#unfair

✿⁠ ⸺ Chapters Guide! ; Prologue ; Chapter I, Prt 1 ; Chapter I, Prt 2 ; Chapter I, Prt 3 ; Chapter II ; Chapter III ; Chapter IV, Prt 1.

✿⁠ ⸺ Previous ; Next!

⸺ WARNINGS ⦂ Fem Reader ; Use of Y/N ; Suicidal themes ; Use of Weapons ; Platonic Yandere ; English is not my first language ; Delulu thoughts ; Depression (? ; Lots of melancholy ; Mentions of bullying and sexual harassment ; Violence ; If I forget anything please let me know D:

✿⁠ ⸺ MDNI !! I'm serious.

✿⁠ ⸺ Words Count ⦂ 11.658

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ This chapter was mainly translated by Google Translate, so if something doesn’t make sense, you know who to blame.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Belated Happy Halloween! Nothing scarier than one of my updates, huh? I really hope I did justice to the moment you were all waiting for!

Gotham City, 02:31 AM – 06/06/10

Alfred had no strength left to cry. Every tear had already been shed; all that remained was to cover the body of one of his sons after performing the autopsy.

Steph was upstairs, in the manor, but her cries were so loud they echoed through the Batcave. It broke Alfred’s heart.

He saw it. He saw everything through the cameras in Batman’s suit.

Oh, his little girl…

When Bruce—Batman—returned, Alfred confronted him. Of course, he understood his loss; he had raised Tim as much as Bruce had. But to abandon his daughter…

Alfred took pride in his ability to recognize, accept, and manage his emotions before making any decision.

But if he was honest, guilt was eating him alive as he wrote Tim’s autopsy report. He felt guilty even for considering putting his daughter in a foster home—but above all, he felt guilty toward Tim; because if he was being realistic, he could never abandon his daughter. It didn’t matter what she had done—or not done—she was his daughter. He had raised and loved Julia Y/N as much as any man possibly could, and even more.

She was his daughter. His. Not Bruce’s, and certainly not Ivy’s—his. He had been the one to care for her when she arrived at the manor with a broken leg and a shattered heart. He was the one who guided her to a proper bed when she’d mistakenly fallen asleep in the broom closet her first night, thinking that was her place. He tucked her in and slept beside her the first few weeks when nightmares tormented her, always greeting her with warm milk, cookies, and a book he had already set aside.

He hadn’t taken long to love her, and though he’d never admit it aloud—she was his favorite. She was—no, is—his daughter. Only his.

Even he was afraid of the person he became around her. Immoral, unthinkable things he’d never thought himself capable of doing, just to satisfy his selfish need to keep her close.

It wasn’t something he was proud of, but neither was it something he felt ashamed of… Perhaps what he felt was pity. Pity for the poor girl who was constantly rejected and excluded—because of him.

But what else could he do? She longed desperately for a family, and once they realized how extraordinary she was, Alfred had no doubt they would act just as selfishly as he had. It was inevitable, he thought—only a matter of time before someone truly saw her and a chain reaction began.

He couldn’t stop it—but he could delay it.

Alfred returned to the surface when he heard the faint thud of Talia’s heels descending the stairs.

Among all the unexpected events of the night, Talia’s presence might have been one of the most surprising—especially now.

Alfred hadn’t missed her sudden assistance in the battle. Why she was in Gotham tonight remained a mystery, but personally, Alfred took it as a bad omen.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as the guest approached, not alone but accompanied by someone unknown to the family.

“Alfred,” Talia greeted.

“May I help you with something, Miss al Ghul? I believe you’ll notice that neither Master Bruce nor Master Damian are here.”

“Actually, it’s you we came to speak with.”

The plural in her words made his lips tighten.

“I’m afraid this conversation will have to wait. I must go look for my daughter—”

“It’s precisely Y/N we came to speak about.”

The sound of his girl’s name stopped him cold, and he reluctantly yielded to Talia’s request. Aware of his reaction, she continued, “You must already know the girl escaped home to join the fight—”

“Please, be brief,” Alfred interrupted, unusually impatient.

“...” Talia paused, sighing before signaling her subordinate to hand her a long, wrapped object—a weapon, Alfred thought. “We’re sorry for your loss.”

Alfred’s stomach twisted; he had the dreadful feeling they weren’t talking about Tim.

When he took the wrapped object from Talia, he was surprised by how light it was—and when he gripped it, horror froze his blood.

“This is all we could recover of her.”

The air was ripped from his lungs as he unwrapped the arm in his hands—the arm that had belonged to his little girl.

With trembling fingers, he traced the chained bracelet around the wrist.

“Molly gave it to me! It’s so pretty, right?”

No.

“Do you think we could ever be friends again?”

No.

No, no, no.

“This isn’t true,” he whispered. “This can’t be true.”

Talia placed a small device between them. A hologram flickered to life, showing her—his little girl.

