#batboy!reader

A misty memory A haunting face Is she a lost embrace?

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧!: This work contains nuances of emotional incest, if the subject makes you uncomfortable I recommend skipping this post for your comfort.

Fandom: DC

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The world works in specific ways.

There must be roles to follow, labels you can never shake off, appearances you have to play up whether you like it or not. There are protectors and victims, good and bad, one side or the other.

But what happens when you're in the middle of the line?

When your role is to be ambiguous, your label is to shine but your role is to disappear, you're neither a protector nor a victim, you're neither strong enough to protect nor weak enough to need protection, you're neither good nor bad, you're a zero, a smudge on the paint.

You're not memorable.

And you use that to your advantage.

Your family never loved you, that's the truth; Dad's a liar. Bruce Wayne can act so well it's ridiculous, but he never bothered to act with you. He didn't pretend to love you, but he didn't pretend to hate you either. You were a limbo between the two, solved by acting like you weren't even there, easy and simple. Anyway, that's what he did with your mother after having sex with her and discarded her the next morning, coming back only because…Why did he come back? You could have gone back to your maternal family, with whom you still have contact; living in the system is better than Wayne.

Your brothers? As many as there are days in the year, it almost seems like collecting them is a hobby (or his therapy, something he tries to remedy himself by using others—who said that?!), but no matter how many there are, you don't connect with any of them. Maybe because you arrived late, or because you're not a Robin, or an Oracle, or whatever exotic bird and mythological name they use to fight crime. Your sisters? They're…there, far away, not bothering to get close, and to their credit, you don't either, not anymore anyway, it's not worth it.

Alfred tries, it's sweet of him to do so, but you'll never be a priority for the old butler; you don't need bandages in the middle of the night, or coordinates for a cross-city chase, and God forbid you need empathetic comfort because someone else needs it more.

There are orphans, murderers, revived, a metahuman! Doesn't Bruce hate those?!

It would be funny if it weren't so sad, that your own father loves others more than you, how depressing; but it's not all bad, really, no, the lack of parental supervision gives you time to do many other things; you allow yourself to try everything, after all, Dad pays without a second thought.

So far, you're a singer, painter, dancer, soccer player, basketball player, gymnast, national champion in marine sciences and aerodynamic engineering, archer, model, diva, and all at no more than twenty years old, Take that, Barbie! That's what negligence, free time, and a billion-dollar legacy combined do.

Another result of this is attention; you crave attention like a moth to a flame. It's a need, your air, your most primal desire. Being adored has become your mission, your purpose. Being envied is what motivates you to wake up every morning at four o'clock to start your beauty and exfoliation routine. Being desired is literally what makes you endure every magazine photo and every clothing ad that appears in store windows all over Gotham.

But through all of that, the smallest, most hidden part of your psyche still yearns for his attention, his desires, his flattery, his adoration, his envy, his need.

𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜.

That makes you hate him—hate him and his children, who are part of his world, who don't have to fight for even a glance from him, much less his voice. Dick doesn't have to do a million things at once to be his pride and joy, Jason doesn't have to lose sleep over a compliment on his looks, Tim doesn't rack his brains to be considered a genius, Damian never needed to prove anything to be considered his equal in his eyes, Duke received everything as soon as he arrived, Barbara didn't have to beg for the mantle of Batgirl, Stephanie doesn't have to excel at everything to be recognized as one of his own, and Cassandra is his daughter, 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧.

They're all something to him, they're all on that damn wall, in the family portrait he commissioned as a gift for them, one where you're not included, like in everything else. You don't even remember what the excuse was this time, or if it was Alfred who said it or your head made it up, but that painting is the rock that broke the glass.

And, ironically, the painting next to it is your perfect revenge.

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The changes began slowly, although if they had happened suddenly, they wouldn't have noticed.

An extra charge at a beauty salon, a clothing store, a jewelry store—nothing Bruce cared about or Alfred told him about.

Then the glances began.

A familiar figure passing at the end of the hallway as Bruce crossed, a nostalgic laugh that made Alfred nervous, a smell that made Bruce remember his past, details that made both men alert.

The alerts turned into paranoia when the images started coming in.

Bruce knew you were doing things outside the family: events, galas, parties, charity events, anything considered extravagant and spectacular. He always used that as a distraction, hiring anyone who looked like him from afar to appear on the covers and facilitating his double life as Bruce Wayne and Batman.

He's heartless, but he's useful, you're useful, from afar and without interfering in his vigilante life; at least one of his children will be free from the Bat curse.

And in he excuses, he never thought the curse would be any crueler.

Because the next time she sees you, the only gala he attends that you organized as a charity event, the only time he steps into the same space as you and sees you as the very image of her.

That he ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.

Her bearing, her brightness, her smile and laugh, her presence—damn, you even seem to use the same style with a modern touch—it's like having her among the guests who aged like she might have.

And when you see him…

- Father!- your voice echoes in his head, and for a second he hears hers too - Bruce Wayne has arrived! -

He's a scared little boy.

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The world works in specific ways.

And when your role shifts from being a spectator to being a perpetrator, it feels good.

It shouldn't, morally, you shouldn't enjoy seeing him so disturbed, afraid to be around you but seeking you out more often. It should make you feel sorry to hear him cry every time you dress a certain way that you've seen in photos and he saw in person, you should stop when you noticed how he began to harass you more and more until you could feel him breathing down your neck.

But you couldn't. And the final straw was when he approached you first.

