collecting hyperfixations

You and Bruce had a fight last night. It was not all that uncommon in your marriage of ten years, but this was different. It had ended with you sleeping in the guest bedroom.

The truth was, both of you hadn't slept that night.

You knew things would be different the next morning — you missed the early morning cuddles, the way Bruce looked peaceful with his eyes closed and hair all around the place, the way his hand was firm around your hips even while he was asleep.

There was one practice the both of you had been following since your time dating — never to skip breakfast. It was simple, the first meal of the day was to be eaten together at the table. The ritual came about as the result of both your professions — Bruce having to be at Wayne Enterprises and you at your own business — there was only really so much time you could spend in the presence of each other.

The ritual was disrupted today.

Bruce had left without sparing you a single glance, only a comment to Alfred about having breakfast at the company's cafeteria. The mahogany doors slam shut with a sharp bang — just as sharp as the icicle pricking your heart.

Usually, the ritual ended with him murmuring the three sacred words along with a kiss to your forehead.

But today was different.

You take a deep breath, swallowing the brick scratching at your throat. Tears pool along your water line, threatening to breach your eyelid even as you tip your head upward, gazing at the glinting chandelier. But they slide past your eyelids regardless, then against your cheek, and fall onto the stack of honey-glazed pancakes on the porcelain plate.

The manor was silent like it was holding its breath. Alfred stood at the corner, posture straight, but you could feel his gaze on you. Placing the cutlery back with a slight clack against the napkin, the wooden chair scratches against the marble floors as you stand up. You shook your head, a small curve on your lips, but you were fooling no one, let alone Alfred.

"Thanks, Alfred, I'm running a little late or else I would've finished it." Even before the words resound in the almost empty room, you scramble towards the staircase, voice cracking as you bring your palm to your mouth.

Alfred sighs, watching your hunched figure, racked with suppressed sobs, disappear into the distant hallways.

The expensive nappa leather of the passenger seat seems to itch at his suit clad skin as his body leans forwards, gripping under his seats with his knuckles white. It was almost like everything around him was trying to remind him of what he had done in the past hour. Sinking back again into the cushion, his phone lights up with a notification from his assistant, but all he could see was the wallpaper.

A photo of both of you at the wedding.

You were laughing at something he had said with your head tipped back, eyes crinkled into crescent moons, all while Bruce was just gazing at you, a small smile on his lips. It had been his favorite photo from all of the wedding ceremonies and almost served as a reminder — a reminder to uphold his promise of keeping you always happy with that same smile he fell in love with.

But today he hadn't.

Today, he had broken your heart.

Bruce sighs, pinching his nose before he decides he needs to turn back. He needs to go back to the Wayne Manor. To his home. To your arms.

" Please turn around towards —" Just as the words slip from his mouth, everything changes.

See, Bruce has a contingency plan for everything. Something he made sure to have after witnessing his parents being killed, the spiral of his best friend — Harvey Dent, Jason's death and many more incidents during his lifetime. He is well prepared for most of life's obstacles, but after years of being Batman, a small, fragile confidence develops, nestled into the crook of his mind, that one often forgets life is as unpredictable as it is predictable.

One moment, Bruce's fingers are wrapped around the rectangular electronic device gleaming against the black material of the seats. The next moment, he is up in the air, his head lolled back as it hits against the roof of the car.

It happens just as fast as it happens slowly because all Bruce Wayne could think of was you.

You — the light of his life, the sun to his moon, the rainbow amongst dark clouds — You.

The mind is a very powerful thing.

Though physically in the following seconds he finds himself squished against the passenger door, Bruce couldn't feel the pain. Because the past decade of his life flashes through his eyes — from the moment he saw you at the Gala, dressed in a dark blue satin gown and that gorgeous smile on his face, to the moment he asked you out a few months later, to nights spent under cotton duvets and tangled legs to eating breakfast together everyday to the day he wed the love of his life to yesterday when he had ignored you to a couple of hours back when he did not say the three words he wished he did — before turning to an endless abyss.

Bruce Wayne wakes up on a bed — no, something similar but a lot less comfortable. The sounds of beeping and hushed voices fill his senses. There's movement in the corner of his eyes as a woman wraps his arm in a bandage. He tries to move, tries to remember what had happened. As he squints again, his blurry vision starts to restore, and he can finally see the paramedic running tests. Almost like being pricked by a thorn, flashes of what had happened earlier today embraced his senses instead, and all Bruce wanted to do was to see you. To touch you. To feel you in his arms.

"Mr Wayne, please, you need—" the paramedic on board lays a hand against his chest in hopes of pushing him back against the cotton, but all it does is make Bruce more anxious. His chest heaves as he pulls on the IV drip from his forearm.

"I need to see my wife. " Bruce's voice is hoarse, etched with dryness. It pains him a little to even utter the words, but the want of your presence is far greater. There is a slight ringing in his ears as he sits upright at once. Bruce could sense that the paramedic was saying something to him, her hands hovering over his, but he couldn't make out the words.

All Bruce wanted was to see you.

"I need to see my wife," he repeats, chest heaving like the world was on his chest, and perhaps it was — the weight of his guilt was equivalent to the entire world.

" I NEED HER."

The doors slam open with a hiss as Bruce Wayne slips out with his hand still on his abdomen. The pristine white dress shirt is now unbuttoned, red seeping through the fabric. His hair is ruffled with tiny grey splotches across his face, accompanied by tiny scratches along his exposed skin. Blue eyes squeeze at the sudden intrusion of the morning rays of the sun as his vision adjusts to the nearby crowd of onlookers consisting of concerned citizens and reporters.

For the first time, the media sees the billionaire in a frenzy.

He hunches a little before walking to the unrestricted sidewalk, ignoring the yells of his name as flashes of light hit his frame. Police officers try to convince the man to get back into the ambulance, but to no avail.

Bruce flags down a cab, the driver rushing away from the scene as the crowd grows smaller and smaller in the side mirror.

You were in the library, working on a presentation for your company, when you heard the roaring voice of your husband, echoing against the thick walls. It was almost next to impossible to hear anything through the walls, especially so deep into the manor. You swiftly place the book back onto the shelf before running down the halls.

"WHERE IS MY WIFE?" Bruce yells, hand over his abdomen, as deep blue eyes trail over the room.

"Master Bruce —" Alfred tries to get Bruce to just sit, eyes wide as he sees the man he has raised covered in blood. Injuries don't faze Alfred. He was used to blood, but when that happened during the daytime. During the time Bruce was just a billionaire, something shifted in his chest.

"I asked where —"

"Bruce."

A hush falls across the room as Bruce swiftly turns to the source of the sound. There you were, standing at the bottom of the staircase, in a pair of sweatpants and his shirt. His shirt. Your beautiful eyes were wide, glazed with sheen as you looked at your husband.