She was alone, limping, missing an arm—the same arm he held.

Alfred couldn’t comprehend what was happening—not until he saw the great fire consuming the wreckage of an explosion. Panic struck him as Y/N staggered closer to the blaze. Then, she simply… gave up. She threw herself into the flames.

He couldn’t describe the feeling of watching his little girl—his daughter—being swallowed by fire, her body writhing and twisting in agony.

His voice and heart left him all at once. He couldn’t even form words.

Talia continued, “This footage is from the security camera of the building before it collapsed completely. It’s a miracle we managed to recover it,” she said. “We thought you deserved to know before anyone else. Once again, our condolences.”

Alfred couldn’t recall when Talia and her subordinate had disappeared, nor how long he remained standing in that same position, mind blank.

There was only one thought echoing inside him—

He had to find her.

It had to be a lie. A trick from Talia. Yes—he couldn’t trust that woman.

He had to find her.

Within the walls of the common room, things weren’t looking any better for Dick.

He was trying with all his strength to hold everyone together—to hold Steph together. Luckily, Cass was just as “composed” as he was, helping him with the task by holding Steph and offering her shoulder to cry on, all while suppressing her own sobs for her sister’s sake.

In the middle of all the desolation, Dick couldn’t help but feel proud of his sisters—one for freeing herself from the strings that usually restrained her emotions, and the other for putting her sister’s wellbeing before her own.

Moments like these were what confirmed to Dick that they were, in their own strange way, truly a family. When it mattered most, they dropped every difference and supported one another—they held each other up.

But no matter how fulfilled he felt at that moment…

“Damian, please…”

He’d heard it. He’d heard that plea—to Damian.

Why?

Last he checked, she was enchanted with him, not Damian. Actually, the two of them couldn’t even be in the same room without wanting to kill each other.

What the hell had changed?

Why did she look for Damian’s help, his sympathy, instead of his?

Though Dick had long since broken the habit of biting his nails when nervous—something he used to do as a kid—he still had the reflex of bringing his hand to his lips, fidgeting with them as a remnant of those old habits.

Unable to help himself, he turned his head toward the kitchen—the one right next to her room.

“Mom… Mom… I want my mom…”

Should he go see her?

He glanced back at his siblings, each lost in their own thoughts. He wondered if they’d be angry with him if he said he was going to check on her—especially Steph…

But then it hit him. Alfred wasn’t in the room.

Maybe he was already with her. If that was the case, then now wasn’t the time to interrupt.

It had to be that. Enough time had passed. And unfortunately, Dick knew firsthand how long it took Alfred to perform an autopsy—he must have finished with Tim a while ago by now…

Tim.

If a reporter were to walk through that door right now, knowing the context, they’d surely call them heartless—maybe even imply that Tim’s death hadn’t affected them in the slightest, since the only one who had reacted as expected was Steph.

The rest of them, on the other hand…

Dick preferred to say they were more expectant than sad.

“They’re taking too long, aren’t they?” Terry asked, voicing what everyone was thinking.

Especially considering that crying for Tim might end up being pointless—and that the probability of bringing him back wasn’t just possible, but high.

“They’re taking way too long for just an explanation and condolences,” Jason agreed, glancing discreetly toward Damian, expecting that maybe he could give them some insight based on what he knew about his mother.

Since they’d arrived, B had been locked up in his office, clearly in no mood for company—but Talia had gone in a while ago. A long while ago.

They all knew there was only one thing Talia and Batman could be discussing right now: the Lazarus Pit—and, consequently, Tim.

Dick was sure that no one would object to the offer; they’d all gladly take that chance to bring their brother back. But, as always, the final word was B’s. And right now, creating conflict or dividing the family was the last thing they needed.

So, by an unspoken agreement, they had all silently decided to support whatever decision Batman made.

The sound of the wooden door opening snapped everyone to attention. Even Steph, through her tears, regained enough lucidity to pause and wait for Bruce’s verdict.

“We’ll have Tim back with us in three days. I need the plan drafted immediately—there’s a lot to take care of.”

When they went down to the Batcave, Alfred’s absence didn’t go unnoticed by B, and once again, Dick tried to convince himself that Y/N was being comforted by him.

“Alfred! You around?” Terry called out, scanning the curtains that made up the so-called “medical area,” hoping to catch a glimpse of the old man’s figure.

“He must be with that—” Steph had to stop herself before spitting out all the curses Alfred always scolded her for, reminding her that such language wasn’t proper for a Wayne, even if she was only one at heart.

The tension in the room thickened instantly at the mere mention of the elephant in the room.

No one really knew what would happen to her… especially when B was acting as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t heard her name — as if his daughter, and Ivy’s, hadn’t accidentally killed Tim.

Damian’s stomach tightened as he caught the grim look on his father’s face — a look only he had noticed. Glancing toward his siblings, things weren’t any better there. Brown was the least subtle about it, but the rest weren’t far off.

