#batfam reader

pairing; tim drake x gn!reader

summary; what could be better than a hot coffee to start the day? 

warnings; none, short, fluff, no use of y/n, tim wears glasses, english is not my first language so there may be mistakes

word count | 1,1k

m.list

The room was pitch black. Only the sharp blue light reflecting from two active monitors illuminated Tim’s face, which was sunken from exhaustion. The desk was cluttered with empty energy drink cans, a half-eaten sandwich on a plate, and messy files containing Penguin’s new shipment routes.

His body was putting relentless pressure on him to sleep, but Tim had no intention of giving up; not yet. He pushed his glasses, which had slid down to the tip of his nose, back up with the tip of his finger and tried to focus on the lines of code on the screens.

His hand reached out reflexively for the coffee mug that had practically become an extension of his body. He didn't even need to look; he knew its position by heart. However, when he gripped the mug, instead of the expected heavy, warm sensation, he was met with a frustrating lightness.

His brows furrowed instantly. “Really?” he whispered, staring at the empty porcelain. “Not now.”

His mind was so preoccupied with the files that he hadn't even noticed when the cup had gone dry. As his body grew heavier with caffeine withdrawal, he forced himself to stand up. Finding the kitchen in his small apartment wasn't difficult. He looked hopefully at the machine on the counter, but other than the cold coffee residue at the bottom, there was no sign of life there either.

With slightly trembling hands, he opened the cabinet door. This tremor was a tired trace left on his body by high doses of caffeine, energy drinks, and chronic insomnia. But his mind wanted more. It was as if the universe, wanting to ruin all his plans, had exhausted all the coffee supplies in the house at the same time.

Tim looked at the empty cabinet and then at the clock: 05:37.

Suddenly, he remembered that the cafe at the corner was open 24 hours. He had no choice but to leave the house. “At least it’ll get my blood flowing,” he muttered. He shoved his wallet from the desk into his sweatpants pocket and headed for the door without bothering to change the sweatshirt he was wearing. He would just get his coffee and get right back to work.

When he stepped outside, the damp, sharp air of Gotham hit his face like a slap. He rubbed his arms together inside his sweatshirt and walked with quick strides. His mind was so full that he didn't even see the faces of the people he passed; he was only analyzing the codes and routes in his head.

When he opened the cafe door, the warm air drifting inside caused all his muscles to relax for a moment. The place smelled of cinnamon and freshly ground coffee; to Tim, it was like a corner of heaven at that moment. His defenses dropped for a second, yet crime scene photos continued to float before his eyes.

He stood silently in front of the register. Seconds later, you came out from the back and quickly took your place. Despite it being the crack of dawn, there was a surprisingly fresh and easy smile on your face.

You scanned the scene before you for a short moment: a coffee-stained sweatshirt, a hood pulled over his head, and a young man barely standing with eyes red from lack of sleep. He was likely a university student in the middle of finals week.

“Welcome, morning!” you said cheerfully. “What can I get for you?”

Tim wondered for a moment how you could be so energetic at this hour. He was too exhausted to even put a single word together, but he managed to lift his head with difficulty. When your eyes met, his mind suddenly locked up as if giving a "File Access Denied" warning. Your cheerfulness felt too bright for his gray world.

Sensing your questioning gaze on him, he quickly tried to pull himself together. “A large Americano… please.”

“Sure, and what was the name?” you asked, picking up a pen.

“R-03… sorry, I mean, Red.”

Since his mind was still stuck on the codes he was analyzing, he couldn't prevent the code from slipping out of his mouth. You paused for a moment and looked at him, one eyebrow arching with curiosity while your lips curled slightly. “Red, huh? Pretty mysterious.”

Though Tim wanted to correct his mistake, he was so tired that he just lowered his head sheepishly and paid. To avoid pushing him further, you silently began preparing his coffee. It was obvious from his every state that this kid really needed help, or at least a very strong coffee.

As Tim watched you glide behind the counter like a ball of energy, he realized he was inwardly impressed. Compared to his own walking-dead state, your natural vitality seemed to him like an impossible superpower.

You smiled as you set the large cup in front of him. “Here’s your coffee, Red. If you don't claim your name is Batman the next time you come in, maybe we can really get along.”

Tim smiled faintly at the unexpected joke. As he reached for the cup, he noticed some writing hastily scribbled on it, but his priority at that moment was the warm caffeine inside.

“Actually, Batman isn’t really my style,” he said, referring to your last sentence. That slight spark of intelligence was heard in his voice for the first time.

“Good,” you said, your smile widening a bit.

