#superfam x reader

Your lungs seized painfully as if they had forgotten how. You made it three more shaky steps before your knees finally gave out beside the bag racks lining the wall. The impact jarred through your body, but you barely felt it. Your hands clutched at your chest instead, fingers digging into fabric as if you could physically hold your heart together.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. You stared at the floor, breaths coming sharp and uneven.

Six years. Six whole fucking years.

You had died. You remembered it.

You remembered the loud bang. The bullets impact. The impossible pain splitting through your heart. The suffocating weight in your chest as everything faded into darkness.

You remembered dying.

So why were you here? Why did your body feel eighteen again? Why did your hands look smaller? Why did the air smell like cheap school disinfectant instead of rain and blood?

A trembling sound escaped your throat before you could stop it.

Mr Cameron crouched down a few feet away, keeping enough distance not to crowd you. You noticed that immediately. Instinctively. Like he was trying not to scare you.

“We don’t have to go back inside yet,” he said quietly. You looked up too fast and regretted it instantly. Because he looked young. Not young compared to how you remembered him, but young compared to reality.

Mr Cameron had been nearing retirement when you last- No.

Your stomach twisted violently.

He should’ve had grey hair. Wrinkles. That tired expression he always wore after years of grading papers.

Instead, he looked barely forty. Clean-cut. Sharp-eyed. Concern written plainly across his face as he watched you try not to fall apart on the hallway floor.

“You’re really him,” you whispered hoarsely.

His brows furrowed slightly. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re actually him,” you repeated, more to yourself than him. “Holy shit…” Your vision blurred.

“Okay,” he said slowly, carefully, like every word needed to be handled with caution. “I’m gonna take you down to the nurse, alright? You look like you’re about two seconds from passing out.” The concern in his voice almost made your chest hurt worse.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. At the lines that weren’t on his face. At the dark hair with only a little sprout of grey starting behind his ear. At the fact his wedding ring was missing because he hadn’t even met his wife yet.

Your stomach churned violently.

“Hey.” His tone softened further when you didn’t answer. “Can you stand?”

You blinked hard, forcing yourself back into the present. “…Yeah,” you managed weakly. You couldn’t tell if it was true. Still, you let him help you up.

His hand hovered near your arm rather than grabbing it outright, like he was afraid sudden contact would spook you. The tiny consideration dug under your ribs unexpectedly deep.

You followed beside him in a haze.

Students moved around you in blurs of uniforms and backpacks, conversations echoing down the corridor in warped fragments. Every now and then someone glanced your way before quickly looking elsewhere. You wondered vaguely what you looked like right now.

Probably insane.

Your legs carried you on autopilot while your mind spiralled somewhere far away, trapped between memories of dying and the impossible reality of polished school floors beneath your worn down shoes.

Mr Cameron said something to you halfway there.

You nodded without processing the words.

The nurse’s office door opened with a soft creak. Warm lighting spilled across the room, gentler than the harsh fluorescents outside. A small fan hummed quietly from the corner beside neatly stacked folders and medical supplies.

“You can sit there for me, sweetheart,” the nurse said immediately, concern flashing across her face the second she saw you.

You obeyed automatically.

Mr Cameron lingered near the doorway.

“They nearly collapsed outside class,” he explained quietly. “Caused quite a ruckus, had to leave the TA in charge.”

The nurse nodded once, already moving around the office gathering things. “Probably a panic attack,” she murmured. “I’ll handle it from here.”

Panic attack.

If only it were that simple. Your eyes drifted absently around the room while they spoke.

Posters about exam stress, a faded CPR chart, a school banner pinned crookedly near the filing cabinet, a half-heartedly made anti-bullying poster.

You wondered if this was hell.

Not fire-and-brimstone hell. Not demons with pitchforks and eternal screaming. Something worse. Something tailored specifically for you.

A punishment built out of teenage angst and overdue assignments. Out of uncomfortable plastic chairs and group projects with people who never did their share of the work. A cruel, cosmic joke where some higher being looked at your deepest fears and decided high school deserved a second round.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe dying hadn’t been enough. Maybe this was some sick afterlife where you were forced to relive adolescence forever. Endless exams you hadn’t studied for, teachers disappointed in you, the suffocating pressure of trying to figure out a future you already knew would never happen.

Or maybe this was your brain breaking apart in its final moments.

That felt possible too.

Maybe your body was still lying somewhere cold and ruined while your mind desperately stitched together familiar places to soften the terror of dying. One last comforting hallucination before everything finally shut off for good.

Except there was nothing comforting about this.

Your chest still hurt. Your memories still felt sharp enough to cut through you. You remembered blood. You remembered fear.

You remembered your grandma.

The thought slammed into you so suddenly your stomach twisted.

No.

No, you didnt want to think about her. Not yet.

You couldn’t imagine her all alone in that house. Couldn’t imagine the police knocking on her door, interrupting her while she was singing along to some old country song while she cleaned or making burnt sugar cookies for the end of the week when you were supposed to come over.

Your fingers curled tightly against your knees instead. Willing the thoughts of her all by herself out of your head.

Maybe you were in a coma.

Maybe six years hadn’t passed at all, maybe your brain had invented them entirely. Maybe none of it happened.

Maybe you’d never grown older. Never watched everything spiral so violently out of control.

Maybe your mind had simply created an entire lifetime out of a few dying seconds.

The idea should’ve comforted you. Instead, it made you feel sick. Because it had felt real. Too real.

You remembered the weight of hands grabbing your wrists. The sound of voices desperately calling out your name like something precious. The look in the vigilantes eyes right before-

Your breath caught violently. Stop!

You squeezed your eyes shut hard enough to hurt. The room hummed softly around you. The fan. Papers shuffling. Distant footsteps beyond the office walls.

Real.

It all felt horribly, unbearably real.

Your gaze drifted again, unfocused, until it snagged on the navy-and-gold banner pinned near the filing cabinet.

METROPOLIS HIGH.

Your brows furrowed immediately.

Metropolis? Not Gotham.

A sharp pulse throbbed behind your eyes. “… Wait,” you muttered faintly.

The nurse glanced over while scribbling something onto a clipboard. “Hm?”

You stared at the sign. “Why does it say Metropolis High?”

She blinked once like the question made no sense at all. “…Because that’s the school you attend, honey.”

“No, I-”

Your words caught against each other. Because that wasn’t right. Was it?

You stared harder at the banner like the letters would rearrange themselves if you looked long enough.

The nurse gave you a sympathetic look instead, already moving toward a cabinet near the back wall.

“You’re overwhelmed right now,” she said gently. “Just sit tight for me, alright? I need to grab some paperwork.”

Paperwork. Of course, even hell had paperwork.

The office door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone in the softly humming room.

Silence rushed in immediately. Your breathing sounded too loud.

Slowly, uncertainly, you lifted one trembling hand in front of your face. You squeezed your fingers together. The sensation grounded and terrifying all at once.

Warm skin, pressure, movement. Real.

Your pulse jumped harder.

You pressed your thumb harshly into the web of skin between your thumb and pointer until pain bloomed under the skin.

Still real. Still here.

A shaky breath left you. “What the fuck…”

Time lost meaning somewhere around the fifty-minute mark.

The nurse came and went in intervals, checking your pulse, making you drink water, asking questions you barely processed long enough to answer. You nodded when expected to nod. Spoke when silence stretched too long. The rest of the time you sat there staring at the crooked Metropolis High banner pinned beside the filing cabinet like the words might rearrange themselves if you looked long enough.

They never did.

The clock above the door ticked forward relentlessly.

Eventually, the nurse stepped back into the office with a gentler expression than before.

“Well,” she said, setting her clipboard down, “your friend’s here to pick you up.”

Your brows furrowed immediately. “My… what?”

Before she could answer, the office door opened. And your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Tim Drake stepped inside.

You knew that face.

Everyone knew that face.

One of Bruce Wayne’s sons. You’d seen him on magazine covers before, standing beside billion-dollar donations and carefully rehearsed interviews. Always neat in that rich-kid way.

Except this version of him looked younger. Eighteen. Maybe nineteen.

And the second his eyes landed on you, his entire expression shifted. Relief.

Sharp, immediate, real.

“There you are,” he breathed, like he’d been genuinely worried.

Your pulse spiked violently.

Tim crossed the room without hesitation, stopping beside your chair. Expensive cologne lingered faintly beneath the smell of antiseptic and printer paper. His tie hung loose around his collar like he’d rushed over here faster than he should’ve.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said quietly. Not formal. Not distant.

Familiar.

His hand lifted instinctively toward your face before stopping halfway. You noticed the hesitation immediately. The restraint. Like he wanted to touch you and was actively stopping himself from doing it in front of the nurse.

“You almost collapsed?” His eyes searched your face rapidly. “What happened?”

You stared at him blankly.

Because Tim Drake was not your friend.

A Wayne should not have been standing in your school nurse’s office looking at you like this.

The nurse gave a sympathetic hum from behind her desk. “I think they just overwhelmed themselves. Panic attack, most likely.”

Tim’s expression tightened instantly. His attention snapped back to you so fast it almost felt physical. “You’re still not sleeping properly, are you?” he said softly.

The question landed with terrifying familiarity. Not the kind people asked out of politeness. The kind asked by someone who already knew the answer.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Something about that seemed to concern him even more.

Your skin prickled. Everything about this felt wrong.

Not because he was acting friendly. Because he was acting close. Years-of-history close.

The kind of closeness built from late-night phone calls and inside jokes and habitual concern. Like this wasn’t unusual for him. Like worrying about you had become second nature a long time ago.

And somehow the worst part was that nobody else seemed to find it strange.

Tim studied you for another second before exhaling quietly through his nose. A flicker of something you couldn’t place crossed his face then. Easy amusement slipping through the concern. It transformed him strangely. Made him look less like a carefully polished Wayne and more like an actual teenager.

Then his eyes landed back on you. The amusement softened immediately.

“C’mon,” he said gently. “Let’s get out of here.”

Let’s.

Not I’ll take you home.

Not your ride is here.

Let’s.

Like wherever you went next was automatic. Shared.

The nurse handed over a folded slip of paper. “A slip to leave early. Try to get some rest, we don’t want this happening again.”

Tim accepted it for you with a quick nod.

Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he reached down and grabbed your bag from beside the chair. Effortless. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

You stared at him again. He noticed.

“Don’t start,” he said immediately, already heading for the door. “Last time you carried this thing I had to sit through you whining about sore shoulders. I don’t have all night.”

Last time.

You followed him out hesitantly.

The hallway outside had mostly emptied by now. Afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall windows lining the corridor, painting long golden streaks across polished floors.

Students still lingering around glanced over as you passed. Not at you. At Tim.

Whispers started almost instantly.

Of course they did. He was.. well, him.

You caught fragments as you walked.

“..is that Tim Drake?” “Thought he graduated…”

Tim either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He walked beside you with easy confidence, your bag slung over one shoulder while occasionally glancing your way like he was checking you were still there.

It should’ve felt comforting. Instead it made your skin feel too tight.

Outside, the warm Metropolis air hit your face immediately. The parking lot shimmered faintly beneath the afternoon sun, rows of expensive cars scattered between students gathering near the gates.

Tim headed toward a sleek black car parked near the curb. Of course he drove something expensive.

He clicked the unlock button casually before opening the passenger door for you without a second thought.

The motion was so smooth. So instinctive. Like habit.

You stopped beside the car instead of getting in.

Tim looked at you over the roof, brows lifting slightly. “…You good?”

You stared at him carefully. At the loosened tie. At the concern still lingering behind his eyes. At the way he stood close enough to block half the parking lot from view without seeming to realise he was doing it.

Then quietly, cautiously, you asked: “Why are you acting like we know each other?”

…

For a second, Tim just stared at you.

Still.

The sounds of the parking lot seemed to dull around you. Distant conversations, car doors slamming, someone laughing near the front gates. All of it faded beneath the sudden tightness pulling across his expression.

“…What?” he said finally.

Your pulse hammered harder. “You keep talking to me like we’re friends,” you said carefully, watching him closely. “Like we’ve known each other forever.”

The words felt surreal coming out of your mouth. Because this was the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Someone you’d only ever seen through screens and newspaper headlines.

Tim blinked once.

Then twice.

And something about his face changed. Just enough for unease to settle deep.

The concern softened into something sharper. More focused. Like his brain had immediately locked onto a problem and started dissecting it from every angle.

“You hit your head?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

His jaw tightened slightly. Not angry, thinking.

You suddenly got the horrible impression that Tim Drake thought very fast.

His eyes searched your face with frightening intensity, tracking every tiny reaction you made like he was trying to solve you.

Then, unexpectedly, he huffed out a short breath through his nose.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “That’s… not funny.”

You frowned immediately. “I’m not joking.”

“I know your sense of humour is terrible, but fake-amnesia terrible feels excessive even for you.” The ease of the response sent ice down your spine.

He sounded so certain.

Certain enough that he wasn’t even considering another explanation.

You stared at him. Tim stared back.

Then the amusement faded from his face completely.

“…Wait,” he said. For the first time since he’d arrived, genuine uncertainty slipped through his expression.

“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question.

Your silence answered for you.

Something tense settled into the space between you. Tim looked at you for another long second before glancing away sharply, gaze flicking toward the school entrance like he was reorganising his thoughts in real time.

When he looked back, his expression had smoothed out again. Controlled too quickly.

“You know who I am though,” he said carefully.

“…Tim Drake.”

“And?”

You swallowed. “One of Bruce Wayne’s sons.”

A strange look crossed his face. Not surprise. Something quieter. More dangerous.

Like hearing you describe him that way physically bothered him.

“And that’s it?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. The parking lot suddenly felt very warm.

Tim went silent. Completely silent. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the strap of your school bag.

Then he smiled. Small, Careful. Wrong.

“Well,” he said lightly, “that’s mildly concerning.”

The understatement hit so strangely you almost laughed.

Instead you watched him step closer. Not enough to alarm anyone watching. But enough to make your heartbeat spike anyway.

“Okay,” Tim said calmly, like he was talking someone down from a ledge. “We’re gonna try this again.”

His eyes locked onto yours. “We’ve been best friends since fifth grade,” he said. “You practically lived at my place last year because your apartment had mold issues. You hate mushrooms, Kon’s music, and that one physics teacher with the cheese breath.”

Your stomach twisted violently. Because none of that sounded familiar.

But he said it with the effortless confidence of someone reciting facts. Not lies.

“You throw your textbooks at me when I talk too loud when you’re trying to study,” he continued. “You cried for hours when your grandma’s dog died. You steal fries off my plate every time we go out to eat anywhere.”

Each sentence landed heavier than the last. History. Details. Memories you didn’t have.

Tim watched your face carefully the entire time.

And when nothing clicked, when recognition never came, something unreadable darkened behind his eyes for just a fraction of a second. Gone so fast you almost imagined it.

Then he smiled again. Gentle. Controlled.

“Still nothing?” he asked softly.

You swallowed hard. “…No.” The word came out quieter than you intended.

Tim’s smile didn’t fall. But something about it changed, subtly. Like he was forcing it to stay there.

For a few long seconds neither of you spoke. Wind stirred through the parking lot, warm against your skin, carrying distant traffic and scattered conversation from students near the gates.

Tim looked at you like he was trying to fit puzzle pieces together in real time.

Then he sighed softly through his nose and opened the passenger door wider.

“Okay,” he said lightly. Too lightly. “You’re either having a psychotic break or you finally snapped after calc homework.”

You blinked at him.

He tilted his head slightly. “Personally, I’m blaming calculus. It’s evil.” The joke landed strangely after everything else. Like he was trying very hard to keep things normal.

Your throat tightened unexpectedly at the effort.

Tim gave the car door a small tap with his knuckles. “Get in before someone from school takes a picture of us standing out here.”

Your feet didn’t move.

Tim seemed to notice your hesitation easing by half an inch because he stepped back from the door immediately, giving you more space. Another tiny act of restraint.

“You can sit there and stare at me suspiciously the whole drive if it helps,” he offered dryly. “You already do that normally anyway.”

That word again.

Like there was an entire relationship happening around you that only he could remember.

Slowly, you got into the car. The interior smelled faintly like coffee and expensive leather. Clean, organised, lived-in in a way that somehow made this feel worse instead of better.

Tim shut the door gently behind you before circling around to the driver’s side.

