-Fi vaporwave novel but this city? This city was close to a Victorian novel or a noir film, not even the landmarks were the same as yours!

So that raises the big question of where and when the hell were you? A faint burning feeling warmed your thigh before your pocket burst into flames. You let out a yelp and did the first thing that came to mind- panic.

You swatted at your pocket, you rolled on the floor, you did both at the same time, and you even had to pull out a fire extinguisher from out of nowhere and it was still on fire! You bit your lip as you risked fishing out the object that was burning your suit. This might hurt but you really didn't want to turn into some sort of flightless Icarus.

The smooth object, that was somehow on fire but unable to burn your hands, was easy to remove as it was no bigger than your palm. You blew on it to clear away the rest of the small flames and realized this was the portal from earlier.

In your confusion you didn't hear the sound of two grappling hooks deploy nor did you hear the sound of footsteps until someone placed a hand on your shoulder. "Got anything interesting in that palm of- Urk"

You would like for it to go on record that you did not squeal. You shouted like a totally normal person would as you punched the person next to you in the stomach. You blinked, putting the mini portal away in your other pocket as you looked downwards to see someone in bright blue spandex currently clutching his stomach.

Next to him was someone dressed in a bat themed costume with the only drop of color being his yellow belt. "Oh! Oh my stars! I'm so sorry- ah hold on I've got something to help!!" You ruffle through your pockets and pull out a can with a green label, with a woman wearing a yellow dress and standing next to a green suited man, and offered it to him. "Here try this, I'm pretty sure lemon-lime soda helps with stomach aches!"

"Who are you?" The gruff voice of the Bat guy asked, or rather demanded, his arms were crossed and he gave off the vibes of a very tired dad.

You foolishly pointed to yourself and tilted your head, "Me? Why, I'm your friendly cosmic hero! Star Punch!" You strike a pose, one hand on your hip as your other hand makes a peace sign with your thumb hangout. Right on cue a small shower of stars circled around you, showering you with glittery sparkles, before disappearing as if it was never there in the first place.

He raised a brow and remained silent. You lowered your arm with a confused look. "Really? Never heard of me? Not to toot my own horn but I'm pretty famous. Or well, you know wanted in the dead or alive kinda way? Vigilante and all that jazz?"

"Never heard of you. What's your business in Gotham?" Wow...was this guy for real?? You're pretty sure there's at least twenty wanted posters of your face on every street!

"Gotham? What? No, no, I thought I was still in Crestfall city? Or- well, somewhere near it?" Now you even more confused. The guy in blue looked at you and then back to the Bat guy before going over and whispering to him. Sadly you didn't get to hear it but at least the bat guy didn't look that mad anymore.

"I've never heard of a city called Crestfall. What year do you think it is?" This time it was the blue guy speaking, leaning on the Bat guy with his arms crossed. You couldn't help but be reminded of a mother duck and her baby. How sweet.

"Duh, isn't it the year thirty forty-five? Also, I've never heard of Gotham either. Is it new?" You shrug pulling out a whole ass calendar from your pocket and pointing to the date circled in a glittery blue pen. The art of the month was two women who were made up of nothing but stars holding hands as they faced each other with a fond look in their eyes.

Bat guy actually facepalmed as the blue guy let out a sigh. "No, uh, I'm pretty sure the years still two thousand and twenty five." He turned to the Bat guy, "B I think we've got another displaced time traveler or...something?"

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

So apparently they were called Batman and Nightwing? Which were cool names, but also the three of you were able to piece together that this wasn't a time travel thing but rather a dimension thing.

Once they brought you back to their hideout, which was a sick ass cave under a gothic mansion, you decided to talk about the burning device in your pocket. Well, what was left of it anyway. It was still in pretty good shape other than the fact that it was mostly burnt in the most important areas.

The two of them got to studying it and by that point you had already forgotten about the paperwork in your pockets. In fact you were so distracted by the giant penny that you hadn't noticed the arrival of two more people.

First was a lanky, but well built, teen with pale skin and pale blue eyes. Second was a smaller teen, who looked like they had just turned thirteen in the recent months, who was no taller than your hip. The younger teen had darker skin and almost fern green eyes that had a small glow to them.

When you first laid your eyes on the older teen you had felt like he was awfully familiar, like someone you've passed on the streets and did a double take because something about them was drawing you in. So obviously you had to say hello to the new guy!

You kicked off from your spot near the ledge of the platform, one leg in the air as you folded your hands behind your back and circled the guy on your skates. You wanted to get a full 360 view of him before you made any sort of judgment.

From your quick lookover you had spotted the amount of scars that covered his body. From a slice that went from one side of his neck to the other all the way to a few claw marks on his back that his tank top did little to hide. You stopped circling him and finally held out a hand, a nod of approval as he hesitantly took it.

"Salutations! You can call me Star Punch, or Star, Oh! You could even call me [Name]. That's my real name by the way!" You shook his hand so violently his enter arm started to shake like it was made of rubber. "You see, I normally wouldn't give you my real name but since I'm totally not from your world it's A-Okay!"

"Father, explain this brightly colored fool immediately." The younger boy crossed his arms, almost looking like a spitting image of Batman, and he sent you a glare.

You stuck your tongue out in response as you took your hand away from the tired looking teen. "For your information I'm only a fool when it's a good time to be." Was all you said before you skated back towards the giant computer with your eyes closed. "B, I'm bored! You got anything cool to do?"

When Batman didn't respond, only handing a file of what you assumed to be notes he took about you to his child, you let out a huff. "Fine! Be that way, I'll just have to find entertainment by myself!" You pulled out a pale yellow tent from somewhere in your pockets and went inside, ignoring the raised brows of confusion from everyone else in the room.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and assume they're a very displaced hero from a very odd future?" The tall and tired teen said as he rubbed at his eyes. This earned a nod from the big Bat himself.

You, feeling bored and restless by yourself in the tent, stick your hand out and grab the nearest person. You pull them inside and come face to face with the half startled look of the younger teen. You smile at him and hand him a small kitten with a purple party hat gently stuck to it's head.

He marveled at the cat before looking around the tent. Inside the tent was much larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. It was fully decorated in a pastel circus theme with a lot of star motifs covering a lot of the decorations. Despite you claiming to be from the future the tent had a very old timey look to it that felt both nostalgic for a time that didn't exist and very whimsical.

Outside the tent a man in red and blue spandex showed up with three other people, one of which was in his arms. The other two were smaller and wore similar yet not the same hero suits as he did, one had more of a punk rock vibe and the other was just small.

You stick your head out, and the teen whose name you've learned was Robin, did the same to look at the new people. You roll out of the tent with a cup of peach tea in your hand as you skate circles around them. They seemed buff and really strong.

But what caught your eyes was the woman dusting off her fancy purple blouse. Was she a hero too? You titled your head as you studied her, unaware that the younger red and blue hero was doing the same motions as you. You blink before smiling as it finally clicked, she was a reporter!

"Is this the hero you were talking about? I can see what you were talking about, their heartbeat is abnormal...." The tall man said as he glanced over you before his eyes widened in shock. "Oh! They have a-"

You slap a large star shaped sticker over his mouth and waved your finger. "Nuh-uh! That's spoilers, and keep those X-ray eyes of yours away from me! Creepo" You cross your arms as you skate backwards and into a bean bag that wasn't there before. He blinks before smiling fondly and looking back to the dark and moody hero.