Their faces ranged from tense grimaces to looks of disgust — even hatred.

How had things come to this?

Even he, for once, had no idea what was going to happen next with Y/N’s future.

“I tried everything to talk more than three words with anyone in the family, but they just act nasty to me for no reason!”

You had tried; he was painfully aware of that. For reasons even he couldn’t fully grasp, the family favored him — while you were treated like an outcast. He’d watched you closely during those first months, remembering how you’d desperately sought the approval of everyone beyond his father. But none of them ever answered your silent cries for attention, except Alfred.

And in some sick, twisted way, that had made him feel good about himself. In this new place — where his lineage made him the “black sheep” by default — he found comfort in knowing he wasn’t the weakest link. Even in his position, he wasn’t the lowest in the manor’s chain. That was you.

When he realized you posed no threat to his standing or his plans, he genuinely considered leaving you alone to focus on more important problems — like Drake or McGinnis.

You were clumsy, awkward, and painfully clingy. Your attempts at bonding were, frankly, excruciating to watch. No wonder everyone in the family avoided you over and over again, he’d thought at the time.

He was better than you at everything — combat, skill, intelligence, even social grace. When he gained the family’s favor, that belief only grew stronger.

There was no reason to worry about you. You were just the weed in the family’s perfect garden — and sooner or later, his father would wisely get rid of you somehow. Knowing him, it would be subtle but effective.

But then came school — and all those beliefs crumbled.

School was uncharted territory… and he failed miserably. That’s when he realized — against all odds — that it was your domain.

He discovered a whole new side of you he’d never imagined. The way you interacted with others, how effortlessly you connected — that was your secret weapon. Damian took note of it.

And then he had to face an unpleasant truth: in that environment, he was completely, utterly outmatched. You were better than him.

Why did everyone seem so drawn to you? What did you have that he didn’t?

He was smarter, more refined, more sophisticated. He was supposed to be the perfect fit in a prestigious academy like this — a place that valued every trait he had painstakingly honed, traits you clearly lacked.

So why was he always alone in class? Why did he often have nowhere to sit at lunch without feeling out of place? And why did people start whispering that, compared to you, he was the creepy one?

They compared him to you — and, worse yet, he kept coming out losing.

It was unacceptable. They were supposed to flock to him for leadership, taste, and charisma. Not to you. Out of everyone in the family, you were the last person who should ever outshine him.

Soon, he found himself in a dilemma.

He had his mother, who loved him in her own harsh way, just like his grandfather did. He had his father’s favor, and he was finally learning what it meant to be protected and guided — not out of weakness, but love. Even though he’d never admit it aloud, he knew he wasn’t an easy person to deal with. Yet his brothers hadn’t turned their backs on him; they tried to include him, understand him, love him — starting with Grayson. And Alfred, despite having to manage the entire household and care for a reckless family, never made Damian feel neglected.

With them, he felt seen. He fought with honor, side by side with his pack — protecting and being protected. He felt whole.

So why didn’t it feel enough?

Why did he still have this need to prove he was better than you — especially here?

Deep down, he knew he wouldn’t feel complete until he reached greatness. That’s how he’d been raised. Excellence was the only acceptable outcome for the heir of Batman and the grandson of the Demon’s Head. Anything less was ordinary — unworthy — disposable.

He didn’t want to be abandoned again, like his mother had left him.

He saw flashes of his past — moments from his brutal training. The terror he’d felt when his mother left him stranded on a mountain to find his way home. The choking panic of nearly drowning, the violence of killing just to survive.

You… you were supposed to understand that. You should have been fighting everyone for a place in the house, fighting his father to acknowledge you, fighting the others to stop pushing you aside. So why the hell were you so gentle with everyone? Why weren’t you terrified of being abandoned like he was?

Was that why everyone preferred you? No… it had to be a trick. A strategy. No one could be so calm under that kind of neglect. You were raised by Ivy — surely, you had some charm, some chemical or psychological weapon that made people lower their guard.

Yes. That was it.

That was the difference between you two. You were made to destroy people. He was made to save them (the good one's, of course).

He couldn’t allow someone like you to surpass him. You were enemies by nature.

Yes, that had to be it.

There was no way someone like you could truly be better person than him. He’d expose you.

…

He couldn’t let his family be fooled and turn against him — not when he’d already given them his heart.

But time only made things worse.

First, you took over the school. Then, you tried to charm away his best friend servant — Jon!

He’d never admit it, but it broke his heart to see his fears come true — to see Jon choose to spend time with you instead of him.

If you wanted to take what he’d built for himself, then fine — two could play that game.

Soon, an email spread through every student and teacher like a virus. A virus he’d created to destroy you.

Within hours, a wave of collective hatred turned against his sister Y/N.

