#gaaaaaaaaaah

And now you were on his front steps, by the doorway, with a ridiculously cool butler who drove you here past the high-security gated fence that screamed "rich."

You pinch yourself.

This was probably a dream, right?

Yeah, you'd probably wake up in a few minutes back at home, living off stale bread and tap water... right?

As you and the black-suited butler made your way through the manor, you sightsee everything like a tourist. You felt a little insecure walking with your shabby clothes through the marble-padded hallways with million-dollar home decor that looked like it would scold you for simply looking in its direction.

Was it a blast? Yeah. Were you intimidated? Double yeah.

You waddled alongside the butler, who you soon came to know as Alfred, like a little duckling following a mother duck, sticking close to his side.

Your shoes let out soft squeaks every time you accidentally turned your foot the wrong way on the shiny floor, letting the sound reverberate through the hallway and echo through the empty mansion.

It wasn't empty, per se; it was just lonely.

"Master Y/N, would you like to meet your father?" A voice snaps you out of your haze. Looking up, your eyes meet the soft gaze of Alfred.

Nodding fervently, you quickly follow him toward a door.

A father, just like you dreamed of.

A father just like the one you'd see whenever you would look through the window at your next-door neighbor's kid.

A father just like the one everyone always teased you for not having.

A father so you could finally feel normal.

A father you could finally call—

"Not now, Alfred; I'm busy."

The words were snappy and quick. The room was messy. His table was filled with important files.

And there you were.

Ripe and plucked from your home at the fresh age of seven, hiding behind the tall butler's legs as you watched your 'father' dismiss you without a single thought. You grip the hem of your shirt as you look up at Alfred, but he seemed to be looking at Bruce.

He didn't even look at you.

He looked at the stack of messy papers on his desk. He looked into Alfred's eyes as the butler coughed into his gloved hands.

But he never looked at you.

It's fine.

This was Bruce Wayne you were talking about. He was probably just busy, right? I mean, someone’s got to do the paperwork for the million-dollar company he was working on. With only Alfred being the butler of the house, it can get stressful, right?

Alfred gives you a sympathetic smile, and you smile back.

"It seems Master Bruce is a bit busy. I'm sure he'll come up to greet you later."

Yet he never did.

────── ₊˚⊹ ✶ ──────

Richard 'Dick' Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake.

The names of your three older 'siblings.'

You could tell by their stares that they saw you differently—they saw you as a liability.

You aren't sure what liability you could be, but there certainly was something deeper behind the mask of emotions each of the three brothers were hiding.

Yet you didn't care.

You attached yourself to Dick first, staring at him in awe when the two of you first met. Muscular, awesome, super-cool. You would've used those words to describe him.

If you weren't following Alfred, you were probably following him. He never complained—at first.

He would ruffle your hair from time to time, watching you giggle as you told him to do it again and again. He'd allow you to stay up late at night—not like Bruce would care anyway—and sometimes eat ice cream before dinner. That is, if Alfred didn't catch the two of you.

It was nice.

You never really conversed with him, only making small talk. In hindsight, maybe it was truly a stupid move for you to get attached to him so easily.

It changed ever so slightly, but you never noticed.

The little uncomfortable shifts in his movement, how he would always seem a little more impatient when talking to you, and how everything seemed to change so easily.

He was still as laid-back and chill as ever.

Yet he never seemed to have the time to hang out with you.

"Sorry, Y/N! I'm going out tonight! I think Tim might not be busy though?"

"Oh, Y/N? Yeah, sorry, I don't think I have the time, I have to get to... err... work later. Maybe tomorrow, buddy, kay?"

"Sorry, I'm a little tired from tonight. Maybe later?"

Soon enough, the excuses were nothing but sweet lies in your ears, and his 'maybes' and 'laters' piled up to nothing in the end.

You clutch the poster in your hand tightly.

'FIFTH GRADE GRADUATION CEREMONY'

Maybe it would be better in the end not to ask.

You still had your other brothers, right?

Then you tried Jason; an enigma you couldn't seem to wrap your head around.

He would randomly show up in the manor at night, the air always seeming to get chillier whenever he would climb through the windows.

You tried to go up to him.

"Hey! Oh, uh—Jason! I was... I was wondering if you could help me with my summer assignment for, um, my sixth-grade class? You know, it's fine if you don't want to, I just thought... maybe..." You quickly trail off at the end, eyes unable to meet your brother's.

An awkward silence falls between the two of you before the latter interrupts it with a sigh, walking past you and out of the hallway the two of you were standing in.

The floor felt cold. You were cold. Why isn't he speaking?

Until he does: "No thanks, go bother someone else with your problems."

And he left you behind, even colder than before. Your heartbeat thudding in your empty chest.

Yet you didn't give up. You still had a smidge of hope that maybe he just needed to warm up to you?