The second he got in, his attention flicked toward you automatically. Checking. Assessing.

His fingers tightened briefly against the steering wheel. Then relaxed.

“You hungry?” he asked casually as he started the car. The normalcy of the question almost made your head hurt.

“What?”

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” He pulled out of the parking spot smoothly. “Probably contributing to the almost-passing-out thing.”

You stared at him. “How do you know when I ate?”

Tim glanced at you briefly. Then, somehow, he looked confused by the question.

“Because I was there.” The response came instantly, like it was obvious.

Your pulse stumbled.

“I dropped you off this morning,” he continued, eyes back on the road. “You complained about being tired and stole half my coffee.”

Silence filled the car. Tim tapped his thumb once against the steering wheel before speaking again, quieter this time.

“..You really don’t remember me?” There was something careful hidden underneath the question.

You looked out the window instead of answering.

Metropolis blurred past outside the glass in streaks of sunlight and towering buildings. Everything looked too clean compared to Gotham. Too bright. Too alive.

Wrong. Everything felt so wrong.

The buildings outside stretched high into the sky in gleaming sheets of glass and steel, sunlight reflecting off them hard enough to hurt your eyes. People crowded sidewalks carrying shopping bags and coffee cups, laughing too loudly, moving too casually.

No one looked afraid. No one looked over their shoulder. There were no flickering police lights reflecting off wet pavement. No grime clinging to alleyways. No looming sense that something terrible was waiting around the next corner.

Metropolis felt clean in the same way hospitals felt clean. Artificial.

“…I lived in Gotham,” you said suddenly.

Tim’s hands stilled for half a second against the wheel. Small. Almost invisible.

“You do live in Gotham,” he corrected lightly. “Technically.”

You turned toward him sharply. “What does that mean?”

“It means your apartment’s in Gotham.” His tone stayed easy, conversational. “You go to school in Metropolis because your grandma transferred here after she moved.”

Your stomach dropped. “Grammy moved?”

“About two years ago.”

Two years. The number hit like whiplash. Because that meant this version of your life had an entire history you knew nothing about.

Tim glanced at you briefly before looking back at the road.

“You begged her not to,” he added. “Said Gotham had better takeout.”

You stared at him. The casual certainty in his voice made it hard to breathe sometimes. Like these memories genuinely belonged to him.

Your fingers curled tighter in your lap. “My grandma…” Your throat tightened around the words. “She’s alive?” The question came out smaller than intended.

Tim’s expression changed instantly. Concern threading beneath the surface again.

“Yeah,” he said carefully. “Of course she is.”

Relief hit so hard it almost hurt.

You turned away immediately, pressing your fist lightly against your mouth as your eyes burned unexpectedly.

She was alive.

You didn’t realise how hard you were breathing until Tim quietly reached over and lowered the music volume that you hadn’t even noticed was playing.

Giving you silence instead.

That silence stretched on for a good twenty minutes.

Tim drove one-handed now, the other resting loosely near the gearshift, fingers tapping occasionally against the console like his brain was running faster than the rest of him.

Every now and then you caught him glancing over. Like he still hadn’t decided how seriously to take this.

“…So,” he said eventually, voice deliberately lighter, “if you’re committing to the amnesia bit, can you at least forget the pic of me on your phone?”

You blinked at him, brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The one you threaten to show Damian every time I annoy you.”

There was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice now. Careful amusement. Testing.

Watching to see if anything landed. When you just stared at him blankly again, the corner of his mouth twitched downward.

“…Right,” he murmured.

For the first time since this started, Tim looked unsettled too. Not outwardly. Most people probably wouldn’t notice it. But you were starting to.

The slight pauses before he spoke now. The way his fingers kept tightening briefly against the steering wheel.

The way his eyes flicked toward you every few seconds like he was making sure you were still there. Like he was afraid to look away too long.

You swallowed hard. “Why are you being so calm?” you asked quietly.

Tim glanced over at you, brows pulling together slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re acting like this is normal.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.” Your voice came out tighter than intended. “I just told you I don’t remember you and you’re making jokes.”

Silence settled briefly between you.

Tim looked back at the road.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “If I start freaking out too, you’ll freak out harder.” The honesty of the answer caught you off guard.

He exhaled softly through his nose, gaze fixed ahead. “And honestly?” A faint humourless smile crossed his face.

“You’re already kind of terrifying me right now.”

The further you got from Metropolis, the stranger the world outside became.

You weren’t used to this much open space.

In Gotham, everything felt crowded together. Buildings stacked over buildings. Alleys cutting through cramped streets. Siren's bleeding into traffic noise at all hours of the night.

Out here, the silence felt almost unnerving.

Fields stretched endlessly beyond fences and telephone poles. Farmhouses sat scattered in the distance with wide porches and rusted mailboxes. The sky itself looked bigger somehow. Too open, and far roo bright.

Tim slowed the car as the road narrowed further, tires crunching softly over loose gravel.

Your eyes drifted toward the passing scenery automatically. Cornfields, trees, a weathered wooden fence leaning slightly sideways.

Then finally a small country house came into view. It wasn’t large, just cozy.

White paint slightly faded with age, warm porch lights glowing softly against the coming dusk. Flowerpots crowded the front steps in messy little clusters, and wind chimes stirred gently near the porch roof.

The sight of it hit something deep in your chest unexpectedly hard.

Tim pulled into the gravel driveway slowly before putting the car in park.

For a moment neither of you moved. The engine ticked softly as it cooled.

You stared at the house. Something about it felt familiar in the same way that dreams felt like déjà vu.

Your eyes caught on to small details.

A knitted blanket hanging over the porch swing, crooked little garden beds overflowing with herbs, and a faded ceramic bird sitting near the front steps with one chipped wing.

It was homey.

Tim watched you quietly from the driver’s seat. He tired not to push. Just observing carefully again.

Then, after a second, he glanced toward the neighbouring property.

You followed the movement instinctively.

Another farmhouse stood not too far away across the fields. Larger than your grandma’s place, surrounded by fences and acres of farmland stretching toward the horizon. A red barn sat farther back near a windmill turning lazily in the evening breeze.

The Kent farm.

Something strange twisted low in your stomach. Recognition, almost. Like seeing a place from a dream you couldn’t fully remember.

Tim noticed you staring. “The neighbours are probably all home by now,” he said casually. “So if Jon suddenly appears out of nowhere, don’t be alarmed.”

Your brows furrowed slightly at the name. Was that the one he mentioned earlier?

Tim unbuckled his seatbelt with a soft click before looking back at you.

“You ready?” he asked gently.

The question felt heavier than it should’ve. Because somehow, stepping out of the car felt bigger than just getting out of a vehicle. Like crossing some invisible line you couldn’t uncross afterward.

Still, after a long pause, you nodded.

Tim’s expression softened with relief, stepping out first.

Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he rounded the front of the car, evening sunlight catching briefly against the lenses of his glasses. The country air felt cooler once you opened the door, carrying the scent of cut grass, soil, and something faintly sweet drifting from the garden beds near the porch.

You stood slowly.

Wind stirred softly through the fields surrounding the property, rustling the cornstalks in long waves. Somewhere farther off, you could hear crickets starting up in the grass.

Tim grabbed your bag from the backseat before shutting the door behind you.

Your eyes drifted back toward the house.

Warm light glowed through the kitchen windows now. You could just barely make out movement inside.

Your chest tightened painfully.

Tim adjusted the strap of your bag over his shoulder before starting toward the porch, slowing after a couple steps when he realised you weren’t beside him yet.

He waited. Not calling for you. Not rushing you. Just waiting quietly at the edge of the driveway.

The restraint felt strangely deliberate now that you were noticing it.

Like he wanted to reach for your hand. Like he wanted to guide you inside himself, but he wasn’t.

Because he knew it would scare you.

Slowly, you followed him.

The wooden porch creaked softly beneath your shoes as you stepped up beside him. Up close, the house looked even more lived-in. Gardening gloves abandoned near the steps. A half-watered tray of plants sitting near the railing. Tiny scratches near the doorframe like a large dog used to jump there repeatedly.

Tim reached for the door, then hesitated. His hand stilled briefly against the handle before he glanced sideways at you. And for the first time since this entire nightmare started, he looked uncertain.

Not about you forgetting him, not about what was happening, about this.

About whatever waited on the other side of the door.

“She doesn’t know about what happened at school yet,” he said quietly.

Your brows pulled together faintly.

“I didn’t wanna freak her out over the phone.”

Before either of you could say anything else, the front door opened. Knob slipping from Tim’s palm.

Your grandmother stood there with a cigarette between two fingers and an expression already bordering on irritation.

“Well?” she said. “You two gonna stand around starin’ at my porch all night or what?” The roughness of her voice hit painfully in your chest.

Tim snorted softly beside you. “Nice to see you too.”

“Don’t get smart with me, city boy.” She pointed the cigarette vaguely toward him before looking at you properly. Her eyes narrowed slightly behind slipping reading glasses. Concern colouring her features. “You look pale.”

“Long day,” Tim answered smoothly before you could.

“Hm.” She sounded more annoyed on your behalf than anything else. “School’s a scam. Get inside.”

She turned and shuffled back into the house without waiting to see if you followed.

Tim opened the screen door for you. Again. Like habit.

You stepped inside slowly.

Warm air wrapped around you immediately. The house smelled like coffee, cigarette smoke, old paperbacks, and something cooking in the kitchen. A small television muttered quietly somewhere deeper inside the house while an ancient ceiling fan clicked overhead in lazy rotations.

The floor creaked beneath your shoes.

Your grandmother disappeared into the kitchen muttering something chiding under her breath.

Tim smiled faintly like he’d heard that speech before.

Of course he had.

He slipped your bag off his shoulder and set it beside the staircase without asking where it belonged.

Another practiced movement. Another stupid thing that he did too naturally.

You noticed his eyes flick briefly across the room afterward.

Checking windows.

Doors.

Exits.

The movement was subtle enough most people probably wouldn’t think twice about it.

You did.

Then a loud knock rattled suddenly against the front screen door.

Your grandmother yelled from the kitchen instantly.

“If that’s one of the Kent boys, tell ‘em I still want my casserole dish back!”

Tim sighed.

And for the first time since meeting him today, genuine exasperation crossed his face.

“…Too late,” he muttered.

Before you could process that response, the screen door swung open.

A dark-haired boy stepped inside with the kind of ease that suggested he’d done it a hundred times before.

He looked to be around fourteen or fifteen.

And the second his eyes landed on you, he lit up. Relief crashed across his face so openly it startled you.

“There you are!” he said immediately.

Then, without hesitation, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you.

The contact hit too suddenly for your brain to catch up. He was warm. Solid.

Clingy in the way only kids and younger teenagers could get away with.

Your entire body locked up instantly. The boy either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You disappeared before lunch,” he complained into your shoulder like this was a completely normal thing to do. “I texted you like eight times.”

Your pulse stumbled violently.

Because this, whatever this is, was worse somehow.

Tim had been careful. Restrained.

This boy wasn’t restrained at all.

He held onto you with easy familiarity, like touching you came naturally to him. Like he’d done it hundreds of times before and never once considered you might not want him to.

Your gaze darted towards Tim in question.

He was watching the two of you with an unreadable expression.

Not surprised. Something tighter, like he was barely tolerating this.

The boy finally pulled back enough to look at your face properly.

And immediately frowned.

“…Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

You stared at him blankly.

Up close, he looked even younger. Bright blue eyes. Dark hair falling messily across his forehead. Farmboy built despite the baby face he hadn’t fully grown out of yet.

There was something overwhelmingly earnest about him.

Dangerously easy to trust.

“I think they had some kind of panic attack at school,” Tim said before you could answer.

The boy’s entire expression changed instantly.

Concern flooded in so fast it nearly bowled over everything else.

“What?” His attention snapped back to you immediately. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

The possessiveness in the question caught you off guard. Like he genuinely believed he should’ve been informed immediately.

Tim leaned back lightly against the wall near the staircase, arms crossing loosely over his chest.

“You were in class,” he said flatly.

“I still could’ve left.”

Tim stared at him for a long second, eyes narrowed.

The boy ignored him completely.

His focus stayed entirely on you now, concern written openly across his face in a way Tim never allowed himself.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

The question should’ve felt simple.

He sounded sincere. Not polite or performative. Like he cared too much. You’ve never had anyone fret over you like this.

Before you could answer, your grandmother’s voice echoed from the kitchen. “Jonathan Kent, if you came over here empty-handed again, I’m tellin’ your mother.”

The boy, Jonathan apparently, groaned immediately.

“I brought the dish back last week!”

“You brought back the wrong lid!”

“That sounds fake!”

“It ain’t!”

For some reason, the argument continuing in the background made this all feel even more surreal.

Like you’d stepped into somebody else’s life halfway through. And everybody else already knew the script except you.

It’s only after a long moment of calm that Jon finally looked back at you.

“…You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, quieter this time.

You opened your mouth automatically. “I’m fin-”

“Bullshit,” Tim said flatly from across the room.

You blinked at him.

Jonathan nodded immediately like that was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” you muttered reflexively.

“..There it is.” Tim pointed at you lazily. “That’s the first normal thing you’ve said all day.”

The familiarity of the teasing landed strangely in your chest again. You felt.. Comfortable.

Like this was a rhythm you slipped into often.

Jonathan moved closer before you fully noticed, hovering just inside your space with restless concern written all over him.

“You didn’t answer any of my texts,” he said. “I thought maybe you were mad at me again.”

Again.

Tim let out an irritated sigh. “You whine about that every time they don’t answer for twenty minutes.”

“Because last time they ignored me for like six hours!”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

The response came so dramatically sincere that your grandmother snorted from the kitchen, you could just hear it over the music you were sure she’d been singing to before you arrived.

Then Tim’s eyes landed back on you.

And just like that, the softness disappeared into something quieter. Focused.

You were starting to realise Tim watched people constantly. Especially you. Like every blink and twitch meant something.

“You should come over later,” Jon said suddenly. “Mom made pie.”

Your grandmother yelled again from the kitchen. “Don’t you bribe my grandkid with baked goods!”

“You can’t stop me!”

“You’re lucky I like your mama!”

Jon grinned toward the kitchen before looking back at you again, expression brightening hopefully.

“You’ll come, right?”

Both boys went still waiting for your answer. Each for different reasons.

After everything that had happened today, the warmth of the house and the easy arguing and the smell of food drifting from the kitchen made exhaustion settle heavily into your bones.

You’d already died once. What was the harm in trying to enjoy yourself now?

Slowly, you nodded. “…Sure,”

Jon lit up instantly, delighted. “Oh, thank god,” he blurted. “I thought you were gonna say no.”

You snorted softly before you could stop yourself. The sound surprised all three of you.

Jon’s expression somehow brightened even more.

And Tim went very still.

There was a slight pause in his breathing. His attention snapping fully onto you the second the laugh left your mouth.

Relief flickered across his face so quickly it barely existed.

“C’mon,” Jon said, already moving toward the door again. “Mom’ll be offended if the pie gets cold.”

“Pie doesn’t get cold,” Tim muttered.

“Yes it does.”

“No, it becomes breakfast.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You eat cold pizza for breakfast.”

“That’s different.”

You watched them bicker as they moved toward the porch. And for one dangerously fragile second, It almost felt normal.

The walk toward the Kent house was quiet.

Not silent. Jonathan still talked, because apparently he never stopped talking, but the energy from earlier had dulled slightly beneath the weight settling in your chest.

“…and then Damian said the cow wasn’t technically missing because he knew where it was,” Jonathan was saying beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “Which apparently meant it didn’t count.”

You blinked slowly. “He stole a cow?”

“He was making a point.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I know.”

Tim walked a few steps behind the two of you. Not far enough to seem strange, still close enough to hear everything.

The gravel path crunched softly beneath your shoes as the farmhouse grew larger ahead, warm yellow light spilling from the windows across the darkening fields.

Jonathan kept glancing toward you while he spoke. Checking your reactions. Like he was trying to pull you back into something.

“…Damian hates everybody,” he continued. “But he only threatens people with gardening tools if he likes them.”

You frowned faintly. “That feels concerning.”

“It is concerning.”

“You let him around livestock?”

“He’s banned from the hen house now.”

The Kent farm stretched larger the closer you got. The smell of earth and cut hay lingered faintly in the air while warm light spilled from the farmhouse windows ahead.

Everything out here felt too peaceful.