He knew it would happen, but he hadn’t grasped the full weight of it — not until he saw the kids corner you in the hallway, trying to lift your skirt in front of the teachers. And they… they just looked away. Ignored your cries. Pretended not to see your tears.

Why were they letting this happen? Why wasn’t anyone speaking up against something so vile?

Cowards.

Did they think they could get away with something that disgusting? Did being Ivy’s daughter somehow make it okay?

Disgusting.

Why… why did he only realize how wrong he’d been once it was too late?

Pathetic.

He wanted to go there — to stand up for you in the name of his principles, of his sister’s honor — and smash their heads against the wall until the pink mush painted the floor.

But why didn’t he move? Why did he just stand there?

Before you even noticed him, he turned and walked away — to his next class.

What was he doing? He was Robin, damn it. His duty was to act against injustice—

Robin wouldn’t bully a girl. Robin wouldn’t ruin someone’s life out of jealousy. Robin wouldn’t run from the consequences of his actions. Robin doesn’t throw stones — because Robin never throws them in the first place.

So how can you still call yourself Robin?

…

How do you even have the nerve to be in the same space as her?

How are you not ashamed to breathe the same air as her — or as Batman?

How dare you breathe at all?

“We’re not sure it can be fixed.” “He’s a killer, Alfred.”

He had heard them — that first night after it happened — his father and Pennyworth whispering.

Seeing you again only forced him to face a truth he didn’t want to: they were right.

Once a destroyer, always a destroyer.

He knew it had gotten out of hand. He knew. But telling the family would mean being exposed — the monster he really was.

So he stayed silent. And in his cowardice, he ruined every one of Alfred’s attempts to alert his father. There was no need, he told himself. He’d fix it somehow.

𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘔𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥.

As soon as he could get his thoughts straight again…

He’d start planning. Yes — that would distract him.

“I heard her screaming in the bathroom! I swear!”

“Is she dead?”

“No idea… Abby’s been acting super unstable lately.”

He didn’t need to be Batman to guess who they were talking about.

He ran as fast as he could to the girls’ bathroom, praying you weren’t dead — or worse.

And when he saw you —

Hah...

He exhaled the air he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. A knot twisted in his gut and climbed to his throat.

Seeing you there — broken, body and soul, crumpled on the bathroom floor like a discarded doll —

He faced a third, crushing truth:

He hated seeing you hurt. He hated every miserable second of it — your distant stare, your lifelessness. He hated every single person who had laid a hand on you.

And that included himself.

Alfred pulled up right beside the car, driving as fast as he possibly could.

This was his fault. He hadn’t paid enough attention, and then he left…

He’d pushed her too hard, hadn’t given her the love she deserved…

He wasn’t surprised to find police officers and firefighters swarming the area — but now they were just in his way. He needed to search for his little girl freely.

How did he not see the signs?

He started circling around, looking for something — any trace of your presence. When that wasn’t enough, he began to shout your name.

Of course, that drew the attention of the officers—

“My girl, my daughter…” He could barely catch his breath enough to speak. “My daughter was here, I need to find her, I need—”

“Please, sir, calm down,” Commissioner Gordon said, placing a hand on his shoulder. With a quick exchange, he ordered the rest of the officers to check the scene again.

Guiding Alfred toward a nearby patrol car, he added gently, “If there’s a missing child, I’ll need your statement.”

She couldn’t be dead. She would never leave him. She was is the light of his eyes. She couldn’t—

No. No.

She must be hiding—

Yes! That had to be it— Oh, poor thing, she must be so scared after her father Batman yelled at her. She must be curled up somewhere, too guilty to come back…

Oh, he didn’t blame you for anything, sweetheart, he knew it must’ve been an accident; you would never hurt anyone on purpose, you were too good for that…

“Sir!” one of the officers shouted as he ran up to Gordon, holding a few items in his hands. “We found this…” He handed over a small backpack and a stuffed toy, both covered in dirt and ash.

“Alfred, look what Jon gave me! His name’s Dinno.”

Alfred couldn’t form a single coherent word — he just reached out, trembling, to take the toy gently in his hands.

“He can help us cook, right? He’s gonna behave!”

“Issue an Amber Alert immediately,” Montoya ordered firmly.

So this is what dying inside felt like. That tightness in his chest? That unbearable coldness spreading through his body?

“Sir? Sir!”

“Call an ambulance!”

The flight to Nanda Parbat was tense. Steph, Jason, and Cass had joined him. Surprisingly, Damian had refused to come along, and Alfred still hadn’t shown any signs of life.

He must be with her.

Who would’ve thought that just thinking about his daughter a girl would be enough to make Batman uneasy.

He didn’t even want to look at her. She wasn’t just a child anymore — she was a danger, to him and to the family. The proof of that now sat secured at the back of the jet, locked inside a cryogenic chamber until they reached the League of Assassins.