Despite your efforts, it seemed he was making efforts of his own.

He always avoided you—leaving the room when you entered, showing up only when he knew you’d be gone.

And he only seemed to be doing it to you.

You watched and analyzed as he talked casually with Tim and Dick, albeit a little cold, but still better than how he treated you.

Biting the tip of your fingernail, you watched the three of them interact as you seemed to fade into the shadows.

And your hope seemed to fade as well.

But it still glimmered under the spotlight as you turned to the last brother: Tim.

But he never turned to you.

He would push you away. You never got the chance to even introduce yourself to him properly.

I mean, you tried to, sure, but he never stuck around long enough for the two of you to have an actual conversation.

It's not like he avoided anyone else, no.

You were searching for Alfred once, wandering through the maze of a mansion that seemed so familiar yet distant on your fingertips at the same time—a home you could never truly 'connect' to.

There he was. Laughing and smiling. Drinking what seemed to be tea from an expensive cup made of Chinese porcelain.

He seemed to do just fine when conversing with your other siblings.

And you felt guilty.

Guilty for feeling jealous of someone whose only title to you was as a 'brother.'

You don't know who he truly was behind the mask he wore around you.

Maybe he's had his hardships with the rest of the family too. He's been here longer, right?

Perhaps you just needed the family to accustom to the change. Wait a few years and maybe the family photos hung up on the wall in golden picture frames would change a tiny bit; just a small little addition: you.

Sooner or later, you'd be there with the family. Laughing and smiling as Dick cracks up a stupid joke, as Jason only shakes his head in disappointment despite the grin on his face, as Tim calls his joke dumb but masks his snicker by sipping the liquid in his cup.

You know who the Wayne siblings are; you live with them.

Yet you don't.

────── ₊˚⊹ ✶ ──────

Damian Wayne. Your little brother.

Similar to you but different in so many ways.

For one, you both were biologically connected to Bruce.

But that seemed to be where the similarities ended. The family was able to bond with him instantly. He seemed to be the center of attention when he walked into the room.

Maybe it was the way he spoke? The way he acted? How he was a dick to everyone—and no, not 'Dick' as in the name of your brother, ha ha.

He was another opportunity. The both of you shared at least one thing in common, and he seemed to take an interest in you. He was the only one who had acknowledged your presence when everyone was introducing themselves.

Yet you didn't try.

You waited for him to come up to you at one point, hoping he was different from the rest, but he never did.

And soon enough, he blended in with the rest of your family. Choosing to ignore you instead, as if he had realized your 'worth' to the family and had decided you weren't a problem big enough for him to even deal with.

Like you were a messy stain hidden on the back of a designer brand shirt.

An accident.

Because you were.

You were the result of a one-night stand between Bruce and your mother (who you assumed was now dead).

You were never supposed to exist in this world—or so you would tell yourself.

And every day, getting up seemed to feel a little more useless.

No one to confide in.

Alfred. Oh, Alfred.

He was dear, truly. You loved him with all of your heart, and he reciprocated that sometimes with his actions. Saving you extra cookies, being the only one who celebrated your birthdays with you, the only one who seemed as if he didn't mind your presence in the household.

But one man could only do so much.

After all, he couldn't be split into six different Alfreds.

But you appreciated him and his efforts, even if no one could make it to your events.

Even if the fifth-grade graduation poster you had meant to hand out to everyone lies rotting underneath your bed in a room you've obviously outgrown.

Even if everyone else seemed to view you as nothing more than someone who lived under the same roof as them.

────── ₊˚⊹ ✶ ──────

"Happy birthday, Master Y/N," Alfred smiles wistfully, knowing none of the family members would be able to make it.

A cake was being held in his hands, your favorite flavor, the only one you told him you loved many years ago.

"Oh! You remembered?" You ask, eyes widening in surprise as you swipe a bit of icing onto your pinkie and lick it.

You watched as he turns off the lights, the fancy chandelier above the two of you flickering off, and the light from the candlestick on top of the birthday cake casting everything in an orange hue instead.

You smile, tearing up a little as you wipe the tears building in your eyes, managing to whisper out a small, "Thank you."

It was the first birthday you'd truly celebrated in years.

Alfred only nods in return as you blow out the candle, the room engulfed by an empty darkness.

It made your heart sink, but you decide to push away the feelings on your very special day.

As the butler turns the light back on, you sit down in one of the dining room chairs, the cake placed in front of you as Alfred stands next to you.

It was awkward, but Alfred insisted on standing.

You take out the little '12' shaped candle on top of the small cake, placing it on a napkin.

By this point, you knew their secret—they were all vigilantes. You chose not to become one. What use would it be? You weren't agile, stealthy, or smart, and you didn’t want to be a bigger burden than you already were.

"Could we... decorate a little?" you ask, placing the silverware in front of you. Hell, if there was already a cake, decorations wouldn't hurt, would they?