Tim took one last look at your face from under his hood. Although he felt a great curiosity to ask for your name, his exhaustion outweighed his curiosity. But he knew at that moment that he would definitely come back here.

When he stepped out of the cafe and back into the cold streets of Gotham, the sound of the small bell above the door echoed behind him. Before taking his first sip of the hot coffee, his eyes drifted to the writing on it. Your handwriting was a bit rushed but legible:

“You should get some rest.”

Tim paused, looking at the tiny smiley face under the sentence. Everyone in Gotham expected something from him; Batman expected solutions, the city expected to be saved… But for a long time, no one had simply asked him to "rest."

dc ↬ batfam

seen this film before, didn’t like the ending (platonic batfamily x bat!sis!reader, angst) part1 part2

movie night disaster (platonic batfam x bat!sib!reader, fluff) 

ghosts from the past (platonic jason todd x bat!sib!reader, platonic batfam x bat!sib!reader, angst)

hungry (dick grayson x fem!reader, fluff)

incorrect quote

incorrect quote

Tim: TO YOU?

Cass: Is this... possible?

Damian: I still don't have that sentence.

Jason: Mine is still at the "good job" level.

Dick: He's known me for more than 15 years, but he still didn't go any further than blinking “hm”.

Bruce: *passing behind* I said “I'm proud” because Y/N is not from this family.

pairing | platonic jason todd x bat!sib!reader, platonic batfam x bat!sib!reader

summary | years later, seeing your father in a photo brought the memories you thought you forgot again.

warnings | panic attacks, mentioning murder, post-traumatic stress disorder, mentioning blood and bruises, mentioning drugs

authors note | english is not my first language, so there may be mistakes, sorry

i don't have a panic attack, so I'm very sorry if I wrote something wrong that shouldn't happen, don't hesitate to correct me. also votes and reblogs are appreciate

word count | 1,4k

m.list

The Batcave was illuminated as always by dim lighting. Files were piled on the table, images streaming across the screens behind it. Bruce, with his calm and measured voice, was talking about one of the open files — a new mission.

A drug network involving the Penguin. Alongside the drugs, there would be a delivery of high-tech weapons — weapons that shouldn’t even exist in Gotham.

As all of you listened carefully to Bruce, he began talking about the delivery points, and Tim placed a file on the table in front of you. This was the coordinator of the delivery. A photograph was clipped to the corner of the file with a paperclip.

For a few seconds, you let your attention drift from Bruce’s words and reached for the file to examine it. Before even opening it, your eyes caught on the photograph on top. The moment you saw that face, the world stopped for a few seconds.

Age and the years spent in prison hadn’t been kind to him. The deeper wrinkles, the bruises on his face. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the look still lingering in his eyes — the one that made your stomach churn with unease.

Even though you had last seen him eight years ago, it was impossible to forget him. His face never left your nightmares. You would recognize that face anywhere. After all, could a person ever forget their father’s face?

Could you forget the man who murdered your childhood — the man who brutally killed your mother right in front of your eyes?

You didn’t know when he had gotten out. You only knew he never should have.

Not wanting to see his face any longer, you placed the file back on the table with trembling hands.

You clenched your fists, hoping the shaking would stop, but your breathing began to quicken without you realizing it. No one around you seemed to notice your reaction — you hoped it stayed that way. Tim kept talking, information pouring out one after another, but not a single word found its way into your mind.

After seeing that photo, your thoughts were consumed by nothing but the image of your mother. And the thought that this man had been walking the same streets as you in Gotham for who knows how long, without you knowing…

It was driving you insane.

Then Tim said his name.

The devil’s name.

The devil who slaughtered your mother in the bathroom of your small home, painting every tile red.

Your mother. Blood. Her broken voice begging for help one last time. Her lifeless, empty stare.

You swallowed hard.

You clenched your teeth to keep anything from showing. You knew the kind of breakdown that would come if you let go. Your chest felt like it was going to shatter and spill out through your lips, choking you, when at last a voice reached your ears.

“Y/N?”

You lifted your head quickly and noticed Bruce looking at you with a questioning expression. This probably wasn’t the first time he’d called your name.

“Are you listening to me?”

You nodded quickly. Feeling all your siblings’ eyes on you, you forced yourself to keep your voice from trembling.

“Yeah, I’m listening. I just zoned out for a moment. Sorry.”

Bruce studied your face with narrowed eyes for a few seconds longer.

“If you’re too tired to focus, you don’t have to be part of this mission, Black Bird.”

Impossible.

You had to be there.

“No,” you said immediately. “I’m fine. I’m on this mission.”

Bruce silently nodded. He was suspicious, but he didn’t object. He knew that someone unfocused on a mission put everyone at risk — including themselves— but for now, he let it go. There were bigger problems to think about.