This couldn’t go on. He knew she had to leave. But the moment he even hinted at the idea, Alfred had lost his temper and refused to discuss it any further. He was on her side — always on her side.

But no matter how much wanted it, the choice wasn’t his to make. Bruce couldn’t just get rid of her that easily… if he ever managed to at all.

A call from Commissioner Gordon lit up his phone, but he didn’t hesitate to decline it and switch the device to airplane mode. If it was a true emergency, Barbara would know how to reach him.

Right now, this moment was for his family. For his children.

Turning slightly, he saw Cass and Steph asleep. It comforted him — even warmed him, just a little — to see how they leaned on each other. How all his children had leaned on one another through their grief… while he—

This scene… it was so different from when Jason was gone.

Like a fool, he’d blamed Dick — unfairly, cruelly — and argued with him. It had been thanks to Tim and Alfred that they’d made peace, that he’d finally realized how blind grief had made him. How it had turned him into someone he was ashamed to remember.

Aren’t you doing the same thing now?

He pushed the thought away and instead decided to check on his son. He turned to Jason and immediately noticed the book in his hands — a newer edition of Little Women.

The sight triggered a memory — Jason emerging from the Lazarus Pit, trembling, broken, crying out for his mother—

His mother?

“Mom… Mom…!” you sobbed harder, calling out for your mother, naïvely thinking she’d come to your rescue. “I want my mom…”

…

Maybe he should ask how Jason’s holding up. Going back to Nanda Parbat couldn’t be easy for him — none of this could be easy for any of them.

Why did he only think about these things now? Why only when everything was nearly over did he start wondering how they were really feeling?

He needed to make a mental note to make it up to them. To all of them — to Tim, too.

Maybe they should throw a welcome-home party. Tim coming back was definitely something worth celebrating.

Maybe that way he’d stop thinking about her. Maybe that way, the tension would ease, and the mood would lift…

Once the celebration was over, he’d talk to Alfred about the matter.

The days flew by for Dick and the rest of the family.

A Gotham without Batman was something new for rookie villains, so they couldn’t let them get too confident — keeping them in check was the top priority.

The task turned out to be harder than expected. Without Alfred there to welcome them home with a warm meal, a tidy house, or even a few words reminding them that they could — and should — take a break once in a while…

His absence was starting to worry them. He’d vanished from the manor just like Y/N had, and no matter how many times they tried, none of them managed to reach him.

Babs had a theory — maybe he was with her, setting her up in a new home. She’d briefly overheard his argument with Batman over the comms, so it was the only logical conclusion.

No one pushed the matter further. They focused on keeping Gotham under control until the others returned — which, much to Dick’s relief, would be soon.

In fact, tonight.

Bruce had brought up the idea of a small celebration for the homecoming, and Dick immediately agreed. Together with the rest of the family, they started decorating with balloons, streamers, and whatever else they could find. They ordered takeout — because, let’s be honest, most of them were absolutely terrible at cooking anything that wasn’t pre-made.

Amid all the chaos of keeping Gotham safe, Dick barely noticed how quiet and distant Damian had become. Something was bothering him — he was sure of it.

“Damian…”

Could it be Y/N? Was that what had him so uneasy?

Maybe he should try reaching out to Alfred, invite Y/N too — it would make Tim happy, and surely put Damian’s mind at ease.

He’d talk to Bruce about it later.

To Bruce’s surprise —and growing suspicion—, Talia wasn’t anywhere within the League’s quarters. Ra’s greeted them warmly, explaining that Talia had gone on a training journey with a new League recruit, but assured them that their plans remained unchanged.

He led them to the Lazarus Pit, guarded by more than a handful of Ra’s’ subordinates.

The tension in the room was thick — everyone anxious, everyone silently hoping to bring Tim back to life. That heavy silence shattered the moment Tim’s agonized screams echoed from the Pit.

His voice, raw and broken, filled the chamber. The kind of sound that could make any child cry. The scene was straight out of a horror movie.

Ra’s forbade them from intervening, calmly stating that the reaction was normal — his tissues were regenerating, and the process was excruciating. When Tim finally emerged, confused and desperate to escape, Batman gave the order to restrain him.

Through the shouting, the struggling, the snarls… Ra’s could’ve sworn he saw a faint smile on the Bat’s face.

Two days, seventeen hours, and forty-nine minutes of torment had passed for Alfred. Three of those hours he’d spent in the hospital after fainting — a sudden arrhythmia that could have easily turned into cardiac arrest had he not been treated in time.

But the doctors’, nurses’, and officers’ words barely reached his consciousness. His mind was consumed entirely by one thought — his little girl.

The rest of the time, he’d been at the station, refusing to stray more than a block away in case any new evidence surfaced in what was quickly becoming a hopeless search.

Was this his fault?