The encounter was strange, an awkward, tense atmosphere; you playing the piano in a living room far from the house, and he standing awkwardly in the living room doorway, listening without hearing and looking at you as if recalling a memory.

He approached awkwardly, slowly, as if each step were on a tightrope thousands of feet above the ground, and you were the solid floor on the other side. He didn't say much when he reached you. In his hands was a sheet of music that he held tightly; you could see the wrinkles in the old paper.

- Play it - he asks you, whispering, afraid of breaking whatever holds his sanity together.

That song, you learned from Alfred, who can no longer look you in the eye, was the first song Martha taught Bruce to play on the piano.

Martha Wayne, the grandmother you never met, the one you only saw in old portraits and hidden photos, the woman you bore an almost frightening resemblance to. You realized this on a day like today, a revelation that gave you the sickest idea you could have had, and despite everything morally correct, you went ahead with it.

Days at the salon to get her hair done, a manicure and pedicure elegant and classic, a new wardrobe with only clothes from the season she was alive, modernized enough to follow trends but still highlighting her style, jewelry she used to wear, the perfume she used (according to old newspapers in which she appears promoting it).

You became her in the present, the reincarnation of Martha Wayne.

Who would have thought that if you just dressed up a little more you'd look just like her?

The media adores you, those who lived during the Wayne matriarch's time desire you, women young and old envy you, and the spotlight always shines on you. And as if fate were gifting him to you, as if rewarding you for years of neglect and hatred that rotted you as a person, destiny hands you Bruce Wayne as a constant in your life.

Encounters at galas, parties, and gatherings, superficial and tense conversations whenever you meet at the mansion, calls in the middle of the night when he thinks you think he can't sleep, when in reality he's just overwhelmed by the loneliness of the night and the memories his mind combines of his mother and you, hours and hours in the music room where he asks begs you to play him the same piano score or the same lullaby, outings everywhere, accompanying you like a shadow.

The lines that were never defined have blurred, vanished, lost in a limbo that no one bothers to recapture; for you are content to have your father's full attention without seeking it, to snap your fingers and know he will come at your call, to go from being nothing to being his everything, to becoming the most twisted and sick form of you in his sole thought. And he is in a trance that no magic spell, or brainwashing, or catharsis, or anything like that can compare to; it is his never-healed trauma, the wound he sealed with fire opening again to raw, steaming, red flesh, which he uses to paint your lips the same shade his mother wore for social gatherings.

You want to know the most bizarre thing? That you've been referred to as "𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚊 𝚆𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎"

And you won't change any of that, because your hatred makes you pull on the chain that strangles Bruce, tightening it every time someone tries to intervene and pull him out of the emotional hole he's fallen into; your brothers and sisters have tried, you must admit. Family interventions, paid therapies, magical, intergalactic therapies—there's nothing they haven't done to return his father to normal.

They've all failed because Bruce doesn't want to go out, doesn't want to leave the last piece of his past, of the time when he was full and happy, where there wasn't night and revenge, he doesn't want to be an orphan again. Bruce was a mama's boy; his previous partners have a bit of his mother in them, and now that he's found his mother in a woman, no force on Earth or beyond will make him let her go.

Even if that person is his forgotten child.

What does Alfred do? Nothing. The poor man has been swallowed up by guilt and remorse; that through his carelessness he let this grow and spiral out of control, that he knew the damage abandonment was doing to you and still left you in the toxic shadows of the house. And now? The family has fragmented.

This is your victory. You have everything you want, your life is complete; while you paint a portrait of a vase, humming a lullaby, with your father dozing behind you, hugging you by the waist.

You have won.

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You aren’t entirely sure what brought you here. Your head is empty and all you can feel is uuuugh, and it’s probably going to last for hours. It’s been so long since it started that you can’t even remembered what triggered it. As far as you know, there’s not much you can do about it.

Bruce notices you when you walk in and immediately puts the newspaper aside. “Hey, kid. What’s wrong?”

Using Google Translate here, sorry for any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies 🗣‼️‼️

Tw: allusion to child prostitution, prostitution, death of a secondary character, abandonment of minors, allusion to negligence.

It wasn't always like this, you know.

You weren't like this when was younger, when mom would put you hair in those cute braids or dress you up to match her on dress-up Wednesdays, or even when she taught you how to put on makeup instead of buying the bike you wanted, one that you friend Michelle had. It was metallic blue, with white streamers hanging from the handlebars, and you still remembers it clear as the sun because that was the first time you felt envious of something foreign.

You was never blind to injustice, you saw it every day; at school when the teacher took you away recess because some brats weren't silent, at home when mom didn't give you dessert for some stupid reason, but the most recurrent one was the one that took the bread out of their mouths.

You understood it when you turned nine, when you woke and you beloved mother decided it was time for contribute to the household; On you birthday she took you to a fat old man, whom she said was his boss, he dressed you the way her mother dressed on a Wednesday and a Thursday and a Friday and a Saturday and a Sunday and she put so much makeup on you that you eyes burned.

She didn't want to do it, she wasn't going to do it, but when your boss comes to your home to demand protection money and sees you child, what else do you do but make things easier?

That's what adults love most.

She was not a bad mother, she was loving and protective, affectionate and self-sacrificing, but she was also a woman desperate to fulfill the most basic needs of a human, to eat and sleep safely one more night, and if she must use her little girl for that, may God forgive her on his last day.

And you loved her too, but not enough to intervene when you saw being pulled into a car, or asked her boss for help when others did, and you'll be damned if you refuses to be taken to the police station to take a statement, poor baby.