The fact that he didn’t push further eased you slightly. There was still a heavy lump in your throat. But you needed to face that man. That’s why you couldn’t let Bruce notice and keep you out.

The meeting went on for a while longer.

Throughout the rest of it, your fists stayed clenched at your sides. Finally, Bruce shut off the screen, saying you would continue later, and turned back to his files.

The moment he turned away, you didn’t wait. You quickly headed toward the exit of the cave. You didn’t think you could talk to anyone right now. You knew that with just one word slipping past your lips, the weight you had kept buried for so long would take over.

The more you tried to control your breathing, the faster it became. You just needed to get away from everyone and sink into the quiet of your room.

But the moment you left the cave, your steps faltered. Luckily, there was no one around to witness it.

Those left behind didn’t understand your sudden departure. Jason frowned as he looked at the empty space you’d left behind. Then, curiosity gnawing at him, he followed after you.

You, on the other hand, didn’t think you’d make it to your room. You forced yourself into the nearest bathroom on that floor. You shut the door hard behind you and locked it. Your body trembled as if searching for support, and you leaned your back against the wall.

Your chest burned like live embers; the inability to breathe hurt. The tears you had been holding back for minutes finally fell. A sob escaped your lips. Your hand flew to your mouth, as if to silence it.

Jason, out in the hallway, hadn’t seen where you went, but the sound of the door slamming shut made it obvious. He headed in that direction. As he neared the bathroom, he heard your sobs from inside.

He hesitated before knocking. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he couldn’t leave you there. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

At Jason’s question, the crying stopped abruptly. After a few seconds of silence, a muffled answer came.

“I’m fine.”

Jason frowned. “I can hear you crying, Y/N.”

You didn’t answer. You hoped that if you stayed quiet, he would leave. Didn’t everyone always do that? In this family, whenever emotions came up, you all ran the other way.

But Jason didn’t leave.

The continued silence on the other side of the door only made him more uneasy. That shaky “I’m fine” hadn’t sounded fine at all.

He placed his hand against the door and leaned forward. “Y/N,” he said, his voice lower this time. “You don’t have to open the door, but don’t shut me out.”

Inside, you were barely holding yourself up, knees weak, back against the wall. Your chest tightened with every breath you took. Your fingers trembled, your vision blurred. You didn’t want to look at the mirror — you didn’t want to see the face that resembled your mother’s.

Your mother’s face.

The bruised face that had looked at you alive for the last time. That shouldn’t have been the final image you remembered of her — covered in blood and bruises.

Blood.

It was all over your hands, and that man’s voice was still in your ears. Saying your name.

“Y/N,” Jason said again, louder this time, but not harsh — just worried. “You can’t breathe. I can hear it even through the door. Please, just let me in—”

Only half his words reached you as your head fell back against the wall.

You tried to hold your breath, as if it would help. As if it would slow your heart. It never worked. It never had.

It only got worse.

A sharp pain flared in your chest. Your hand reached for the lock, but you didn’t have the strength. Your arm hovered in the air like a rag doll before falling back to your side.

“Jason…” Your voice was barely a whisper. Just a breath slipping past your lips.

You heard his stance shift on the other side of the door. He could break this door if he wanted to — but he knew you might be right behind it. So he held himself back.

“Okay,” he said immediately. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just listen to me. Focus on my voice.”

You could hear him lean against the door as well. When you didn’t respond, Jason continued. His voice was soft — unlike his usual tone. A tone you rarely heard.

“Look, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but I’m here. You’re in Wayne Manor. You’re safe.”

You shook your head even though he couldn’t see you. “No, I’m not,” you whispered. “He… he’s here. Again—”

“No.” He cut you off. His voice was firm, but not directed at you — at the memory. “He’s not here. He can’t touch you. I’m on this side of the door.”

Your breathing was still erratic. Your lungs were rebelling.

Jason continued. “Now count with me, okay?”

He paused for a second. “Breathe in for four seconds. Through your nose.”

You forced yourself.

One… two… three…

On the fourth, your breath caught, but you managed to take it in.

“Now hold it for six seconds.”

You did as he said, your eyes closed.

“Now breathe out. Through your mouth.”

You did. The pain was still there, but this time you didn’t run from it.

“Good,” he said immediately. “One more time.”

You didn’t answer, but Jason wasn’t waiting for one. Hearing your uneven breathing through the door was enough.

On the second round, your breaths grew a little deeper. By the third, even though the tears kept falling, the dizziness started to fade.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of breathing. Jason counting. You holding on.