Your brain still kept waiting for the catch.

Tim was already looking at you when you turned to him.

Something unreadable sat behind his expression for half a second too long before his phone buzzed sharply through the quiet.

His gaze moved towards it immediately.

You saw the exact moment irritation cut across his face. Cold. Instant.

Jonathan noticed too. His own expression tightened almost automatically.

Tim answered without stopping walking. “What?” No greeting.

Silence stretched.

His jaw flexed once. “I told Alfred I’d be busy.” Another pause. Then his eyes lifted toward you again.

There was something deeply unsettling about the way his attention kept returning to you no matter what else was happening. Like every conversation existed around you instead of separate from you.

Jon slowed slightly beside you.

Tim’s voice flattened further. “No. I’m with them now.”

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides.

A long silence followed. “…Fine.” The word sounded bitten off.

Something unreadable darkened behind his expression. “I’m on my way.”

The call ended.

Jon frowned immediately. “You’re leaving?”

“I have to go back to Gotham.”

“You just got here.”

Tim ignored that entirely. His attention settled on you instead with unnerving intensity.

“I won’t be long,” he said carefully.

You nodded slowly.

Tim hesitated. Like leaving you here physically bothered him.

Nobody spoke for a second. Wind moved softly through the fields around you.

Jon finally broke the silence first. “Bruce?”

Tim looked at him. Just looked. It wasn’t openly hostile, “does it matter?”

Jon held his stare for a second before looking away first with visible annoyance.

Tim slid his phone back into his pocket with controlled precision before looking at you.

Your brows pulled together faintly. “You really have to go now?”

“Yes.” The answer came too fast. Like the decision had already been made the second the phone rang.

Jon shifted beside you immediately. “They can stay with us until-”

“I know.”

Flat.

Jon’s mouth shut.

Something tense settled in the space between them.

You suddenly had the awful feeling this argument had happened before. Repeatedly.

Tim stepped closer then, invading your space.

“You’ll text me when you get home,” it wasn’t phrased like a question.

You blinked once. “…Okay.”

His eyes stayed on your face another second too long. Searching. Like he was trying to decide something.

Then Jon reached over absentmindedly and hooked his fingers loosely around your wrist to tug you forward again, and the shift in Tim was immediate. Tiny, but immediate.

His gaze flicked downward, going very still.

The evening air suddenly felt colder.

Jon noticed. His fingers tightened slightly before letting go entirely.

A warning shot.

Your stomach twisted.

What the hell was wrong with these people?

Tim’s attention returned to you instantly afterward, expression smoothing back into something normal enough to pass.

“If anything feels off,” he said quietly, “call me.”

Something about the way he said it made your skin prickle.

Jon scoffed softly beside you. “You say that like we’re gonna poison them.”

Tim looked at him. A long pause followed.

“..I didn’t say that.” The response was strangely heavy.

Jonathan’s expression darkened immediately. Not playful annoyance anymore. Real irritation.

For one brief second, you caught something ugly underneath his usual warmth. Sharp and adolescent and possessive in a way that reminded you of a dog baring its teeth before you could fully process it.

Then it vanished.

Tim exhaled quietly through his nose before looking back at you again.

And there it was. That restraint.

Like he wanted to say more. Wanted to do more. But was actively stopping himself.

“Get back to the apartment safe. I’ll pick you up in the morning,” he said finally. He wasn’t asking. He was deciding for you.

Then, after the smallest hesitation, “…Don’t stay up too late.” The softness of it felt weird. It sounded genuine.

Tim held your gaze one second longer, his hands lifting as if to wrap around you, only to fall short. Just giving your shoulders a squeeze. Then he stepped back toward the driveway.

Jon immediately moved closer the second space opened beside you.

You let him drag you along, not noticing how Tim stopped halfway back toward the car and looked directly at Jon. No expression at all.

Jon stared back.

And then he left.

You’d made it all the way to the entrance of the house. The headlights disappeared slowly down the gravel road beyond the fields.

Jon waited until the car was fully gone before speaking.

“…They hate leaving you here.” The words slipped out under his breath. Not meant for you.

Your brows furrowed immediately. “What?”

Jon blinked like he hadn’t realised he’d said it aloud.

Then he smiled too quickly. “Nothing.”

But his eyes drifted toward the road Tim had vanished down.

The screen door creaked loudly as the younger boy pulled it open. Warmth spilled over you immediately. Not just heat, life.

The house smelled like garlic, black pepper, fresh bread, and something sweet baking somewhere deeper in the kitchen. Pots clinked softly against the stovetop while an old radio hummed low enough to blend into the background.

For one disorienting second, the normalcy of it all made you still, letting out a deep breath.

Jon kicked his shoes off carelessly by the door. “Ma?” He called, already reaching back for you without looking. His fingers closed loosely around your wrist, guiding you over the doorway before letting go again like it was unconscious. “We’re back.”

“Wash your hands before you touch anything,” a voice called immediately from the kitchen.

Lois stood near the stove with one sleeve rolled to her elbow, wooden spoon in hand while something simmered steadily in a large pot. Reading glasses sat low on her nose as she glanced between the stove and a tablet propped beside the counter.

She glanced up briefly at the sound of your footsteps. Then froze. Though it only lasted a fraction of a second.

The spoon in her hand stilled. Her eyes flicked rapidly over your face, shoulders, posture. Assessing.

Relief followed so quickly afterward it almost looked painful.

“There you are,” The words left her mouth before she seemed to think about them.

Lois crossed the room without hesitation and pulled you into a hug before you could properly react. Warm arms. Firm enough that it startled you.

You froze.

Lois seemed to realise it a second later and loosened immediately. “Sorry,” she said softly, though she still kept one hand against your arm when she pulled back. “Long day?”

You stared at her for half a second too long before answering. “…Something like that.” Who the hell was this woman?

Jon disappeared toward the sink without another word, leaving you standing awkwardly near the doorway while Lois watched you with an intensity disguised as casual concern.

“You look exhausted,” she said. The words were gentle. Her eyes weren’t.

You suddenly understood where Jonathan got it from.

Clark leaned against the kitchen table nearby, broad shoulders slightly hunched as he read through a stack of papers spread beneath one large hand.

Something unreadable crossed his face before his expression softened almost instantly into something warmer. Safer.

And suddenly the room felt smaller.

You knew who he was immediately. Everybody knew Clark Kent’s face. Pulitzer-winning journalist. Metropolis golden boy. Too kind-looking to be real.

Except this version of him didn’t look like the carefully edited photographs from newspapers.

He looked bigger somehow. Not taller. Just… solid.

Grounded in a way that made the kitchen itself feel built around him.

And the second his eyes landed on you, his entire attention sharpened completely. That horrible, focused attentiveness you were beginning to recognise in people around you.

Jon was back at your side by then, nudging his elbow against yours.

When Lois noticed him she pointed toward the table. “Sit.”

Something about her tone made all three of you obey automatically.

Jon dropped into the chair beside yours while you sat more cautiously across from Clark.

The second you did, his attention flicked briefly toward the way your fingers hovered unconsciously near your chest before returning to your face.

Lois returned to the stove, though her attention kept drifting back toward you every few seconds.

“Well,” she said brightly, “good news is I made enough food to feed an army because apparently living with boys means groceries evaporate overnight.”

Jon snorted beside you. “That’s because Kon eats like he’s preparing for winter.”

A second later the said boy appeared in the kitchen holding a bag of chips under one arm.

Conner leaned against the doorway easily. “You guys took forever.”

Jon pointed immediately. “See? He’s already eating.”

“I’m growing.”

“You’re twenty.”

“And thriving.”

Lois sighed like this was a conversation she’d heard a hundred times before. “Hands. Sink. Now.”

Conner grinned lazily before finally pushing off the doorway.

As he passed behind your chair, his fingers dragged briefly across the top of your shoulder in an absentminded greeting. Casual.

“You’re wiped,” he said as he moved toward the sink. “What happened to you?”

“..Long day,” you answered finally.

“Hm.” Conner washed his hands quickly. “You look awful,” he said bluntly.

Jon made a noise of protest. “Kon.”

“What? They do.” Conner reached down without hesitation and squeezed the back of your neck once, casual and familiar. “You sleep at all?”

The touch settled something restless in your chest before you could question why.

You exhaled quietly, not sure how to respond. “Not really.”

“Yeah, figured.”

He moved around the table and dropped into the chair beside you heavily enough to rattle it. Close enough that your elbows brushed immediately.

Nobody in the room seemed to think anything of it.

Clark folded the papers in front of him neatly before setting them aside. “Rough day at school?”

The question sounded normal. Everything here sounded normal.

You nodded anyway. “Something like that.”

Clark nodded once like that explained more than you intended it to.

Lois finally slid a mug in front of you, steam curling softly into the kitchen light. “Tea,” she said. “You look like you need it.”

“Ma thinks tea fixes everything,” Jon muttered.

“It does,” Lois replied immediately.

Conner reached over without asking and stole a piece of cut meat from the chopping board beside the stove.

Lois smacked the back of his hand with the towel.

“Ow.”

“You have your own plate.”

“I like yours better.”

The conversation moved around you easily after that. Natural. Loud in the quiet way families were loud.

At least.. the way that the ones you’ve seen on TV were.

Jon kept leaning against your shoulder whenever he talked. Conner sprawled sideways in his chair close enough that his knee bumped yours every few minutes beneath the table. Lois drifted constantly around the kitchen while Clark stayed seated across from you, listening more than speaking.

And through all of it, you kept catching them looking at you. Not staring. Just… checking. Like they were making sure you were still there.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the mug.

Clark noticed immediately. “You alright?” he asked gently.

Four heads turned toward you at once.

The attention hit like pressure. “Yeah,” you answered too quickly.

Nobody called you out on it.

Jon’s arm slid across the back of your chair as he leaned closer. “You’re doing that weird thing again.”

You looked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your face does this thing.” He gestured vaguely toward you with his free hand.

“My face does not do a thing.”

“It does.”

Conner nodded seriously beside you. “Yeah, you get this little line right here.” He reached over like he intended to touch between your brows.

You jerked back automatically before he could. The movement froze the table for half a second.

Conner stopped immediately.

“Sorry,” he said, and for the first time since walking in, his voice lost some of its easy warmth. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The apology came too fast. Too careful.

Like your reaction mattered far more than it should have.

Jon’s posture shifted beside you almost instantly. Subtle tension settling into his shoulders.

Clark was watching you closely now too.

They were watching you the way someone watches a door they’re waiting to lock.

The silence stretched after your reaction to Conner reaching toward you.

Too long.

Jon leaned closer beside you, arm hooked loosely over the back of your chair again. “You’ve been weird all day..”

“I haven’t.” The defense came too quickly, even though some part of you knew he was right. Whoever you’d been to them before today wouldn’t have sat this stiffly at the table. Wouldn’t have flinched away from casual touches like they were something dangerous.

“You have,” Conner said easily from beside you. “You’re quieter.”

“You guys are just intense.” The second the words left your mouth, the room went still.

Not everything. The radio still hummed softly behind Lois. Something simmered steadily on the stove. A fork clinked lightly against ceramic.

But them. They froze. Like you’d said something hurtful without intending to.

Clark’s expression softened almost immediately afterward, though something unreadable lingered underneath it now. “Intense?”

You gave a small shrug, trying to laugh it off. “I don’t know. You all keep staring at me.”

“We’re listening to you,” Lois corrected gently.

“No,” you said slowly. “It’s more like…” You hesitated. “Checking.”

Nobody answered.

Jon’s fingers tapped once against your shoulder absentmindedly. “You notice everything.”

The comment should’ve sounded teasing. Instead it sounded observational.

Conner leaned sideways in his chair, openly studying you now. “You didn’t used to.”

Your head turned toward him immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Another pause. Tiny. Wrong.

Then Lois spoke smoothly over it. “It means you’ve seemed stressed lately.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly.

Clark folded his hands together on the table. Calm. Steady. “School been difficult?”

“Not really.”

Again, silence.

Like they were all choosing their words carefully around you.

Conner looked almost irritated suddenly. Not at you. At the conversation itself.

Clark glanced briefly toward him before looking back at you. “…We’re worried.”

You blinked in surprise. “About what?”

Nobody answered fast enough.

Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you shifted backward slightly. “You’re overreacting.”

“No,” Lois said gently.

The word settled heavily into the room.

Clark reached across the table then, large hand closing carefully around yours before you could think to pull away. Warm. Steady. Terrifyingly comforting.

“You matter to this family,” he said quietly.

Your stomach dropped at the wording.

Wrong. So fucking wrong. This entire thing felt wrong. You didn’t belong here. Not really.

These people were warm in a way that hurt to look at too long. Easy with each other. Familiar. Loving. The kind of family people envied quietly from a distance.

And you-

You were just someone they’d decided to pull into it.

The worst part was the awful little ache in your chest that wanted to let them.

You let out a slow breath and carefully slipped your hand from Clark’s grasp before pushing your chair back farther. “I think I should go home.”

“No.” The response came instantly.

All four of them at once.

The force of it made your pulse jump.

Lois removed her reading glasses slowly, violet eyes settling fully onto you now. “It’s late,” she said softly. “Far too late for me to let you drive all the way back to that little apartment alone.”

“It’s barely evening.” But the protest sounded weak even to your own ears.

Because part of you truthfully didn’t want to leave.

This house felt warm in a way that every place you’ve ever lived never had. Loud and alive and full in a way that made something lonely in your chest ache every time Jon laughed or Lois nudged Clark with her elbow or Conner leaned against you like being close was the most natural thing in the world.

You wanted it.

You just didn’t understand why they wanted you.

“You can stay here,” Conner said casually, though his attention sharpened immediately when you stood fully. “You stay over all the time anyway.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to tonight.” Another weak lie.

Jon stood too. Immediate. Close enough that your pulse jumped again. “You’re upset.” His face fell almost instantly, expression softening with something dangerously genuine.

“Hey.”

God. Why did he have to look at you like that?

Like your discomfort physically hurt him.

Clark stepped closer more slowly, grounding the room around him without even trying. “Nobody’s trying to scare you.”

“…Then why does this feel so weird?”

Silence.

Jon looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again. Because unlike the others, he looked tired of pretending.

“You wanna know the truth?” he asked quietly.

Something in your chest tightened. Nobody stopped him.

Lois watched carefully from the counter.

Conner leaned back against the table beside you, arms folding loosely across his chest.

Clark stayed still. Waiting.

Jon stepped closer. “You pull away,” he said softly. “Every time people get too attached to you, you try to run away.”

Your throat tightened.

“And we know we’re a lot,” Lois admitted gently behind him.

“We tried giving you space,” Conner added. “Didn’t really work out for us.”

The honesty behind his words felt miserable.

Jon’s gaze flicked briefly toward your hands, toward the way your fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.

Then back to your face. “You make this place feel…” He stopped, jaw tightening slightly before trying again. “Right.”

The room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. Dangerously warm.

Clark’s voice came quieter than before. “And when you leave, everybody notices.”

Nobody laughed. Nobody acted embarrassed.

Conner looked completely serious. Lois too. Jon looked at you like this was the simplest truth in the world.

You were sure that if you looked at them for a moment longer your eyes would well with tears.

Because somewhere beneath the unease and the wrongness and the intensity of all of this, you understood exactly what they meant.

And it scared you.

Conner reached for your hand carefully this time. Slow enough for you to pull away.

You didn’t.

Relief crossed his face so quickly it almost looked painful.

His fingers tightened around yours. Certain.

“You don’t have to leave tonight,” he murmured again.

The house had gone quiet around you again. Waiting.

Like they already knew your answer.

And.. maybe you weren’t sure if they were wrong.

We’re all collectively going to pretend that Jon was never aged up. (For the plot)

Reblogs help more people find the story, comments help me survive writing it. → They’re the only way for me to know whether to continue writing this series or not.

“Two hours, twelve minutes if we’re lucky,” you’d said confidently that morning, balancing your travel mug of coffee in one hand and double-checking the last of Dick’s overnight bag with the other. Bruce had given you a look over the top of his own mug—black, no sugar, no soul.

“This is Gotham,” he replied. “We’re never lucky.”

And he was right. The drive stretched past three hours thanks to construction on the interstate, a four-car pileup near the city limits, and the classic Gotham exodus that happened every Friday when people remembered the rest of the state was quieter, cleaner, and didn’t smell like concrete and stress.