"Bruce, what happened?" you whisper, hands covering your mouth as a tear slips down your cheek. Within seconds, Bruce had pulled you into his chest, his neck tucked between the curve of your neck and shoulder blade as he sobs into your shoulder, his hand clutching at the fabric of your shirt.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He mumbles, pressing further into you like he still couldn't feel your presence. The red of his shirt seeps into your clothes as you rub his back. You wanted to tell him it was okay, but all you could feel was a sob bubbling in your throat.

"I love you," Bruce whispers, cupping your face as his finger slides against the tear tracks on your cheek. “More than anything in this world.”

You push back his hair, a little sweaty, as you cup his face and give him a kiss on the forehead. You offer him a smile — the same one he fell in love with as you whisper while slinging his arm over your shoulders.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

A/N: tried writing this for like two days and here it is!

Unfortunately, as much as you wished you responded violently, all you could manage was a freeze response.

Your hands stayed frozen on either side of the box, just staring down at the pink monstrosity sitting in front of you.

Fucking Shadowheart.

The name alone made something slimy and humiliating crawl up the back of your neck.

In a room full of people around your age with names that should have been objectively worse: Wonder Girl, Kid Flash, Blue Beetle, Robin–

Ridiculous names, honestly, not an ounce of creativity besides being literal knock-offs, or being so literal it was stupid.

Yet, yours still managed to make you feel like the biggest loser alive.

Through the corner of your eye, you see Conner give Tim a quick look, but he only shrugs in response before he steps away from you.

Just enough for Artemis to shift closer into the space he left behind. You want to call her out for it; she basically stepped in front of Tim to shield him from you.

It’s not just her waiting in anticipation; they all are waiting for you to prove them right.

Maybe shoving yourself up from the chair with enough force to knock it over, screaming and cussing. Or even a spoiled stomp of your foot.

There are so many things that try to claw their way out of your throat but they all clot at your lips, and a sort of strangled hum escapes you.

You decide against saying something in this moment, even when you see your new teammates start exchanging looks.

Instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced your face into a scowl. Your fingers moved stiffly as you pushed the box away, but a firm hand on your shoulder stopped you from continuing. 

You flinched, snapping your gaze up to see M’gann looking down at you, her expression kind, and it barely changed when you jerked your shoulder out from under her touch.

“I think that’s enough excitement for now” she said softly, the words leaving her with a quiet sigh.

She reached forward and closed the box properly, smoothing her hands over the lid before nudging it closer to you.

“How about we call it a night?” she offerd “You can take it back with you and see how it fits.”

You stared at her for a moment as the urge to grab the box and beat it into Tim’s face was immediately redirected to the person closest to you. 

Your fingers twitched against the box, subtly adjusting your grip on it. You see her eyes glance down at your hands before you suddenly hear her voice.

“Take some time for yourself,” She spoke softer. “I know this is a lot.”

Your brows drew together, and you instinctively leaned away from her, confused because M’gann hadn’t spoken. Her lips did not move at all, besides giving you a gentle smile. 

For a second, all you could do was blink at her, trying to make sense of it. You had heard her clearly, as if she’d whispered right beside your ear, but the room had stayed completely silent.

It took another moment for the realization to settle in.

M’gann was a Martian, even though she wasn’t green; you’re pretty sure she had similar powers to that one guy your dad was on the Justice League with. 

So that means… she’s in your fucking head.

The thought made your face sour, and unfortunately, before you can think of the most disgusting and foul things ever, she “speaks” again.

“Please. I’ll make sure no one comes by for the rest of the day.”

That made your scowl falter as you thought it over. No one coming by for the rest of the day sounded… good.

Gives you enough time to take this stupid box back to your room, open it, and decide whether you’d be sprinkling its cut up fabric or ashes around the base.

You pulled away from M’gann as you stood, dragging the box toward yourself with more force than necessary.

“...Fine,” you replied through gritted teeth, but you narrowed your eyes at her, “And get out of my head.”

You picked up the box before anyone else could say anything. As you turned with your chin tilted up, your shoulder bumped sharply against M’gann’s. 

You heard Garfield start to say something behind you, his voice sounding defensive and annoyed, but M’gann cut him off with a low whisper you could not quite catch.

You didn’t look back as you hurried toward the sliding doors. The second they opened, you slipped through them and turned down the hallway desperate to get to your room.

As soon as you got back and the door slide shut, you ripped the suit out of its packaging with shaking hands, tossing the box aside scattering a few items you don’t bother checking and rushed straight to your bathroom drawer for a pair of scissors.

You finally manage to grab the scissors and dug the blades into the suit. But unfortunately, the satisfying sound of fabric being snipped never came.

You squeezed harder but the scissors didn’t even pull a thread. “Come on,” you hissed. “Come on, you fucking piece of–.”

But to your utter dismay, the only thing that ended up damaged was you.

Your fingers ached from how hard they squeezed before you threw the scissors into the sink, making it clatter loudly as you grabbed your lighter next. 

Your thumb fumbled over the button before the tiny flame finally sparked to life. You put it right against the fabric and stared waiting for the fabric to blacken, melt, or do fucking anything.

But it stayed the same blinding pink. 

You trembled slightly as you pressed the lighter closer, but you didn’t angle it properly, and the flame ended up grazing your finger, and you jerked back with a sharp, pained gasp.

“Motherfucker–!”

Waving your hand, you accidentally whip the lighter to the ground, your other hand dropping the suit into the counter before you bring the side of your finger into your mouth to soothe it. 

Your eyes start to sting as you let out a small whimper slowly pulling the finger from your mouth. You run your thumb over it, the area was tender to the touch making you hiss.

You swallow dryly trying to calm down but you barely manage a shaky breath in.

The lights were too bright, making you turn your gaze down into the counter only to be greeted by pink, the tiles were too cold, and fucking hell your shirt was sticking to your back.

Everything felt so wrong and all you could focus on was the suit. 

A sound ripped out of you before you could stop it, a big ugly sob as you threw the suit against the counter.

Your breath hitched as you kept slamming it harder. You needed one visible mark, at least a fucking scratch in that stupid symbol. 

The second your eyes started to burn more painfully with frustration you all but collapsed to the floor.

And that brought you to now.

With you, lying on the cold bathroom floor with the seemingly indestructible fucking suit clenched in your hand.

Why couldn’t Dick just stay out of your life the way he had for the past few years?

And why couldn’t he have been there today?

Anger surged through you again enough for you to sit up, but it just sent the tears gathered in your eyes spilling over, as another sob tore out of you.

When could he have told Tim about the name?

You were sure it had been that morning. Probably over text with stupid emojis and no punctuation, like the close, tight-knit brothers they were.  

How could he do that to you? That memory had been yours.

Yours with your family, before everything turned to shit. And now it was ruined the second that name left Tim’s mouth.

You let out a sharp scream as you swung your hand back, your fist slamming hard into the cabinet behind you.

The impact sent a painful jolt through your finger, so sharp it punched the air from your lungs.

For a second, everything stopped as you let out a pained sound and looked at your hands. Your beautifully manicured pinkie nail was ruined.

The crack cut through the side into the nail bed, making the whole finger pulse with a deep throb.

“No,” you gasp. “No, no, no– fuck.”