Eventually, your back slid slowly down the wall, and you collapsed onto the floor. You pulled your knees to your chest and buried your head in your hands.

“Did it pass?” Jason’s gentle voice finally broke the silence. “It doesn’t have to completely pass. Being able to breathe is enough,” he added quickly.

“I saw him. His photo…” you finally said. Your voice was low, and for a moment you felt ashamed — as if falling apart over a photograph was something to be embarrassed about.

Jason didn’t think so.

A sharp inhale came from the other side of the door. “Who?” he asked, though something inside him already seemed to know the answer. Maybe not the name — but he remembered how you’d come here as a child. Back then, Jason had already been at the manor. Already Robin.

“My father.”

Silence fell.

Jason was thinking. Thinking about how to speak without breaking you further.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he finally said.

Then, after a moment, “You don’t have to go on this mission. I can talk to Bruce.”

“No.”

Your quiet voice cut him off without hesitation.

“I’ll be there. Bruce can’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t let me go.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Jason said, then paused.

You rested your head against the door. “I need to see him,” you whispered.

“I need to face him,” you continued, then hesitated.

“But…?” Jason prompted.

You closed your eyes.

“I’m scared,” you admitted honestly. “But… I don’t want to run anymore. I want him to know I’m not that little kid in that house anymore, Jason.”

Your voice was hoarse from the panic attack. Exhausted, you let the rest of your body lean fully against the wall.

Then, with effort, you lifted your arm and reached for the lock. Your trembling fingers slowly turned it. A soft click echoed.

You knew Jason heard it, but he didn’t try to open the door.

Keeping the door between you like a wall, he slid down until he was sitting on the floor as well. His hand rested against the door.

And he said, “This doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

You stayed there a while longer. On opposite sides of the door, sharing the same weight.

Not long after, you heard his voice again.

“I’ll be there. With you. He’ll see you’re not that nine-year-old kid anymore.”

pairing | platonic batfam x bat!sib!reader

summary | you are trying to make a movie night with batfamily just like that of normal families. but you are just trying.

authors note | english is not my first language, so there may be mistakes, sorry

also votes and reblogs appreciate

word count | 1,5k

m.list

It was finally a night when everyone was at home at the same time. It had been very hard to make it happen, but in the end, the whole family gave in to your insistence and gathered in front of the giant TV in the living room.

For the “normal family movie night” you had been going on about for so long, everything was ready. Blankets, snacks, a big screen, and of course, your family. Everything was perfect.

Of course, when it comes to the Batfamily, things don’t always go perfectly.

As you reached for the remote, you looked at your siblings and your father scattered around the room and said: “Okay, we have one rule. No fighting. This is going to be a family night. We’re going to enjoy a nice evening together. Okay?”

The room fell silent for a few seconds before Jason raised his hand. Almost like he was asking his teacher for permission to speak in class. “Can we watch a horror movie? But one with blood and gore, not those stupid ones with ‘oh no, there’s a ghost, the pan fell, the door slammed’ nonsense.”

Just as you were about to answer him, Dick—who was sitting on the same couch as Jason, stretching his legs across Jason just to annoy him—jumped in. “No way! We’re watching a romantic comedy. We need some positive energy around here.”

Damian shot them both a disdainful look. “You’re both idiots. Horror movies and romantic films are nothing but stupid scripts. We should watch a documentary. At least they reflect reality a little, and watching a wolf pack’s hunting strategy is far more logical than a bunch of dumb humans.”

Frowning at Damian’s words, you asked: “Are we trying to develop our battle strategy, or are we trying to watch a movie, Dami? In case you forgot, I said ‘normal family movie night.’”

Damian snorted but didn’t answer you. That’s when Tim’s sleepy voice was heard. “I’m suggesting sci-fi. But until you guys pick a movie, I’m just going to rest my eyes for five minutes…”

Tim said this while practically collapsing into the couch, a nearly empty coffee cup still in his hand.

You knew very well that Tim’s “five minutes of resting his eyes” usually meant falling into a deep sleep, but you didn’t say anything. You’d wake him up soon enough anyway. Unless he woke up to the chaos already filling the house.

While you stayed quiet, your siblings kept arguing about their suggestions. Their voices kept growing louder. With your head now in your hands, your eyes drifted to the single armchair in the corner where Bruce was, still reading his newspaper without once looking up.

Your father didn’t seem to care about the chaos in the living room. You sighed. “I didn’t even get to put a movie on, and there’s already a fight…”

Finally, you decided that a proper vote was the only solution. It seemed much more logical than everyone shouting their opinions at each other.

So, to get their attention, you stood up on the couch. “We’re voting now. Everyone say what they want.”