"Look at you! Sick wheels you've got there, can they do anything?" The punk themed teen asked as he floated around you, hovering just an inch off the ground with his hand on his chin in thought. "What does this do?" He tapped on the star in embedded in your chest like a perv would. Wow do these people not understand the basics of personal space [heh get it?] and spoilers??

The star glows a bright [f/c] color before fading from view to reveal you in your every day outfit. Gone was the skin tight suit and puffy space themed jacket with matching roller skates and in its place was a pair of black ripped jeans and a heavy metal shirt that was two sizes too large on you.

"Hey! Don't touch!" You smack him with your palm and a cartoonish red hand print shows up on his skin, much to the shock of everyone else. He cups his cheek and pouts similarly to a dog. You touch the star on your chest and watch their eyes widen as a [f/c] color light travels upwards and replaces your clothes with your hero suit. "You people are so rude"

"Anyway! I just remembered something very important!!" Your hand digs through your unreasonably large pockets until your hand touches the smooth plastic of the zip-lock bag. You pull it out and hand it over to the heroes in front of you. "I totally forgot about this, my bad!"

A collective sigh broke out as you rolled towards the reporter with a grin. You've always wanted to talk to one without them trying to twist your words!

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

Two days. You've been here two days and yet for some reason you've found that none of these people will leave you alone! Any time you try and do something there's always two people tagging along.

You walk across the city in your civilian clothes with Tim and Kon tagging along behind you. The two of them occasionally bicker with each other as you hold their hands. And why might you be holding their hands? Maybe because you've wandered off far too much without being held down.

It was totally not your fault everything seemed so cool! They might not have had the sci-fi charm that your city had but they had much cooler things. They had lots of people dressed up in fancy clothing, people selling such odd things you've never seen before, and even it's own type of personalized burger joint!

While you've never eaten at a Bat-Burger before you now have the chance to do so. And oh boy were you excited!! You had begged, literally, the big bad bats and the boy scout to go. And after an hour of straight begging they finally let you go.

However you couldn't go unless someone went with you, and these two jumped at the opportunity. So here you were, a few miles away from their homebase and a two minute walk away from the ever famed Bat-Burger. What could go wrong?

Well.

Nothing happened on the walk there but the moment you stepped inside someone tripped over air and you ended up catching them. Now that's not the problem, the problem is that the moment you caught them they immediately let out a squeak and ran away from you. Like hello???

And then after that every time you spoke someone was staring intensely at you while you did so. Did you look bad? Did you have something stuck in your teeth? The hell was wrong with these people?

But other than that the food was great! Unbeknownst to you- everyone was actually caught up in your beauty to fully act proper round you. But can you blame them? Your hair was perfect and a lovely shade of [h/c] color as well, with your body build you looked exactly like you crawled out of a movie. The scar placed right through your eyebrow making you have that slight edgy look to your casual aesthetic??

And you were helpful, kind, polite, strong, and you even saved someone without asking for anything in return? What portal did you crawl out of you kind freak of nature?!

Not to mention the fact that you had two handsome men hanging off your shoulders. One of which being THE son of well-known-party-boy Brucie Wayne and the other from Clark Kent THE reporter from Metropolis who was close friends with Bruce?? Just who in the world were you?? Some sort of undercover idol? An up and coming movie star?

Too bad you don't have access to the internet because you'd be having a field day laughing at all the posts about you. You hadn't even realized that you became a small online celebrity from that one interaction.

However your online fame can wait. Currently you were chowing down on this burger that tasted really good! You got yourself a classic Bat Burger with lettuce, tomato, cheese, and some sort of mystery sauce that oddly went well with the beef patty. To top it off you got a side of joker fries that came with some weird green powder that tasted slightly sweet and salty. And then you got something called a Red Robin Sprite?

That one made you cough, real bad, due to the acidity of it and the flavoring. You thought it was going to be like a cherry lemon-lime but it was more like boiled Gatorade mixed in with a WcDonalds Sprite. Tim and Kon both laughed at you when you started coughing.

"Wh-why the fuck would you recommend me that?? It tasted so mcfreaking bad!!" You threw a fry at each of them. Kon caught the fry while Tim let himself get hit in the face with it.

"Ahh that's cause it's a right of passage. You haven't really tried Bat-Burger unless you've tried their nasty drinks!" Tim stole a few more of your fries as he talked.

"Mhm, hey we should get more fries" Kon nodded along, also stealing your fries. Fake ass friends stealing your fries, you'll remember this for later.

But before anyone could actually get up and get some more fries someone dressed in a fugly ass light blue suit broke through the door. He held up what appeared to be a ketchup and mustard bottle, connected to a tube that lead to a container on his back, like guns and pointed them at everyone in the room.

"Nobody move! Put the money in the bag, or else you'll face the wrath of I! Condiment King!!"

Your face contorted into a very disgusted and confused look as you gave him a once over. Who the cosmos was this freak? Out of all the gimmicks he picked- he went with fucking condiments????

Without a word you stood up, much to the shock of Tim and Kon, and made your way towards the bathroom without anyone else in the crowd spotting you.

A moment of silence pass before they both sighed. "...they're going to power up aren't they?" Kon whispered to Tim as he leaned over, using his other hand to continue eating more of your fries.

"Of course they are. God damnit, why'd he have to show up here of all places? We finally got the chance to spend time with them and he just" The paper cup of soda in Tim's hand gets crushed in half. Some of the drink shoots out and lands on the ground near them.

A blank moment of time passes by as Condiment King starts making his demands to the worker. You fly in through the broken doors and tackle him to the floor, flying right past a star struck Tim and Kon. The two of them could swear 'more than a feeling' was playing in that moment.

You punched Condiment King in the face before digging into your pockets for an ugly green colored party ribbon to tie him up with. Sadly the fight was short lived as you were hungry and pissed, probably really hangry, at the fact that most of your food got hit with the debris of the broken door.

There was no silly one liner, funny jokes, or even any questions. You were just so pissed off about your food that you didn't want anything else to do with him.

You tied him up in the ugly ribbon and quite literally threw him out the door he broke down. In a flash you were sitting right beside them, back in your original clothes, arms crossed and a frown settled on your face.

Kon pats your shoulder with a solemn smile while Tim points at the menu behind you. "We'll get you more food..."

Is this probably going to be a two part series? Uhhh yeah! Anyway this has been in my drafts for an entire YEAR so I'm trying to clean it up and get it outta here so I can take my drafts out of the double digit area.

I have more planned but I do plan on keeping this MOSTLY a fluffy au. Also this is my first time writing for the Supers, so I plan on toying with their potential before making a part 2? Or maybe I'll make a part 2 before making a Yan! Supers centric fanfic with a neglected reader au.

See the joys about DC is that they have SO MUCH potential I can use!! I could even throw in my beloved son Billy Batson! But I've got too many ideas so I have to focus on clearing my drafts first.