You stumbled to your feet and rushed to the sink, shoving your finger under cold water. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck– ugh!”

You turned off the water and grabbed a towel, dabbing at it carefully even though every touch made you grimace.

The nail caught slightly against the fabric, stray threads getting under the crack and pulling, sending another flash of pain through your finger.

You stared at it for one miserable second… There was no hope in saving it.

You sniffled hard as you opened your bathroom drawer to pull out your nail kit. You closed the toilet seat and took a seat, your fingers still trembling as you clipped the broken nail first.

You stared at your pinkie, then the rest of your fingers and the unevenness made your skin prickle.

You obviously couldn’t leave it like that. With a frustrated little sound, you started on the next nail.

By the time you finished, your long, gorgeous nails were gone. You stared at both hands numbly as you tried to see if there was anything left to make them look prettier. 

Finding nothing left, you let out a sigh, your shoulders sagging as it all drained out of you all at once.

Your hands lowered into your lap, and you leaned back into the toilet tank, tilting your head back as you closed your eyes. 

How long had you even been in here?

You let out a deep exhale that makes your ears pop, making you open your eyes with a hard blink.

The lightning in the bathroom suddenly seemed much more dull, the room more mellow. You drop your head forward and took a moment to just breathe.

… Your eyes dart around taking note of the shower’s frosted glass doors.

It was probably cold to the touch, you wondered if it was one of those showers that eventually ran out of hot water if you stayed inside for too long. 

Swallowing dryly you blink hard again squeezing your eyes shut for a moment already feeling the ache settle in before you open and look at the floor, you eye the lighter that had fallen earlier.

Without thinking, you press your thumb into the burn you gave yourself by accident. This time you don’t hiss in pain but just sigh, the feeling grounding you.

Finally you look towards the door, where your bed lays and exhaustion hits you with full force.

You stand up slowly, the suit falling to the floor with a pathetic and taunting thump. You almost make it past the mirror but habit pulls you to look.

A face with puffy, red-rimmed eyes, cheeks streaked with dried tears, and lips bitten raw stares back.

You dragged your fingers beneath your eyes, rubbing the leftover wetness into your skin, and sniffed hard, trying to clear your nose. 

You hardly recognized the girl in the mirror, and that made your stomach twist with fresh disgust.

You looked like a fucking mess.

You couldn’t possibly go to bed like this, you’d wake up even more of a disaster.

You yanked open the drawer back open and started digging for your skincare, bottles clattering too loudly in the quiet bathroom. 

“Fuck my life”

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Dick remembers how tiny you were.

Barely six years old, perched on the hood of the Batmobile with your legs swinging back and forth, proudly showing off the gap where your front tooth had been.

Jason sat behind you, still wearing his Robin uniform after patrol. You'd practically tackled him the second he stepped out of the car, squealing even louder when Dick appeared a second later.

Now Jason was painstakingly trying to wrestle your hair into two braids. His fingers fumbled more as strands escaped every few seconds while he muttered under his breath, determined to get it right. 

You sat perfectly still only occasionally squirming, utterly convinced your brother was creating a masterpiece while you carried the conversation for all three of you all by yourself. 

Somewhere between the day Dick left the manor and now, you'd blossomed into the most talkative little thing imaginable, and he adored every second of it. 

"Duck..."Your dragged whine pulled him back to the present.

He blinked, realizing you'd stopped talking because you'd noticed he'd drifted off, and immediately, a dramatic pout settled onto your face. "You're not listening!"

The nickname still made him smile. It was ridiculous, but you loved the name, and it also protected you without you even realizing it. 

Bruce was the one to advise him that it wasn't the greatest idea for Gotham's youngest and only Wayne daughter to be loudly squealing out the unfortunate name Dick had decided to go by.

With all the cameras and creeps out there, nobody wanted audio clips of you up online for the wrong people to obsess over.

So, after a very serious brainstorming session, all it ended up taking was a short break to watch an episode of Wild Kratts featuring a feathered little friend, and the two of you settled on Duck.

"I am listening." He tries lifting his hands like hes innocent, shooting Jason a look when he stifles a laugh at his lie.

"Nooo." You huff before making that familiar little grabby motion with your hand, fingers opening and closing impatiently. "C’mere!"

"Coming, bossypants," Dick teased, finally making his way over. The second he was within reach, your entire face lit up.

You grabbed his gloved hand with both of yours without hesitation, carefully turning it over, inspecting it.

Your tiny fingers traced the thick, dark blue material of his arm before moving to the lighter blue gloves of his discowling suit. 

“Whoa," you murmured to yourself, completely fascinated. He let you toy around, you were one of the select few who actually loved his new suit, his #1 defender when Jason tried to roast him over it. 

Speak of the devil, finally finishing with your hair he leaned back with a satisfied grin. "There."

He gave one of your uneven braids an approving nod before giving it a little tug which of course made you let out a dramatic gasp.

"Hey!" You squawk, doing your best to twist around and smack his shin with all the strength you could manage before looking back to Dick as if you didn’t just assault him. 

"Duck!" you cried, pulling on his hand urgently. "Jay pulled my hair!"

"I barely touched it," Jason protested not bothering to hide his grin.  

"You did!" You shriek back defensively, enraged by Jason trying to downplay his crimes.

Before Jason could defend himself again, Dick leaned down and scooped you up with practiced ease.

You happily welcome the change of brothers, wrap your arms around his neck with a delighted little smile. 

"There we go," Dick said, giving your back a gentle pat. "Much better."

You nodded very seriously. "Jay's mean."

Jason let out the most dramatic sigh imaginable, folding his arms across his chest. "You always baby her, Dick."

Dick raised an eyebrow, bouncing your much smaller frame in his arms, making you giggle like the very spoiled princess you were, “She’s 6, Jason” 

"Exactly!" Jason threw a hand into the air. "She's gonna grow up thinking she can get away with anything because you'll just–"

Without even looking at him, Dick casually reached out with his free hand, grabbed Jason by the ankle and yanked.

He slid clean off the Batmobile's hood with an undignified yelp before landing flat on his ass.

A burst of giggles escaped you so suddenly you nearly folded in half against Dick's shoulder as you pointed and laughed in Jason’s face.

Dick only smiled, entirely unapologetic when Jason let out a cuss at him. "What? You slipped."

Jason narrowed his eyes in a way Dick was all too familiar with. It was the exact expression Jason got right before doing something especially stupid.

Dick immediately shifted you off his hip, setting you safely back onto the Batmobile's hood.

The moment he got you settled, Jason launched forward straight into Dick's stomach, nearly knocking the air from his lungs as the two of them stumbled backward across the cave floor.

"Oh, you little–" Dick caught himself just before they both toppled over completely, wrapping an arm around Jason's shoulders and dragging him into a headlock instead. 

They both bursted into laughter as they shoved each other back and forth, neither putting any real strength behind it, more wrestling than fighting as boots squeaked across the polished concrete.

From your spot on the Batmobile came the loudest, happiest squeal imaginable, your little hands clapping together as you cheered on whoever looked like they were winning.