Jason: “Horror.” Dick: “Romantic comedy.” Damian: “Documentary.” And Tim, eyes still shut, mumbled sleepily: “Aliens… coffee…”

You let out a deep breath. And once again, your father’s silence caught your attention. Frowning, you looked at him and called out: “Dad, what do you say?”

Bruce glanced at you all from the corner of his eye and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” But when you gave him a pointed, annoyed look, he added, “Just silence. Maybe a silent film. Chaplin works.”

That answer wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy you. With a frustrated groan, you tossed the remote down. “Great. We can’t agree on anything. Fantastic. Just fantastic.”

As you sat back on the couch, muttering to yourself, your siblings weren’t exactly sitting still either. Jason was trying to sneak in a horror DVD he’d brought with him. Dick was opening the streaming service to look for a romance movie.

Meanwhile, Damian was trying to connect his laptop to the projector, muttering: “The mating cycle of lions is far more interesting than all of you combined.”

On the couch next to him, Tim was already snoring.

Not knowing what else to do, you just sat and watched them, even considering calling Alfred for backup.

What finally stopped your siblings’ film battles was when three different things started playing on the screen at once. The image was scrambled, the sounds overlapping.

Screams from a woman, a love song, a lion’s roar, and Tim’s little sleepy murmurs… The chaotic noise made you want to scream at the screen.

And suddenly, you did. Loud enough to drown everything else out: “THIS IS A DISASTER!”

Just then, the door opened. Alfred walked in, holding a tray of tea. Without a word, he picked up the remote and turned off all the films on the screen. Everyone instantly went quiet at the sight of him.

“If you can’t decide, then I’ll decide,” Alfred said, pressing play. A black-and-white old movie started playing on the screen, and the old man didn’t leave anyone the right to question him.

As the 1950s classic drama began, you let out a long sigh. Your siblings, however, immediately started complaining.

Jason: “Are you serious?” Dick, on the other hand, mumbled: “Actually… not a bad choice.” Damian crossed his arms, staring hopelessly at the screen. “I still think the documentary was the most logical option.”

Ignoring their protests, Alfred calmly sat down on the other armchair next to Bruce. You sighed in exhaustion, pulled a blanket over yourself, hid your entire body underneath, and muttered quietly:

“Never again with movie night…”

But surprisingly, despite their initial objections, everyone fell silent after a few minutes. The film Alfred had chosen somehow brought peace to the room for the first time.

Half-asleep, your eyes drifted on the screen. “Okay… maybe… not such a bad idea after all.”

For the first half of the movie, the same silence lingered in the room. Your eyelids struggled to stay open with the growing drowsiness. Your family, meanwhile, was actually absorbed in the film—even Bruce had finally put down his newspaper to watch.

And suddenly, Jason’s voice shattered the silence. Like an explosion. “NO WAY! This is ridiculous! For the past 20 minutes all they’ve done is stare at each other. Just look at each other. LOOK-ING.”

Dick, still staring intently at the screen, waved his hand at Jason to hush him. “Shhh, quiet. This is the best part.”

Jason shot him an angry glare. “If I hear one more train whistle, I swear I’ll jump on that train myself.” Damian gave him a contemptuous look. “Your patience is at the level of an infant’s, Todd.”

Instead of answering, Jason grabbed a pillow and threw it at Damian. It hit his face, and Damian instantly reached for his sword. Dick quickly jumped in between them.

“HEY! No weapons, this is movie night.” But Dick’s words weren’t enough to stop Damian’s hands from inching toward the sword. He muttered, “It’s fine. I’ll just aim for Todd’s head. Then you can go back to the movie.”

Dick looked like he was about to jump out the window. He glanced at Bruce and Alfred, who hadn’t so much as flinched. “B, are you planning on saying something?”

Without turning to him, Bruce replied: “You’re old enough to solve your problems on your own, Dick.”

Dick rolled his eyes and turned to you.

Even though you were still curled up in your blanket, Damian and Jason’s argument had woken you up completely. At that moment, Tim’s snoring suddenly stopped. He woke up, blinking sleepily at the fighting pair.

“What’s happening? Aliens attacked..? Where’s my coffee?” His cluelessly sleepy voice made you burst out laughing. Struggling to talk through your laughter, you managed: “No, it’s just Jay found the movie too emotional, and Damian suddenly became a movie critic.”

Jason shot you a grumpy look. “This isn’t emotional. All they do is LOOK AT EACH OTHER!” he yelled.

Dick rolled his eyes at him, but you were still laughing.

“Jason, can you calm down? LET US FINISH THE MOVIE!” Dick, who had been so calm earlier, suddenly snapped, his outburst finally shutting Jason and Damian up. Even Bruce, who had ignored everything until now, turned his gaze to him.