(yet his panicked eyes also run over the splotches of dried blood carelessly painting the papers. it wasn't just a tiny amount too. it was everywhere. like paint thrown across a canvas, it's smeared over some texts, blotched the sides and the bottom and— why was there blood? why was there so much? whose blood was it? the questions flood endlessly in his brain, and he's afraid even the answers would devastate him to the point of no return if he ever discovered it was yours.)

despite his disbelief, he skims over some paragraphs, takes in every bitter word, every spiteful phrase that had filled every blood-stained page.

the first thought that came to dick's mind was... well, it was impressive. any child of bruce, adopted or not, was destined for great things. yet even outside of bruce, dick knew his baby bird was always capable. but he never knew the extent of how great those things were.

it was another failure on his part.

it was another failure as your eldest brother.

he never really knew you, had only seen a part of you in his memories, but never the true you—

before he even discovered countless of your sketchbooks, journals, even the medals alfred had forgotten to store away, all hidden within your room; to dick, you were just the kid with shining, bright eyes in the face of your mother's tragedies. hopeful, naive, one of the youths dick had promised to protect as long as he lived. but he never had put an effort to know about your hobbies, your interests, your goals or your true thoughts.

not until now...

where even then he's hesitant to know, in fear that your hope for him had rotten and all that remained was rightful hatred.

so much so that when he flipped the paper to its back, his worst nightmares had begun to fester into reality.

he feels as if his heart had begun traversing its way up his throat, ceased, and then refused to move.

"journal entry #15: dick grayson and nightwing." it starts, followed with printed pictures of him swinging around the city, captured by cameras on standby. colored illustrations of his suits had a timeline plastered to its bottom, ranging from him as robin, to his transitions as nightwing.

you long knew about his identity of nightwing; your entries dated from nearly six years ago, when you were about to hit your thirteenth birthday mark—

then he vaguely recalls back-reading through one of your messages, and remembers your invitation to have him come to your small celebration.

"my bday's coming soon!" his phone screen had never looked so blurry until the time he'd scroll through the far dates of your texts, noticing how by every new message, your enthusiasm slowly dwindled. yet your first ones were once so full of life — and he realized he should've never dismissed your message as just some trick towards him; maybe then things would've been different. maybe you would be here, with him, laughing and painting the manor with your shining presence — he never realized you'd even went through great effort to ask for his number through alfred.

"you don't have to buy me a gift or anything, your presence is enough of one already!" you invited him alone. it should've done a great deal of pride to him, and yet all he ever did was make mistake after mistake, restricting your phone number to limit the spam.

you also said you planned cupcakes instead of a cake, said it was too much for you to finish. it was unusual at first— but then, sitting in your creaking room with the humid air of your tiny room clogging his brain, it took a little thinking to realize you'd been celebrating all your birthdays alone.

when your mother had died, when jason had already been dead, everyone, even alfred, was too wrapped up mourning and grieving. dick had spiraled enough with every argument towards bruce, then tim came into the fray— without your mother, it had just been you and alfred. you were never close to tim.

you've been reaching milestones alone.

another failure as your older brother.

he wants to vomit, crumple on the floor and dry heave— he wants to die thinking some more.

you were so desperate to even have one guest to your birthday party. was it even a party in the first place?

you were so fucking desperate you'd even told dick you'll do whatever flavor of frosting he'd prefer. you never thought of yourself at that moment, you only thought about dick coming to your celebration, of anyone coming.

then all of a sudden, dick realized that during the date of your birthday, he had actually been in the manor.

and worse? he'd spent it with alfred by his side the entire time.

he spent your birthday with alfred.

fuck...!

he could've spent it with you!

it was only after the late hours of the night did the butler dismiss himself with a worried furrow of his brows, seeming more insistent in leaving early rather than staying with the athlete. dick before didn't understand why for the first time in a while, alfred had other matters to attend to when tim was at a sleepover and bruce was in the middle of press conference. dinner would come later that night, dick was about to ask alfred why if he hadn't left his side already.

at that, he shrugged his shoulders, returning to his room, opting to sleep the night instead and waking up at midnight where he'd follow up with bruce over patrols, see if they could talk things out.

he should've known.

alfred's hasty footsteps echoing across the hallways should've been a sign of suspicion, but dick had been far too consumed with other worries. about his team, about his argument with bruce, about bludhaven and everything else weighing his mind.

worries that he shouldn't have to prioritize when he'd done nothing that day except converse with alfred, ranting to the manor's butler about mundane things to distract himself with that clawing feeling that something felt wrong amidst the silence—

because then he wouldn't have to imagine his baby bird, standing there all alone in the kitchen, ingredients at stand by, looking around to find every hallway, with no one coming to their little celebration.

how many times has that happened?

how many times have you been left to your own device, hopelessly waiting for a miracle?

how many birthdays of yours had he rejected without knowing, in favor of prioritizing something else, someone else?

how many birthdays, milestones, celebrations did you have while the entire family spent nights separate from each other— or spending with each other, whilst without you, instead?

dick completely understands if you've fucking despised every bit of him after always ditching your invitations—

because now, you've written your personal notes about him beside all the drawings. even a single skim of the paragraphs of text was enough for dick to know this was written not out of awe. the more he reads under his breath, the faster the pace in his heavy heart quickens.

"dick is- is nightwing." he stutters, ignoring the squeak of barbara's wheelchair nearing him, too engrossed to even notice her grabbing some of the pages from his hands.

he continues to read, as if under an unwilling trance, mind fogged with every word that shifts into vivid imaginations of your self writing these entries in your too-small bedroom.

"it's- it's obvious from the way they share the same acrobatic moves that... that he does in secret in rooms where he thinks i'm not looking.

his eyes flip to another carelessly erased line, making out every letter through blurry eyes — a reflection to what you truly think, but still ashamed to admit — lips quivering as he whispers, "he- he does it in front of everyone but, but me. like he's ashamed of even acting like himself, like i'm undeserving of even seeing a part of him natural to others—

"no, little bird. you were never..." he disrupts through his narration, tries not to tear the paper out, which kept revealing every bit of resentment you felt for the athlete from the start. he could feel every venomous word injecting into his veins, he couldn't do anything to stop reading at the same time.

dick wanted to know every emotion you felt, and yet, biting his lips—

"it's me who doesn't deserve you. you shouldn't... shouldn't talk about yourself like this. nobody deserves you..."

it was all he could comment. he wish you could hear these sentiments in person, he wishes you were here just so he could disprove every line, every insult you'd written off as cruel jokes meant to hurt yourself.

cruel jokes that always came with dripping ichor.

no matter how aged and dry the blood may be, he couldn't wash away the scent of it clinging on shriveled paper; another wave of guilt clings to his heavy heart.

yet the truth continues.

"he does these— these flips i see him perform on TV as nightwing, and i remember all the times he'd mindlessly do handstands or jump from the second floor to the next, smiling to anyone who'd see. they don't know how lucky they are, dick was never this way to me...sometimes he'd also do it when i'd sneak into the cave and find him talking with the others...

"every time he does, he's got the same..." charming, was what was supposed to be written next, but you've scribbled over the word, violently, as dick's trembling fingers runs over the back of the paper, feeling the torn page, the heavy handed words engraved in every line; imagining just how much animosity had filled your entire being to the point you'd replace charming with—

"he's got the same... dishonest— the same disgustingly huge smile he always gave me whenever he made excuses that he's busy, that he's got work, hero work — he never says, i pretend to never suspect — to do.

"i- i understand that," he stutters, biting his lips at the sarcasm which bleeds into every word. "you can't stop someone like dick. when he's got his mind set on a goal, not even bruce or damian can talk him out of it. in that order of things, my opinion would never matter, hah. i just was never considered into a goal. so i understand. it's not like i can be mad for any longer when he still smiles at me while making all these excuses and- and sometimes even promises of next time's. at least he doesn't see me as a villain, he doesn't mistreat me or anything. so i can't blame him, he's... still nice.