But you didn’t mind. Not really.

Bruce drove. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearshift. Aviators on. Hair slightly ruffled from the wind when he’d checked the tires that morning. Dick sat in the backseat, legs crossed under him, surrounded by snacks and his favorite blue hoodie zipped halfway up. You rode shotgun, one knee tucked under you, elbow out the open window, and your hand in the wind.

The car smelled like leather and your favorite lavender-scented travel wipes. Summer was in full swing now, which meant sunlight poured across Bruce’s arm, and the sky outside was that clear, humming sort of blue that Smallville did better than anywhere else.

It had been just over a month since Dick moved in. A few months more since the press release about the engagement hit the Gotham Gazette like a slap to the face. The article had used the words “bewildering” and “suspiciously convenient” in the same sentence. And that was one of the nicer ones.

You were born and raised in Smallville. Gossip there was practically currency. You learned early that it wasn’t about stopping the talk—it was about not letting it decide how you walked through town. In Gotham, it was louder. Glossier. Paparazzi, editorials, entire segments of talk shows dedicated to who wore what ring and whether or not you were pregnant. But it didn’t get under your skin.

Bruce had handled it exactly the way you expected: with the emotional range of a damp napkin and the subtlety of a live grenade.

“They’re saying it’s fake,” he’d told you one night, pacing your shared walk-in closet while you were still in a towel post-shower. “They think you bribed me. That you are a gold digger.”

He had said it as if it was the biggest offense of his life. You’d blinked at him, toweling your hair.

“They also think we got secretly married last month and that I’m already pregnant with twins. And that I’m secretly a soy sent to take all the billionaires down.”

That one got an actual sound from him. Somewhere between a scoff and a strangled laugh.

You’d shrugged. “People talk, Bruce. Small town, big city, it doesn’t matter. Back in Smallville they thought Clark was a government clone for three years because he grew six inches over a summer and got good at baseball. People just... need something to say.”

“I hate it,” he’d murmured, dropping onto the edge of the bed beside you.

You’d reached out and threaded your fingers through his. “I don’t. Because I know it’s not true.”

But the talking wore at him in ways it didn’t wear at you. And that was how you found yourself here—on the open road with the windows down, a smiling eight-year-old in the back seat, and your fiancé muttering about tractors under his breath while trying not to let the GPS recalculate a fifth time.

“You okay back there, bug?” you asked, craning your head toward the back seat.

Dick grinned up at you from where he was cradling his tablet. “Yeah! This is fun!”

“Still think so after three hours in traffic?” Bruce asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

“I’ve been on longer trips,” Dick replied with a shrug. “Circus trains. Sometimes for days.”

That sobered Bruce a bit. Your fingers found his on the console between you and gave them a quiet squeeze.

Things had settled since Dick came come. The good kind of settled. Mornings were softer now, fuller. You’d wake up beside Bruce—something that still made your heart flutter in a completely unfair way—kiss his shoulder, brush your teeth while he stood behind you half-asleep, his hand on your waist like a paperweight keeping you tethered to the moment. Alfred made breakfast with quiet efficiency. You packed Dick’s lunch and walked him to the car like a suburban sitcom. He complained about math homework, asked if he could start karate (“we’ll talk about it”), and still hadn’t lost the habit of sleeping with one foot sticking out of the comforter.

“Well, this train stops soon,” you said, voice light again. “You’re going to love the farm. It’s huge.”

“Yeah?” Dick leaned forward a bit. “Like, how huge?”

You smiled. “Like, ‘can’t-see-the-end-of-it-even-on-your-bike’ huge. My parents run everything. Dairy cows, chickens, goats, sheep. A few horses. And acres and acres of crops.”

His eyes widened. “Real cows?”

You turned in your seat fully now, facing him. “Oh, yeah. Big ones. Brown ones, black-and-white ones. One with a weird splotch shaped like Florida on her side. And they moo at the sunrise like clockwork.”

“Can I pet them?”

“If you want.”

“Do they bite?”

“Only if you get between them and food.”

“That’s... fair.”

“They’re friendly,” you said with a shrug. “They’re like large dogs that smell like hay and don’t know how to be quiet.”

Dick laughed. “I’ve only seen cows in books. And elephants in real life.”

You smiled gently at that. “Yeah? Ever fed a goat?”

“Not unless you count the time a clown goat stole my hat.”

You blinked. “. . . A clown goat?”

“Circus stuff,” Dick said vaguely. “You wouldn’t get it.”

You turned to Bruce. “Did you get that?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither.”

You caught Dick smiling in the rearview mirror again.

“Are there really pigs?” he asked, leaning forward between the front seats, seatbelt cutting diagonally across his little chest.

“There are pigs,” you confirmed with a grin. “Loud ones. One of them’s named Sugarfoot. She’ll be your best friend if you bring her scraps.”

“Scraps?”

“Like leftover food. She’ll eat anything but especially likes peach peels and toast crusts.”

He gawked. “What about... circus peanuts?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed from behind the wheel. “What are circus peanuts?”

“They’re gross,” you said flatly. “Don’t feed anything those.”

Dick giggled and leaned back again, kicking his feet lightly. “What about the horses?”

“Three,” you nodded. “Two workhorses and one very old, very cranky pony. Her name’s Miss Patty. She’s missing a tooth and absolutely will bite you if you try to pet her before she’s ready.”

“That’s awesome,” Dick whispered reverently, like a kid being told he was about to meet a dragon.

You smiled, curling one leg beneath you in the passenger seat. “We got the nicest sheep as well. His name is Buttons.”

Bruce’s voice was amused. “You’re making these names up.”

“Swear I’m not,” you said, holding up a hand. “Buttons has been around since I was in middle school. He likes music. Especially banjo. My dad says he’s the reincarnation of an old musician.”

“That explains so much about your family,” Bruce muttered.

“You love my family.”

He glanced over at you, lips quirking. “I do.”

You pecked a kiss on his lips, giggling softly at the yuck sound that came out of Dick’s mouth.

“But for real,” you said, resting your chin on the back of the seat now, “the farm is something else. My mom makes fresh cinnamon rolls every morning. Dad insists on teaching people how to ride horses, even if they say no. And Clark will probably show up before dinner even though I told him not to.”

“You think he’ll bring Lois?” Bruce asked.

“God, I hope so. He’s less weird when she’s around.”

“Clark’s weird?” Dick asked, surprised.

You shrugged. “Farm weird. You’ll see.”

Bruce turned off the main highway and onto a long, winding road that started to look more and more like Kansas the deeper you went. The trees shifted. The air changed. That thick Gotham tension peeled off your shoulders slowly, like a winter coat you didn’t need anymore.

“Was it boring?”

“Sometimes. But mostly it was simple. Peaceful.”

“What did you do?”

“Well... I helped with the animals, especially in the mornings. Fed the chickens, gathered eggs, milked the cows when I was old enough.”

Dick looked scandalized. “You milked cows?! With your hands?!”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You drink milk every day.”

“That’s different! That’s bottle milk. This is cow milk!”

“Same milk, baby,” you mumbled, grinning. “But it’s not so bad. You’ll see.”

“Do you have a tractor?”

“Of course.”

“Can I drive it?”

“No.”

Dick pouted.

Eventually, the city gave way to rolling green. The horizon stopped being broken by towers and started bending into soft hills and pastures. You felt your heart shift in your chest, like it always did. It wasn’t homesickness. Not exactly. It was more like the ache of something familiar, calling softly from the bones.

You turned your head slightly, watching the familiar mailbox come into view. KENT, it read in bold white letters. Weathered but proud. And just beyond it, the long dirt road that led to the farmhouse—a two-story white structure with a wraparound porch and a rocking chair that hadn’t stopped creaking in twenty years. A barn just beyond. Sheds and silos and tractors and fencing. And wide, wide skies above it all.

“There it is,” you said.

Bruce slowed the car as he turned up the long path, tires crunching against the gravel. Dick pressed his face to the window.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

You smiled.

“Welcome to the middle of nowhere, baby bird. See those fields?” you pointed. “My old man plants corn there. Over there’s wheat. And the far side? Pumpkins, watermelons, whatever’s in season.”

“There’s so much space.“

“I told you.”

Your ma was already outside. She waved wildly, apron fluttering behind her, and your dad stood beside her, one hand raised in that steady, solid Kent way.

Bruce parked the car. Before he could even put it in park, Dick was unbuckled and scrambling out of the back seat, eyes wide.

“This is like five circuses!” he shouted.

You opened the door and stepped out, your feet crunching into gravel. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” you muttered to yourself. “You can cry later.”

Dick made a noise that sounded like joy and disbelief all in one. He pointed at a chicken. “It’s real!“

“Yes,” you said. “And she doesn’t like being chased, so be gentle.”

Bruce chuckled.

Your mom reached you first and wrapped you in a tight hug, murmuring something about your hair being longer than last time. Then she pulled back and cupped your face, eyes glassy.

“You look happy,” she whispered.

“I am,” you said.

And then Dick stepped forward, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide and uncertain.

You turned and gestured. “Mama, Dad—this is Dick.”

Your mother’s face softened immediately. She crouched a little and smiled.

“Well, aren’t you just handsome as all get out,” she said warmly. “We’ve heard so much about you, sweetheart.”

Dick blinked. “You have?”

“Of course,” crouched down in front of him, sticking out a hand. “You’re all she talks about.”

You blushed lightly. “Lies.”

“True lies.”

Dick looked at the hand. Then at you. Then shook it, awkward but firm. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“Come?” your mom laughed gently. “This is your home too, honey.”

Dick blinked. He didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

The next few hours passed in a blur of warm air, fresh lemonade, and laughter. Dick met every animal. He held a baby goat like it was made of glass. He shrieked when a pig sniffed his leg. He got pecked by a chicken once and then demanded a rematch.

Now the golden sky outside was dimming into dusk, the air carrying that peaceful hum only Smallville evenings could offer—the buzzing of insects, the slow rustle of wheat fields, a distant owl, and the occasional stubborn squeal from Sugarfoot the pig. She hadn’t stopped begging since Dick gave her a crust from his sandwich.

You were at the sink helping with dishes when the familiar whoosh of displaced air passed through the open window over the stove.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. But you did turn around to open the door.

“About time!” you called, grinning.

“We had to stop for pie!” Lois shouted back, sliding off Clark’s back like a practiced gymnast. “Clark heard about a new bakery halfway between here and Metropolis and wouldn’t shut up about it!”

“I brought two kinds,” Clark offered, sheepish but proud.

You hugged him first—tight, firm, grounding. His arms came around you like always, anchoring you to the world.

“Took you long enough. Ma’s been asking about you since breakfast.”

“I brought her Lois. That should buy me a couple forgiveness points,” he replied, kissing the top of your head.

Lois got you next, rolling her eyes. She always smelled like expensive lipstick and newsroom ink. Her hugs were fierce. Comforting. “What he means is, I had to remind him it was tonight and that showing up in his suit would probably give the local mailman another heart attack.”

You laughed, hugging her back as tight as you could. “God, I missed you.”

“Missed you more.”

Dick was on the floor at the edge of the kitchen, playing with the old box of mismatched toy soldiers and tiny animal figurines your dad had kept since your childhood. He froze when he looked up.

He lit up like the sun, then turned and ran straight at Clark with his arms open.

“Uncle Clark!” he shouted.

Clark looked stunned for all of a second before catching him, arms easily wrapping around the boy, spinning him once like a leaf.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, laughing. “You’ve grown at least two inches since I saw you!”

“I’ve been drinking milk,” Dick explained seriously. “And I do jumping jacks.”

Then, he kissed Lois’s cheek and smiled proudly when she ruffled his hair and told him he would be as tall as Clark in any moment. He watched them go, and finally landed his eyes on you.

You watched the moment land. The way his eyes narrowed. How his brows furrowed. He leaned in close and whispered, “I have to tell you something, but you need to promise that you won’t say anything.”

You pushed your fingers to your mouth, closing an imaginary zipper.

“Uncle Clark is Superman.”

You coughed gently, biting back a smile. “Is he now?”

“I can tell,” he whispered quickly. “He landed like whoosh, and he’s huge, and his hair does the same thing, and—he’s totally Superman. I have been keeping the secret because I think he doesn’t want any of us to know.”

“Well,” you said softly, kneeling beside him, “that sounds like a pretty big secret to keep, huh?”

Dick nodded gravely, like a knight being sworn into sacred service.

You gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Then I guess it’s lucky it was you who found out.”

Dinner was loud. Warm.

Your mom cried once—not dramatically, just a soft wipe of the corner of her eye when Clark passed her the potatoes and said it was good to be home. Your dad kept pouring lemonade, Bruce buttered every roll within arm’s reach, Lois recounted a dramatic story about a senator’s toupee, and Dick sat between Clark and you, asking questions between every bite of sweet corn and meatloaf your ma had been slipping into his plate.

Clark answered every single one with patience, wit, and affection. He always had been the best at that. The best at listening like a child’s voice was the most important sound in the world.

Bruce stayed quieter. Not silent—just watchful. He always did that when he felt like the odd man out. You bumped his knee under the table when he got too still. He nudged you back, then took your hand and played with your ring under the table while Dick explained to Clark the entire backstory of a tv show he had been watching lately.

Later, after dishes were stacked and your parents had excused themselves to bed—your mom insisting you didn’t have to clean up, and your dad offering Clark a jar of pickles “for the trip back”—the house settled into that soft nighttime rhythm you hadn’t felt in years.

The windows were open. The breeze cool. Fireflies blinked lazily across the yard.

Bruce had gone out back to check the barn doors, quietly making sure everything was locked and squared away for the night. Lois sat with Dick at the dining table, a worn deck of cards between them as she taught him how to play gin rummy, her voice low and conspiratorial.

You stood at the sink, rinsing out the last pie plate, when Clark appeared beside you, rolling up his sleeves.

“I was wondering when you were going to come help,” you teased.

“I had to wait until the real work was done,” he replied, nudging your hip with his.

You bumped him back.

Together, the two of you worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Clark scrubbed. You rinsed. A few crickets chirped. A dog barked in the distance.

“You’re really happy,” Clark said eventually, his voice soft.

You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just scrubbing gently at a stubborn pie crust.

“I am,” you replied. “It feels... real. It’s good. Hard sometimes. But it’s good.”

He nodded. “I can see that.”

You dried your hands slowly, glancing toward the table where Dick was now dramatically laying down his cards and grinning at Lois like he’d conquered Rome.

“He’s amazing,” you whispered. “He’s so smart. So sweet. And God, Clark, he’s been through so much. And he still smiles like that.”

“You’re good for him.”

“So is Bruce.”

Clark chuckled. “I never thought I’d say that. But yeah. He is.”

You leaned your head against your brother’s shoulder for a moment, letting the comfort of shared history settle around you.

“And that kid loves you.”

You looked to the side, where Dick was showing Lois a card and laughing too loud.

“Yeah,” you said. “I love him too.”

He kissed the top of your head. “You’re doing amazing.”

You leaned into him. “Thanks, Clark.”

Outside, the porch creaked quietly—Bruce returning. You met him at the door, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, moonlight painting silver along his jaw.

“All clear?” you asked.

“Miss Patty stared at me like I owed her something,” he muttered. “Otherwise, yeah.”

You stepped closer and wrapped your arms around his waist. “She thinks you’re competition.”

Bruce kissed the top of your head. “Not anymore. I know better than to cross her.”

You leaned back enough to look up at him. The soft porch light caught the shadows under his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked.

He hesitated. “I thought coming here would help me get . . my mind off the headlines but . . .”

“I know.”

You didn’t need to ask what kind. It was always the same. Headlines with too many adjectives. Panel shows questioning your motives. Online threads tracking the price of your dress from the engagement party you didn’t even know someone photographed.

“I’m used to it,” you whispered.

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

You tilted your face to look up at him, your fingers sliding beneath his sweater, brushing against his shirt.

“I grew up in Smallville,” you said softly. “The mailman knew when I had a crush in fourth grade because I started checking the mailbox three times a day. There isn’t a rumor I haven’t heard. This is just... louder.”

His jaw tightened. “You deserve peace.”

“I have it,” you said. “Right here.”

He looked down at you then, eyes dark in the evening light, and kissed you—soft, slow, like it was the first time. Like he wanted to memorize your mouth. You sank into it, arms curling around his neck, your body finding his like it always did.