“Go, Duck! Yay, Jay!! 

The brothers were laughing too hard to care which one you were rooting for anymore, shoving each other back and forth. 

That was until a throat cleared, and the cave went silent almost instantly. Dick and Jason froze mid-scuffle, hands still fisted in each other’s suits, while your clapping stopped midair. 

All three of you slowly turned your heads toward the entrance, where Bruce stood with his cowl off and tucked beneath one arm, looking between his sons with the flattest, most unimpressed expression imaginable.

He had been gone for twenty minutes to make a few calls upstairs, and somehow he’d come back to find the Batcave turned into a wrestling ring. 

Jason immediately stepped away from Dick at the exact same time Dick let go of Jason, both of them standing apart like they hadn’t been seconds away from dragging each other to the cave floor.

Before Bruce could say anything, your voice cut through the silence. “Daddy!” you basically sang, smiling ever so innocently.

His gaze softened despite himself as you lifted both hands and made the same graby motion you had given Dick earlier, opening and closing your little fists until he finally sighed and walked over.

The second Bruce was close enough, you reached up to tug his face down toward yours, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek.

He closed his eyes for half a second, the tension in his shoulders easing before he returned one to your forehead. 

“Are the boys bugging you, angel?” he asked, though his eyes drifted to your uneven braids with faint amusement.

Of course, Dick and Jason had been the ones fighting, but Bruce was still more concerned about whether you had been bothered. 

You only smiled and shook your head, giving his arm a gentle little pat. “No, Daddy. They were just being silly,” you said. “But it’s okay now.”

"Hm." Bruce studied your face for another moment before giving a small nod. "If you say so."

He leaned down to press a quick kiss to the tip of your nose, earning an immediate fit of giggles before he finally straightened again.

His attention drifted back to Dick and Jason, though whatever annoyance he'd been feeling had all but disappeared.

"Try not to be a bad influence on your sister," he said dryly. "She's very impressionable."

"Ya!" you agreed immediately, as you puffed your little chest out proudly. "I'm very... impeshional."

Dick had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Jason, meanwhile, rolls his eyes with a joking scoff. 

"Actually," he began, already opening his mouth to make some smartass comment, "I think she's already–"

Dick didn't even spare him a glance as his elbow found his ribs. 

"Ow." Jason shot him a glare through grit teeth while Dick just looked at Bruce.

"Yep," he said casually, wrapping an arm around Jason’s shoulders even despite the younget boys squirms, "Don't worry about it, B. We got her."

"I'll hold you to that," he said, pointing a finger between Dick and Jason, letting out a sigh. "If I come back and she's learned any new words she shouldn't know..."

The boys shared a look over, both silently thanking whatever god that you were far too busy sounding out impressionable to proudly inform your father about the word “fuck” that Dick had accidentally taught you the week before.

Eventually, seemingly satisfied, Bruce returned to the Batcomputer. His cape swept behind him as he disappeared back into work, though not before sending his sons one last warning glance over his shoulder.

Jason quickly shoves Dick away and hopped back onto the Batmobile beside you, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked you over

"So..." he began with a grin, "please tell me you've come up with something better than Princess Batgirl."

Your face scrunched into the fiercest scowl you could manage, though on your little face it came out more like an offended pout. 

“I did!” you insisted throwing your hands up exasperated. “But…” You frowned slowly lowering your arms. “I forgot it.”

Dick couldn't help snorting as he leaned against the Batmobile. “Well, until you remember, what about Nightwing Junior?”

Your nose wrinkled immediately, shaking your head hard enough for the braids to thrash a little. “No! 

“No?” Dick echoed, in faux surprise. “What's wrong with Nightwing Jr.?”

“That’s a boy's name,” you declared like it was obvious, looking at him as though he should've known better. “I'm a girl.”

Dick rolled his eyes before looking back at you. “Fine. No Nightwing Jr.”

Jason, who'd been watching the exchange, tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well... how about Shadow Girl?”

You turned to him curiously, though the annoyed furrow in your eyebrows made it very clear you didn’t like it. “Why!?”

He shrugged. “'Cause you're always following one of us around like a little shadow. Every time I turn around, you're just...there.”

“I don’t follow you!” you huffed, sounding genuinely offended, crossing your arms making both brother chuckle in your face.

“I just like being close.” Your voice softened as you tried to explain it properly, little fingers fiddling with your sleeve. “It makes my heart feel happy.”

The teasing faded from both their faces almost immediately, Dick’s expression going soft first, something fond settling over him, while Jason’s mouth opened slightly, stunned.

Before either of them could find their way back to a proper response, your eyes suddenly widened like you had been struck with the greatest idea in the world.

“Shadowheart!” you squeal, sitting up straighter on the Batmobile.

They both blinked at you, confused for a second before Jason tilted his head. “Shadowheart?”

“Ya!” you beamed, pressing one little hand to your chest as the idea came together. “Shadow ’cause I’ll always be there to save people, even when they don’t see me yet.” 

You nodded seriously, proud of how cool that sounded. “And heart because helping people will make my heart happy too!”

Dick went quiet for a moment, sharing a look with Jason didn’t bother holding back a soft smile your way.

Then Dick smiled, reaching over to gently fix one of your crooked braids. “Shadowheart,” he repeated softly. “Yeah, kiddo. I think that one’s perfect.”

The colourful memory fades into the dull present as Dick let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair, the footage paused on the monitor in front of him.

He had watched the recording more times than he cared to admit.

At first he'd been trying to see what had gone wrong with the introduction, M’gann told him she even had to use a mindlink with you.

Now he barely noticed anyone else in the frame, his eyes stayed fixed entirely on you.

He keeps replaying the look of pure bewilderment on your face when you see the suit and hear the name Shadowheart.

But what he’s most focused on is the small movement of hurt.

Dick scrubbed a hand down his face, replaying the memory from years ago instead. You had been six, proudly sitting on the Batmobile while you explained why Shadowheart was yours.

A sharp hiss escaped him as something burned against his side. He instinctively tried to twist away before a firm hand shoved him right back into place.

Barbara didn't even glance up from the wound as she dabbed another alcohol-soaked pad against the deep blade wound Slade had left across his ribs hours earlier.

"If you move again," she says, "I'm sedating you.”

"But it stings." He retorted half-heartedly, which earned him a look from Barbara reaching for fresh gauze.

"You've barely said a word since we got back," she observed, ignoring his whines. "Which is concerning, because usually I can't get you to stop talking."

He stays quiet for a moment longer knowing Bab’s was trying to prompt him to let it spills. Sometimes she hates how well she can read him.

But at the same time he adores her for it. Eventually the silence gets to him and he sighs pitifully, “I should’ve been there.” 

"You didn't have a choice," she reminded him softly without missing a beat, adjusting her wheelchair to lean closer. "Slade was literally trying to kill you."

"I know." He sighs hard. "Doesn't really change the fact that I wasn't there today."

“Dick–” Babs began, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

He managed a tired smile and lifted her hand before she could say anything else, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Then he held it against his chest, right over his heart, and Barbara trailed off with a quiet sigh.