What a foolish question — of course it was. He’d let Bruce’s fear and disgust go too far, let them invalidate her existence. He’d let the role of “father figure” get to his head — the selfish need to be the center of her world, just as she was the center of his. He’d let those emotions guide his hands, and by the time he realized it, it was too late.

Every selfish, cruel act the family had shown her — he’d let it all slide. He could’ve done so much more. When it really mattered, he hadn’t been there for her. He’d told himself it was to help her let go of the idea of belonging to them… to push her to accept being just his daughter.

Maybe that’s why she never trusted him enough to open up.

He’d cornered her — left her only one way out.

…

..

.

Was his love not enough...? He’d believed he made it clear through his actions that he would always be there for her…

And yet he’d allowed Bruce to reject her — repeatedly, even over the smallest things. He’d stood by while Dick forgot her name. While Tim’s resentment and suspicion pushed her away. While Barbara forgot she even existed. Terry, too — he’d rejected her simply because he’d rejected Bruce.

Steph, Cass, Jason — each had their own reasons for joining or rejoining the family, but all of them had one thing in common: Batman came first. And somewhere in that, she was discarded — just an ordinary girl in an extraordinary world.

He hadn’t reprimanded a single one of them for it. He’d let their warped idea of who she was spread through the family. He’d allowed them to exclude her from even the simplest family dinners because it was easier than facing the guilt of forgetting she existed — easier to pretend they were happier without her.

He’d let it all happen. And in her eyes, he must have seemed like a weak old man — too spineless to change anything, too useless to fight for her.

He’d naively believed he could be enough. That she wouldn’t have to compete for his attention, that he could give her everything she wanted — everything except a real family.

But those same thoughts had blinded him to reality. He thought she knew. But what good is love if the other person never realizes it — if all they ever see is rejection?

He’d told himself she’d eventually give up, that it would be better for her that way. He’d lied to himself, just to avoid facing the truth — that the one who hurt her the most wasn’t Bruce, or the others… it was him. That he wasn’t just a passive accomplice to their negligence — he was the architect of it.

Her last birthday was proof enough. He’d placed the cards strategically, knowing full well that most of them would ignore them or throw them away without even reading. Some were never delivered at all.

He hadn’t acted out of malice, but out of panic. He was terrified of losing her — but Alfred had forgotten the most important rule of love: Love isn’t selfish.

What use was it to mourn now...? What’s done is done. And the truth was simple — he was one of the main reasons for her death.

He’d killed his daughter.

Maybe he’d done right by Julia after all, by staying away from her…

Detective Montoya turned toward him, checking if he needed anything — as she had several times over the past few days.

“Sir, are you all right? Please, listen to me. You should go home, get some rest… maybe take a shower.”

Alfred looked like death itself. The hollow eyes, the trembling hands — no one in the Batfamily would have recognized him in that state.

He almost considered taking her advice. What was the point of staying? They weren’t going to find her…

He ignored her concern. “Any updates on the case?”

There were. But Montoya couldn’t bring herself to shatter the last bit of hope that poor man was clinging to. To her, he was just a father — grieving, desperate.

How do you tell a parent their child is probably dead?

Evidence pointed toward several charred bodies found among the ruins. Some had been identified — former henchmen of Bane — but many couldn’t even be matched through dental records.

Nearby security cameras showed no sign of the girl. Flyers had been posted across the city, but no one had seen anything. No calls. No sightings. Even searches in neighboring towns turned up empty.

The only proof she’d ever been there was the stuffed toy her father identified — and a few seconds of footage, before the building collapsed, showing a small blurry figure they assumed was her.

She had been there, no doubt about that — but there was no evidence she’d ever gotten out.

Montoya had watched this man go back and forth every day. The only reason the case had progressed at all was because of his persistence, his constant pleading for updates.

They’d done everything they could — and more — especially since all requests for Batman’s involvement had been flat-out ignored.

It made a grim sort of sense. Half the Batfamily had gone dark, apparently “busy with important matters,” as Red Hood had said before cutting communication. Gotham was stable, for now — but clearly stretched thin.

Montoya told herself they’d done their best. She doubted even the Batfamily could’ve made much difference here. Still, that didn’t ease the pain of what she had to say next.

She gathered her courage, faced the man, and delivered the words every parent dreads to hear... “Case classified as unfavorable.”

She explained the situation as gently as she could, sparing no detail but softening every edge.

And yet, what she saw on Alfred Pennyworth’s face wasn’t the outrage or grief she expected.

It was resignation.

The first thing he remembered upon waking up was the “argument” he’d had with her before leaving for the mission.

“YOU’RE EVIL!”

For some reason, that fight had affected him more than he wanted to admit. He knew he’d acted like an idiot this time — not that it was the first time — but this time, he felt he’d really crossed a line. He’d gone from ignoring her like any older brother would ignore an annoying little sibling, to outright destroying something she’d wanted to share with him.