When you pulled back, you whispered, “You’re not alone, Bruce.”

“I know,” he said, kissing your forehead. “I still don’t know how I got this lucky.”

You kissed him then. Gentle. Lingering. His hand settled on your waist, anchoring himself to you like he always did when the world tilted too far.

Lois’s voice called from the dining room, “He beat me again! What kind of child prodigy are you raising?!”

Dick laughed. Loud. Carefree. Happy.

And later, when the house finally fell quiet, the dishes done, the windows closed, the fireflies fading, and Bruce locked the last door—Dick found his way into your old room, clutching his pillow and blinking sleepily.

“Can I sleep with you?” he asked.

You were already brushing your teeth in the little bathroom. Bruce nodded without hesitation.

That night, like he did sometimes in Gotham, Dick curled up between you both—tiny limbs sprawled out, the safest place in the world sealed between two steady heartbeats, mouth half-open in sleep. Your hand brushed gently through his dark hair.

Bruce reached over Dick’s shoulder and caught your fingers.

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, lips brushing your knuckles.

Dick sighed in his sleep and reached for your arm, pulling it around his chest. You fell asleep with your son tucked in your arms, the man you loved at your side, and the world outside silent for once.

And somewhere beyond the quiet, the wind whispered through the wheat fields, soft and low and sweet.

You were home.

The soft click-clack of your keyboard was the only sound in the office, apart from the muted hum of the coffee machine down the hall. It was late morning, and the light streaming through your windows painted gold streaks across your desk. Your day had started like any other—Bruce in early meetings, Alfred sending an affectionate reminder about your vitamins via text, and Dick at school with his lunchbox packed neatly by your hands.

You were mid-email when your personal phone rang.

Which was strange. No one ever called your personal line during business hours—everyone knew you were Bruce Wayne’s secretary, and your work phone was practically glued to your hip. The personal number was only for family. For emergencies. For home.

Your hand paused over the keyboard as you glanced down, heart already climbing. You didn’t recognize the number, but something inside your chest twisted—tight and immediate.

You answered quickly. “Hello?”

A pause. Then:

“Miss Kent?”

The voice was smooth, professional, and unfamiliar.

“Yes,” you said, already straightening. “Speaking. Who is this?”

“This is Principal Langley from Gotham’s Private Elementary. I’m calling about Richard.”

Your stomach dropped.

You stood up, eyes locking on your office door like you could somehow see through it, as if your sudden anxiety might pull him into the room. “Is he okay?”

“He’s physically fine,” she said gently, and the pause that followed was the kind you’d learned to dread as a Kent—too long, too careful. “But he’s... He won’t stop crying, and we haven’t been able to get him to calm down. We thought it best to call you directly. It might be best if he went home for the day.”

You didn’t ask any more questions.

You just grabbed your coat, pressed the intercom button to inform that you were stepping out, and left. You didn’t bother calling Bruce. He was in the middle of a presentation with WayneTech’s board. He’d find out later. Right now, this was yours to handle.

Wayne Enterprises was exactly twenty-one minutes from Dick’s school if you took the express lane, which you did, and which only shaved it down to fifteen. Still, every second burned. You barely registered the passing streets or the honks or the occasional curious driver doing a double-take at the sight of Bruce Wayne’s secretary barreling through Gotham traffic like her heart was in her throat.

Because it was.

The front office staff was polite—too polite, too composed for what your bones already knew. You could hear it the moment you stepped in. Not the sound itself—Dick was quiet now—but the absence of noise, like every child in the front building had learned silence by association.

When they led you to the principal’s office, you saw him.

Hunched in a chair too big for him, feet not touching the floor, his backpack clutched in his lap like a lifeline. His face was blotchy. Red. Tear tracks down both cheeks. His eyes were glassy and exhausted. He looked up the second you stepped in, and the way he stood nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

“Sweetheart,” you breathed.

He didn’t say anything. Just ran to you.

You crouched to catch him, arms wrapping tight, your whole body curling around his.

“Oh, baby,” you breathed, holding the back of his head. “I’m here. I’m here.”

He didn’t talk. Just sobbed into your shoulder, shaking like he’d been holding it in too long. You rocked him gently, hand stroking down his back, murmuring soft comforts against his hair.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

It took time. You didn’t rush it.

Eventually, the sobs became sniffles, then long, shaky breaths.

You thanked the principal quietly, took his hand, and led him out. He held your palm like he never wanted to let go.

Outside, on the front steps, you knelt beside him, brushing the damp hair back from his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

“That’s okay,” you said gently. “You can talk when you’re ready. Or not at all. I’m just glad you called me.”

He nodded, still sniffling. “I didn’t mean to cry so much.”

“You can cry as much as you want, bug. That’s allowed. You don’t have to be brave all the time.”

“I wanted to be good,” he whispered. “I didn’t want you and Bruce to send me back.”

Your heart shattered so quickly it left splinters.

“Oh, Dick,” you breathed, pulling him back into your arms. “We would never. Never, never. You’re ours. You hear me?”

He nodded, pressing his face into your collar.

You took him to work.

There was no way you were leaving him alone, and Bruce—currently locked in a board meeting on the twentieth floor—had made it explicitly clear that your judgment was the final one when it came to Dick.

So, that afternoon, Wayne Enterprises had its first unofficial “Take Your Child to Work” day.

You tucked him into your office, laid a soft throw blanket on the carpet, and gave him your emergency sketchpad—the one you kept in your desk for stress-doodling during long calls.

He flopped down stomach-first, crayons splayed around him, drawing with fierce focus. His face was still swollen. His eyes tired. But he looked calm now. Grounded.

Safe.

You worked quietly, pausing every few minutes to peek at him—still there, still okay. He showed you a picture he drew of Buttons. You promised to hang it on your office wall.

Everything was steady. Everything was soft.

Until the shouting started.

It wasn’t loud, exactly—but the tone pierced through your focus like a knife. You frowned, looked up, and heard it again—a sharp, irritated woman’s voice cutting through the hallway like she owned the floor.

“...I don’t care what Eloise said—he’ll see me!”

You stood, pushed open your office door, and stopped.

Security was gathered in front of the elevators. Eloise, the sweet lower-floor receptionist who adored you, stood awkwardly between two suited guards, trying to reason with someone neither of them could seem to wrangle.

A woman. Tall, stunning, tan, and furious.

You knew her. Of course you did.

Carla Vrenzi.

One of Bruce’s old companions. A supermodel with a temper, a flair for melodrama, and an ego that could crack titanium. You’d taken her call many months ago—her voice shrill and furious through the speaker, hurling curses because Bruce hadn’t called her back. You remembered the way she spat his name. The way she hung up on you.

And now she was here.

Your heart dipped.

She spotted you almost instantly.

“Oh,” she sneered. “You.”

Eloise turned, clearly panicked. “Miss Kent, we were trying to escort her down—”

“Don’t bother,” the woman snapped. “Miss ‘Personal Assistant,’ huh? Is this where Bruce keeps you now? Like a little lapdog? Is that why you spread your legs—because you were tired of faxing his schedules?!”

You stiffened, spine going taut.

Eloise looked horrified. “Ma’am, please—”

“You’re nothing!” Carla screamed. “A secretary! A poor little hayseed pretending she’s a Wayne! I’ve worn shoes more expensive than you!”

“Miss Kent,” Eloise repeated urgently. “Please go back into your office.”

Her face twisted. “You think that ring makes you anything? You’re a novelty act. A toy. Do you know how many of us there’ve been? How many women he’s tossed aside like—”

“Stop it,” you said quietly.

She didn’t. She took a step closer. “You t6think you matter? A farmer’s daughter with a clipboard and good hair? You’ll be gone in a year. Maybe less. You’ll wake up one morning in that big house, and he’ll be gone. And you’ll still be nothing.”

The floor felt like it had dropped from beneath you.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t flinch. But you felt your stomach twist, a cold coil of shame and doubt rising.

And then—

“HEY!”

Dick’s voice cracked like lightning.

He stood in your doorway, small but unshaking, fists clenched at his sides, nose wrinkled in absolute fury.

“Don’t talk to my mom like that!”

The hallway fell dead silent.

Carla turned, startled.

“I don’t care who you are!” he shouted, stepping in front of you with a look on his face that was half fury, half fire. “You don’t talk to her like that!”

The woman blinked. “Excuse me—”

“She’s amazing!” he yelled. “She’s kind and smart and funny and she makes the best waffles ever and Bruce loves her a lot! And I love her!”

“Kid—”

“And you’re mean!” he yelled, cheeks flushing, eyes brimming but not crying. “You’re mean and stupid and nobody wants you here!”

The whole hallway went silent.

You didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Because your eight-year-old son had already said everything.

Carla opened her mouth again—but the security guard beside her had had enough. “Ma’am, you need to leave the premises. Now.”

She huffed, sputtered, still fuming. But she turned.

Dick didn’t move until the elevator doors closed behind her.

Silence lingered.

And then Dick turned back to you, his chest rising and falling fast. His mouth opened like he wanted to apologize, perhaps for screaming, but you pulled him into your arms before he could say anything.

Tight. Fierce. Real.

He clung to you like he had at the school—only this time, he wasn’t broken. He was angry. Protective.

Yours.

You buried your face in his hair, tears welling in your eyes. “You called me your mom.”

His arms tightened. “I meant it.”

You swallowed hard. “You’ve never said that before.”

“I didn’t know if I could.”

You pulled back, just enough to look him in the face.

His cheeks were blotchy again. But this time, it wasn’t from sadness. It was from fire. From love.

“You can,” you whispered. “You can call me anything, bug. Anything you want. But that was the nicest you could have called me. Made me the proudest woman on Gotham. On Earth!.”

He smiled through the tears. “I think I liked calling you mom as well.”

You laughed and cried. You kissed his forehead as the hall slowly resumed normalcy, your coworkers sneaking glances, eyes wide and glassy.

But it didn’t matter.

Because in that moment—in that warm, golden, real moment—you were exactly who you wanted to be. Not Bruce’s fiancée. Not the secretary. Not the girl from the farm.

Tim tapped a control, the image zoomed inward, and an abandoned settlement appeared.

"Three days ago," Tim began, "a League deep-space probe detected artificial structures on an uncharted world near the edge of explored space."

The hologram shifted again to reveal rows of metallic buildings appeared, roadways, towers, an entire city.

Bart leaned forward.

"So we're doing archaeology now?"

"No," Tim replied. "We're investigating why a supposedly abandoned colony suddenly started transmitting power signatures."

That got everyone's attention.

Cassie frowned. "Someone's living there?"

"We don't know."

Jaime crossed his arms. "No distress signals?"

"None."

"No ships?"

"None."

"That's not suspicious at all."

Tim ignored him and continued, "The colony predates most modern galactic records. League databases couldn't even identify it."

You glanced up at the hologram, something about the architecture felt familiar, not enough to place it, just enough to make the back of your neck itch.

Batman finally spoke, "If anything appears unusual, report it immediately. Do not separate from the team."

Bart groaned. "Why does he always say that right before things go horribly wrong?"

The ride to the colony took several hours.

The Bio-Ship drifted silently through space while everyone occupied themselves, Bart was playing a game on his phone., Cassie was reading mission files, Jaime was arguing with Khaji-Da all while Tim was reviewing maps.

You sat near one of the observation windows, watching stars streak past, with Conner eventually dropping into the seat beside you.

"You've been quiet."

You shrugged.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"The colony."

Conner glanced toward the mission files,"You know something?"

"No."

You hesitated, "Maybe."

That earned his attention.

"The architecture looked familiar."

"How familiar?"

You frowned, "I don't know."

The answer bothered you.

Kryptonian memory wasn't perfect, but you usually remembered things your dad taught you. This felt like trying to remember a dream, close enough to touch, too far away to grasp. Before you could think about it further, Bio-Ship's voice echoed through the cabin.

"Approaching destination."

Everyone immediately sat up.

Tim stood, "Alright, team. Let's work. We don't need traditional oxygen masks because there's a breathable atmosphere, but the air's dense so keep your rebreathers on, Superboy, Supergirl, you're exempt."

The colony should have been empty, instead, it felt more like a graveyard.

The Bio-Ship landed in the centre of the settlement with a low hum, the ramp lowered and cold wind rushed inside, making you shiver.

Tim stepped out first, the rest of you followed, the only thing that greeted you was silence. The settlement stretched endlessly across the landscape, metallic structures rose from the dark terrain, dust drifted through empty streets. No lights, no movement, no signs of life.

Bart rubbed his hands together from the cold.

"Creepy."

"Very descriptive," Tim said.

"I'm serious. This place looks haunted."

You were about to make fun of him when your gaze landed on one of the nearby buildings. Then another, then another.

Your stomach dropped. "No way."

Cassie glanced over. "What?"

You pointed toward a series of symbols etched into a nearby wall, "I know that language." The team immediately turned toward you.

Jaime frowned. "You do?"

Slowly, you approached the markings. Your pulse quickened, you'd seen them before. Not in person, but your father had shown you enough Kryptonian texts growing up.

Stories, historical records, maps, lessons about a world that no longer existed. You recognised the symbols instantly.

"It's Kryptonian." The silence that followed was immediate.

Tim's expression sharpened. "You're sure?"

"Yeah." You swallowed. "I'm pretty sure. It's not Phaelosian, or from Planet Daxam, it could be another offshoot but I'm certain the origin is Kryptonian. "

Suddenly the colony felt much less abandoned, and much more personal.

The team spent the next hour investigating, most of the settlement appeared untouched, there were no signs of battle. No signs of evacuation, no signs of disaster.

Just...nothing.

Entire buildings stood frozen in time, equipment remained where it had been left, personal belongings sat abandoned, it looked as though everyone had vanished in the middle of their day. You found children's toys, family photographs, records written in Kryptonian, a civilisation preserved in a single moment.

The deeper you explored, the stranger things became, organic growths crawled across walls and ceilings, dark tendrils spread beneath metallic surfaces. Vein-like structures pulsed beneath the colony itself.

Alive, growing, watching.

Jaime scanned one of them, followed by his visor lighting up.

"Definitely biological."

"That's reassuring," Bart muttered.

"It wasn't meant to be."

The first scream echoed through the colony moments later.

Everyone froze.

Tim reacted instantly.

"Look out!"

The wall beside you exploded. Metal and debris erupted outward, and a massive creature burst through the structure.

Then another, then three more. The colony erupted into chaos, the creatures moved like predators, not animals but hunters.

Their bodies were covered in thick armoured plating, multiple eyes tracked movement simultaneously, their claws carved through metal like paper.

One lunged directly at Bart, he vanished in a yellow blur. Another slammed into Cassie. She caught it midair and hurled it through a building, with the impact shattering half the structure.

You launched yourself skyward, heat vision erupted from your eyes, the beam struck one creature directly in the chest. It barely slowed down.

"What?!"

The thing roared, then jumped, like actually jumped, thirty feet straight into the air.

Its claws scraped across your shoulder before Conner intercepted it, the two crashed through a nearby tower. The ground shook, everywhere you looked the fight intensified.

Jaime's cannons lit up the colony, Bart became a streak of yellow lightning. Cassie punched one creature hard enough to send it flying across the city. You grabbed another by the throat and drove it through three separate walls.

The creature shrieked, its tail whipping wildly, then another creature appeared behind you, too fast. Its claws raked across your side, whilst it didn't cut you, the force of it hurt like a bitch.

You retaliated immediately, your punch shattered its armoured skull. The body collapsed, yet more kept coming. They emerged from underground tunnels, from buildings, from hidden nests buried beneath the colony, dozens upon dozens.

The fight stretched on for nearly twenty minutes and by the end, the streets looked like a war zone. Broken structures, cracked pavement, creature corpses everywhere.

Eventually the battle turned, the creatures began falling one by one. Until only a single survivor remained, its body lay broken across the colony floor.

Breathing heavily, dying. You approached carefully.

Conner moved beside you.

"Think that's all of them?" Bart asked.

"Hopefully."

The creature twitched, then its tail lashed outward. Pain exploded through your calf, you screamed as the barb punched straight through your leg. For a split second it felt like molten metal had been driven into your flesh.

Then the tail ripped free, you stumbled backward, the world tilted.

Conner caught you before you hit the ground.

"Y/N!"