“Quiet. This is the most important scene.” His warning tone silenced even you, and you stopped laughing.

Then Alfred spoke. “I believe from now on, family movie night will not be a monthly tradition, but a yearly one.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, even earning a sharp look from Bruce.

part 1, part 2

pairing | platonic batfam x bat!sis!reader

summary | damian and you are trapped by the joker. so will batman be able to catch up on time this time..?

warnings | angst, injury, about death, ptsd, y/n is mentioned as a female

authors note | a second episode that isn't too long. i still hope you like it

also votes and reblogs appreciate

word count | 2,6k

m.list

Your eyes were closed, your breathing steady but weak. At that moment, you were unaware of anything happening in the world. But someone was watching you from just beyond the glass: Damian.

The others stayed further back in the clinic hallway, yet they too could see your body sleeping, marked by bruises, through the glass.

Finally, Damian broke the deadly silence of the corridor.

“What are you going to do with Joker next?” Before Bruce could respond, he added, “You’re not just going to lock him up in Arkham and leave him there again, are you?” His eyes left you for the first time as he spoke.

He glanced at his father for a moment. Bruce said nothing, but Damian had already received enough of an answer from the silence.

“So you’re just going to lock him in Arkham. Fantastic.” 

His sarcastic tone prompted Dick to intervene before he said something he shouldn’t. Straightening up from the wall he leaned against, he tried to sound like a small child: “D, don’t think about this now—”

Damian cut him off. “Don’t think about what, Grayson? That man, despite everything he’s done, still walks around unpunished. For years.” “Our job isn’t to punish them, Damian, it’s to hand them over to justice.” When Bruce finally spoke, Damian rolled his eyes.

“Believe me, justice doesn’t work on Joker. We’ve seen that already.”

When Damian noticed Bruce was about to intervene, he raised his hand, stopping him quickly: “He killed Todd, and you did nothing. You just locked him in Arkham. He escaped, killed again. You caught him again and ‘handed him over to justice,’ guess what happened?”

“He escaped again. This time he almost killed my sister. And you didn’t even take a single step forward. That man can still threaten her with ease, and you do nothing.”

By the end of his words, Damian was unconsciously stepping toward his father, while Bruce stayed silent, letting him release his anger. No one except Dick even tried to intervene.

Jason thought the boy had a valid point. Even if he hadn’t said it aloud to Bruce in a long time, his anger toward Joker still burned inside him. And he knew it would never truly fade.

Tim, on the other hand, was exhausted. He didn’t have the energy to step between father and son. These arguments happened often, and he had anticipated today’s explosion, so he just continued watching you from where he was.

“Damian, I know you’re angry, but this isn’t the time. Do you think Bruce wanted this?” Dick asked. Damian rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t say that, Grayson. Don’t twist my words. I’m just saying Joker shouldn’t be let free.”

Finally, Bruce rose from his chair and approached his son: “We’ll talk about this again when you’re calmer, Damian.” His hand lightly brushed Damian’s shoulder.

Damian didn’t pull away from the touch but nodded. “My feelings about Joker won’t change. No matter what.”

*****

The hospital room lights were dim, and the soft beeps from the monitors punctuated the silence. Damian sat with his arms crossed, shoulders tense.

His gaze was locked on your face. Occasionally, it drifted to the monitor, as if checking your breathing. 

Even though your vital signs were stable, the fact that you still hadn’t woken up scared him—though he wouldn’t admit it. Damian Wayne Al Ghul, was afraid for the first time.

As a child, he had never run into his mother’s arms fearing monsters under the bed, but now, he wanted to. But unsurprisingly, his mother wasn’t here. 

Only his father, whose presence they had learned about years later, was.

His thoughts were pounding. Or maybe it was just exhaustion. The hospital room door creaked open slightly, and without waiting for a response, Alfred’s head appeared through the gap.

“Master Damian, you should rest and go home. Gotham isn’t waiting for you to catch up.”

‘This is my home,’ Damian thought. Then, without raising his head, he replied with a single word: “I’m not leaving.”

Alfred took a deep breath, approaching him cautiously, hesitant to touch him. “Even father went on patrol, right?” “Yes, but this—” “He goes, I don’t.”

The determination in his eyes made Alfred realize it was pointless to argue further. Still, in a gentle voice, he continued: “If anything happens, I’ll let you know. But you need to close your eyes and rest properly, sir. You’re exhausted to the point of collapse.”

Damian murmured in a low voice: “What if she wake up and don’t see me by her side? I’m staying here.”