"Is in shock" they say that word a lot, even now "Leave in a foster home, there is no room in orphanages"

Like divine intervention, an old but royal gentleman like a general entered his life.

Alfred Pennyworth took you to a large house one day; He apologized for taking a while to find her, saying that he would never have expected that a child of Bruce Wayne would have been born in a prostitution ring and lived there for eleven years.

Suddenly you had a father and a brother, but it was like you didn't have them at all.

Bruce not a father, never a father was distant, like one of those men who only rented you to pretend to be a therapeutic doll, and Richard was...annoying, angry, lashing out at everyone all the time, a brat who left you without dessert because of his tantrums.

But you were good at something, at pleasing; It was never touched, thank God, but you're observant and you've learned a few tricks to cajole people.

That didn't work in them, not until Jason Todd came along.

He was better than Richard without a doubt, and for a few years he was you best friend; two peas in a pod, vanilla and chocolate, brothers of everything but blood, and for a time you found home in him.

And then Joker took him away.

You were never interested in being vigilante, dressing up as a traffic light and running across the roofs at night, but in those years you wished could have gone with him, to be a Robin just so you could avenge your brother.

Shortly after, Tim Drake arrived, Bruce's shadow, his little chameleon copying his movements, his gestures, his personality and you hated him with every part of your being.

At that time you stopped trying to bond with Bruce, you would never be his son, and quoting what he said;

"I don't have time, not now, not for you"

But yes for Barbara, yes for Stephenie, yes for that spawn of hell with whom you share blood, and yes for her adored daughter, Cassandra.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back, finding out that Jason, your brother Jason, had come back to life and never came to you, the only person who has entered your heart besides your mother, had abandoned you, betrayed you.

And then a metahuman arrives and they open the doors to him as if it were nothing?

Well, fuck them.

Although in reality, it was not your plan to return to your origin, who would have thought that finding your old friend Michelle in an alley after being thrown out of a van on the verge of death was going to give you the biggest reward in Gotham.

Loyalty.

Unlike you, Michelle did not have a millionaire father who claimed her like a carnival puppy, and her fate was no different from that of her dead mother, but she had contacts, people who knew things about more people and that a third spectator like you could use.

And if you learned anything in that damn mansion, it was to sweeten their words, caress egos and say what they want to hear, you learned to deceive and pretend, to disguise your intentions and attack without killing.

You learned to be a snake instead of a bat.

And like sweet karma, divine intervention or whatever you like to believe, starting your business from the brothel where your mother sold you by giving that fat bald guy to his enemies and taking his place, wasn't a bad way to start his story.

"Don't you think that's a brutal origin story?" You ask, looking with amusement at the infiltrated man now slowly bleeding out on your rug, Is it considered a fur rug if it's the skin of the past boss?

—Liar —he mutters in pain, writhing in pain and under the gaze of your cruel eyes — You killed them in cold blood! Your poisonous tongue made us destroy ourselves from within! Two-faced whore!

“I always like how creative they get when they’re dying” you reply, leaning back in your leather swivel chair, because no animal cruelty for you, you are not a monster “Anyway, I hear Ivy needs test subjects for her new fragrances, but I think you’d make a better fertilizer, Michelle dear”

Your right hand opens the door, where two men grab the traitor and take him out while he continues screaming, varying between cursing her and crying out for mercy "I hope it helps Pamela before the hyenas eat him"

Now you're Gotham's super predator, and your heart is hungry.

Using Google Translate here! 🗣‼️‼️ This is an intermediate of part one, as the Batfamily's point of view just like you had yours, official part two coming soon! Also my question box is open (I think) and without further ado, enjoy the read! (Thanks for enjoying the read 😭🫶🏼)

Tw!: Profanity (use of prostitute as a derogatory insult), murder, murder scene described, negligence.

Tag List: @tsuniio, @simpingpandas, @dakotali, @softycheol.

Dick is always first.

The first child acrobat of the circus, the first son of Bruce Wayne, the first Robin, the first brother, the first everything.

And he was proud of that, from being an orphan to the pride of Gotham it was not an easy path and much less a happy one, but amidst so much pain and loss he is grateful for having a constant; his family.

Dysfunctional and somewhat shaky, where violence and beatings are the language of love, they find comfort in knowing that they have each other.

He has Alfred as his honorary grandfather, who is the wisest person he will ever meet again.

Bruce, who even with his flaws is his father, who gave him a chance and never abandoned him, making him the man he is today.

Jason, the most distant but beloved of his brothers, knows that he can always count on him and his strength at all times.

Tim, his chair boy, his best confidant, and the best detective in the world, trusts him with his life over anything he can't find.

And Damian, his little brother, his favorite boy in the whole world, the Robin to his Batman, what he wouldn't do for his sharp-tongued brother; even when he came to the mansion threatening and stabbing everything, never gave up on him and the result was completely worth it.

His sisters are also dear to him; Stephenie and Cassandra are strong and independent, but also loyal and loving. Barbara may not be a sister -she still has her father- but she has earned a place in the family and is considered sister as much as Steph and Cass.

Of course he will never leave Duke behind, the newest, the ray of sunshine among them all, he expects great things from him.

Dick is always first.

Dick is the last one to remember you.

Jason hates remembering his life before the well.

He doesn't want to forget, there are memories that still keep him sane; his mother, when Bruce adopted him, his first patrol as Robin. You.

But if it were up to him, he would never talk about them again or even acknowledge their existence. They are chains that bind him, quicksand that make him sink whenever he tries to move forward and personally he is fed up.