Your entire leg burned, not normal pain but something deeper. You looked down, the wound itself wasn't severe, just a puncture, already healing. At least, it should have been.

Instead the flesh around it remained red and raw and irritated. It was burning, like poison spreading beneath your skin.

"I'm fine," you managed.

Conner didn't believe you, neither did Tim.

"Let's head out, we've got our data, we know where the signatures were coming from. We're going to analyse the rest of the colony upon arrival at the Watch Tower, and if we ever come back, we'll need reinforcements."

So the team boarded the Bio-Ship and headed home.

For the first fifteen minutes everything seemed normal.

Then the pain returned. It started in your leg, a deep ache spreading upwards Your muscles felt heavy and your thoughts sluggish, a strange exhaustion settling over you. You sat down hard in one of the Bio-Ship seats.

Conner noticed immediately.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You don't sound okay."

"I'm fine."

Cassie appeared from her seat.

"You look awful."

"Wow. Thanks."

"No, seriously."

You frowned, something felt wrong. You stood, or tried to because your balance immediately wavered.

Conner grabbed your arm,"Easy."

"I'm okay." You pulled away.

Then you tried to fly,yet nothing happened, causing you to freeze.

Conner noticed. "What?"

You stared at him.

Then pushed off the floor again. Nothing.

No lift, no instinctive pull, no effortless weightlessness. Just fricking gravity. (insert Kenma's gravity speech lmaoooo)

Your stomach dropped. "No."

"What?"

You tried again, nothing. Panic began creeping into your chest. "No no no." (Obsession type shit lmao)

Cassie stood. "Y/N?"

"I can't fly."

Silence filled the cabin. You looked around, everyone stared, "I can't fly."

The words sounded ridiculous, impossible even. You were Kryptonian, flying wasn't something you thought about, It was like breathing, and suddenly it was gone.

Tim immediately moved closer. "What do you mean you can't fly?"

"I mean I can't fly."

Fear settled over the cabin, because powers didn't just disappear, not for Kryptonians, not without a reason. Slowly, you pulled up the leg of your suit. Dark silver veins stretched from the wound which had begun to fester, branching beneath your skin, moving upward, growing.

"What the hell?" Bart whispered, even Tim looked alarmed.

You stared at the veins, then watched them spread another centimetre.

Tim immediately opened a communications channel. "Robin to Watchtower."

Static crackled. Then Cyborg's voice answered.

"Go ahead."

Tim's eyes never left you. "We need medical personnel waiting in Hangar Three."

"What's the situation?"

Tim hesitated, for the first time all mission.

"Supergirl's injured."

The ride back felt endless.

The veins continued spreading, the pain only worsening.

Your hearing flickered occasionally, your strength felt inconsistent, your waterline grew teary and you began to sweat profusely, breathing got harder, holding your head up got harder. Every symptom made the cabin quieter, more tense.

Nobody joked anymore, nobody talked much.

Conner stayed beside you the entire trip, a hand resting around you as you laid your head on his shoulder, as though he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. By the time the Bio-Ship entered Watchtower airspace, standing felt difficult, like your body wasn't listening anymore.

The hangar doors opened before the ship had fully landed, heroes were already waiting.

Nightwing, Flash, Black Canary. Several League medics. Batman stood further back, cape draped around his shoulders.

And Jason.

You almost missed him.

Leaning against the far wall in his Red Hood gear, arms crossed.

"When does he ever come around here?" You think to yourself in a daze

The second he saw you being helped down the ramp, he straightened, every trace of casual indifference vanishing. The moment they saw you, concern spread through the crowd.

Conner helped you down the ramp. You hated that. You hated needing help. You took two steps, then your vision blurred. A violent cough tore through your chest. You doubled over.

Something warm splattered across your hand. For a second, your brain didn't process it. Then you looked down.

It was blood. Bright red blood.

The hangar went silent.

Another cough hit, harder this time, blood spraying across the floor.

"Y/N!" Someone shouted your name but you struggled to make out who.

Your nose started bleeding next, not a trickle or a drip, but a steady stream. Panic erupted instantly.

You felt your eyes getting teary again but instead of water, blood escaped your waterline. The throbbing pain in your calf was so concentrated that your next step had your leg giving out.

In your daze, you'd thought you'd pass out before you hit the floor, but someone caught you.

Jason.

One second he was across the hangar, the next he was kneeling in front of you. His hands cupped your face. "Hey. Hey, look at me."

You blinked through the dizziness.

"Jace..."

His expression was terrifying, the absence of his helmet makes him look so much less threatening in your opinion. He wasn't angry or annoyed. But he was scared, actually scared.

"Stay with me." Another cough wracked your body, blood stained the "S" symbol of your suit. Jason swore viciously.

"Move!" he barked at the crowd. The command snapped everyone into motion.

Nightwing reached your side, Flash disappeared and reappeared with medical equipment. Batman was already moving.

But Jason never let go of you.

One hand remained locked around yours, the other pressed against your shoulder. Grounding you, keeping you upright, as if sheer stubbornness could stop whatever was happening.

"You're okay," he said. The lie sounded desperate.

"You hear me? You're okay." Jason held you before your eyes shut.

The last thing you saw before everything went dark was him shouting for the medics.

When you woke again, to say you felt like shit would've been the understatement of the century.

Your mouth parched, your eyelids heavy with fatigue, the tightening in your chest was sharp, and combined with the tautness of your muscles, you could barely move. The throbbing, hot sensation in your calf felt stronger, and your head continued to pound.

Arguably, the worst part of it all was that this was so foreign to you.

Being half-Kryptonian, you had never experienced human illnesses, so you being so severely sick gutted you in a way you couldn't describe.

The way you felt wasn't the only difference, the room was different too.

White, quiet, contained. The first thing you noticed, after fighting a wave of nausea, was the glass, thick and reinforced.

The second was your mother. Lois sat beside your bed, her hand wrapped around yours. The relief on her face nearly made you cry.

"Mom?" Lois immediately stood to give you a hug.

"Hey, honey." Your throat felt raw.

"What happened?" Her smile faltered slightly.

The answer came from the observation glass. Clark stood on the opposite side alongside your little brother Jon, and Kara. All separated from you, unable to enter, then you noticed someone else. Jason, still there, like he'd never left.

"What happened?" This time your voice cracked.

Lois squeezed your hand. "You're sick baby."

"Doesn't answer my question." You joked

"That disease you contracted is Kryptonian." Silence.

"Meaning?" You didn't know why you even asked that, you knew what she meant.

"It only infects Kryptonians." Despite, knowing what she was going to say , the room suddenly felt colder.

Outside the glass, Clark looked helpless, and that scared you more than the virus ever could, because your dad always knew what to do. Except now, he couldn't even sit beside his daughter.

"Where's Conner?" You asked, noticing his absence.

"Bruce—Batman, suggested he be put on observation, he was in close contact with you and they still don't know how the disease spreads, they don't know if he could be infected, but from the looks of it he's okay."

"How long have you been here? You don't get off work till 6'oclock today—wait what time is it?"

"Only a couple hours baby, Perry let me go early after I told him you had an accident." Your mother responded

"You made me sound like a baby." You complained.

"You are my baby." She laughed

"They made me go through several decontamination chambers before coming in here, I'll probably have to go through those again eugh."

" Gonna ruin your hair?" You asked. "You bet." You could hear the smile in her voice without even looking at her

The following days blurred together. Your powers began failing one by one. Flight disappeared first, your heat vision followed. Then your strength, then your hearing. The world grew quieter, smaller, scarier.

The hemorrhaging came and went. Some days it was nosebleeds, other days it was coughing up blood so severe the medical alarms went off. Every episode left the Watchtower and your family shake, and every single time, when you looked through the observation window afterward, Jason was there.

Sometimes standing beside Dick. Sometimes arguing with Bruce. Sometimes asleep in a chair because he refused to go home.

Outside your room, the Watchtower became a war room. Barry practically lived in the laboratory, with Bruce working beside him.

Dr. Leslie Thompkins joined the effort. Mr. Terrific, Cyborg, and every scientific mind available contributed.

The virus had originated from the colony itself—an ancient Kryptonian pathogen. Something engineered long ago to target Kryptonian biology specifically (Thaedus vs Viltrum type shit ok im sorry i'll stop)

A weapon, one that should have stayed buried, and it was killing you from the inside out.

Jason took it worse than most people realised, maybe because nobody knew exactly what the two of you were, and ever since the fallout between you guys because you found out about his fling with Rose Wilson, of all people, he'd never had the chance to apologise, and it took you being on your deathbed for him to come to that conclusion (potential fic idea 👀 send me thoughts guys)

And every time your condition worsened, he looked like he was being torn apart. After a particularly bad hemorrhage that left you unconscious, he asked to enter your room.

He couldn't bare to see you sick, how you, once so full of life was now wasting on a hospital bed, but he had to see you. Sure, he saw blood every night in Gotham, but you were different.

He walked through several of the decontamination chambers to get to you, all while holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers. The last time he bought you those were for your 15th birthday.

After sitting down beside you, he dropped the flowers by the bedside table, he never believed in any of that sentimental shit but he had a lot to say, but had no way to say it. All he could do, was be there, and hope and pray Barry would find a cure.

Although you weren't awake to see it, when Jason reached for your hand, this time, he didn't let go.

This makes Jon focus, with a nod of his head, he tries to discreetly focus on his powers. Grabbing Damian’s arm he starts to pull him in a certain direction, “I think I heard them that way” 

As he drags Damian, he is soon made to stop, as Damian plants his feet firmly on the ground, head turned in the direction of a medical room. 

Trauma 2 he thinks it was. 

There above a sedated patient, a doctor works to stitch up the man’s chest. A successful procedure had been completed. 

But all Damian could focus on was the method of his stitching. 

How it was slightly crooked and not neat. 

Unlike Ammto's method. It seemed messy. If only slightly.

His eyes were fixated upon the scene before him. Despite Jon trying to catch his attention and pull him away not wanting to attract more attention. 

But Damian did not go unnoticed by a nurse in the room. 

Who elbows Shen before pointing to the boy. 

“Why is that kid staring at you like that?” 

“That’s not staring…that’s glaring…” Shen says just a little unnerved, peeling off his gloves and sanitising his hands as he walks over to Damian. 

Just to the side, Abbot is watching the exchange a little confused by what was occurring. 

It was safe to say he didn’t imagine this would happen when he started his shift tonight.

Bending on his knees to reach his level offering a small wave trying to be friendly to the child, “hey buddy, can I help you? Why were you watching us?”  

Damian simply quirks a brow, tilting his head. Analysing the doctor before him. 

As Jon answers without much thought, “I think it’s because he thinks your technique is off” 

Damian nods at his friend's assessment, “I would not like help from a doctor whose stitching was abysmal. Where did you train?” he insulted with a manner so cool it completely caught Shen off guard. 

His eyes widened at the words of this 14 year old. 

Watching as the boy beside him nudges the other with a reprimanding glance, “that’s not very nice Dami.” 

“But it is true. Now where did you train? I would like to know the medical school responsible for this” he furthered upon his questioning. 

“I really don’t believe that’s for you to critique”

“Tt. My Aunt is a trained medical professional within this field who has done better stitches under worse conditions than you just performed,” he continued to insult. 

“What seems to be the problem here, Shen?” Abbot comes in at that point. Deciding it was time to help the poor guy out. 

“Ah. Hello. My name’s Jon, we were looking for my friend’s Auntie, she works here. Dr Y/N Austen,” the blue eye boy greeted politely. The complete opposite demeanour of his friend. 

Abbot sends a glance to Shen, who still seems severely insulated by the young boy. And it took everything within Abbot to not laugh at his misfortune. 

“Yes, I know Dr Austen well, I’m Dr Abbot an attending physician here,” he greets with a polite nod. 

He takes a quick glance around not seeing you in his sight and just as he was about to give up, Dana passes by and informs “She should be by the breakroom with Clark and Robby” 

“Thank you Dana,” he waves her goodbye, as he starts in the direction of the breakroom, guiding the other two by his side. “Ok, let's go find Austen for you.”

“Say thank you Damian” Jon adds, 

“Thanks,” Damian says with reluctance. 

“Anything for a relative of Austen’s,” Abbot waves off before adding, “your Aunt’s a very good doctor”

“Indeed. The best.” Damian approves, Abbot doesn’t comment on his words and continues on.

“We’re very lucky to work alongside her,” Damian simply hums at his words. 

As they continue to walk through the ER on their way to you.

You’re still shaking off your encounter with Luthor. 

If you never saw him again it would still be too soon you decided. 

While you sometimes thought of home, and the skyline of Gotham you definitely did not miss the pageantry of galas and evening gowns. Brushing elbows among the wealthiest of the wealthy. Which unfortunately had included Lex. 

In an act to distract yourself you let your attention drift back to Clark.

“I can not wait to go to the farm. Do you think your Ma’ is going to make those buttermilk pancakes like last time?” 

“Knowing her she’s probably got a whole spread laid out for you.” 

You sigh at the thought. Ma Kent’s home cooking was something that brought you immense comfort. 

“So you own a farm?” Mohan asks, thinking it was best to avoid the topic of Luthor. 

A frown formed upon Robby’s face as he looked at you, biting back the question on whether or not you were ok. 

Clark scratches the back of his head, a grin now taking place on his features. “Uh, no. It’s my parents farm out in Smallville where I grew up. They kind of focus on a bit of everything, from growing corn, wheat and alfalfa. As well as livestock, my dad’s pretty proud of his cattle.” 

“Clark over here is actually a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis,” you highlight with pride for your friend. 

“Woah, that's really impressive,” Whitaker adds. 

He always found it fascinating meeting others who had come from a farming background, he certainly understood that it wasn’t easy leaving it behind. 

“You know I thought you looked familiar, you did that piece about what goes on inside emergency rooms. It was one of the most faithful articles I had read regarding hospitals,” Mohan compliments, causing Clark to become a little flushed from the honest words. 

He always did struggle to take a compliment. 

“Come on Smallville, just take the compliment” you push him lightly, with a grin. Making him roll his eyes. 

“Thank you. I can’t take all the credit though, I had Y/N read over it a few times to make sure I was doing those in the ER justice, her input is what made it what it is” he flatters them. 

“We couldn’t agree more. Austen is a vital part to our team that we wouldn’t know what to do without her,” Robby says sincerely. 

You give him a smile, appreciating his words. Before realising, “hey, where’s Damian and Jon?” 

“I left them back at yours, I’ve probably received about a hundred messages from them both by now asking where we are.” Clark states. 

You let out a laugh, shaking your head at the news, “I swear those two can be so impatient sometimes. We better not keep them waiting any longer,” causing Clark to agree. 

But before you can even think about leaving, 

Abbot rounds the corner, and corralled beside him are the two young teenage boys in question. 

One with a sheepish guilty look upon his face, while the other has a scowl painted upon his face with crossed arms. 

“Anyone missing two teens?” Abbot says with a knowing glance towards you, which makes your shoulders deflate slightly from embarrassment. 

“Damian. What did you do?” you ask, 

“Ask Kent. He suggested we come here” 

“Dami, was impatient. So we came to find you. We thought dad got lost.”

Clark simply pinches his nose, “Jon, please say sorry to the doctor who found you.” 

“I’m sorry, Dr Abbot for any trouble caused. I’m especially sorry for Damian–”

“Do not apologise on my behalf Kent” Damian cuts in. 

You simply send him a stern glare, “Damian.” 

Which causes the boy to deflate before offering a small, reluctant, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.” 

 “Abbot, thanks for bringing them over. Honestly they’re good kids-” you start to waffle on from sheer embarrassment. 

But he waves a hand as a grin forms, “don’t worry about it. I’m just glad I found them instead of Gloria. Though I think we may have a future doctor with your nephew here” he pats the back of Damian who simply stiffens from the contact before shuffling over beside you, “he was analysing and saying Shen’s stitching work was off.”

“Because it was,” Damian grumbles out. 

But you simply elbow him in reprimand. As he looks up at you. “I swear you’re just like your dad sometimes, thinking you know everything.” 

“Father says when I act like that, it is because I learnt it from you,” Damian retorts. 

You roll your eyes at his words before looking to Abbot with a sigh, “Please tell Dr Shen that I’m sorry for my nephew’s behaviour. He’s been getting into some of my old medical textbooks as of late, so he’s been a bit interested in this field of work” you explained. 