"but then again, it's also so obvious, of course, that the only difference between me and the people he saves on TV is... is that the smile he shows them... is genuine.

"and the one he shows me is still just the product of an afterthought—"

dick couldn't finish reading the entire entry before slamming the papers down on the panels beside him, quivering hands wracking across his hair and slamming into his face.

his eyes, they fill with salty water faster than he could swallow down the heavy lump residing in his throat.

for a moment, the manor's air stills once more.

his thoughts betray him and fill him with pictures of your younger self, your scarred fingers writing alone in your room— the blood dripping down and on to the paper from the deep cuts etched into your skin, from your swollen fingertips sore from all the words you've etched with faded ballpens. how, despite the pain wracking throughout your very body, you'd continue to write down the feelings too heavy to express, once hopeful eyes slowly dimming until it bursts to flames.

until all you felt was resentment dick deserved to feel from you.

the more he imagines your own pen stabbing every word into paper, the more it starts to feel like every word was a thousand knives stabbing into his very skin. if not for the panels keeping his stability, leaning to his side, he'd collapse.

"no..."

god no.

have you always thought of him this way? was he always like this to you?

he didn't mean to treat you like you were nothing.

he didn't mean for you to portray his tired smiles and his dismissive hands as a sign of disinterest, of falsified emotions, of dick acting like you never mattered when he was just— he was just so oversaturated with the guilt of jason's death, his fights with bruce, his teammates, the teen titans, the loss, the grief. he didn't mean anything—

but that wasn't a fucking excuse.

not when he'd left you waiting for thirteen years, not when he'd treat you like a second option, waved you, told you, "not today!" with a smile betraying his every intention.

he'd never given you a chance, that was an undeniable fact. even when you were always home, even when he found the time to be home for all the others.

he doesn't understand himself, he wanted to so badly—

call you, his baby bird.

he wants to fix things, correct his mistakes, even if it were too late, even if the image of him, once bright and shining, was now tarnished into a stranger you'd despise. dick just wanted to — no matter how much he rubs his eyes with his arms to rid the spilling tears, bites his lips, crumples the fragile paper with shivering fingers to numb his emotions down before the guilt devours him whole — he wants to apologize a thousand times. he wants to take back every wrong action of his and consume you in all his emotions, the good, the bad, the ugly—  just so your opinion of him would change.

just so you wouldn't see him as the brother who was never there.

who was always running off to bludhaven to avoid you.

dick wanted to grovel, he wanted to crumple into a ball and remove the aching lump that had resided in his throat ever since he found your room. the tears he thought would never fall from his eyes were already bursting before he could even cease it. and ashamed as he may be from being seen in all his rawest form by the others; the pain, the guilt, the memory of your wide-eyed smile, the sensation of your tiny fingers holding tight against his palm overpowers any embarrassment he thought he'd felt.

god, he misses you.

he wants to see you — the paper has long since been shriveled by his powerful grip, his head buried in his arms, all the tears he'd been holding back came rushing out of him 'til it turned to dry heaves, and alfred's gloved palms patting his back doesn't compensate for anything other than unneeded sympathy. the silence that the others had allotted for your grieving older brother wouldn't change the fact that you're still the missing piece inside the manor. and for the first time in a while, he felt the same shadow that had cloaked his entire being from the moment he'd found out jason died after he'd returned from that space mission, that he was too late to even save the boy; too late to save you from yourself — dick had never despised himself as much as he did now.

he knew he could never be forgiven, he knew that for as long as he lived, he would never live up to the image of him you once held in high regard anymore.

yet as he laments all the moment he could've been your older brother, could've been your family, your hero— he still pictures the quirk in your tired steps, the way your eyes lightened, the way your wide smile revealed your chipped teeth from the very moment he first left you at your room; and it only makes the tears run down faster.

he imagines that little child all alone in the kitchen on the day of their birthday, blowing on the little candle of their cupcake in the dark of the night, making a wish for a better one next year.

have you even received a gift from any of them before?

— god, his eyes clamp down harder, drowning the world in all the darkness — a sight you've probably been accustomed to living here, dick hates thinking about it — he doesn't even want to imagine anymore, biting down at his tense arms, trying to stifle his sobs.

yet no matter how much he tries, he couldn't get rid of the hole that had ripped right into his chest, the ache thumps louder in his heart every time your little smiling face appears in all his thoughts, it was a pain that clawed into emptiness, settled deeply in every scar wracking across his body.

a reminder that even with all his sacrifices, all the battles he fought— he still couldn't save you.

he still couldn't save his baby bird.

if you had wished for a new family in that lonely birthday of yours, he understands you.

if you had wished for one you can actually call your own, for a father who was never absent, for a family who never turned their backs on you, for an older brother to never once break any empty promises; he truly understands.

because dick could be the leader, the dependable older brother, the hope of bludhaven. he could spend his entire life saving others. he can grow, fix his relationship with bruce, with jason, raise damian, become the idol everyone knew and loved and never once doubted.

he can be the change his city needs to be a better place—

but no matter what, at the end of the day—

he'll always hate himself.

the voices within the cave remained silent.

at the same time, no words were needed to be said.

it was difficult to ignore dick's weeping all throughout, his lonesome bawling was the only sound that filled the empty space. the only sound that penetrated the suffocation everyone but alfred felt.

even the bats had stopped their panicked wings from flapping due to the earlier commotion. the stalagmites that once dribbled water had deafened into nothingness. if it was because everyone had succumbed to their own thoughts, or if it was because it seemed the manor had stilled the noise for you— nobody knew the answers.

there was truly nothing filling the air except for dick, and even then his sobs were stifled by his arms.

the clawing silence remained, the volume of dick's sobs had grown softer. he had been mumbling "sorry's" and incoherent apologies all throughout. sometimes there were promises, other times he'd choke on his own tears and beat at his chest, begging for something they couldn't hear.

nobody could easily approach him, let alone ask if he was alright.

the answers were already obvious.

alfred had ceased from any physical comfort he'd offer to the shivering hero, withdrawing his palms and returning to bruce's side. bruce, whose face, once neutral, now softened when he shared a glance with the butler.

like him, he knew his words wouldn't do any help. it might even make things worse—

it might make dick storm off the manor and find you alone.

as much as they felt pity, both alfred and bruce knew dick was too far gone to be even offered anything to make him feel better. any affirmations, small or big, words or not, couldn't soothe the all consuming guilt he'd felt.

all they could do was leave him to his own bubble, ignore the guilt eating at their conscience too. not even a remark was heard from a wide-eyed damian, who had watched his eldest brother the entire time, who felt like part of this was his fault too.

and yet he didn't mean to drop your sketchbook for the entire family to see.

he didn't mean to be a part of the spiral of events leading to dick's breakdown.

it was his sworn duty, an unspoken promise, to keep things of yours all for himself. the entirety of his early training inside the batcave was just a distraction for him to extricate any thoughts he had of you. he'd hidden your sketchbooks in corners of the cave, in cabinets where he's guaranteed nobody, not even tim, would open, let alone access.

then he tried to train with his sword as intended while waiting for the rest to arrive at bruce's announcement.

yet even if his slashes against the training dummies were harsher, even if he had to remind himself that you shouldn't be infecting his thoughts as much as you did for others— like dick, he couldn't erase any memories he had of you. he couldn't erase the gruesome illustrations you drew, your aggressive reaction from the last time you've talked to him, even that one memory you had together that had been pestering him long before you even left the manor...