Tim knew that, for some reason he couldn’t explain without sounding like a jerk, he’d been losing his temper more easily lately. He was both aware of it and disturbed by it. He had never thought of himself as a hot-headed person; quite the opposite — he’d always seen himself as the most rational and analytical member of his family. He even had a tendency to overthink things, which had made him socially awkward more than once, but there had never been a trace of anger in that awkwardness...

Anger? Was that what he felt toward Y/N?

Well, sure — at first, he had been angry because of her when they met. Even if it hadn’t been intentional, she’d completely messed up the mission that time... and, of course, he was the one who took the blame afterward. B had already been angry with him for tagging along, and then the mission went south mostly because he hadn’t been able to keep Y/N under control.

It ended so badly they had to retreat in a hurry, letting Ivy escape once again.

As if that weren’t enough, you’d shown up at the mansion with a doll of him — what kind of nonsense was that?!

Ahem.

Anyway — as he was saying, even if he’d struggled a bit with the idea of you joining the family, he eventually managed to accept it, in his own way. But that didn’t mean he wanted to socialize with you. You were a kid, and he wanted to seem more mature, to impress Dick and Bruce somehow. He was supposed to be a vigilante, carrying a huge responsibility — he had to act the part. He didn’t have time to play tag with you. It didn’t look good for him.

And you were so insistent that he lost his temper with you more than once. Sure, it wasn’t very mature of him... but what was he supposed to do if, no matter how many times he pushed you away, you kept coming back, clinging to him like a leech?

Ignoring you soon became his go-to response — the most “acceptable” one. If he ignored you, he couldn’t lose his temper with you, and sooner or later, you’d stop bothering him!

He was pleased when his plan actually worked. You were no longer hovering around him, and he could go on with his life as if you didn’t exist...

He assumed it was a sort of unspoken agreement between the two of you, you know? He wouldn’t interfere in your life, and you wouldn’t interfere in his. He wouldn’t try to be part of your world, and you shouldn’t try to be part of his...

Ignoring you had quickly become one of his habits.

But then you showed up at the worst possible time. He was eavesdropping on a secret conversation between Bane and his buyer — and there you were, barging in to show him something, interrupting everything.

Fine, he could’ve handled it better — much better — than he did. He was almost old enough for college; it wasn’t possible that he couldn’t control himself around Y/N. He had to do something about it.

Maybe apologizing could help, at least a little. Not that he was going to apologize as soon as he got there... The Lazarus Pit could have affected his temper, just like it had with Jason—

NO. No. No more excuses. It would be quick: go in, apologize, get out. He wouldn’t even give her the chance to respond — and that way, he wouldn’t give himself the chance to get mad for no reason, either.

It was simple. It was easy. And above all, it would be fast.

After that, everything would go back to normal.

Alfred walked back to the manor with little to no strength left in him.

He had just returned from the funeral of his little girl… He was coming back to a house that was no longer a home, not without her there.

Alfred couldn’t think of a day in his life that had been more miserable than this one. He remembered losing his parents, realizing too late that he had neglected his daughter Julia while raising another man’s son; he remembered Batman’s disappearance once, Jason’s death, and most recently, Tim’s death… But none of those moments, none of those pains had ever made him want to die caused him such torture.

It had been just the two of you in that cold cemetery. He dug the hole with his own hands, placed what remained of you in that small coffin… When he held your arm, his mind played a cruel trick — superimposing the image of the time he’d held your hand, guiding you to your new room, with the reality that now he was holding only your arm — and nothing more.

Then, one memory after another came flooding back. The first time he read you a story; the first time he tucked you into bed; when he taught you to read; when he comforted you in his arms for the first time, because you had seen your mother move on with her life without you.

He had taught you how to live — but who would now teach him how to live without you?

He quickly lost track of time during the funeral. He only left when it began to pour; if it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have minded spending the night beside his little one…

His little one…

Alfred began to weep freely, knowing his tears would blend in with the rain.

Maybe, after all, he should go see her. She must be cold. Oh, she doesn’t like thunder — she must be terrified out there, so alone...

When he reached the gates of the manor, he realized he was holding Dinno by the hand.

He should go leave it with her… She must be looking for it. And if she doesn’t find it, she might cry.

Cry? Oh, no, no, no. He didn’t want to make her cry again. He had to be there to comfort her — that’s what a father did. He had to… He has to…

“Alfred?!” In the middle of his slow walk back, he heard the young Richard’s voice. While Alfred could barely move an inch every few seconds, Dick reached him in the blink of an eye. “Where have you been? We’ve— I’ve been trying to reach you for a while.”

Alfred didn’t respond.

Dick stayed silent, trying to make sense of it. He looked… worn down. What had happened to him?

Another gust of wind and rain hit their faces.

Whatever it was they had to talk about, it would be better to do it inside, calmly. Everyone inside must be waiting for him— Oh! Tim and Alfred would be so happy to see each other!