Alfred paused for a moment before nodding slightly and leaving the room, closing the door silently.

That night, Damian stayed upright in his chair, resisting sleep. He leaned toward you occasionally to check your breathing. His fingers brushed yours lightly, and when he felt your warmth still there, he relaxed slightly. 

He wouldn’t rest until he saw you awake.

*****

By early morning, Bruce had returned from patrol and was dressed in regular clothes. He found himself in Dr. Leslie’s clinic. Sitting in the chair by the window, the two shared a moment of silence.

Father and son had sworn a silence together. Damian’s eyes were only on your sickbed, though Bruce’s fleeting glances occasionally found him.

Bruce Wayne, known for his confidence, felt unsure even to start a conversation with his youngest son. He knew Damian was only acting out of tension and anger, and wasn’t taking it out on anyone else—but still wondered if there was a shred of rightness in the boy’s feelings.

Your eyelids resisted opening as if weighed down. The first thing that reached your ears was the slow, rhythmic beeping of the monitors through a loud ringing. Your throat was dry, and even breathing caused slight pain in your chest.

Slowly, as you opened your eyes, the harsh white lights of the ceiling hurt them. You blinked several times until your surroundings gradually became clear.

Beside you, Bruce sat. His dark suit wrinkled, his tie loosened. Elbow on the armrest, chin resting in his hands. Lines etched deep into his face—traces of sleeplessness and worry.

Next to him, Damian sat in a chair, neck slightly forward, arms crossed. Trying to stay stiff, but his eyelids drooped from exhaustion.

Noticing your movement, Damian’s head shot up, eyes fixed on you. “(Y/N)…” he whispered, his voice softer and lower than usual.

With that sound, Bruce’s gaze also found yours. He rose immediately and approached, expression stern as ever: “You scared me.” His voice low, serious.

Damian stepped forward toward you. His expression seemed to want to say something, yet every time he opened his mouth, it closed again. He swallowed, turning his head. Words weren’t his strength, emotions even less so.

When your lips parted, the only word you could manage was: “Water…” Your voice raspy.

Bruce wasted no time, bringing a sip from the bedside cup to your lips. His hands, careful and tentative as if handling a fragile porcelain doll, kept your head upright. His gaze never left yours.

“No patrols until you’re fully healed,” Bruce said, putting the glass back and folding his arms, showing he didn’t want this to be an argument later.

“And even when you are healed, you won’t go anywhere alone for a while. Understood?”

Before you could protest, Damian interjected: “Father is right.”

It was as if he wasn’t the same boy who had argued with his father days ago. He added shortly after: “You are my family. I won’t let this happen again.”

His voice was soft, barely audible, but both of you heard it. A slight tremor at the end was noticeable.

The room fell silent. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor, the drip of the IV…

No one wanted to break the silence. But Bruce’s large, calloused hand reached out and carefully ruffled your hair. 

As if silently thanking you for being alive, proud of you.

Soon, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. Seconds later, the door opened. First in was Dick, holding a large cup of coffee. His dark shirt was plain, hair messy, as if he’d rushed here.

Seeing you, he froze for a few seconds, then a small smile tugged at his lips. He quickly reached your side. “You’re awake…” His warm older-brother tone filled the room. He set the coffee on the table and leaned slightly toward you.

“Don’t ever scare me like this again, okay, little bird?” He tried to make it sound like a warning, but it only came off as gentle.

You wanted to laugh, but you weren’t sure you could. So you just smiled faintly. “Can’t promise,” you whispered.

Not long after, Tim entered. He had files in his hand and, unsurprisingly, a coffee as well. Seeing you, he set everything down on the table near the door.

“I spoke to the doctor about your condition. He said you should wake soon,” he said, lowering his voice, “Also, if you even think about putting yourself in danger like this again, I’ll chain you. Same goes for you, Damian. I’m not joking.”

“Try it, Drake,” Damian said, his challenging voice narrowing his eyes at Tim.

You felt the need to intervene. “Actually, Dad planned this. Also, can you ease up on the overprotection a bit? If you push too hard, I’m afraid it’ll be impossible to go on patrol again.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Jason, who had entered last. 

He paused in the doorway, eyes scanning you head to toe. Hidden anger lay beneath his eyes, but also a glint of relief.

Normally, Jason couldn’t stay serious for long, but now he was almost silent. His expression was graver than usual. “You fit the bed… just this once,” he said, walking slowly to stand behind Damian. “Next time, no one will find you like this. I won’t allow it.”

You remained silent. You didn’t even need to speak; just their presence and the fact that you were still here was enough.

*****

A week later, when you were discharged, returning to the manor was relatively quiet. Bruce made no public statement, and Alfred escorted you straight to your room.