Because no matter how many villains he catch and how many more kill, how many people save, nothing will take away the guilt of not having saved that person. Don't save you.

Of not finding the strength in himself to look for you now, because for you, there is nothing but shame and shame for himself. The first friend he had, the first brother he had, his first great loss, his only great regret.

Jason hates remembering his life before the well.

Jason hates being the first to discover your new identity.

Tim is a genius.

Genius falls short, his brain works like a computer within a computer within another; Wires instead of neural conduits and electricity instead of energy is what happens in that brilliant brain of yours.

He was never an ordinary person, he is ambitious and resourceful, intelligent and determined to get what he wants.

That started with the mantle of Robin.

When Jason was still in the portrait, he wanted to be part of the duo; He trained and prepared, ready to help from the Batcave until the Joker thing happened. And even when it felt bad to carry the title of the bat's henchman, he felt proud that his perseverance took him to the top.

And it was the beginning of his destiny.

Robin, Red Robin, the robin's mantle is and will be a part of him that he will never let go, but he is also the one who remembers every detail of every case of every villain of every attack in Gotham, is the one they turn to when they need to confirm exact information. Nothing escapes him, ever.

Tim is a genius.

Tim passed you by and lost.

Damian is the perfect heir.

His father is the most powerful man in Gotham and Batman himself, his mother is a skilled and lethal assassin, daughter of a dynasty of the world's fiercest assassins, and he is the result of the cross between the two.

He is perfect.

That is why he will never deign to look down on the unworthy; Richard is fine, Jason is worthy because served his mother and grandfather, Tim still doubts it, women are strong allies and that new boy has potential. Alfred and his father, of course, are worthy of his obedience.

And you? You are worse than a disappointment.

A stain, a mistake, someone who should never have existed, rotting his perfect legacy, you should be thankful he didn't kill you when he had the chance.

It's not that you deserve it, you don't deserve anything from it.

You are so insignificant to him that not even in his dreams did he worry about your whereabouts, of course he knew that you were no longer there, he had to watch you in case you stole something when you left like the thieving prostitute who was probably your mother, but when you did not return, he felt triumphant for having taken care of -without killing- the family problem.

Damian is the perfect heir.

Damian feels like his throne means nothing in front of you.

Bruce is a father.

He never considered himself one, maybe he wanted it once, when his own father was alive to learn from him, but that dream died when his people did it in the alley.

Despite everything, he tried to be a father to Dick, and his efforts, although questionable, worked. Then Jason with his bright eyes and bubbly personality, taken away too soon, let go too soon.

Even now, so near and so far, it is his greatest loss as Batman, as Bruce Wayne.

Tim was...complicated; arrived when he had not overcome his grief and treated him in the most atrocious way he had ever imagined treating his children. Still, he proved to him time and time again that was more than expected.

Damian was unexpected of an unexpected union; son of Talia Al'Ghul and grandson of Ra's Al'Ghul, he awaited a bloodthirsty and indomitable child. Which started badly ended well, his youngest son is on his way to writing his destiny far from his ancestry, and in his heart knows that did the best he could.

Barbara, although not their daughter, is part of their family, Stephenie and Cassandra are their beloved daughters, and Duke is officially their new son.

Bruce is a father.

Bruce is not your father.

Do others really have a voice in this narrative? You barely remember them, you barely knew them, much less you care about them. Yes, even Alfred.

"I don't understand, there's nothing more" Tim murmurs, looking at the images on the Batcomputer, reading the documents at the same time, his eyes bloodshot and his fingers trembling from the coffee laced with an energy drink that just drank "There must be more"

"You searched enough, you should get some sleep" Barbara intervenes, in her wheelchair "I'll cover you"

"No, there's something I'm overlooking" he insists "I know, I just have to look carefully"

"Tell me it's not that thing again" Jason complains, arriving at the Batcave with his Red Hood suit on, barely removing his helmet.

Dick nods, his usual smile not drawing his face, just a grimace "We're close to finding it, just...something's missing"

The image is clear; a party room, with people dancing and laughing, as precise as a painting but recent that appeared in the newspaper. All of these people are families of dangerous underworld groups.

Lords of drugs, weapons and human trafficking, ex-convicts and people who work for villains are...enjoying the party.

It wouldn't be relevant if it weren't the photo before the tragedy.

⚠️ Description of crime scene, bodies and blood under the cut ⚠️

All of them, women and men, young and old, nothing more than a combined mass of blood and bones, guts scattered on the walls and decorations of the room.

The floor, the stairs, everything contaminated, women's bodies -which were getting smaller, then only limbs such as arms, hands and finally, fingers- arranged on the main staircase. They all point to something;

⚠️End of scene⚠️

A painting.

In the two photos, the painting of a house is what steals the attention; nothing special, nothing grand, just a painting of a gray wooden cave house, with the background of a distant city and without a signature, almost overlooked as another photo if it weren't for the canvases and the paint under his fingers when he touched it.

In both photos the painting is at the top of the stairs, in both the light was shining on them and in both it draws attention before anything else.

Why? What does it mean? What does it tell them?

"There must be something more than that, hidden among the corpses" says Damian, the most obsessed -besides Tim- in discovering the identity of the one who, for months, has left them clues after helping them anonymously, only a pseudonym in your name; The Savior.

Or that is how those who bring your messages to them have referred to you, speaking of you as a Saint, a savior among men, God himself who came down to protect them.

And they can't let that continue.

They must know if you are dangerous, if you are a potential threat or potential ally. They must discover you.