Alfred smiles. "Of course."

As the two of you set on your next mission—blowing up balloons—the rest of the family was busy with their own.

The moonlight reflected across the roofs of the buildings as they jumped across them, landing with small ‘thuds.’

"Robin, can you see where the villain is headed?" Bruce asks, his voice deep and gruff.

Damian nods, opening his mouth to answer before being interrupted by Dick. "Err... guys... is it just me, or is he looking directly at us?"

"No, Dick, he's looking directly at the moon. Yes, he's looking at us!" Jason groans next to him, sliding down the stairwell of a run-down apartment complex nearby.

"Any new intel?" Bruce whispers into his earpiece.

Static buzzes through it, but Tim's voice is still somewhat audible. "Not sure... seems to be a new villain, but I'd be wary."

As the four of them start to fight, you and Alfred are still decorating the mansion’s dining room.

"Master Y/N, where would you like me to hang the balloons?" Alfred’s voice rings in your ears. When you look in the direction of his voice, you notice your favorite-colored balloon in both of his hands, making the smile on your face grow wider.

"You can hang them up in the corners of the room!" you giggle. "Or maybe we could scatter them on the ground!"

"I'm afraid that might be a safety hazard, Master Y/N," he replies.

You can only shrug. "Hey, it’s not as bad as you think!" You give him a lopsided grin. "I’m sure no one would slip on them!"

Right, quite literally ‘no one,’ because you knew none of your family members were actually going to show up.

Though it seemed as if fate was on your side (or against your side, as you would soon realize), the rest of your family seemed to make their way through the dining room window, with the exception of Tim, who had gone up from the Batcave after the failure of a mission they’d been through. The brothers were yelling and arguing about whose fault it was that the mission had gone so... astray, until they took in the scenery before them—stopping at the sight of the decorations strung up and a face they hadn’t seen in years.

You’ve grown, and it shows.

Your heart stops.

Theirs do too.

You couldn’t believe it—they actually came!

They couldn’t believe it—they accidentally came.

They eye you, the birthday cake sitting sadly on the table with a knife sliced halfway into it, the many plates sitting on the tables (despite only two of them having silverware placed next to them), and then they look at you again.

It was the first time. The first time Bruce had looked you in the face.

Why did your birthday have to be tonight, of all nights? The portrait held up on one of the walls seemed to have more vigor and enthusiasm than the rest of the family combined.

Damian, who especially had a temper tonight, stormed off, not before muttering a few curses under his breath followed by a breathy 'tt.'

"Sorry I wasn’t..." You turn to Alfred, who only nods. "I wasn’t expecting you guys to come! I can get more silverware if you want—or maybe Alfred can do that if he doesn’t mind—"

You are cut off when Bruce shakes his head, taking off his Batman mask.

"No need," he responds. "I’ll go check up on Damian."

Jason follows behind him swiftly, abruptly turning his head away from the sight in front of him as if it was painful to look at.

Alfred goes back into the kitchen to make something to cheer up the youngest master.

Dick forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, grabbing Tim’s hand. "Actually! Sorry, Y/N, Tim and I were planning to train tonight! We’re running late, actually." He pauses, checking his wrists before grabbing Tim’s arm and leading him out of the room.

You grip the hem of your top.

Once again, you’re alone.

It was inevitable.

You don’t understand. Why do they avoid you like the plague? Why do they hate you so much? You’ve tried everything for them to like you, yet they seem further out of arm’s reach as the days go by.

It was the first time Bruce had looked you in the face, but he couldn’t look at you for more than a few seconds.

────── ₊˚⊹ ✶ ──────

You don’t remember when it all just stopped. When you stopped. Stopped hoping, stopped waiting, stopped trying.

Maybe it was at your middle school performance during the end of the year—you reserved a seat for them. It was stupid of you, but you still kept hanging onto a single golden thread you knew would snap.

They didn’t come.

You weren’t surprised.

Or maybe it was during your high school graduation a few months ago? No, it was definitely earlier.

The place you called ‘home’ seemed stranger to you.

The hallways felt unfamiliar.

The rooms always felt cold.

The portraits that stood silent on every other wall seemed to ignore your presence.

You barely saw your ‘family’ anymore. You locked yourself in your room and found ways to entertain yourself inside.

It was your safe haven.

Your room was still your room despite everything. The colors on the walls seemed to be fading out, and the posters attached to them seemed to be in need of new tape.

The poster under your bed looked unrecognizable. Faded ink and rips all over it, you could barely make out the ‘FIFTH GRADE GRADUATION’ that still looked disappointing as ever when you held it in your hands.

Sighing, you put it inside an empty shoebox nearby.

Some things are better forgotten.