in the end, he found himself in the middle of the open space, fingers running across the spine of your thickest sketchbook; one figured he hadn't opened before. with papers stuck in between pages, and pages ready to fall off if he even dared open the book.

the one he held was different from the others. it had no front cover title like it typically does. not even a name etched on any side. your other sketchbooks always had old and peeling stickers embedded into its covers. some were nonsensical, others were what he speculated to be your favorite characters from shows he also watched — he never realized just how similar you two were. if it were him in the past, he'd reject the notion, spit on the shoes of anyone who'd dare point it out — you'd use a white acrylic markers on some textured pages, draw stars, zigzags, swirls; anything that gave it personality.

anything that screams the fact it's yours.

but this one was fancier, a more expensive sketchbook. left blank and barren, like you didn't want any trace of it linked back to you.

everything about it was bizarre.

damian knew that although your voice was the one everyone heard the least, the things you owed had marks, titles, names that were unique only to you.

if anyone else had taken your possessions, even if you were a stranger to most, they'd know it'd be yours.

damian knew how desperate you were to be known.

to be seen.

that's why everything of yours had to be yours. it needed to have pieces of you stuck on every corner, it needed to scream you.

the fact that he knew all this, the fact that he knew information, unknown to others, about you at all, despite his inherent refusal to acknowledge your existence within the manor—

he wouldn't explain.

but he knew either way, and that was all that needed to be said.

... hence why it was strange how this sketchbook of yours has no identity traced back to you.

but to damian, it also meant something special. something sacred if you were keen in hiding something. damian believed it's special if only he had the access to whatever knowledge you'd hidden in your sketchbooks—

except when he'd open through the middle pages, he was greeted not by the more intimate journal entries you typically opt to write in blank pages, not by the graphic drawings he'd expected to see— but by an array of faded blueprints of the cave he stands in now, sketchbook spreads of their costumes: front, middle, and back; all drawn so accurately, it sends shivers across damian's spines to imagine just how intimately close you were to the suits to even know the patterns up close.

even speculations about the items they carry inside their utility belts, backed by newspaper clippings that show candid photographs of the vigilantes takings candies, ropes, and of the like out of their belts.

you weren't hiding something from them.

if you did, you'd have taken this sketchbook to your grave, you wouldn't have left it alongside your other belongings, things you thought would carry dust, be discarded by alfred. but you've known more about them far longer than they did you, you've compiled entries about what you've learned, little notes; passive aggressive remarks. you knew about their hero identities—

damian wasn't horrified about you knowing about them, even if your compiled proofs were shoved right in his face, even if he felt the hairs on his body prick up— he'd drawn a sword right to your neck at the first meeting; you were bound to be curious either way. about your half-brother. about the life he had prior to gotham. alfred had given you a quick rundown about the young boy before you'd greet him by the door.

the sweat running down his forehead, his legs feeling like jelly, his pupils dilating wasn't attributed to your discovery of their secret identities.

damian wasn't that afraid of that fact, even if there was a lingering ounce of astonishment.

no.

he was shaken by the thought that you knew so early.

that you were aware of the different life they led outside of yours. that you were almost purposely kept out of the picture and that you knew—

you knew so well that your largest sketchbook yet, and it was by far one of the oldest too, spanning from inexperienced sketches of batman's costume from the very start, to the whiter, more untouched pages by the very back.

— his fingers had not shaken just carrying the sheer, behemoth-like weight of the book, but the weight of your knowledge, the regret that had suddenly invaded all his thoughts; it had him slip both his book and his sword right out of his hold like butter, just right before he could remember to tighten his grip.

the crash was deafening like the wringing in his ears. he'd stick to his spot for a second, frozen in place whilst the others had begun to notice the contents of the paper.

then the rest became a blur to damian, the young boy looking down at his hands, his scarred fingers, his calloused palms. he's sworn to use them for good as robin, as a protector of this city alongside batman.

it wasn't easy.

the change was not sudden for damian. you can't just undo the years of battle and gruesome training he'd went into being an assassin. but there was still  an undeniable change. becoming robin by force, being treated like an outsider at first, dealing with judgemental stares, working with his father's disappointment, meeting steph and finally being treated like a kid by her, getting closer to dick— having to prove his way into being a worthy holder of the mantle he had now.

damian asks himself:

was he worthy of redemption after all these years? was he worthy of atonement for all the blood he shed? when even in the path to proving himself— he'd never been good to you?

would forgiveness come naturally after he'd told you you were better off gone in the first place?

he'd taken a step back, sensations unwelcome but not unknown had invaded his every being: the warmth he felt when he first saw you, followed by the burning rage, the unworthiness, the envy.

your once unafraid eyes staring right at him, your welcoming nature, holding that damned tray of sweets staring back at him in mockery, all the traits he saw in himself in you if he wasn't raised to be like who he was—

you knew about their nightly endeavors, you knew of how often you've been left behind and excluded from everything, and yet you remained kind.

kind, but also afraid to take another step in his direction.

you've learned to shake under his gaze, learned to turn the opposite way when you've crossed paths, not only in the manor but in school, in public where anyone could see that these two half-siblings never acted like they were.

you changed your seating arrangement so you'd sit off at the far corner of the already long and winding dining table; only for the distance between you and your family to turn wider; eating with utensils barely clanking the ceramics, turning away from everybody, excusing yourself too early.

sometimes, you wouldn't even come down at all.

you shrink in your position every time he'd enter the library, leave without a word, watch him and dick become closer brothers than you ever had the chance of even spending a second with the eldest.

you both were the outsiders, and yet only one remained the victor.

you'd done everything to avoid more pain into your already miserable life. you'd done nothing wrong and damian had purposely inflicted more and more until your cup of patience was drained and you'd almost exploded at him. if he wanted to prove himself to be the rightful vigilante of the city, then why'd he act like villain to you...?

what was it about you that had him feeling so deliberately jealous?

... before his questions could be answered, he had already been counted into the family.

they were kinder to him now, less cautious—

he'd learn to speak less formally, gained friends at school, joined a football team, earned crushes, got teased; he had been counted in invitations before it was even considered.

he learned that it was alright to not act older than his age. he'd been treated like the boy he is, a young child still cluelessly navigating a world full of mysteries.

life was faring well, as well as it could get in gotham, and yet...

he was constantly reminded of how you were the only one in the family who was the first to treat him with compassion.

you were the one who'd open the door on him first before everybody else, despite alfred's cautious warnings, despite knowing the boy younger than you would be acknowledged far easier than you who had lived in the manor for the entirety of your life.

you were everything damian was not. you were everything damian wished to be.

he'd read your entries, learned about your bitterness, and you never took it out on him despite all your venomous words cutting through paper. you held yourself back from lashing out. you never reciprocated the same damning words he'd spew right at you. never fought back except for the very end; where you'd learn to avoid him if it meant a day of peace.

when he'd learn to miss you after.

where shortly after, the manor had become quieter.

he looks at his palms again.

these were meant to protect, meant to shield his older sibling from harm, to serve common people like you who had no power against the crimes of this city. you were the only non-vigilante in the family, the only person vulnerable enough to walk on the city's streets with the risk of danger with every footstep, and he was your baby brother— but he should've been far beyond that.

he should've been your protector too.