Alfred arrives with more coffee, because he knows his words won't be heard at that point; When the family becomes obsessed with something, they hardly let it go until they get their fill of it.

His eyes pursue that house; small and misaligned, painted in a very specific way, too specific.

Jason doesn't like to remember the past.

"Wasn't there a phantom surcharge on the accounts months ago?" He says in a low voice, almost lost if the echo of the cave had not returned the word to him.

"There are many like that" Tim murmurs without thinking about the matter "Hey-!"

Jason pushes him aside, typing furiously and searching through files, searching and searching remembering remembering until...A contract, simple and almost empty, with a late date and an unknown signature, the name blank but with an address and a photo; the photo of the painting.

The house.

"How did you...?" Tim was surprised, looking at that contract as if he had never looked at it before, reading carefully, sleep and fatigue fleeing his body.

Bruce looks on without speaking, but those who know him know that a war of insecurities is raging inside him; How did it happen? Who was it? When did do it? Has access to all he private accounts? Do has know their identities?

The clue has been revealed, the answer discovered, and the game is just beginning.

"I think it's time to arrange the pawns on the chess board" you say in your luxury suit, the highest in the tallest building in Gotham, looking at the flashing lights that fill the streets, looking at the outskirts of Gotham, looking at your next move, looking at the wide-screen camera that's embedded in the painting's window.

At first, when I see you cry, yeah, it makes me smile, yeah, it makes me smile. - Lily Allen.

Using Google Translate here! Sorry it took me so long! College got heavy and blocked all my imagination, but I'm back and hopefully more often!

Tags: @tsuniio, @simpingpandas, @dakotali, @softycheol, @cristy-101.

"Are you sure it's here?"

They all thought about it, Tim said it; the road in the batmobile was silent, each vigilante thinking about the possibilities of the call, who had made it and how they had done it, how they had passed under their noses and cornered them in their own territory.

Alfred couldn't help this time, he was as in the dark as the heroes themselves, Barbara didn't find any useful information besides the contract that was already half empty, Stephenie and Duke were looking from outside for some extra clue at the crime scene and Cassandra protected the mansion in her absence. The rest of them are guided by the little they found, and they found that there is something waiting in that abandoned house.

The surroundings fade with each passing kilometer; the buildings are replaced by mountains of garbage, which were reduced to empty sand and salty winds. Jason travels beside them on his motorcycle, alert for any surprise attack, intrigued by the location they are heading to; Why on the outskirts of Gotham? Why a house half-collapsed? Why only now after months of anonymity? Why, why, why?

Dusk falls when they reach their destination; desolate but peaceful, the low tide sings to them like sirens and the seagulls shout ignored warnings to the wind. The car's engine turns off and the motorcycle parks beside them.

They all go downstairs and look suspiciously at the rotten wooden door, the broken windows covered with black plastic bags and the moldy walls outside. Batman (as usual) was the first to enter with his guard up, he tried to push the door gently but with the slightest touch it fell to the ground breaking into pieces.

"Well, we already announced our arrival" even Dick's joking whisper did little to calm the tense atmosphere; they split up to inspect the few rooms the shack has, a kitchen with a small living room right there, two bedrooms and a patio that looked out onto the beach.

They all looked empty, few pieces of furniture with tattered or torn clothing and just an old bed, it seems like homeless people spend their nights here or come to get high, they bet that one or two crimes happened between the walls based on the dried blood stains on...well, all the floors.

"This is a waste of time" Robin complains, kicking a rock "We tear this place down, maybe we'll find something or get rid of it, either is better than this"

"We should search everything first" Batman orders.

"It's not that big of a deal" Jason snorts, slamming a kitchen cabinet shut; it's broken "We already did and there's just trash"

"There's something we're not seeing" Tim was (after Bruce) the most eager to discover the identity of this 'Savior', the figure behind the advantage and difficulties in the underworld of Gotham, where not even the bat goes down. This house was the key to discover it, had sent them here for a reason, there is always a reason in his tracks and he will not leave until he discovers it "It must be around here but we can't see it"

Jason tries to turn on the lights, obviously it doesn't work and the evening light runs out, not that there was too much coming in through the covered windows; the reddish tone of the Sun hits the broken parts of the lining hitting the black and damp walls, A cracked path stands out from the old paint, linear and somewhat wobbly throughout the hallway to the end where, on the far wall, a broken mirror hangs. Tim realizes this as he feels the walls, his fingers brush the mark and follows it like a hypnotized person until he reaches the mirror; there are rusty pieces scattered on the floor, others still hang from the mirror.

With his metal rod he feels the bottom, it sounds hollow, there is definitely something behind. He removes the glass, and behind one is a handle that, unlike literally everything else, doesn't look rusty, I could even say it's brand new.

Batman took his place, in case something is waiting for them, he won't let his son take the first hit.

The five of them walk in silence down a hallway warmly lit by lamps, the stairs lined with black velvet muffling their footsteps and the walls painted an exquisite wine red are decorated with paintings of robins. One by one, until they reach a closed door, the paintings reflect more and more of these flocking birds perched on an oak tree, the last painting however, has something different from the others.

Above the painting is a black spray-painted shield, the shield of the bat.

A soft humming noise passes through the door, imperceptible to other people, loud and clear to them. Cautiously they open the door; the first thing that greets them is a room empty of furniture or windows, illuminated by a whitish light among the dark tones.

But it is not entirely empty, not with the seated figure with his back to them, humming and painting on a canvas unaware of their presence.

