#estranged!reader

Floating. Drifting. Drowning. Somewhere in between.

At first, you find that you’re almost ten years into the future.

Although, this was quickly proven wrong when you ran tests. Apparently, according to a quick google search, you’re supposed to be twenty-three years old. You’re not in the future. You’re in the present, just not... your present.

10/10 explanation. No notes!

You didn't time travel, you’ve been de-aged. (Supposedly)

ring ring ring

“You have reached Wayne manor. Who may be calling?”

“Alfred? It's me. Can you come pick me up, please? I’ve been de-aged.”

And it’s nauseating how fast everything seems to be going from there, because you suddenly become everything and anything negative in such a short amount of time.

You’re dizzy. You’re confused.

You were in a laboratory, belonging to Gotham University. You were in an office. (Your office! Isn’t that exciting?). You were in a car, courtesy of Alfred.

And now you're in a cave.

You're in the Batcave.

The very last place you would ever want to find yourself in. Though, you suppose you don’t have much of a choice.

“We need to make sure that this calls for the de-ageing protocol, or if the past and present versions have switched places."

"If it is the latter, then we risk the integrity of the timeline. They need to be monitored.”

"The tech we normally use is to confirm a situation like this is being updated by Cyborg, he said we won't get it back until next week."

Even when you stand here, clothes a little too baggy, and wearing a face far too young than what it's supposed to be, even then, they are talking as if you are not there.

"Maybe we can contact a speedster to confirm?"

"Last time we relied on a Flash, they ate our entire pantry."

"Wally even ate my limited edition cheerios, the one with chocolate, marshmallows, and sprinkles. I had that imported!"

None of them are even looking at you anymore and the conversation is being steered to something different altogether. They don't care, not really. It is a little disappointing, but you did not expect anything less from them.

Typical, really.

“It’s the former," you chime, your voice cutting all chatter. Everybody is staring at you now. Good. Maybe some progress will actually be made today.

“How are you so sure?” Bruce asks, taking the time to actually look at you now. It's weird having his attention, you think.

After years of yearning for it, begging for a glance, you feel nothing short of indifference. Nonetheless, that doesn’t cover the fact that he sounds doubtful of your declaration. Because why would you, the civilian, know anything?

“I collected a sample of the leftover substance I was hit with and analysed it during the time it took for Alfred to arrive." You fish out an eppendorf tube from your pocket, filled with what substance you could salvage from the scene.

"Judging by the results, it seemed that it had residual magic properties that match similar cases of de-ageing, rather than those of time travel.”

The cave is so silent that a distant squeak from a bat echoes around you, but still, you plough through.

“As a result of being raised in a house where one of the two adults dress like a bat at night and has clinical paranoia, I had guessed that my ‘present’ self had protocols put in place if an event such as this one were to occur.”

Someone whistles lowly. “I don't remember you being a nerd before I died.”

Your eye twitches.

Jason Todd-Wayne, for you, died almost a year and a half ago. Instead of in a casket, he's leaning against the meeting table, arms crossed, and you can tell that he's much taller now. Shorter than Bruce but beats Dick by at least two inches. According to the files, he should be around twenty-four now, give or take.

You're happy for him, truly. He did not deserve the death that had befallen him. But, it would be too far to say that you liked him, let alone miss him.

How do you miss someone you didn’t know?

The thought alone leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. Maybe that's why you couldn't stop yourself from blurting out something you wouldn't normally say out loud.

“Hello, Jason. Alfred has already informed me of your reanimation. You talk an awful lot for a zombie.”

You will be the bigger person and admit that what you said is most likely uncalled for, but nothing could stop the sick satisfaction that fills your chest at the way he almost snarls at you.

Just like a rabid dog.

His resurrection must be a sore spot, you snicker to yourself.

“Lotta mouth on you for being a middle schooler—”

“What does your protocol state?” Bruce, seemingly dismissing Jason's outburst, instead raised a brow.

"Three things." You shrug, unperturbed. "One, confirm that this is a time-body swap or a de-ageing. Two, confirm whether the de-ageing is temporary. Three, confirm if the age I have turned is that of a child or adult. Given the circumstances, protocol stated to contact the Wayne manor and hope for the best.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeahhh, it got sloppy at the end but that’s mostly because present-me didn’t think this would actually happen to us.”

When the bell signals for the end of the school day, Damian is notified of your presence and your circumstance by Alfred on the drive back to the manor.

He would not be the blood son of the 'World's Greatest Detective' if he were to say that he wasn't curious about you.

You, who had next to no portraits on the walls. The only ones being of you holding your degrees and a polite smile. All of which are contained in a measly frame atop an antique ornament table at the end of the corridor.

You, who supposedly packed up everything they owned and moved out at eighteen, a year before he arrived.

You, who no longer has an assigned bedroom at the manor.

He's done research about you before.