You didn’t need to elaborate that Damian often saw it first hand most nights, as Alfred worked efficiently to patch up both him and the others after difficult patrols. 

That Damian had even stitched up a few wounds before. 

Those were things best left unsaid.    

It was also safe to say that you were just a little prideful at how Damian’s taken an interest in your work. 

Even going through your father’s old journals too at times. 

“Well it was nice meeting you both, if you come to visit again please don’t tell me my stitching is off, but feel free to say that about his,” Abbot jokes as he points a finger to Robby as a joke before disappearing back to work. 

As Robby mutters a small hey in protest. 

“What were you thinking?” Clark says to Jon and Damian. 

“We were thinking that you were taking forever, and you weren’t answering our messages.” Jon answers.

“That doesn’t give you permission to walk straight into an ER” you respond.

They both give you slight remorseful looks. “Sorry” 

“I’m sure they didn’t mean any harm,” Robby says to you. It was interesting to see you with your family and friends, it was refreshing. 

You nod at his words appreciatively as a silent thanks passed between you.

“Well, we should be headed off now, gotta make sure my nephew and his son don’t cause too much more chaos. I’ll see you all in a few days” 

“Take care, Austen” Robby holds back on saying anything more. 

“You too, Robby” you gently pat his arm before walking away as Clark extends his thanks and goodbyes. 

Both Perlah and Princess hover nearby. 

As Princess calls to you in Tagalog, “have fun with your boyfriend~”

A sure fire way to learn whether or not this handsome man was yours. 

You wave a hand at her, before responding “Stop spreading gossip, he’s just my friend.” 

Clark only whispers to you, “Is it always like this?” 

“You have no idea,” you reply. 

“Indeed, Ammto could do much better than a Kent” Damian comments with his nose pointed upwards., 

“Come on, we're not that bad, Dami,” Jon jokes. 

“Kent, I have told you repeatedly to not refer to me as that.”

“As what, Dami?” he teases further, 

“You know exactly what Kent,” he sighs, pinching his nose in disbelief, though his words seem clipped, the tone is friendly. Typical of the two. 

“We must leave now if we do not want to be any later,” Damian looks at his watch before he starts strolling out of the ER with a confidence not typical for a 14 year old. 

An excited Jon follows behind who shouts back, “nice meeting you! Have a good day- a good night!” He self corrects, giving everyone a thumbs up. 

An amused smile makes its way across the faces of your colleagues as you all wave goodbye before leaving the ER. 

And while Robby might not admit it aloud. 

As he was standing by you, watching as you laughed and smiled in Clark’s company, something twisted inside him, aching. 

He knew he had no reason to feel this way. No right to feel this way. 

You were your own person. 

You were not his to call, or his to hold, or his to want. 

But he longed for it all the same. 

And the feelings that bubbled within him as he watched you made him realise that more than ever. 

When Lex had been nothing but cruel he had wanted to stand by you and yell at the man himself. He had wanted to be the one to stand by you and calm you from the storm that brewed in within your eyes. 

And he was so worried he would lose that chance to be yours.

As you stood, arms brushing with Clark’s. 

He was tall, handsome, kindly and clearly smart. He wouldn’t blame you if you were with the man. By all accounts he seemed like a catch. 

But there was one word. 

One word that sparked hope for Robby. 

The weight within his chest alleviated just a little at learning that the handsome man was in fact not your partner or lover or anything of the sort. 

Just a friend. 

He could only hope there wasn’t anyone else in your life that could be deemed as more. 

As you reach the outside, a nice cool breeze rushes past you. 

A sigh of content escapes you. You let your eyes close for a moment just letting the stress of your day melt away. 

Ahead of you and Clark while you stand side by side for just a moment of recollection. 

Damian and Jon continue off in the distance in the direction of your home, wanting to leave for the farm as soon as possible. 

“So, Robby?” Clark probes with a glint in his eye. 

You peer one eye to look at him, before you roll your eyes. “Yes?”

“That was the infamous Robby,”

You squint your eyes at him.

“Lois mentions him a lot, she seems to think you have a thing for him” 

You let out a deep breath before walking away from him towards the two boys ahead of you, causing him to jog after you, “hey, don’t be like that! If it’s any consolation I think he seems nice. Seriously!” 

“I am not talking about this with you” you say diplomatically, and begin to hush him, “shh. I don’t want Damian to hear any of this” 

“So you do like him” he confirms with an exaggerated hushed whisper, a wide grin splitting across his face in glee. 

His words only cause you to huff in response. 

“In all seriousness, you deserve to let yourself open up to someone.” He says with a sincerity unlike the teasing tone of before. 

“What if he doesn’t like what he finds?” a vulnerability so unlike you seeps into your words. 

Clark pulls you into a bear hug, “But what if he does?” 

You don’t answer his words, choosing instead to let out another grunt of frustration, head falling onto his shoulders. “Since when did Lex come to Pittsburgh? Let alone the hospital I work at!? My god I am sick of that man” 

“I’ll have one of the others, check it out and see if he’s doing anything he shouldn’t. Don’t worry about him.” His words convey the silent message that by the others he meant one of the league members. 

“For now, you need to switch off and we need to get a move on, I promised Ma we’d be home for at least dessert. And it is now just after 8 pm.”

Ahead of you, your nephew was snooping in on your private conversation. And Clark was grinning ear to ear from what he heard. 

“And what are they saying now, Kent?” 

“Dami, if you want me to help you, you’ll need to call me Jon.” Jon says with a lightly pointed look.

Damian lets out a little huff in exasperation, “what are they saying now, Jon…” 

“Now was that so hard?” Damian only rolls his eyes at his words, before letting Jon continue, “my dad’s asking about that doctor she works with”

“Which doctor? The old grumpy one?”

“No, not that one. You know, the one with the brown hair and beard. The one who couldn’t stop looking at Auntie N/N” Jon says as if it were obvious.

“And? What of it?” 

“Well it seems like Auntie N/N likes him. At least that's what my dad and mom say,” 

Damian’s eyes widen and he stops in his place, turning quickly to Jon grasping his shoulders, shaking him as if he were a criminal needing to confess his crimes. “You mean to tell me that Ammto is interested in that Doctor!? The one with the permanently sad eyes! That’s who she picked?” 

“Dami, shhh” Jon tries to calm his friend. 

“Do not silence me Jon! Don’t you know what this means?” 

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” Jon says a little sarcastically. Used to his friend’s dramatics, though Damian often denied any such thing.

“It means, Ammto won’t come back to Gotham if she stays with him” 

“And that would be a bad thing?” 

“Yes!”

“I don’t know Dami, Auntie N/N seemed very happy there. I don’t think it’d be fair to take her back to Gotham when she’s liking it here,” Jon says wisely even if it falls upon deaf ears.

“Tt, But she could be happy in Gotham, at the Manor” Damian adds. 

But all Jon can think of is the memory of you coming to his parent’s home in Metropolis almost 6 years ago now…He remembered playing with you and trying to make you smile. He remembered the bruising around your nose, and the scrapes across your knuckles. 

How even when you had looked like you were crying all evening, you tried your best to smile and keep it light around him. 

He remembers how his parents sat him down later to talk with Jon about how you would be spending some time with them.

How long they didn’t specify. 

But he remembered how you were sad when you first moved in. 

And how since then you’ve seemed to become happier.

Lighter. 

While you might not be his actual Auntie, you felt as real as one. So he was always wanting you to be happy. 

“Dami, I know you weren’t around back when she left Gotham, but I say this to you because I care about you and Auntie N/N. I think this is good for her,” Jon says with a slight seriousness to his tone, “She deserves to have this.” 

Damian simply frowns a little deeper, before exhaling in agreement. “I suppose I do want Ammto to be happy…” 

“That’s the spirit. Now we’re going to have a great time at the farm,” Jon pats his back in support. 

Damian’s eyes glance back towards you, your face relaxed and stance carefree. 

He seemed to realise, much to his annoyance that Jon did have a point. 

You did seem much lighter here. 

In all the times Damian had spent with you back in Gotham whenever you would visit, while you were relatively happy there. 

Happy to see them all and spend time with them.

Behind your eyes there was always a little shadow as if haunted by your surroundings. 

A heavy weight laid upon your shoulders. Of days he wasn’t there to witness. 

But at times he would see Barbara place a gentle hand on your back whenever your eyes seemed to cloud over. 

He'd notice how Richard would check in with you regularly, smile wide while his eyes searched yours for anything worrying.

Or he’d see Pennyworth offer you chamomile tea in the dead of the night when you should’ve been sleeping.

He would notice how whenever you saw Todd you would hug him just a little tighter than you would the others.

As if afraid he wasn’t really there…

Perhaps that doctor might be good for you….even if he didn’t exactly measure up to Damian’s standards. 

I mean who wears a zip up hoodie in an ER?? How unprofessional….he mentally scoffed. 

Shaking his thoughts away as a hand is placed upon his head, you ruffle his hair. “Heya, Dami. You excited for our trip?” 

He reaches up to rearrange his hair while swatting your hand away, you simply laugh and pull him into a side hug. 

Affectionate and warm. 

That was how you’ve always been with him. 

Well that’s how you’d always been since after you disarmed him and his katana the first time you’d met…

It was safe to say that Damian was impressed by you after that meeting. 

His mother did always say that you were the more formidable of the Wayne siblings.  

It was alarming at how quick you had broken through to the former child assassin.

But he was grateful nonetheless. 

He might never say this aloud. But you helped provide him a sense of normality that the manor lacked, that his life in Gotham lacked. 

So tentatively, just barely, he let his arm slip around your back and hug you back. A nod of his head in agreement. 

“Indeed. It’ll be nice to see Kent’s cattle once again.” 

“Yes. I remember how much you liked that one cow, Darcy wasn’t it?”

“It was Delilah. And yes, she was a good natured cow.” 

You grin at his words, while Clark adds, having now hoisted Jon up on his back, “Well I’m sure Delilah will be glad to see you again too Damian” 

“And I’m glad I get to spend a few days away with you all” you say, “now let’s get moving. I do not want to be late for Ma’ Kent’s apple pie” 

And you did enjoy your much needed break. 

It was always nice at the Kent farm. A home away from home. 

You spent many hours with Lois talking about your work, and a particular attending that kept popping up in your thoughts. 

Trying to avoid talking about it whenever Damian was nearby.

Though you knew that was futile considering his best friend had super hearing…

It was always nice seeing Damian have the chance to be just an average kid, even if his best friend was superboy. 

Watching him care for the animals with a tenderness unlike his usual tendencies.

Being able to enjoy Martha’s wonderful cooking was always an added bonus. As well as working alongside Jonathon helping him on the farm with Clark. 

The early mornings felt more of a relief out in the countryside, rather than the dreaded alarms associated with your work.  

Your time away was made even better when you learnt upon returning to work that Luthor’s donation was denied. 

Instead another anonymous donation was made, five times the value of Luthor’s along with an ongoing fund every month with the condition being that Luthor’s money would never be accepted. 

You had a feeling that Clark may have mentioned it to your brother. 

But you wouldn’t know for sure. 

With a pep in your step, you were ready to get back into work.

It was just a shame that everyone at work had decided to make your love life the topic of conversation…

Princess would wink at you, and with a teasing smile would say, “how was your time with your hunk of a man? when are you going to him back around?”

Which would be followed by your face burning up in embarrassment as you would be drawing blood by a patient, with a scold, “Princess, he’s not my man,” with a roll of your eyes you’d add, “I was at his wedding, I even gave a speech” 

“Mhm” she hummed in response, sending a glance to Perlah, “so you mean to tell us that you, Dr Austen, the incredibly gorgeous and smart doctor that you are, is single?” 

“Yes” you said with an exasperated sigh.

Eyes locked with Langdon’s to try to get him to help you, he only threw his hands up in feign innocence. 

“I find that hard to believe,” Perlah added. 

“Same here, Austen, are you definitely sure you’re not dating anyone? Maybe a secret family?” Langdon only adds fuel to the flame.  

Only making you rub your eyes in disbelief of your coworkers. 

It was as though there was nothing you could say to stop those in the ER from thinking you had an elaborate love life. 

It also didn’t help that another course of ER gossip was your apparent relations with Lex Luthor…

“So what’s the deal with you and that Luthor guy? You seemed pretty pissed, is he an ex of yours?” Santos had said aloud randomly, causing you and Javadi to stop what you were doing. 

You regain your composure and continue what you were doing as you say, “he’s just a rich asshole.” 

“Yeah but it seemed like that rich asshole had a personal issue with you” Santos teases with a shit eating grin. 

You couldn’t have it in you to be angry at her teasing remarks, instead feeling a little reminiscent as her attitude reminds you of the jokes often thrown around the manor as Tim would wryly retort back at Damian, or when Jason would poke fun at Dick. 

“It’s safe to assume that Lex and I don’t have a good relationship.” 

“Is it because you broke up?” Mel had added passing the conversation. 

“No, nothing like that. He is just a horrible person and has been ever since I’ve known him” 

“Oh, then why is everyone in the ER saying that you dated him?” Mel asks innocently, 

“They’re what?” pinching the bridge of your nose you mutter, “I go away for four days…”

“It’s ok, I’m sure it’ll stop soon,” Javadi tries to comfort you with an apprehensive pat on your shoulder. “Yeah, definitely” Mel adds with a nod of her head. 

“Thanks, you two,” you say with a smile.

“Yeah, it’ll totally blow over. It’s not like there’s a bet going on or anything about it,” Santos waves off with a touch of sarcasm. 

You nudge her arm, “you’ve got to be kidding, Robby’s going to have it, if he finds out there’s another bet going around”    

“Yes, of course you’re worried about Robby,” she replies with an exaggerated nod of her head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh nothing” she says before ducking away with a cheshire grin and a small wave. 

Your brows furrow, before sending a questioning look to Mel and Javadi who avert their gaze. 

It wouldn’t be until a few weeks later that you would learn about an ongoing bet. 

Regarding you and a certain attending’s feelings….

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed chapter 7, thought it would be funny to watch Damian interact with some of The Pitt staff (I also love the idea of him being interested in becoming a doctor) as well as the classic sunshine demeanour of Jon vs Damian's grumpy disposition (*Ammto in arabic refers to paternal auntie), let me know what you think or if you'd like to be tagged. Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 The next chapter is going to explore a bit of a rough day for you as Robby helps you through it 👀 Read Chap.8: When the Days Just Feel that Bit Heavier Feel free to find the Rinse & Repeat Series Masterlist here Or check out my overall Masterlist here

you tried on a spare Robin costume, and sobbed when you seen your self in the mirror. Your brothers features taunting you.

It took time for you to adjust, Bruce had trained you along side jason so that wasn't and issue.

Filled with determination you refused to let Jason's legacy die. So you began to work as Robin at night along side Bruce.

Your relationship with Bruce didn't magically become better but you could at least work together.

When the time came to meet the justice league you had to hype your self up repeating to your self that Robin was joyous, Robin was whimsical, Robin was a wonder to behold.

You made sure to put on your best Robin impression and wow the league.

Arriving in front of them was alot. They were much more imposing than what you had imagined.

You nervously introduced your self as the new Robin. The league deemed to soften when thy noticed you.

They introduced them selfs one by one, after shaking everyone's hand you were left in the care of super man and wonder woman.

Both were kind and help calm your nerves by telling silly story's about different members to you.

After a while wonder woman got called out leaving you with superman who was vary nice to talk to.

When Bruce returned he took you back to the cave and went off to the computer.

Meanwhile superman went home and was ecstatic to tell Lois about the most amazing kid he had met.

He ended up gushing for an hour to her about you, when he was done talking she became excited to met you so the two began to plot little ways to see the new birdy.

It started with becoming more insistent on Bruce coming over for dinner and bring along you and dick though you always seem to be the focus.

They were so happy when Bruce brought you to metropolis were you got to meet Jon he was only little as the time but the two of you bonded quickly, Jon had even given you a nickname.

Clark and Lois couldn't help but wisper about wanting to just take you in and give you and Jon everything in the world. I mean look how much Jon likes you you'd be the perfect older sibling for him!

Than it all came to ruin. you stoped showing up at the watch tower. when Bruce showed up to diner there was a lack of a you shape being beside him.

Than one day Bruce showed up with a new Robin. This one witty and adorned with Tek.

Clark couldn't help be pull Bruce aside to ask about where you were, he knows that jason was killed. Did you suffer the same fate and he some how missed it?