But is it?

"I thought they'd get here sooner" you say calmly, as if you were talking to an old acquaintance. Maybe that's how it is "You took your time"

"No more riddles" Batman -Bruce- cuts him off with a slash "Give yourself up, it's over"

"Did it?" You laugh at that, the dramatic manner he usually uses with his victims "You still underestimate me if you think that"

"You sound pretty confident for someone who's surrounded" Red Hood mocks, playing with the handle of his gun, waiting for an opportunity, a reason, whatever.

"What shade of red is your helmet?" You ask boredly "I'm not sure if it's scarlet or carmine red" You hear the draw of a gun "I guess we're about to find out"

Dick grabs his arm, stopping him, pointing his head to the corners of the room where there are small surveillance cameras. Below them an ejection device is pointed at them, probably a heavily loaded gun.

"I didn't bring you two together to fight" You begin to speak, tracing the outline of the wings "The Penguin is usually a good customer, he doesn't cause trouble and pays for his purchases, but lately he's forgotten his place and he's bothering me"

"What do we care about that?" Robin bellows, his hand ready to pull out his trusty Katana.

"Your research is stuck, isn't it?" You say, and his lack of response makes you smile "I have the piece you're missing, and you can send a message for me, it's a win-win"

"Why would I accept?" Batman questions, always suspicious.

"My principles are clear and my values ​​sacred, I am governed by loyalty and honesty, it is the key to any successful business" your businesses are turbulent and unethical, most, if not all, threaten human life or profit from it. But you are not cruel, they are there by choice, you only care for your people animals enough to stay where you are. Batman takes a step closer to you "No no no" you sing, pointing at the camera.

Wisely he pauses.

“Now, shall we agree on terms?” You laugh, painting the leaves of the tree a nice shade of green. Reluctantly, and knowing they were at a disadvantage this time, Batman grunts, a growl of approval probably.

"One second" Nightwing interrupts "What assures us that you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"The Penguin is ruining a good deal for me in one of my biggest districts" you explain calmly, though there may be a bit of irritation in your tone "I'm doing my best to stop him, but the runt bastard knows how to play this game, so I'll cheat a little and use you two"

"That's not honest" he sneers, countering what you said about your values "Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty" is all you say; the truth is you use what suits you, so what? "Are you going to interrupt me again?"

It seems like you are, but you ignore him.

"I give you locations, plans, and agents to arrest him, what you do with him afterwards doesn't matter much to me, just leave him conscious, in exchange for that I want you to spend time with me"

"What?"

Your painting is finished; Nine robins and a bat in the middle of them, perched on a tree branch, trapped in a golden cage.

Then you turn around and the air freezes, because they recognize you; the first is bewildered, the second is scared, the third understands, the fourth denies it, and the one leading them takes off his mask revealing a delicious shock and panic at the sight of you.

"Hello Bruce, long time, don't you think?" You smile, turning to look at him; two drops of water, two almost perfect reflections, past and present face him suddenly.

Using Google Translate here!🗣‼️‼️ Sorry for any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies, I'm working on fixing them and improving 🥺 My first person to tag! This is for you @softycheol, @jsprien213

I am hungry I have been hungry I was born hungry, what do I need? - Abbey, Mitski.

It's not your fault, it's not your fault.

The bathroom mirror covers half of the wall, it is a spider web that catches you with your worst enemy; the silence, your own mind.

The air feels heavy, closed, the bathroom (bigger than your own room in this house) is collapsing around you but the walls are still there, you feel like everything is collapsing on you but no one else can see it.

Or they don't care, and that's worse.

Why aren't they interested? Why don't they see you? Why between them and not with you? What's wrong with you?

"I think we both know all those answers"

The voice your voice echoes and is firm; You look serene, neat, with perfect posture and a face of steel, you look how you want to see yourself while you feel miserable.

"It's not fair" you whisper, trying to breathe, but tears and snot get stuck in your throat.

"Poor you, everyone is against you, right?" The tone your tone is sarcastic, mocking in a cruel way "What a shame, really, how sad"

For a moment you feel heard, understood by your mind, validated.

"If you really felt it"

You look up so hard that your neck hurts, you look in surprise at your reflection, which looks back at you with indifference, cold satire as if your suffering were its entertainment.

"What...?"

"Enough, stop this pathetic act, behave with dignity for once and not like a puppy looking for attention" Your breathing is erratic, fogging up the thin glass like the breath of a dragon or the proximity of a lit match.

That's how you feel, like a fire that gains strength inside you, that burns your intestines in order to free itself, to burn your bones, burn your skin, extinguish you and burn everything else.

"You're nothing ashamed, but that's in your blood"

"It's not true, I'm worthy"

"Worthy of what? Of attention? Of belonging? You were never worthy of anything" your words are harsh, hitting you physically and mentally "You never deserved it"

"You lie, I deserve it more than anyone"

"You just want to take and take, does that fill the emptiness in your stomach? In your heart?"

"Fuck your metaphors! You don't know shit!"

"Oh but I know" you whisper, smiling with all your teeth, beautiful and terrifying "Who but your mind knows what you really want; what you need"

"You don't give a shit about family, it was never your interest, that's why you let mom be kidnapped, and how well it turned out for you, right? Being rescued by a billionaire"

"Stop!"

"And the sad attempts to 'connect' with him, what did you really expect, a father and daughter relationship? You don't know what a father is, you don't know how to feel what you've never felt"

"Enough"

"Those children went through the same thing as you, dead father dead mother, and not even they considered you worthy of company! How humiliating can that be?!"