You are single. Graduated with first class honours in all your degrees. You live in a studio apartment, despite being a lecturer and research scientist at Gotham University, and could definitely afford something more substantial. You tutor snotty Gotham Academy students on Saturdays. You are older than Drake but younger than Todd, and have lived in the manor the longest amongst the siblings, up until you moved out. You are allergic to paracetamol and strawberries. Your mother is dead.

But those are all mindless, meaningless things, things you can look up on the internet or from the latest gossip magazines (though the word ‘latest’ was a stretch, Damian thinks, seeing as the most recent magazine of you dates to before your leaving).

He knocks twice at the door. Sharp. Precise.

“Enter.”

Damian had been informed that this office used to belong to you, way back then. An office on the top floor that overlooked the garden.

Despite knowing that, when you glance up from the sprawl of pages across the long oak desk, Damian deems it far too large for somebody of your stature. Somebody of your age. His age. No matter what de-ageing situation has befallen you.

“Damian, right?”

The room is dusty from years of disuse. Even Pennyworth knows it is pointless to constantly maintain a room nobody will occupy.

“Correct.”

The shelves are lined with scripture and history. Books are even stacked on top of each other as a result of there being no more room, piles that almost reach his own height.

“Do you need something?”

Damian glances at the untouched dinner placed carefully at the edge of the desk. It is bound to be cold now.

“Why do you insist on acting like an outsider?” He is quick. Straight to the point. Efficient.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” You tilt your head to the side. You're not offended, it seems.

It's nice to know that you are not overly sensitive compared to the other emotionally driven residents of the manor.

“You are a child of this manor, yet, why do you go to such lengths to not appear as such?” There is no accusation, just interest. After all, Robin is no less a detective than Batman. He craves knowledge.

“It’s best to ask the older version of myself, Damian. What they believe and what I believe could be different.” Honest. Lackadaisical.

“What is it that you believe, then?” He prods.

“I believe that I am not a child of this manor. I am nobody’s child. I do not act like an outsider. I am an outsider. Simple as that.”

Damian does not have a reply to that. He let's the information stew in his head for a second while also asking himself questions.

Why are you dismissing his connection with you? You, his older sibling, denying your link that ties you to him. How long have you had this mindset that you do not belong here? "Father loves you, so why is it that—"

It is at that moment where it all changes.

When you change.

It's abrupt and unexpected.

Because you're laughing.

Loudly. Unabashed. Uncaring.

Damian watches your lips curl upwards. A smile so cruel and so cold does not belong on the face of a teenager. Did he once look like that when he first arrived?

“Pfft— Damian, you cannot possibly believe that Bruce loves me like everybody else in this manor.” Your laugh is empty, as if incredulous to the very concept of such a thing. It almost sends a shiver down Damian's spine.

You practically read his mind like a book. How did you know what he was thinking? Had he asked that last thought out loud?

"You bear Father’s crest, his name. That should be enough proof." Damian sputters.

"What are you talking about, Damian? Being Bruce's son, I thought you would have read my file already?" Genuine confusion.

“I have.” He has. He's read anything and everything he could about you.

“Then you should know that Bruce didn't formally adopt me, and after reading articles about my present-self, it seems that he never did.”

Oh. He had overlooked that. Like a rookie, he assumed. But Father was so quick to give Damian his surname, has Father never offered you the same? He has formally adopted every one of Damian's siblings, all of them hyphenating their former surnames with Wayne.

Why not you?

Maybe because of his baffled expression, your face finally softens again. "I watched some videos of myself earlier, of interviews and speeches. I look… satisfied. It’s nice to know that I didn’t end up dead in a ditch, or in Metropolis." You say gently, rounding the corner of the desk, and now standing in front of him.

"Damian."

He looks at you. You're the same height as he is. The same age. It was like looking into a mirror.

Yet, why do you feel so far away?

"Don't dwell on things that are out of your control. It seems to me that I've made my peace with it years ago."

And with that finishing statement, he can tell that he is being politely asked to leave.

[ EXTRA ]

You're curious about Damian. You can see Bruce in the way Damian holds himself, the way he walks, his inflection, even his eyebrows.

You've done brief research into his character. Talia al Ghul's lab grown child. Raised within the League of Assassins. Raised to be an assassin. Kept a secret from Bruce until Talia brought Damian to the manor at ten years old. A year after present-you left.

He is now Robin.

Judging by the reports and security footage, Damian is brash, and is quick to threaten violence, especially towards Tim. He does not call anybody by their first name, most likely to put emotional distance between himself and others. He is spoiled relentlessly by Dick. He is frustrated, more often than not. He is overconfident. He views everything as a competition. He smirks. He scoffs. He jeers.

But, he is kind, in a complicated sort of way.

He is vegetarian because he cares and loves any and all animals. He enjoys and appreciates the arts, and is willing to discuss its portrayal and meaning. He helps Alfred in the garden, occasionally. He aids his classmates that do not understand the material. He likes reading manga and comics. He is patient. He does not judge without reason. He does not underestimate.

Damian is not perfect by any means, but he... he is willing to learn, and you respect that.

You wonder if he would be interested in having your collection of manga you no longer read.