“You don’t have to reassure me, Babs,” he said softly, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I know my sister, and she’s definitely pissed I wasn’t there after all the shit I pulled to get her here.”

Barbara’s expression softened before gently pulling her hand free, only to rest it on his thigh instead.

“Well it was for good reason honey,” she said carefully, “from what you explained, it was the fastest and most practical option. With Bruce leaving and Alfred having to figure out all the Wayne logistics…”

She trails off, closing her eyes for a moment, a flash of uneasy darting over her face before she opens her eyes. “She was bound to get into some kind of trouble if she stayed in Gotham. Especially with the trafficking rings operating right now.”

Dick’s jaw tightened at the reminder. Gotham had been bad enough before, but the current case made the current situation feel so much worse. 

Every missing girl, every piece of human remains found, and all the dead ends of an active open case was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

And then there was you, furious, alone and reckless enough to walk yourself straight into danger just to prove nobody could control you.

“Yes, but she doesn’t know that,” he muttered, sinking back into the chair. His gaze dragged back to the monitor. “Not that she’d listen anyway.”

Dick continues letting out a humourless laugh. “I can already hear her. ‘Oh, so you blackmailed me for my own good? She’d call me fucking insane”

Barbara hummed, not quite disagreeing. “She wouldn’t be wrong about how it looks.”

“No,” he admitted, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye. “She wouldn’t.”

Dick let out another tired sigh before reaching for the keyboard, the paused footage still frozen on your face.

With the League heading toward the sub-galaxy and communication was going to be sparse.

Bruce had wanted regular updates on how you were settling in and dick was supposed to forward footage whenever a transmission window opened.

Dick wasn't about to send him this, there was no point in sending him footage of one of the worst moments of your first day.

Plus, he knew there was a chance Bruce would think it was too much for you and make you go back to the manor.

He could deal with this himself. He wanted to do this himself. He has to.

With one final click, he archived the recording into the League's secure database rather than flagging it for Bruce's next transmission package. .

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Just as M'gann had promised, no one came to bother you for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, everyone seemed to agree that it ended the very next morning

Still, you'd managed to barricade yourself in your room for the next day even despite the voices from the hall.

You laid there acting as though you couldn't hear Artemis calling your name through the door or M'gann's gentle attempts to coax you into coming out for breakfast, insisting you had to eat something eventually.

Instead, you stayed stubbornly beneath your blankets with your phone clutched in one hand.

The pink suit had been kicked beneath your bed sometime after your bathroom breakdown, shoved as far back as your foot could reach so you wouldn't have to look at it.

After a while, boredom won and you unlocked your phone, expecting the usual flood of notifications. But there was concerningly… nothing.

You frowned, that... wasn't right, it was the most unnerving thing about this whole ordeal.

There was always something. A friend sending you a stupid TikTok at three in the morning, someone replying to one of your stories, tumblr notifications, instagram comments.

(…or an ex-situationship deciding they were over their little tantrum with how you played in their face and wanted you back.)

You refreshed your notifications, brows furrowed and mouth slightly gaping as absolutely nothing loads. "...What the fuck?"

You connected the dots very quickly that there had to be some kind of block on your socials and just like that the pleasantness of your room vanished.

You stared at the screen for a full ten seconds before letting out a laugh that sounded a little too close to a scream.

“Oh, that’s great,” you muttered, sitting up in bed. “That’s so fucking great.”

Your mind races for a way to protest this without going out of your way to find one of them and you land on an idea.

If they were going to block your socials, then they could also enjoy your search history. There was no way they weren’t monitoring it..

You opened your browser, hands trembling slightly as you started typing.

Outsiders flop compilation. Outsiders embarrassing losses. Nightwing fails. Nightwing being overrated. Nightwing hate pages. Nightwing getting his ass beat. Nightwing losing fights for ten minutes straight. Nightwing eating shit on concrete.

It was completely childish, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You had just moved on to videos making fun of Nightwing's haircuts over the years when another knock came.

You didn’t move at first, just stared at the door, hoping your silence could make whoever give up. For a second, it seemed like it would work, but the knock came again, louder this time.

You rolled onto your back with a quiet groan, dragging your free hand over your face. “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Conner said from the other side. 

Grumbling, you lowered your hand and stared at the ceiling. “Well, what do you want then?”

“Dick’s here, he wants to see you.” The words were enough to make you shoot upright, the phone nearly slipping from your hand as your eyes snapped toward the door.

So the asshole finally decided to show his face.

You were on your feet before you could stop yourself, slipping into your soft slippers and stomping to the door.

You opened it to find Conner leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes moving over you once before stopping for half a second on your hands.

You lifted your chin, feeling your normal confidence flood back into you. “Take me to him.”

One of his eyebrows rose ever so slightly, but whatever observation had crossed his mind stayed there.

Instead, he pushed himself off the wall with a small nod and turned toward the hallway.“This way.”

You followed without complaint, which was probably the most obedient you had been since stepping foot in this building.

The whole walk was quiet, your slippers barely making a sound against the polished floor as you kept your arms folded tightly across your chest.

Your mind was already racing ahead to the conversation. Good. He'd finally shown up. It had only taken him fucking forever.

You were already mentally drafting every insult you could think of.

‘Fuck you. Where the hell have you been? What the fuck did you do to my phone? You fucking prick. Stupid cunt.’

Ugh, you should've grabbed something to throw at him.

Your eyes briefly wandered down the hallway, searching for anything remotely throwable. But find nothing of substance and your scowl deepens. 

Whatever. You'd find something in the room. Hell, you’d throw yourself at him if you had to, head to his stupid fucking nose.

Conner glanced back over his shoulder, catching the way your eyes were darting around. "...Looking for something?"

You jolted slightly, not expecting him to look back, let alone comment. Then you recovered just as quickly, flashing him the sweetest smile you could manage. "No."

Conner’s eyes narrowed faintly, not looking convinced at all but he wisely decided not to ask another question and just turned his gaze back forward.

Eventually he stopped outside the door and glanced back at you.

You caught him looking and answered with a small, almost smug smile before lifting your chin, carefully schooling your features into practiced arrogance.

Conner let out a short huff that was suspiciously close to a laugh before the doors slid open. Stepping aside, he gestured for you to go in first.

You rolled your eyes, squared your shoulders, and walked inside without another word.

Dick stood beside one of the consoles, the blue glow of the holographic displays casting shifting light across the black and blue of his Nightwing suit. 

He turned fully as you stepped through the doorway, and the second your eyes met, his entire expression softened into an unmistakable smile. "Hey, you made it."

Your attention barely registered his greeting. Instead, it snagged on the phone still resting loosely in his hand and uour confidence faltered for the briefest moment.

Right, the recording.

Your stomach gave an unpleasant little twist as the memory resurfaced.

You'd spent the few minutes convincing yourself that you were going to tear into him, demand answers, maybe throw something if the opportunity presented itself.

But Dick Grayson wasn't exactly defenceless.