You start reaching under your bed in order to clean—

tap

A small tap makes you look behind you.

tap tap tap

It wasn’t a loud sound, really, but it was enough to get your attention.

The window seemed to be tapping on its own—no, wait, something was tapping on the window. Maybe it was a bird?

Making your way towards the glass pane, you lift it up, looking around. Nothing out of the ordinary. A raven seemed to be snuggled into its nest nearby, protecting its eggs.

"Psst!"

On instinct, you let out a yelp, jumping away from the window.

What the hell?

Rubbing your bottom, you get up from the floor, your eyes still stuck on the small square opening that connects the outside to your room.

Then, it seemed as if someone lent you a hand—no, literally, a hand fucking jumped out from the bottom of the window.

It slowly lifted itself up to reveal...

You?

No, you were right here, right? Sitting on the ground, mouth agape, as you look at...

Yourself??

You—no, they, whatever it is—seemed to lift themselves up from the window.

And ‘they’ as in multiple people, not the pronoun, because two other people who also looked eerily similar to you made their way through the window, now standing on the edge directly in front of you.

It felt like a fever dream, to be honest, as you stood in front of three people who looked like you.

And you tried to scream.

Keyword: tried, because the moment you opened your mouth, one of them quickly clamped it shut, pinning you to the doorway.

"Don’t even try it," they growled.

You frantically try to remove the hands but the person in front of you was strong as hell.

The one standing closest to the window yells out: "Vg/n! Don’t be rude!"

You instantly spot the weird clothing on them—pure white, bright as hell, a staff that seemed to come straight out of a children’s show.

It looked like cosplay more than anything.

The one next to the person who looked like they won first place in a Comic-Con costume contest only cackled loudly.

Their outfit wasn’t any better—but what stood out the most was the leopard print furry jacket and studded belt they wore. You really hope it was just faux fur.

"Oh, you guys are just too funny," they let out a wheeze, gripping their stomach harshly. "You’re gonna scare the poor kid!"

The one holding your mouth could only roll their eyes before looking back at you. "I’ll let go of your mouth if you promise not to scream."

You nod as they gently let go.

You hold back your scream.

You don’t scream, nor shout, and you definitely don’t let it all out.

"Look, you might not believe us, but we’re you—err, alternate versions of you," they pause. "I’m Vg/n, or you but... a vigilante."

"What?" you voice out your confusion.

"Yeah," the person in the fur jacket perks up. "I’m the super awesome and cool version of—"

"Ignore them, that’s V/n, the version where you become a villain! I’m M/n, the version where you’re, well, magical!" M/n shouts from beside you. V/n lets out a little 'hey!' from the rude introduction, crossing their arms but doing nothing otherwise.

You stand still, feeling your heart pounding in your ears.

"Ya think we broke ‘em?" V/n whispers to M/n.

You shake your head, opening your mouth to reply. "No, no, I just...—why are you here?"

"Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out too!" M/n tries to give you a reassuring smile, yet you can tell they’re just as lost as you are. "We were just doing our business in our universes, and BOOM! We’re suddenly together in an alleyway."

"Wait—so if you’re all alternate versions of me, then... what version am I?"

"Well, you’re like the past!" M/n twirls their staff. "Or you can also be the ‘true’ Y/n if you’d like, but that’s debated."

"Past...? How old are you guys??"

"It depends on who you’re asking, but we’re all around the age of 23-24!"

Your jaw drops. "Wait, so you guys are also from the future?"

V/n shrugs, looking around at the other two. M/n is avoiding eye contact, choosing to look around the room instead. Vg/n is trying to act nonchalant in the corner, arms crossed. How helpful.

"So, you guys are trying to get home?"

"That’s the gist of it," V/n nods, a toothy smile forming on their face.

"Well, we could ask Br—"

Suddenly, the three of them speak up, yelling at you with a big fat no.

Vg/n can only sigh at your puzzled face, answering the unasked question that they seem to sense is floating around in your head. "Remember your twelfth birthday?"

You do, but you would rather forget about it.

"Basically, all of us went through the same event as you. Same party, same intruders, and same heartbreak. Yet what was different was how we reacted. I decided to become a vigilante, V/n became a villain, and M/n became... well, magical after finding a ring."

Even alternate versions of you couldn’t catch a break.

"Well, we should at least discuss this somewhere else; I’m getting homesick from this manor," V/n scoffs. "Or homehate, or whatever. I just hate this place and the people that live here."

Vg/n doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that they agree with V/n too, even if they don’t want to side with a villain.

"Off we go!!!" With their wand pointed high, M/n runs out of the room with a cheer, alerting both V/n and Vg/n to chase after your other alternate self, with you following in pursuit. You can’t even make it to the exit of the manor before you run into your family.

Your whole big-ass family.

Not even one member—your WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY—OH MY GOD. At the WORST time ever, too.

You knew this was going to turn into a mess.

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