Bruce sighed and explained that on patrol you and him would frequently argue and fight on how to do things. So you both agreed it would be best that you go your separate ways you had chosen a new name to go by and he had gone a while without a Robin again until tim showed up.

Clark was beyond surprised you were so perfect how could Bruce not see that?

Clark began to keep and ear out for you just to be sure you were safe lord know what could happen to you. A young vigilante should never be on there own especially not in gotham.

He began to over hear your home life how sad you were on a day to day basis how you never spoke to dick or tim about your feelings of being an outsider in their lives.

He ranted to Lois frequently and they were in agreements that you deserved a better home with parents who would love you and a brother who treats you like you matter. Because to them you do more than anyone else.

Clark had began to pressure Bruce in to haveing diner at the manor instead of metropolis. When Bruce finally agreed the Kent's were overjoyed to see you again they had even roped Kara in to coming with them.

Kara assumed she would like you from the story's Clark and Lois had told her but getting there and see you greet them with a shy smile at the door was beyond what she had been picturing.

Throughout the diner they all directed questions at you a subtly as they could. When school was brought up Bruce shot you a disapproving glare as you explained that you had been getting in to some trouble. The Kent's had a silent agreement you environment was the problem.

Jon had demanded to sit beside you and was cooing at you practically feeding him diner, was he majorly overplaying his age but having you fawn over him was worth every second (at 8 you would expect him to be more independent). Lois resist the overbearing urge to take a pic. Tim was excited and was talking a majority of the diner the Kent's like him and nodded along to what he said but made small glances towards you and jon.

When it was time to leave you could help but be a little emotional when they each hugged you a little too long and sincerely said they missed you and wanted you to visit.

Kara non stop gushed about you on the way home, Clark and Lois grinned knowing they had dragged her in to loving you too.

You had began visiting them regularly and began to open up to them the closer you got and they ate up everything you had to say. You hadn't felt so heard since you lost jason.

A few years of this routine passed your behavioral issue got worse the more you fought with your family, and more often than not you could be found at the Kent's house. When conner came in to the family he was mentally around your age and bonded with you quickly, the only friction coming from him was from argueing to tim that he should spend more time with you.

The rope that held you to the Wayne family snapped when Damian came in to the picture. He was a little older than jon but not by much be the two were polar opposites.

You tried treating how you would jon and that interaction ended in you with a knife in you side and Bruce breaking up the battle.

You found out later he did the same to tim and for once the two on you worked together to avoid the the preteen ball of issues.

You told the Kent's what had occurred and they were adamantly on your side. When it was time for you to go home they decided to lock in their plan of taking you in. Offering for you to stay the night so you wouldn't have to deal with your family, it didn't take much to convince you. You stayed in conner room he gave you the bed insisting that the kryptonain genes made the floor much more comfortable for him than it would be for you.

Sleepovers become regular and increasing in frequency by the minute. They had even gotten conner a double bed so when you were over the two of you could share. (They later increased it to a queen because jon kept wanting to stay up with you guys, clark and lois have a photo albumon there pgone dedicatedto pictures of the three of you asleep together.) You trouble at school decreased significantly, the Kent's couldn't help but be proud.

One day when you had a big fight with Bruce you had gone to the Kent's like normal, and ended up staying the whole weekend. When Monday rolled around you began to pack your thing to go back to the manor before you could conner posed the question. why go back?

You argued that you still have to go to school, but he was quick to counter that he could just fly you to the school. The more you thought about it the more you wanted to say yes, dick moved out when he was 17 to go off on his own you should be able to go to.

So you stoped by the manor and quietly pack your things. By Wednesday you had completely moved out and were sharing a room with conner.

You met more of your family you didn't even know about and actually became friends with them the two in question being cassandra and duke.

Over time even your patrols in gotham as a vigilante became less and less in stead you chose to patrol metropolis. Duke and cassandra protested but ultimately had no say.

Almost a year passed and you and conner were going to graduate, you thought long and hard about who to invite you settled on the Kent's plus cassandra and duke. You figured that the rest of the family would be busy with tim graduating at the same time.

When the graduation actually happened you were surprised by duke and cassandra showing up with alfred, Bruce, Damian and dick, before it hit you like a brick that you and tim attend the same school. They could just be there for both of you and not pick one over the other.

Bruce hid his judgemental stares at the Kent's as he wonder what they were doing at his kids graduation. But apart of him couldn't focus on that to busy mulling over the new crime lord that had showed up in gotham going by the name red hood.

About two weeks passed in to the summer before you got a call from an unknown number. You pick up expecting a prank call or a scam line to answer instead your stomach dropped at the sound of and older but disturbingly familiar voice.

Jason said you name and you responded with anger accusing and berating the person for there cheap tricks demanding to know who they are. In return there was a moment of silence before jason explained in detail a story from childhood only he would know. You were stunned. What do you say? Instead you sobbed for the first time since you lost him.

When you pulled your self together questions rolled off your tongue, how long had he been alive? Hoe did he come back? Is he ok? Where is he?

He answered everything with patience before turning it back on you are you ok? When did you leave gotham? What drove you out? Where are you? You answered ernestly, spoke about not clicking with the family and how the Kent's took you in how Bruce has yet to acknowledge that you stoped living with them over a year ago.

Jason went quiet for a long time before asking with suppressed anger if you were happy there. You thought for a long time before answering that you were. You asked for his current location and your phone buzzed with a address poping up. You told him to give you five minutes hangup before he could answer.

Five minutes later Bruce sat at the batcomputer stareing at the screen. He had gotten an alert the superboy had enters gotham air space witch wouldn't be unusual if he was going to see tim. What was unusual was he stop at a random building seemingly carrying you? Bruce got futage straight from the building next door only to be shocked at what he seen. Red hood and you hugging while superboy stood back with a smile? What could possibly be the explanation for this. Who was red hood? How on earth did he know you? And well enough to hug you? How? You had always been the rowdy hard on the head one never really a hugger if his impression was correct.(translation Bruce never really hugged you and is copeing.)

You let go of the hug than punched jason in the arm for not telling you the moment he came back. He apologised amusement playing in his tone both of you over the moon to be reunited. You told him about the Kent's and how much you loved them and he told you about the al ghouls and how they trained him. You had some hangups abou them but were ultimately grateful that jason was back.

The reunion was cut short by the aperence of red Robin showing up clearly confused and trying to put peaces together without haveing the proper context to what was happening. He was alerted by batman and told to approach cautiously but made him self know when he seen conner was there.

Conner tried to shoo him off saying that he was blowing the reunion between family. Tim was confused and asked him to elaborate. Conner gestured to you and jason say again that he was ruining a nice reunion. Tim's mind spiralled. You. Family.with red hood. The crime lord that had been terrorizing Bruce, dick and him for weeks. What the fuck was going on.

Tim stood dumbfounded not really knowing what to say. He didn't have to figure out because batman arm went infront of him protectively. Bruce demanded to know what was going on.

Jason arm went infront of you blocking you off from Bruce. Witch almost caused a blood vessel to pop in Bruce's for head. Had you been working with a crime lord? Is that why you had been avoiding him recently? How could you? How dare red hood corrupt one of his kids!

Jason was pissed but sighed mumbling about how he spent so much time on a plan for nothing before his hands went up to the side of his helmet tim, Bruce and you all braced for different reasons. Tim worried it was some kind of trick, Bruce worried about an attack and you worried about seeing how much your brother had aged since you last saw him.

When the helmet hit the ground Bruce's and Tim's jaws dropped. Tim had only seen pictures bit no doubt recognized who he was. Bruce was going thought 15 stages of shock and grief all at once. Jason impatiently stared waiting for a response. Tim wanted to speak but had no words. Conner stood feeling akward about being there mentally looking at you to see whem you were going to leave. Bruce began to form thoughts again and started to ask how and how long Jason had been back. Why was he a crime lord? What had happened to him for all those years?

Jason and Bruce began to fight and argue eventually devolving from words to punchs. While conner, Tim and you watched not really knowing if you should intervene or say something.

Bruce began to just let jason hit him and vent his anger and yell all the things he wanted to say to Bruce. After awhile jason got off of Bruce not before spiting on his chest. Jason walked toward you as Bruce got up before jason got to you. Bruce told him to stay away from you that he would let him take you and turn you in to a criminal as well.

Jason retorted that you didn't even live in gotham and what you chose to do was never his business. Bruce argued that you be his child and being a former Robin makes it his business. Jason went deathly still asking him to repeat what he had said, when Bruce was done everything was unnervingly still. Jason looked at you and asked when you were Robin, you sheepishly replied that it was a fee months after he had passed and that you wanted to preserve his legacy and feel closer to him.

Jason turned to Bruce in a solid fury but chillingly calm tone, asking him if that was true. Bruce confirmed seeming ashamed of it. Again Jason's fist connected with Bruce's face, this time he screamed about Bruce useing a child's grief to fuel his never-ending mission of bettering gotham, relentlessly repeating the age you started how that was younger than any other Robin had be when they first dawned the suit.

You weren't a fan of Bruce but you still felt the need to defend him on this one, you jumped in grabbing Jason's arm and explained how it was yours and Alfred's idea for you to be Robin. That seemed to calm Jadon down but he still smacked Bruce one last time before backing off.

Bruce brushed the beating off standing strong, him and jason starting at each other for a long time thoughts rattling around both of there heads. Bruce turned to you breaking the tension some what.

When did you leave gotham? The question was a little difficult for you to answer, you said when you officially started to live with the Kent's was about a year ago but you were staying with them regularly before that. Bruce's face dropped, Kent's? You were staying with the Kent's? How had superman not mentioned that to him? How had he not noticed? that had to have been why superboy was with you. Is this why they hadn't had diner with the Kent's in awhile?

You and Bruce and your turned of starting at each other before tim coughed and spoke up. Oracle and contacted him about poison lvy and Harley breaking out of arkam. Tim was fidgeting wait for Bruce to say something. Jason scoffed telling Bruce to go deal with his pet projects. Conner took the opportunity to lean in to yoh and ask if he still supposed to be there, you respond that you leave together soon.

Bruce points to you and jason saying to stay put an that the conversation isn't over. Bruce and tim grapple away leaving you, jason and conner on the roof. Jason turns to you but your faster to talk.

"Do you want to meet jon?" You asked with a smile.

"Jon?" Jason raised an amused eyebrow.

"The youngest kent." Conned tossed in.

"Pfft. Sure anything but waiting for Bruce to come back." Jason smiled.

___________________________

Bruce and jason fighting: 🤬

Reader and tim stareing at each other:😐

Conner stareing at reader to see when they can go home: 👀🧍

________________________

I genuinely entered a flow stat of cringe for this one I wrote this in 2 hours with no revisions so be nice

Also should I make conner a romantic interest or a platonic brother figure? I can see it going different ways from here

A fling with two high powered women in one year led to one child set to inherit an assassin's guild and another a child of a beautiful thief who steals valuables and hearts.

But to Selina Kyle you were worth far more than anything Bruce could ever give her. Something to call her own, a gem unlike any other. She saw it in your kind eyes and the happy giggles you bore her way.

But sometimes when you're someone known in the underworld, things can be unexpectedly taken from you.

You dont remember it well, one day your mother was kissing you goodnight and the next you're found in a closet locked away and your home a mess of broken items and blood trailing out the door with no body to be found.

The neighbors were the first to hear your cries and pleads and the bangs of your tiny fists against the closet walls. The police would come to hear your sobs and lift you up to soothe you.

But the next group of people you'd encounter would not be as kind.

A man who only existed as a name on your birth certificate would take you into a large and dreary manor on the outskirts of Gotham city in a rich district where you could see the duality of poor and rich.

He would take you in and stare at your features which reminded him so much of your mother. But he couldn't feel much affection for you, handing you off to the trusted butler.

And while he smiled and gave you the affection a child would need, he also had many others to take care of, his priority always shifting. An untrustworthy affection worth as much effort as one puts in. Something that could awayout of your grasp the moment a new wind came.

And the beloved siblings that lived within the walls, too busy fighting and dying and facing their own problems to even consider that they had one more family member to pay attention to, far too busy laughing at events and forming closer bonds with each other than to entertain a traumatized child that looks reminiscent of their younger selves, doe eyed and soft smiles, too innocent for their harsh past, too soft to ever have feelings that hold a candle to their own.

As years went, you understood that you had no place in the manor you call your home. Your tears never meant more than their own worries, your feelings long forgotten in their own storm of emotions.

You learned to carve your sorrow and feelings into your skin, always feeling as though it was your fault, that everything you felt was a result of you not being good enough, that you deserved it.

That's what you also told yourself when you stood at the edge of a building, broken sobs leaving your lips.

Despite those dark times the surprising thing that would prevent you from hurting yourself was a tight space.

From bathtubs to small corners of your room you would hide away under a blanket and cry, waiting for those horrid feelings and thoughts to pass from your head. And when you found yourself crawling to the floor of your closet you finally felt relief.

A small nest of pillows and blankets hidden away in your closet would prove to be your saving grace as the years till freedom ticked away, each tick moving you from depression to a hope to leave, to form a life anew. Ironic that the closet would bring you to the manor but help you survive the manor.

And when you finally did leave? No one noticed. Like missed birthdays and life events, like missed affections and time for other things, to them it all went unnoticed, their own matters more important than that of a child they never bothered to know. Of a child they can't get back.

You moved to another city, one where are familiar hero is friends with an alien that defends from otherworldly beings. You knew of secret identities and hidden lives, of bruises and late night activities. How could you not? It just reminded you that they made time for everyone but you despite their packed schedules and broken promises of another day.

Metropolis was unlike Gotham, there's no constant danger and dark alleyways where each minute is a minute closer to death.

It's peaceful save for the occasional bank robberies and strong otherworldly beings thrown around by a journalist in high-tech spandex.

And you enrolled in university, a degree of education waiting for you like a golden ticket. A parttime job with kind coworkers and a place of town where Superman rarely fights.

And then you meet a man. A familiar one at that, one that holds a close friendship with an elderbrother who sits behind the scenes and helps his siblings fight evil.

The moment he approached you could feel you heartbeat quicken and your throat get tight. You couldn't hear a single word that was spoken from the familiar boys' mouth before in a panick words were uttered like a plea, "Don't tell them!".

And suddenly all those years spent as a painting on the wall came rushing out, tears and sobs tumbling out of you're mouth along with revelations of trauma and neglect. Soft pleads whispered with hands folded in prayer to a man made of human and kyrptonian.

When coming to you found yourself wrapped into a tight embrace and promises that youd never be exposed.

It led to a friendship between two slightly broken people.

Talks of feelings exchanged between you two long inti the night, days spent enjoying classes and texts exchanged of jokes and uplifting comments.

Kon Kent was the first to notice you and the first to fall head over hells for you.

You completed him in a way he never thought possible. Your kindness and positivity, your assurances when he felt doubt. You gave him not only comfort but trusted him with your feelings and secrets.

The first time he bore witness to a slightly open closet and light sobs leaving the enclosed space he felt his heart break. You told him of the comfort it brings and the solace you feel when tight and comfortable places.

And Kon never once judged, soft whispered of reassurance and a gentle kiss to confirm what both of you felt for the other.

When Kon knew he couldn't separate from you, he made a visit to a certain Kryptonian which bore half his blood.

Upon exposing Bruce, the dark knight that Clark so adored as a close friend, Clark couldn't believe it at first. But as more details spilled out of the boys mouth he couldn't help but accept it.

And when Clark asked Kon what the intention was of telling such personal things only one request left his mouth, "Don't tell Bruce.".

With secret exchanges come many changes. Holidays now spent with an energetic Kent family, texts on birthdays and gifts sent to a shared apartment of yours and Kons.

A closer relationship with the Kent family meant that Clark and Kon butt heads more often, a lingering sense of anger from never being positively acknowledged by the man who shares half his blood. Conversations of reassurance and nudges by you to an uncertain Superman who didn't know what to say to the boy who resembled him.

Things got better in time, more events and dinners spent with the happy family, Lois's handmade gifts and going on playdates with an excited Jon, a sibling like relationship you always wanted but could never obtain.

Three years would pass since your freedom and the love you missed you were now surrounded by.

Who knew that one single picture of you kissing your precious lover would make it into the hands of people you would have called a family if you were still doe-eyed and innocent.