He'd been a vigilante longer than you'd been alive. If he had managed to get a recording of you at the club without you realizing it until afterward, who knew what else he had tucked away?

Your hesitation lasted less than a heartbeat– Whatever, you already made it this fucking far and you might implode if you don’t cuss at him soon.

Instead, your gaze lifted from the phone to his face, one brow arching as your lips curled into a petty smile that didn't reach your eyes.

"Wow," you said sweetly. "You finally remembered I exist."

Dick let out a slow breath, and the smile he’d greeted you with faded almost immediately.

"Come on..." he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't be like this. If you'll just let me explain, this if for–"

“For my own good?” you cut in, a bitter laugh escaping you before he could finish. “Go on. You have any more bullshit left in you, Grayson?”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with a measured breath. You could see him trying to be patient. "Look, I know you're angry–"

"Oh?" You tilted your head. "What fucking gave it away?"

He opened his mouth again, but you laughed before he could get a word in. 

"Tell me something, Dick. Do you ever get tired of turning your siblings into sidekicks?" Your smile grew mean. "Or is that just the family business?"

“You aren’t a sidekick–” Dick started, but the strain in his voice had visibly thinned as you cut him off again.

"You find another kid, slap a mask on them, tell them they're doing something good..." You gestured vaguely around the room. "Then send them out to get the shit kicked out of them every night."

His jaw tightened, the phone in his hand shifted slightly as his grip grew firmer around it.

For half a second, you swore you heard the faintest crack coming from the phone, he’s going to snap. Just what you wanted. 

"Is that what this is?" You basically cooed going for the kill. "You got tired of waiting for the next one to die, so you figured you'd speed things along with me?"

"Enough!"

The word boomed through the room so suddenly that you flinched before you could stop yourself.

Your shoulders jerked instinctively, your breath catching as your body took a small, involuntary step backward.

For a moment he no longer was your older brother stadnign in front of you, but Nightwing.

His chest rose and fell with one sharp breath, his eyes widening almost immediately as the anger drained from his face.

Regret replaced it just as quickly before it settled into a haunting, flat casual look.

The change was so abrupt it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, whatever mask Dick had just put on was basically a brick wall.

“Pretty cool base, right?” Dick starts, making your brows knit together, you nearly got whiplash at the speed of his topic change.

“...huh?”

He glanced around the comm room as though he were giving you the grand tour instead of standing in the wreckage of whatever the fuck this conversation had just become.

"State-of-the-art systems," he continued casual as ever. "Reinforced walls, multiple exits, motion sensors in most corridors."

Your mouth remained slightly open, the next insult dying somewhere on your tongue. What the fuck was he doing?

His eyes found yours again, that same unsettlingly composed expression never wavering.

Then almost too quickly to catch, his gaze flicked toward the upper corner of the room. "High-quality security cameras, too."

Your stomach dropped following his gaze and there it was, a small, dark, nearly invisible against the ceiling panel. 

Your eyes moved to another corner, then another, then– yeah, they were fucking everywhere and you knew exactly what he was threatening.

You grit your teeth thinking it over, a clip of you screaming at Bruce’s golden child, cussing him out right after your father had trusted him with you, would be perfect. 

(Wow blackmail really seemed to be Dicks new specialty.)

You closed your mouth slowly and for a second, all you could do was stare at him before you let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “You’re insane.” 

Dick's shoulders rose in an almost lazy shrug as he slipped his phone into his pocket. “I’m just saying. You might want to be aware of your surroundings.” 

“You are actually insane,” you said again, quieter this time. Dick held your gaze for another second, his expression softening.

“No,” he said. “I’m just your older brother.”

You just glared at him with as much hatred as you could physically force into your face.

Dick didn’t even flinch, he only raised his brows slightly, like he understood the look perfectly and knew it wasn’t going to do shit.

Then, just like that, he clapped his hands together once, the tension disappearing from his posture completely.

“Alright,” he said, his voice suddenly far too cheerful. “Get changed. We're running training drills with the team in 20.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“You heard me.” He started toward the door as if the conversation had been perfectly normal, pausing with one hand resting against the frame before glancing back over his shoulder, his eyes dropped to your hands. 

“Oh.” A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You already cut your nails.”

Your stomach lurched, and that familiar heat exploded from your chest all over.

“Good thinking ahead, kiddo,” Dick said with an approving nod. “Makes training a lot easier. Long nails and hand-to-hand combat don't exactly mix.”

He just smiled at you as if mocking you. Before you could think of something venomous to throw back at him, he simply turned and walked out. 

Conner fell into step beside him without so much as glancing your way, and a second later the doors slid shut behind them with a quiet hiss.

For exactly three seconds, you didn’t move. You just stared after them, baffled. Then a violent flood of offence hit you all at once.

You turned toward the nearest wall, lifted your fist to your mouth, and bit down hard on the side of your hand to stop yourself from screaming.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

Oh my God, fuck him.

Your teeth pressed harder into your skin, you wanted to punch something, but you couldn't. Because every inch of this stupid base had cameras, and Dick had made sure you knew.

You pulled your hand away slowly, breathing through your nose until the first wave of rage settled into something less violent.

You could always not put on the suit, you shift in place but your gaze instinctively finds the camera again.

Did you really have a choice? You show up to whatever shit Dick has planned which is probably in front of other people because of course it will be.

He’d just embarrass you more sending you back to change. God, fuck him.

Now you had to put on that shitty suit, walk back into a room full of loser sidekicks, and play teammate like you did not want to claw your way through the nearest wall.

“Stupid fucking Dick,” you hiss under your breath, walking quickly. “Big brother my ass.”

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Apparently, you'd kicked the suit so far beneath your bed that it had disappeared into the depths of hell. Which, honestly was exactly where it belonged.

You dropped onto your stomach and reached under the frame, your fingers blindly touching around. "...Come here, you little bitch."

Your fingertips finally snagged the edge of the fabric and you dragged it out like a dead animal.

The stupid heart-shaped bat emblem stares up at you with the same infuriating cheerfulness as yesterday.

The first problem was that you had absolutely no idea what you were supposed to wear under the thing.

Your only point of reference came from years of tabloids and paparazzi shots, most of which seemed far more interested in what Catwoman was, or more specifically wasn't wearing under it when with… Batman. 

You physically grimaced. Barf.

As far as the media was concerned, the answer appeared to be "underwear and little else.".

But you assumed there had to be some other reason that was less about sex and more about getting to wounds quicker.

With a resigned sigh, you wandered over to your dresser and pulled open the top drawer but then you paused.

Everything inside was pretty, expensive, and unfortunately, all gorgeous matching sets of lace, little bows, and too many straps to barely anything at all. 

You had not packed athletic underwear, sports bras, or anything that suggested you might suddenly need to fight crime or do more than an intense Pilates session where you’re more focused on getting good pictures.

Eventually, you picked the bra least likely to stab you with underwire and the underwear least likely to give you an astronomical wedgie later. 

Getting the suit on was considerably worse. You had to hop twice to get it past your thighs, then again to pull it over your hips, muttering curses at the fabric as it could hear you.