... and yet all these hands had ever done for him was hurt you.

no one else was there to protect you from his harm.

damian doesn't understand why. he remains lost in thought, lost for words.

lost in the regrets that'd pile up in his chest until all he could feel was the same sting, like an open wound poured with alcohol, when you'd glare back at him after another round of verbal assault, when you'd run away from the boy, when he stalked you all the way to your room and found you piercing through fragile, already scarred skin with yet another razor— that he swore he'd thrown out before, that meant you'd went and bought another, unable to live a day without constant physical torment—

your head was tilted down, eyes drawn wide open, blankly gazing at the crimson droplets beading and dripping from your thighs. this had turned into a habit. just another coping mechanism.

this became routine.

numbing down every bitter emotion beating out of your chest by hurting yourself with something worse.

and damian could only watch you fall deeper into a hole he helped dig.

what kind of hero was he if he couldn't even save his older sibling?

he recalls you, peeking through your doors, how you hit back loud sobs, head buried on your quivering, bleeding thighs, still afraid of being heard, blood seeping out of lips from all the times your teeth would pierce through wounds meant to heal, your nail beds had been bitten raw, fingertips stained with red, too, as you run your hands, ripping, tearing at matted hair; even if you were located in the far, abandoned corners of the manor, you'd learn to regulate your sobs in fear of it echoing through the halls.

to him, you were like a wounded animal, a terrified dog who'd learn that noise meant another inflicted bruise, another horrific slash across your body. being heard never meant being seen, being judged for acting the way you do. you'd shrink in the far corners, until you could be mistaken for a faint silhouette, and it was far better than knowing you were only acknowledged, but you were never offered a helping hand.

whilst damian had all the help he could get into becoming better, you'd disappear into the sidelines, only to become worse.

even if damian himself had tried every means of delaying your hurt without you ever knowing, you'd always find another way. you'd always be one step ahead of him, and you'd be back to picking scabs, back to scratching your neck, biting your knuckles, running off to find alfred, to every corner of the room only to find nothing—

because the butler had been busier in the batcave, day by day, caring for damian, losing his attention to you as a consequence.

back then, he found that a bragging right. another reason to shove in your face, another 'why' on why he's better than you. why your presence is a stain against the growing family. because the butler you love, who you thought would always be by your side had began catering and offering his own familial love towards the youngest— the youngest who'd done everything to remind you you were nothing and nobody.

he thought, at the sight of you falling on your knees after hours of searching for alfred through winding hallways, empty rooms, dizzying stairways until you'd land inside the library, begging, whispering under your breath, to any god, to any deity willing to hear you, while tears had begun cascading down your swollen eyes and hollow cheeks— he thought he'd laugh, thought he'd feel relief, like a heavy weight would be lifted from his chest just being witness to you falling into despair at the lack of alfred's presence.

he thought the pathetic sight would only make the pride heighten in his heart.

instead, all that came to him was his limp arms laying still on his sides, not a sound unable to escape his tightening throat. wide, terrified eyes had settled on your heaving body.

crumpling down on the carpeted floors, you were unable to breathe.

unable to release anymore of your pathetic sobs, you'd resort to clawing on furniture, the sharp edges of the coffee table violently hit your sides, you wince, you release a sharp cry, but still, you continue stumbling far deeper into the nook of the library, afraid of being heard.

the sight before him was a wretched show.

'but i've seen people suffer far worse.' his thoughts try to convince him, but his fingers tightly clenching the hems of his shirt tells another story.

'i've beheaded assassins before, i've seen guts mangling out of hanging bodies, stacks of corpses piled on top of another. the stench of rotten decay is as familiar as the polluted air in gotham—'

... and yet you crumbling into a ball in the corner dealt a far worse nausea residing in his thoughts, a lump forming on his chest the same way it always does when he notices another round of makeshift gauzes had been carelessly slapped on your heavily clothed body.

damian was terrified at the way you carelessly threw yourself into more danger.

damian was terrified of what your carelessness might entail.

... your little brother imagines your dangling body suspended in the air, neck embraced by a rope. and nobody would've known you were gone, nobody would've been there by the time the last exhale has escaped your purplish lips.

you'd be dead, and you'd be mourned for far too late.

and suddenly his vision spins, a wave of bile clung stubbornly up his throat.

damian doesn't want to imagine anymore, then he feels a draw, a magnetic pull, like he'd want to come out of his hiding spot, reveal himself to you— not to insult you, shame you for being weak. but your younger brother watching you hide behind bookshelves, gazing blankly, paired with the horrifying imagery of your deceased body—

one he couldn't just erase from his thoughts...

he doesn't like admitting it: but all he wanted to do was to comfort you the same way alfred had always stuck by his side, the same way stephanie had brought him to that bounce house and treated him like a young boy— damian wanted to, he needed to sit by your side. he doesn't want to see you cower in fear anymore, for your pupils to shrink, for your first instinct to turn the other way and away from him.

all he wanted was to lean his head against your shoulders, pretend like he had never once drawn a sword on you, like he had never committed any of his past mistakes— all he wanted to be your younger brother.

maybe it was a way to comfort himself too.

maybe he just doesn't want to be ridden with nightmares of your limp, decaying body for every second he'd shut his eyes.

but he wasn't brave enough, not yet. he regrets not being enough. he regrets simply resorting to watching you over in the shadows instead. watching you curl over, nails blunt from being bitten raw digging deep in your knees. he watches you try your best to steady your lungs, to contain the nasty bile tethering over the edge of your lips. the longer you sat there, accompanied only by the dust motes floating under the dim, warm lights in the library, the more the shame, the regret, the undulating hatred in himself curled bigger and bigger until it became mocking voices, violent imagery of what could, what would happen to you if he doesn't come save you right now.

... yet despite it all, he never once came out of the obscurity of the shadows. he never had with you. he never did until it was too late.

he remained stationary, engulfed in nothing but guilty conscience.

and really, it was ironic: two siblings suspended in the dark night, and yet only one had truly seen the light.

and damian notices, he always notices, no matter how much he pretends to never care,

that the longer you cried all by yourself...

the more it seemed to never end.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: oh my god, i poured all my heart and soul into this, cried a bit bec i was afraid of losing progress again, and then cheered some more when i finished. so i'm begging for comments, interactions, any of ur fave lines please. there's a lot of parallels between dick and the mc. and then between damian and mc too. and u guys don't know it, but your comments and submissions were so much help in making me finish this early 😭🙏 also, thank u guys for ur patience! i appreciate all the kind comments, all the encouraging words in my inbox. honestly, i never expected a&a to be as much of a passion project as it is now. it used to be an outlet for my emotions, and it still is, but i never realized how many people actually loved the reader as much as much. that's it, love y'all !!!

taglist: @ghostdoodlen , @midniteshore , @rockin-robyn , @strawberryglass , @h0neybun-was-here , @confused-they , @dvlboy , @mothintheskies , @marssthings , @favoritefucs , @lilyalone , @luffyadolover , @lazyemmy , @questionthegrapevine , @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu , @winter-world , @budijojo , @altruisticbeauty , @dopepursebasketballplaid , @the-holy-pigeon , @em-draws14 , @thypplover , @cens0r3d-blog , @yl90 , @l-luxem , @couldeatthatgirlforlunch , @mishkradetsa , @kiiyooo , @flyingpansaurus , @kapingbitter , @rogueofbullshit , @earlqurl , @dotomuses , @sheep-from-rad , @tsuniio , @thesm1l3yface , @nosochek-3o , @radiantharry , @kdjhubby , @archive91m , @notwhoy0uthink , @thecloudsaremyhome , @akanecrustyashes, @annicishana , @telamon3 , @kokofromwattpad , @0wawaweewa0 , @noone1233nobody , @goldencelstialskies , @peachrings64 , @pandakchuu

...