Your cries are ignored again.

"Child after child, further and further down the hall, and you cared? God no! Did it hurt you? Not at all, because you don't feel anything for these guys! You're angry that they didn't fall into your hands like the whores and the boss did when mom was no longer around!"

"Say it! Say that you love control! That you want to have everything because you feel like you have nothing! No matter how many awards you win, how many diplomas you have, how many skills you strengthen, YOU WILL NEVER BE SATISFIED!"

¡CRASH!

That didn't even hurt, and when the next person who entered the bathroom only saw the broken glass with the mark of a blow in the middle and blood staining the carpet down the hallway.

Now the new glass is small, it decorates the bathroom of your small house on the outskirts of Gotham, it barely covers your face and part of your collarbones.

Your reflection no longer sees you as insignificant, no, now you see yourself, now you are the reflection.

That didn't fill the void either.

We've got all the ingredients, except you needing me - Cake, Melanie Martinez

I'm using Google Translate here! 🗣‼️‼️ Please excuse any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies, I swear I'm studying to improve my written English 😭 This idea came to me thanks to @kiwisandpearls, I loved your take on the abandoned Waynes haha! I'll definitely be making more at some point.

The Waynes, the most powerful and influential family in Gotham City, the diamond that gives it an artificial shine, replacing the forgetful Sun, which never seems to illuminate those lands of darkness.

What makes the Waynes different from other Gotham millionaires is not their humility, nor their sense of duty to their employees and followers, much less their reckless extravagance when it comes to spreading their (according to gossip) infinite wealth.

No, none of that, it's something more private, more intimate.

Love.

At first no one believed that, because come on, Bruce Wayne? The greatest playboy known throughout the world, with adopted children as if they were precious jewels every season, conceited and proud, a philanthropic genius of unfair beauty? In love? Pure gossip that entertained for a while, but was never more than that, gossip for the elite and showbiz for the lower class.

Until a newspaper (one that does not usually produce so many fallacies), revealed its newest scandal.

"Bruce Wayne Spotted With Young Beauty! Has Gotham's Biggest Mogul Finally Settled Down?"

If that wasn't enough, they were right, because the next launch came with Olympic magnitudes!

"Bruce Wayne's Child Finally Revealed! Gives Exclusive Interview About Him Sudden Return"

And how do we get to this?

When a man loves a woman...oh no, that's not how it started.

It was a woman from his youth, one who left when the next day and returned when Batman appeared in Gotham City.

You arrived as a ten-year-old child; small and confused, scared and insecure, longing for you deceased mother and the life you left behind with her. Bruce didn't know how to relate to you at first, and having an angry, newly orphaned child didn't make him any better, but he tried, he really did.

And little by little it worked...only in one child.

You could never get over the loss of your mother, she was your whole world and now you were with this...man who claims to be your father, a father you never had and out of nowhere he gives you things and takes you to his work to meet more boring old men. To make matters worse, that child he adopted out of charity is irritating, one day bothering you for being "spoiled" and the next wanting to spend a sibling afternoon with you.

But you don't have brothers.

You didn't have them when Jason arrived (although you cried for him), you didn't have them when Tim arrived and definitely not when Damian arrived and his arrogant attitude of the legitimate son wanting to hang out with only you. It's frustrating! Every second of the day is a request from someone to go out, to eat together, to...For anything to keep them attached like fleas!

You remember one of Richard's last attempts, before he left Gotham for an exchange, or for you a chance to get away from that family;

You were in the kitchen, eating breakfast that she had prepared herself because it makes you uncomfortable to have an older man serving you, when Richard appears with his hundred-dollar smile and a lot of irritating energy.

"Hello hello!" He greets you with his usual energy "How did my favorite person wake up?"

It's too early for this you think tiredly, taking a sip of coffee.

Your lack of response doesn't discourage him, it motivates him more for some strange reason "I have wonderful news, I got a vacation from work! And guess where we're going?"

"We're going?" Bored questions, annoyed by the new plan that you were not consulted about, again.

"That's the spirit! Let's go to Disneyland!"

"..." you look at him with dead eyes, and with all your heart you wonder how that big boy is a functional adult "I can't today, but ask me tomorrow, I'll surely be free to go"

"Really?"

"No"

Next is Jason, who although he was not as insistent as Richard, was the most energetic in his attempts, then the Joker thing happened and...well, you can't treat him badly, you're not cruel.

But coming back from the dead is his pity card, used so many times that you wonder every day if it became an excuse at some point.

"Hey" he said to you one day when he found you in the library "There's an art and literature exhibition in the downtown library, let's go"

"...I'm already reading"

"You can read with me and shop at the same time, you like shopping don't you?"

"I like my time alone with my book, Jason"

"You didn't used to say the same thing, but that's what makes you die, it leaves you thinking about your past life..."

"..."

"...Are you coming?"

"I hope you get hit by a car"

Tim is a silent pusher, he doesn't come close but you know he's there, and that happens brr brr every minute with a brr brr new message.

"Where are you?"

"Are you really asking me?"

"I give you the benefit of the doubt"

"I'm going to block you"

"Again?"

"The computers of the whole city"

Virtual annoyance has been disconnected

And Damian...OMG Damian.

It's a nuisance, a sharp little nuisance; refusing to leave your side whenever he can, demanding attention, time together, activities and visits to any place he wants.

"Sibling" greets the boy, who doesn't even know where he came from if you're at university right now and he should be at school.