During the first few nights, Damian would go to his room, but in the early hours you’d notice the door creak open. Silent footsteps moved across the room, settling at the edge of your bed, waiting a few seconds before curling silently under the blankets.

This used to happen occasionally. Sleeping together wasn’t unfamiliar. But this time it became a routine.

A routine neither of you voiced aloud. The other family members had noticed Damian was often absent from his room, but no one cared.

Sometimes he murmured in his sleep—his usually furrowed brows remained knitted even in slumber. He unconsciously held you tightly.

A few times, you saw him wake in sweat—clearly from a nightmare. But he never spoke of them, about what or who. When asked, he would simply say, “Keep sleeping, it’s fine.”

One night, well past midnight, you awoke with aches. You must have forgotten your last painkiller. Looking at the nightstand, you met an empty cup, frowning as you propped yourself up.

At the far end of the large bed, Damian slept, wrapped in the blankets like a life preserver. He was in a deep sleep, his face finally appearing relaxed after days.

His furrowed brows softened; his face bore the innocence of a child. You gave him a small smile. Finally, he could rest.

Even if he never spoke of his nightmares, you could tell from his murmurs—and you hated seeing him blame himself. 

He was your brother; he didn’t have to be your guardian. Being your brother was enough.

Exhaling silently, you carefully got out of bed, your feet moving softly across the cold floor. The chill was momentarily jarring, but still pleasant.

When you went downstairs to the kitchen, you saw a large figure at the counter, back turned. Jason was pouring a glass of milk. Black T-shirt, hair slightly messy. He turned when he heard your footsteps.

Seeing you, he raised an eyebrow slightly. “Getting milk at three in the morning, little bat?” You leaned on the counter with a faint smile. “Just getting water. What are you doing here?”

Without asking, he retrieved a glass from the cupboard and poured water from the bottle.

“Can’t sleep. My mind… a little busy,” he said, handing you the glass.

After murmuring a quiet thanks, a silence settled. The only sound in the kitchen was the rhythm of Jason’s fingers tapping the counter.

Finally, you broke the silence. “You thinking about him? About what happened?” Even after knowing Jason for years, your voice was cautious on this subject.

Even if you knew what Joker did to Jason, you’d never heard him speak of it directly—only overheard from Dick. You’d never dared to ask.

Jason glanced at you, his eyes lingering on the bruises on your face before looking away. “If I said no, you wouldn’t believe me, right?” You nodded. “Yes.”

He exhaled and set the half-full glass down. “This isn’t a topic I enjoy discussing. What happened, happened. I died, came back. I’ve moved on.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve really moved on.” You added after a pause. “And you don’t have to move on, you don’t have to be strong.”

Jason glanced at you. “Is that why, when you wake from nightmares, you throw yourself onto the balcony to hide? You’re playing the tough, fearless kid. Trust me, we notice.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds. Once again, you hated being in a house surrounded by outlaws. They always knew the little things you thought went unnoticed. You included.

Apparently, nothing could be hidden in this family.

“You got me. But you can’t escape by pointing arrows at me.” “Alright, little detective, let me go now. Does it still hurt?” Jason had evaded the subject, but you didn’t press. If he wasn’t ready, you wouldn’t upset him over his trauma.

So you adapted. “A little. But it’ll pass.”

Jason tilted his head slightly, looking at you. “Sometimes you annoy me, but I’m glad to see you okay, little devil.”

For a brief moment, you frowned. “How many more names are you going to give me?” He shrugged before taking another sip of milk. “I don’t think any of them are wrong.”

“You’re annoying, Todd. Goodnight.” You started to leave when Jason put a hand on your shoulder to stop you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to his chest. You froze.

It was sudden. And embraces, apart from the occasional ones with Damian, weren’t something you were used to—except for Dick’s random stickiness, which you mostly didn’t consider real hugs.

But it was less uncomfortable than you expected; even comforting. Short but tight—not too long, but warm.

Finally, you pulled away without meeting his eyes. Jason, without speaking, tilted his head slightly. “Go upstairs. If Damian wakes and doesn’t find you beside him, he’ll wake the entire manor.”

You gave a tiny, almost imperceptible smile and nodded. As you returned, you saw Jason still leaning on the counter, finishing his milk.

When you went upstairs, Damian was still in deep sleep, one arm stretched toward the side of the bed where you should be, unknowingly seeking your warmth. When you you curled up beside him, his arm instinctively wrapped around your waist, seeking the warmth he had been missing.

Your last thoughts before sleep took you were simple but profound: none of you would ever be alone again.

——•——

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