"hey dick! any updates so far??? :(( my bday's just passed, but it's alright! i wasn't expecting too much from you since i know you've got responsibilities and such hehe."

"... so you might be busy—"

"but i understand!!! :)) just text me once you're online and if you read this! you don't have to accept my invites, i just gotta know so i wouldn't waste any reservations. so please, please, please answer me!"

"... please."

...

"dick!!! i heard it's your birthday through alfred! so happy birthday, dick! may many blessings come your way because you're the bestest ever! i've got a gift all wrapped up for you, though i know you're in bludhaven right now, alfred helped me arrange it to be delivered to you soon! just text me when you want me to send it over. love you!!!"

...

"am i blocked? :( sorry to assume, but i think my messages aren't coming through your phone. oh, and i still have your gift, by the way! even though it's been a few weeks, there's nothing wrong with a belated happy birthday gift, right?!"

...

"hello???"

...

"i miss you."

...

"please just answer me for once..."

...

"... i'm starting to think you hate me, dick."

unsent.

...

"alfred told me about what happened. i didn't know you had a fight with bruce back when it was your birthday. i'm sorry that happened, dick."

...

"hey... if you need anyone to talk to, you do know i'm here, right? you don't have to run off to another city at all and ignore everybody in the house when things get bad. we could talk it out, spend some time together, talk nasty things about bruce behind his back, do anything, just anything. it doesn't even have to be dinner dates— we're siblings, you told me we are."

unsent.

...

"... we're still siblings, aren't we? do you consider me as your sibling, dick?"

unsent.

...

"i miss you. even if it's been quite some time — some years — since we even had an actual conversation. you're still an older brother to me. i hope you know that. even if you and tim and all the others act like i'm not here. i still love you all. it hurts to admit it, but i do."

unsent.

...

"is it because i'm not one of you guys? is that why everyone pretends i don't exist? because i'm not some hero like you? or is it a secret third thing? do i even exist in your minds? just tell me—"

"please just fucking tell me. so i stop hoping for something, dick."

unsent.

...

"that was insensitive of me, i'm sorry, dick."

"i wish you could just reply to me. just once."

"... i'll see you after a few months again, i guess."

...

"i saw how you were with tim and damian and the others."

"i saw you all at the theatre, with them. with your friends, the titans, and all your siblings. even bruce had the gall, he found the fucking time to visit you guys over there."

"wow, just wow."

"i saw the posts, the selfies, everything. you were having so much fun weren't you? i wish that was me. i wish i had that kind of bond. i wish i was part of something. i wish i could afford to take my friends to the theatre, have some fun, take great selfies, laugh and pretend like nothing in the world bothers us. but they've been taken away from me, they all started to avoid me because they saw the way you and the others ignore me too in public. they think there's something wrong with me because of the way you treat me out in public— they think that if they copied your actions, it'd be enough to warrant your attention in public too."

"haha. that hurts a lot, being ignored by even the people you call your friends. can't you see just how much you're also indirectly hurting me?"

"i wish you had the decency to at least invite me. you could've just placed me on the sidelines, i could stay quiet if you wanted me to. i don't mind being the fucking wallflower."

"because at least that meant i was invited—"

"because at least that meant you thought of me for even one fucking second. that i mattered more than just your flimsy promises of "next time.""

"it would've stung less if you had just confronted me and told me you and all the others never cared all along."

"i mean it's obvious you never did. i just wish you said it to my face. i just wish you'd come to my room for once and tell me i never mattered. but even that's too much of a favor, huh? i'm just so irrelevant to you. i should've known how it'd all turn out for us— and yet..."

"i didn't know you were capable of giving so much love."

"i didn't know that the dick grayson i knew in my eyes, who used to be my light before, who used to give me so much hope right after mom left the world; who also ignored me, who always turned the other way around or shooed me off when i asked for his time— i didn't know he could smile so much with other people around him. i never knew there was that side of you that could make everybody feel better, safe, loved."

"whenever i think of you, i think of your stupid back and your wandering eyes. that's all i ever see: you turning away from me like the sight of me repulses you."

"at this point, that just makes me the problem, huh?"

"bruce acts that way too. between me and tim. you two welcomed him easier than you did me. i should've known from the start that i didn't even matter at all. i should've known that a child like me before wasn't pitiful enough to be even noticed. i don't even know why i expect so much when it comes to me. i shouldn't even act so entitled when i don't even exist in this hellhole."

"... i hate you dick, i hate you so much."

unsent.

...

"i wish you knew how much i fucking hate you. but you don't even read my messages."

unsent.

...

"it's always the same with you people. i don't even know why i even try in the first place."

unsent.

...

"i'm sick of pretending like i'm happy every time i greet you here and in person. you make me sick."

"but if i saw you that way, then you probably see me as something worse then. i'm a disgusting, selfish, attention-seeking leech to you, aren't i?"

"that's probably why you could never look me straight in the eyes."

"you hate me more than i claim to hate you."

unsent.

...

"i hope you remember how you were supposed to take me out for dinner. i hope you remember how you promised to take me around the manor. i hope you remember how much i think of you and the others everyday whilst i couldn't even be a passing glance to any one of you. i hope you remember at least even a semblance of me before i leave for college."

"but you won't."

"i know you won't. even if i paraded all over the halls of this stupid house and announced i'd be killing myself, none of you wouldn't even bat an eye."

"if you couldn't even fulfill a promise you made to me years ago, a promise you made to me months ago— then you sure as hell wouldn't care if i left this place. there's nothing worth staying here for anymore."

unsent.

...

"it's just so unfair, dick."

"everyone here is so unfair."

"what did i even do to deserve this?"

"did i do something wrong? did i say something wrong? did i hurt anybody? did i kill anybody? what did i do to make you ignore me so suddenly before?"

"i want to know the answer so bad, but it's too quiet when you're all not around for the night."

"it's just too quiet."

"like i'm not even deserving enough to be considered noise around you."

unsent.

...

"sorry for being too much."

"i didn't realize how annoying i sounded in every message of mine."

"i won't be long in this manor anyways... so for all it's worth—"

"i won't bother you anymore."