"What are you doing here Damian?" You demanded harshly, looking everywhere so that no one would associate Bruce Wayne's youngest son with you, not when you did your best not to be recognized as a Wayne since you were a child.

"I want to go save wildlife in Africa from hunters and I need an adult to accompany me" he explains as if it were the most normal thing in the world, another Thursday for him.

"Tell Bruce-"

"Father"

"Let me take you, or take Richard, don't bother me"

"And I don't want adopted children, I want my blood accompanying me in this mission to safeguard wildlife"

"If I tell you if you leave?"

"Are you going with me?"

"Yes yes whatever"

You didn't go.

And not to mention the collateral damage; Barbara and her constant moments of togetherness solving cases (you don't answer her messages), Stephenie and her desire for you to teach her how to cook (you never go to the mansion's kitchen), Cassandra wanting to be by your side (years with Bruce allowed you to develop a sixth sense to evade his shadows), and the newest, Duke Thomas.

He is fine...he keeps his distance, and deliberately ignores the fact that not a single light bothers his eyesight all day.

The worst of all, your father, Bruce Wayne.

Money, gifts, trips, clothes, portraits, everything he can give you, he gives it to you, so much so that you feel like drowning sometimes.

It is strict and suffocating, affectionate but distant, present and absent at the same time. It is annoying and contradictory!

He was the reason you went on exchange to Metropolis, until you discovered that the Kents were close friends of your father and that their approach was not of good will, relocating you to Spain until you finished university.

Reluctantly you had to go back, just long enough to finish the paperwork and stop being Wayne once and for all.

Using Google Translate here, sorry if something doesn't make sense

I love the angst plot about the neglected reader; and don't get me wrong, I love it more when the batfamily grovels for forgiveness from the "forgotten child"

But then...nothing happens, and I'm left...And now?

They either crumble under the obsession, or fight in an endless cycle, or give up and succumb to Stockholm syndrome. I love reading them, but I always wanted something...more.

And here I leave my contribution.

Reader Wayne -biological to follow tradition- abandoned LEADER of a underworld.

Stay with me;

Tired of being invisible and insignificant before the wonderful talents of Bruce's chosen children (not father, he never was), not even being a priority for Alfred (admittedly, he abandoned his daughter in favor of the Waynes, I think It is more credible that we go to the fifth plane for him) What do you do with free time, selfishness disguised as empathy and a lot of money at your fingertips? You open a brothel first.

You attract all kinds of people; drug addicts who would do anything for easy money and easier drugs, people in need of jobs and guidance, the low and forgotten of Gotham, the women (touching on the subject with all the respect it deserves) who have nothing to lose or with some extra mouths to feed. In short, everything that the city abandoned by God leaves aside.

Little by little, in silence and discretion, we become recognized; Deals here, influences there, and in a moment, we ruled the underworld. We offer all kinds of services to the villains of Gotham, alliances and protection, secrets and methods of elimination, lust and accompaniment, everything in a bit.

Do you remember that loan we took out when we left? Maybe Bruce or Tim found the charge on a document, and the purchase was...a house outside of Gotham? Who bought it? Dick? Jason? Maybe Cassandra or Stephenie? Well, whoever it was, it's a piece of junk about to fall down, so what difference does it make?

There is something more important to do. (There is always that with them, right?) Maybe it's too complicated a mission even for all of them together, or they just need that piece of the puzzle to win once again, whatever they need takes them to Gotham's underworld, takes them to Sanctuary.

How fun! New pieces have joined the board, and what pieces...In the style of his good friend Edward (The Riddler), leaves little clues that bring them closer to the reader, the Savior, to whom they all owe something and serve him.

Inevitably our ego (perhaps a savior complex or a degree of narcissism) makes us want to reveal ourselves to them, and we meet them at the suburban house they left aside.

Surprise! The unknown child is now the most influential crime boss of his generation! Aren't you proud? Of course, business and family don't mix.

All help is given with the Savior (us) in exchange for something clear, the profits do not come alone, and all he asks for is...Time together?...Of course.

Coffee chats with Bruce (the press mistakes them for a new conquest, disgusting), gymnastics with Richard (since when can you contort like that?!) reading with Jason (they have the same tastes apparently) playing video games with Tim (and hack a few government accounts) taking care of animals with Damian (You have a whole zoo with exotic rescued animals!) shopping with your sisters or just staying silent with Cassandra, even Duke gets his quality time! (Why they accepted him immediately, what does he have that I don't)

It makes them realize something they lost, the funny thing is they never had it in the first place, and knowing that hurts more than any wound.

We know that, and we use it (like everything) to our advantage. And in the end, with the service done and the day saved, we don't need any more of them, The door is over there!

Only that the sinner has already tasted God's forgiveness, why would he want to leave him?

So they keep coming back, trying to get you to leave that evil path (according to them) and come home, safe, to them. But not out of love (there is no such thing as love for a Wayne), but out of guilt, which becomes a need, which becomes an obsession.

And while we should be careful with that...it's more entertaining to be the puppeteer than the puppet. There is no compassion, there is no empathy, there is no affection or pity; There's ambition, there's status, there's power, and in a world like Gotham, that's all that matters.

And the bat family knows it; They are not stupid, they know that you are using them, like a dog waiting for a caress, a rope to be pulled to open the door, salvation itself...maybe it is their fault acting on them, but they will not let go of the crumbs that are given to them we give.

There is no happy ending, only an unhealthy relationship between the two; the most powerful playing, we know that if we keep pushing, a prison will be a more merciful destiny.