You’re sure there were zippers somewhere, but you genuinely could not find them for the life of you. 

Once you finally got it up properly, you paused mentally comparing it to the childish drawing you made years ago as you looked down at yourself. 

The tutu was gone, instead a loose skirt layered over the leotard and plated tights.

It moved when you shifted, less ballerina and more… tactical, maybe even for modesty, because this suit did wonders for your butt under it.

You sigh, tugging at the edges of the suit before you glance around the room for the actual box.

Near where you had tossed it earlier, the accessories were scattered across the floor: A utility belt, mask, gloves, and other little pieces you had no idea how to attach.

The utility belt alone looked like it had six different compartments, while the gloves had reinforced knuckles, and the mask looked like it was taunting you.

Of course, everything was some sort of pink with the occasional emo black.

“Fucking extra,” you muttered, deciding against torturing yourself more, stepping over the belt as you moved to the tall mirror.

You adjusted the skirt one last time, rolled your shoulders back, and headed for the door to get this shit over with.

You walked absentmindedly down the hallway, your bare hand skimming lazily along the cool metal wall as you tried very hard not to think about how ridiculous you felt.

You rounded another corner, still brewing up your hatred and rage for Dick the next time you saw him, when your footsteps abruptly stopped.

The hallway split into two identical paths. It was only then that you realized you had absolutely no idea where you were supposed to be going.

You looked down one hallway, then the other, then back toward your room.

Then repeat, as if the answer might magically appear as your chest starts throbbing with hot irritation.

Your scowl deepened, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

With an irritated huff, you spun on your heel, fully prepared to march back to your room, call Dick, and ask him whether he was a fucking idiot or if he was just making a hobby out of pissing you off.

But much to your absolute horror, there was a face leaning into yours as soon as you turned

You let out the most ridiculous shriek, stumbling backward so violently your shoulder smacked into the wall.

One hand flew to your chest while the clawed helplessly at the wall.

The boy in front of you jumped just as badly. His own hands shot into the air in surrender, eyes wide and cautious.

"Whoa!" he blurted. "Sorry! Sorry– I didn't mean to scare you!"

Your chest heaved as you stared, taking him in.

He looked around your age, maybe a little older, with messy auburn hair that looked like he’d just gotten out of bed and bright amber-green eyes stared back at you with a curious fascination.

His skin dusted with freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks and seemed to dip down his neck. He was lean, all long limbs and restless movement. Even now, after scaring the shit out of you

Ben.

No.

Barry?

No, Barry was the older hot one.

This one was…

Bart.

You lowered your hand from your chest as your breathing finally began to steady. You straighten before glaring at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Bart blinked, his hands still held in surrender, but his sheepish expression shifted into something more defensive, his apologetic smile disappearing.

"Hey," he snapped back, "you don't have to bite my head off. I was just gonna ask if you wanted help."

You scoffed, immediately pointing a finger at him. "Well, maybe don't sneak up on people like a fucking creep and shove your face three inches from mine."

"I didn't shove my face anywhere!" Bart protested, gesturing wildly to himself. "I was running by, saw you standing here looking completely lost, and stopped!"

You rolled your eyes and lifted your chin. “I know where I’m going.”

Bart gave you a thoroughly unimpressed look, one eyebrow lifting. “Okay,” he said after a beat, “Then forget I asked.” 

You crossed your arms, matching his look with one of your own. “Fine.”

Bart stared at you for a second, then exhaled hard through his nose, glancing briefly down the hallway, “Yeah, I’m starting to get why Tim told me not to take anything personally.”

Even though the words were whispered under his breath, you heard them clear as day. 

Tim. Always fucking Tim. 

“Oh,” You scoffed, the sound loud enough to make Bart’s eyes flick back to you. “You’re one of his little friends, then?”

His brows knitted together in confusion. “Excuse me?”

You just flash him a taunting smile. “Cute.”

His mouth opened immediately, probably to snap back, but he clearly thinks better of it. His jaw worked for half a second before he rolled his eyes, stepping away from you.

He sighed, dragging his hand down his face. When he looked at you again, his expression had changed into something much more polite. 

“Look,” he said carefully. “We got off on the wrong foot there. I’m Bart and–.”

“Can you get to the point?” The interruption cut him clean off.

“I really don't want to do the whole small-talk thing.” You folded your arms tighter across your chest. “I'm not here to make friends.”

Bart took a sharp breath in, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a second, you thought he might actually lose patience with you. Instead, he just nodded stiffly.

“Right.” He squeezed out, it sounded like he was holding his breath as he spat those words out. “Are you on your way to the training room? I’m headed that way, so–”

His gaze dropped as he spoke, a quick glance at most, with his eyes flicking over your suit.

(Honestly, it was the longest a guy had gone without immediately looking at your body.)

Still, your arms crossed tighter over your chest, your upper body angling away from him. “My eyes are up here.”

Bart’s head snapped back up so fast it would’ve been funny if you weren’t already pissed off.

“I wasn’t–” He stopped himself, then let out a short baffled laugh. “I wasn’t checking you out.”

You gave him an unamused look. “Right.”

“I wasn’t,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I was looking at the suit.”

“Mhm.”

Bart’s eyebrows pulled together, his hands raising higher in front of him as he spoke. “No, seriously. You’re missing half the gear.”

You glanced down at yourself, wondering how the hell he knew what parts your suit was supposed to have before you looked back at him. “And?”

You watch him swallow hard, his hands dropping back to his sides. “And most people usually bring the gear when they’re going to train.”

You gave him a bored look, one of your fingers tapping your arm to emphasize your disinterest. “Good for them.”

Bart stared at you for a second, and you felt a spike of satisfaction at getting under his skin. But that feeling doesn’t last long because he laughs. 

You frowned, your look of nonchalance dropping for a split second before you brought it back. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, say it.” You stepped closer, and he took one step back, like the two of you had started some stupid little game. “You clearly found something funny.”

He shook his head, glancing down the hallway like the wall had suddenly become fascinating. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrowed as you scowled, fresh irritation washing over you in waves. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Bart looked back at you with an amused, irritating smile that made you want to slap it clean off his face.

“My problem,” he said, already turning on his heel, “is that I don’t want to be late for training. So, bye”

You stood there for a second, watching him walk away. Your mouth parted, then snapped shut, because God, you wanted him dead.

Actually, no, fuck that. You wanted to kill him yourself. He was going on the list after Dick and Tim.

“Wow,” you called after him, voice dripping with disbelief and ridicule, trying to rile him back up. “Real mature.”

Bart lifted one hand without looking back, giving a lazy little wave clearly dismissing you. “Thanks.”

Your jaw tightened as you glared holes into the back of his head, trying to will the heat of your hatred to set his stupid hair on fire.

You shifted on your feet for a small moment, watching him walk at an idle pace, like he had all the time in the world. 

But then he got closer to a bend in the hallway, and your irritation faltered.

Unfortunately, he was probably your only chance of getting to the training room without having to call Dick, which you now realized would mean having your dear older brother escort you into training. 