...

home sweet home.

a resounding click! echoed throughout your apartment as you kick your door closed. you brace yourself for the pain subsiding in your sides, kneeling down — and keeping your crutches as support for your weight — to place the cardboard box you held to your right, it was a flimsy thing punched with holes to allow air to enter and right atop of it was a container of your favorite meal jason had insisted you keep.

afterwards, you pulled yourself up as slowly as you could, wincing and taking in deep breaths in the middle of standing up.

finally, safe and sound.

a relieved sigh escaped your parched throat. leaning back, your eyes had shut closed, embracing the wriggling darkness. there, you remain standing, brain detangling every thought and notion you'd forcefully put aside to stay sane throughout your entire hours long journey to at least reach the safety of your apartment.

a moment. you just needed a moment to take it all in.

the air was crisp, a cold and unforgivable reminder that winter had started to take a toll on the temperature.

yet it wasn't enough to cool your torrid thoughts.

yesterday, or two days ago- you couldn't fathom the time you were spent drunk: the flirting, the buzzing noise, your lightheaded words, your night ending in near death. when you were unconscious from the bloodied hits of that awful, pungent man and his lackeys. jason, his worries, your confessions, your life.

you need to recall everything. you need time to think—

alone.

it was hypocritical of you to desire seclusion — when you had spent your entire life mourning for another human presence beside you — but you needed to be alone right now, no matter how suffocating and prickly the silence of your apartment was; something bigger was swallowing you whole.

you opted to have mary leave you be after a long day despite her insistence to at least accompany you all the way to your apartment, or just stay with you for the night up until morning where she'll get her roommate to pick her up by car. but you really couldn't handle the offer, even if tempting, since you couldn't deal with another human presence right in your space or else you'll break.

as much as she felt like a guiding light directing you away from the darkness that was jason's suffocating obsession to keep you safe — like you suddenly mattered in his life, like he didn't spew all that bullshit about being your older brother when he never acted that way with you before — you just couldn't afford hearing out her valid defenses, wanting to drown more in your emotions more than pretend like you're stronger than you are.

it didn't take much to convince her to go her way.

your sad, pleading eyes begging her for an ounce of space, to give you time to rest was enough to have her frown. despite her valid defenses about safety in the night, your mind was set on being left alone.

and she did after some back and forth, leaving the lobby with a grim sigh, calling her roommate to come pick her up. after you had watched her back slowly fade into the distance, you went your merry way up the elevators, down the winding halls, ignoring the aching in your sides, the sour mildew clinging in the air, the almost alive, pulsing and breathing of the walls; up until you reach the very room you stand in now— trying your best not to be reminded of the ghostly silence that had always followed you.

so now, it was only you, yourself, and a mass of anxiety and paranoia that had started to dig its way into your heart and had sat beside you in all your isolation.

you wanted nothing more than to rid these new sensations: the unbidden comfort you felt when you finally felt jason's embrace, the smoke and ash still clinging in the fabrics of your jacket bringing you nostalgia to when you first met him under the moonlit night in that kitchen, the gratitude you disallowed yourself to feel when jason had remembered your favorite dish and went as far as buy it for you, all warm and toasty on the bedside cabinet from when you woke up—

you wanted nothing more than to sit in the middle of your room and stare into nothingness, spend hours passing time if it meant leaving your thoughts and worries buried deep somewhere before it could ultimately devour you whole again.

you don't want to want anymore.

you need to make yourself not need anymore.

because if you fall into that madness named desire, you're afraid you'll only end up unfulfilled and alone once more.

"ngh!" it didn't take long before your crutches slipped away from your sore shoulders, legs sliding against the floor. when your bottom hit the ground, the striking pain of the collision crashed like violent waves in a storm, rolling all the way to the wounds on your hips, and—

"shit! fucking hell, it hurts." you cry out curses, the tears you try to desperately contain had started to roll down your sunken cheeks. your throat, parched and devoid of hydration, sounded like the young kid who'd cried out to the sight of their deceased mother.

stupid, stupid, just stupid.

your entire life is just one cruel, endless joke.

right beside you, your crutches thud against the hard floors, metal beating down like strikes of thunder. you wince at the volume, eyes shutting once more. and just like thunder, your bitten lips couldn't clamp down faster than the racing shrieks aching to be released.

"just...! when will everything just end?" your question hangs in the air as your head lulls against the hard doors, palms clenched around your waist to satiate the violent throbbing. you knew nobody would answer you, you knew that the alfred you'd always imagine comforting you couldn't always give you answers — because he's just a figment of your imagination, because he's who you always run to when the questions become too heavy and convoluted, when the silence was too loud and nagging — you knew that, even if you'd beg to the gods you cursed, even if you'd unblock dick and told him to give you answers, abided in your friends, found counseling—

you knew that there is no end to this curse you call life.

you knew that running away from problems meant you'd tire sooner, that it'll begin to catch up to you and lock you up once more.

you hated being alone, you wished you had someone to lie to you and tell you it'll all be better in the end; you wished your mom was right beside you like she was in the damned dream, you wish to still remember the sensation of her gentle fingers running across your matted hair, hear her voice consoling you until your tears had ceased to roll down your cheeks

like a child dreamed of reliving their happiest birthday everyday, you wish she was alive still.

you wish your life had ceased at five years old. you wish you'd lay right beside her decaying corpse instead of laying on the floor of your dingy apartment; alone, and barely alive, but never living the life you dreamed of living from when you were that stupidly naive child.

but you're here, an unwilling victim to your misfortune, and you have no choice but to live through it all. killing yourself is a choice you never wanted to touch upon, a choice you never wish to entertain anymore.

if you did, what would your mother think of you in the afterlife?

if you did, what measures would someone like jason make just to bring you back alive?

shaking your head, a chuckle, sardonic and bitter and loud, cuts you off from your tears, remembering how nobody but alfred even knew you'd left the fucking manor. nobody but him checked up on you, nobody acknowledged you from when you were there, so what of it when you're not?

only your small circle of friends threw you a small welcome party to a new life, spoiled you to the pleasures of alcohol and sleazy bars. they'd announce a toast to independence, to freedom, to a life away from them.

but were you truly away if they were never that close to begin with?

if jason hadn't been coincidentally in the same area as you from behind that bar, then would you still be alive to tell the story? would you just be another news article buried under the countless masses of headlines?

no, you're good as dead. no world-altering event, no pit, no magician could save your soul from being shattered and ripped from within your body.

would they even care? would your so-called family even mourn someone they never truly knew?

"no, god, as if they cared about me at all."

as excruciating as it is to admit, the thought made your wobbling lips quirk upwards, head bury deep within your palms. then, your fingers trace across lingering scars and lumps across your scalp, a reminder of all the times you'd pick at skin until it bled.

it's absurd to think about the answers to the questions you'll never escape from. but the answers were as clear as the day you were born with no father by your mother's side:

you don't matter in their world:

you wish they didn't matter to yours too, but you've been too attached to the concept of someone else caring about you for even the slightest. feelings like those are hard to detach from, especially if the love you yearned for was a love once reciprocated by your mother—

but whatever, life and time, trials and tribulations, they never cease for just a single person.

no matter how pathetic and miserable you were, you had to keep going on. if not for your mother, then out of spite from jason's insistence that you couldn't survive alone when it had always been the opposite— when you've pretty much lived your life without his company anyways.

you're fine without him, without them.

no, no.

you're not fine. there was no world where you've been fine for more than a second, but you've been better off without them at the same time. that's what makes a difference, you convince yourself.

at least here, in your sullen, little apartment, there was nobody else allowed to consume your space and your thoughts.

at least here, the only danger you have against yourself is you.

and yet, the silence only grows bigger and hungrier.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 3.4K+ words. special post, it's supposed to be longer. but you know what happened? my phone restarted, i opened my notes app and huzzah! the first part i was editing got half of it deleted! the other parts are safe except for this one. this was supposed to be four scenes in total, amounting to 7k+ or more. i didn't even get a single grasp on its final word count. it fucking sucks, i despise the world for doing this to me. but as promised, here's the chapter, no matter how short it is. i apologize if it's not on par to your expectations, honestly, it gets better in the (supposed) second half of this part. but again, life happens. things happen no matter how much it sucks. i'll be rewriting the second half of this tomorrow and hopefully i can post it by the next night. if there are any delays, please spare me, i'm trying my best to not cry over my stuff getting deleted.

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