Fuck.

“Wait.”

Bart kept walking for half a second before slowing near the corner. He turned his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder. “What?” 

You drop your hands to your hips, trying to regain control of this conversation. “I’m going that way.”

Bart’s eyebrows lifted his stupid smile back on his face. “Really?”

You have to stop your face from twisting into a sneer. “Is that an issue?”

“Nope.” He popped the word lightly, turning back toward the bend. “Just didn’t realize you were also headed to the place you didn’t know how to get to.”

Your face warmed instantly, which only made you angrier. “I know how to get there.”

“Mhm.”

You scoff as you stalked toward him, each step harder than the last. “You’re really smug for someone named Bart.”

You briefly see him raise a brow, but he looks far from offended. You pushed past him, ignoring the look, brushing his shoulder with yours on purpose. “Move.”

Bart moved back half a step before catching himself, watching you march confidently past with your head held high. He’s still smiling like you were the funniest thing he’s seen all day. 

Your shoulders relaxed the tiniest as you continued marching forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

He let you make it a solid 4 steps before calling out to you lazily. “Training room’s the other way.”

You feel your body lock up, your foot hovered awkwardly in the air before planting itself on the floor as you came to a complete stop.

You turned slowly to see he hadn’t moved from the spot where you passed him. “...What?”

Hos arms were now folded across his chest as he just nodded toward the opposite hallway. “It’s that way.”

Your face burned in embarrassment and anger. Did he seriously walk down the wrong hallway just to do this stupid little joke?

Did he actually waste both of your time so he could watch you be wrong for three seconds?

Your body slowly turns fully toward him, mouth already opening, ready to start cussing at him until he cried.

But before you could get a word out, he laughs yet again, and you find that you never want to hear that sound again.

“Ha!” Bart finally managed between laughs, straightening enough to wipe at the corner of one eye. “I'm kidding!”

You just stared at him blankly, truly wordless feeling more murderous by the second.

He had the audacity to pat your shoulder as he walked past, though he noticeably picked up his pace the second he did.

Probably realizing there was a very real chance you’d kick him. “You shouldve seen the look on your face.”

You watched him continue down the hallway, shoulders still bouncing slightly with his laughter and clench your fists so hard you feel your pinkie start to throb again.

You have to count 5 things you could see, feel and hear to avoid strangling him as you followed him silently. 

But in your head, you kicked the back of his knees in. Then, when he dropped, you elbowed him down on the back of the head.

The rest of the walk was silent. Or at least it was on your end. Bart, apparently, had never learned how to shut the fuck up.

He hummed under his breath as he walked. Then he muttered something to himself, too fast for you to catch. 

The cherry on top was that every once in a while, he let out the smallest chuckle, probably replaying how he had just played in your fucking face.

You hated him.

Of course he was Tim’s friend. It made perfect sense for Tim to be friends with someone this annoying.

You really should have worn the belt, maybe then you could have used it to whip the back of his stupid fucking–

Bart stopped abruptly, making you walk straight into his back. Your hands shot out on instinct, catching yourself against his back before you fully collided with him.

For one traitorous, deeply disgusting second, your brain noticed something it had absolutely no business noticing.

His back was nice. 

Solid muscle beneath the fabric of his suit and under the smell of what you think is shawarma poutine that he likely just stuffed in his mouth… You smell a really nice citrus-y scent you couldn’t place. 

Your hands jerked away like you had been burned, and you took one sharp step back, putting as much space between you as possible.

Absolutely fucking not. You stabbed the thought to death before it could turn into anything worse.

(You made a mental note to find someone to make out with the first chance you got, because you were obviously going through withdrawals.)

Bart turned at the same time, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes flicked over you. “Sorry,” he said, his voice much softer than before. “That’s my bad.”

You crossed your arms immediately, taking another deliberate step back and rolled your eyes hard enough that it almost hurt. “Whatever.”

His eyes flicked over your face, then away again as he sighed and gestured toward a set of double doors ahead. “This is the training room. Everyone’s probably already inside.”

“No shit.” You grumbled, avoiding looking at him.

Bart sighed again, louder this time, but didn’t take your bait. He took a few steps forward and pressed the side panel and the double doors slid open with a soft hiss.

You moved to follow him, already bracing yourself for whatever fresh humiliation was waiting on the other side, but of course, he had to pause midway through the doorway.

This time, you caught yourself before you could walk into him again. You looked up at him, confused and, of course, annoyed. “What now?”

Bart glanced toward the open room, then back at you. His voice was lower when he spoke, almost casual.

“For the record,” he said, “the suit looks nice on you.”

Your brows pinched together immediately, annoyance flashing across your face. Was that supposed to make up for the last fifteen minutes?

You narrowed your eyes at him, was it pity? Or worse, he thought you looked insecure in the suit and was trying to make you feel better.

The thought alone made you scowl, you didn’t need his fucking reassurance.

Bart seemed to realize he had said enough. He cleared his throat, stepping fully through the doorway and leaving it open for you to follow.

“Anyway,” he said, the teasing note returning just enough to piss you off all over again, “try not to kill anyone.”

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A/N: Hello again First, I am so, so sorry for the long wait. I was supposed to post this a few days ago like I said, but I ended up getting my period after almost a whole year without it and was hit with the most evil cramps ever </3

On another note, please let me know if the braiding scene felt vague enough for different hair types. From what I know, braids can be interpreted in many different ways across hair textures and cultures, so I really hope you were able to imagine it in a way that matched you. I’m always open to feedback, so please don’t hold back!

Taglist (plz yell at me if i missed you): @Hearts4mica @1abi @Welpthisisboring @Unclearblur @Aetherdott @miakxn @Blueberry-ovaries @Degenerates-posts @K-tsuyuri @Swag13r @Jasmine2105 @nessielovesfood @kamabapoko @Cupid73 @mfv-777 @jsprien213 @01bored @philhoesophy @a-taken-url @stickyricewithmangosauce @innherworld @cupid73 @fennecspage @x-vadon @v10l3tst4tqc @daiyanomochi @heloixe @sarah-luz @byvenomdollz @yoyogirl67 @lanesraaaaa @hotgirlslikemax @w1rele55 @lilaclesia @alelapulema @suvivve @ziyaexe @httydfreakbaby @starlight100 @venomsvl @trawbbyblnde @seistrawberrie @bunniotomia @ustanotherweeb666 @qianette-sanzusgirl @esposadomd @novasilvae @swag13r @iamaunknownsecret @jealouscupcake @trashybunny2018 @wisefuncherryblossom @coconutx-o @acreativeusername @hearts4mica @mimi-sanisanidiot @noone1233nobody @ghastolyn @wendee-go @juninnyxriddle @sukunassidechick @lyuuu88 @barn-troll @wisefuncherryblossom @savagelysevereassassin @maferisa-7 @thewitchesofart @e-dollly @reiluvr @miuangel @coconutx-o @x-vadon

If you’d like to be tagged please leave a comment on the series masterlist! It’ll be easier for me to not miss anyone that way :))