With the thought of that magical reunion in mind, he set aside everything else. The talk could wait! What mattered now was that Tim was back.

He took the man by the arm and dragged him inside. Alfred didn’t resist.

A bad feeling settled in Alfred’s stomach when he saw the manor decorated — as if they were having a party.

His breath quickened, and his body tensed in anger. What did this mean?

Dick vanished with a quick, “I’ll get you a towel!”

Alfred walked a bit farther, looking around with new eyes — as if he were an intruder.

They… they hadn’t even realized, had they?

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe they had no idea what had happened to you — that they were celebrating out of ignorance.

They hadn’t noticed your absence in three days?

“Alfred?”

Alfred’s heart stopped for the second time that night. He thought dementia was finally claiming his mind, but when he turned toward the voice, he staggered in place.

“Young Timothy…”

“Surprise…?”

In an instant, Alfred was by Tim’s side, hugging him tightly, confirming that it was really him — not a hallucination born of grief.

“Oh, you’re freezing…”

“How…? How is this possible?” Alfred asked, scanning him from head to toe. “I…" I did the autopsy. How can—?

“The Pit,” Tim explained briefly. “Let’s just say we owe the League a favor now. Actually, we just got back from there, and the guys had already set up this party.”

“Oh, by the way, do you know where Y/N is? I need to talk to her…” Tim scratched his neck, uneasy.

Alfred’s smile vanished instantly. His voice was gone again, and he remembered — he had to go see you. You didn’t like being alone for long.

“Alfred!” Bruce appeared with Dick, followed soon by the rest of the family. “Where have you been?”

“We tried calling you before, but you weren’t answering…” Terry explained before Alfred could jump to conclusions.

“Is Y/N with you…?” Damian asked timidly, trying to ignore his father’s disapproving look. He glanced behind Alfred, expecting to see you there, as usual.

Silence fell for several long seconds.

“You really… really have no idea, do you?” Alfred looked Bruce straight in the eyes. He remembered how the police had tried desperately to reach him for help with the case — to no avail. “Sir, you have no idea where I’ve just come from, do you?”

“Of course not. You haven’t bothered returning the police’s calls.”

“Police? What about the police?”

“You haven’t noticed that my girl — that Y/N — never came home?” His face tightened as he could no longer hold back the tears. His throat constricted, and it took all his strength to speak the next words aloud, to make them real. “Do you want to know where I’ve come from, sir? From her funeral.”

“Funeral?! What are you talking about, Alfred—?”

“I’m telling the truth, Master Damian.”

Bruce didn’t even register Damian’s question. Alfred’s soaked clothes, his dirt-stained hands, that stuffed toy… He wasn’t lying. Alfred would never joke about something like that.

And yet—

It couldn’t be true. It had to be a mistake, a misunderstanding. It just couldn’t be.

He broke away from the conversation and headed for the stairs — her room. Yes, he’d find some clue in her room.

“Where do you think you’re going, Master Bruce?”

“I’m going to Y/N’s room.”

“And what makes you think she’s upstairs?” Bruce froze, following Alfred’s gaze. “Her room is next to the kitchen.”

“On the first floor? The rooms down there are…” Dilapidated. Filthy.

“She was placed there,” Alfred explained, “because when she arrived at the manor, her injuries and broken leg didn’t allow her to climb the stairs. She grew fond of that room, and since then, it became hers — her room… or rather, it was.”

Bruce strode toward the room, entering it for the first time in five years — maybe more. When he tried to turn on the light, the switch worked, but the bulb stayed dark. Frowning, he turned on his phone’s flashlight and continued.

The room… could this even be called a room?

No human being should have lived here. God, he was a billionaire — how had he never thought to fix this?

He’d never even asked if it was necessary.

…

He frowned at the fleeting thought, but as always — whenever it came to her — he forced himself to push it deep down, into the back of his mind.

The room was barely half the size of the others in the manor. The walls were cracked, the old paint peeling. He could see patches where holes had been covered, along the corners and window frames.

He noted the completely flat mattress from overuse — it must have been uncomfortable beyond words. Her little desk wasn’t even a real one, just a tiny wooden table, childish and small. It made sense — when she first arrived, she’d been barely as tall as one of his legs.

He had a fleeting memory of seeing that same table out in the garden sometimes, when she’d played tea party with her toys.

Now it was worn from time and use, the paint fading, splinters showing through.

How could she have lived here without complaining?

Or maybe she had complained — and he’d simply ignored it, as he so often did when it came to her.

He found more things — clothes in drawers under the bed (was that her wardrobe?), toys, sewing supplies, and little else.

The room barely held any life. The only personal touch was a few childish drawings of her and Alfred holding hands, taped crookedly to the wall.

A small smile crossed his face when he saw them.

But he found nothing useful for the investigation.

Only when he stepped out did he realize the chaos that had erupted in the main hall. Voices were raised.

“How could you not tell us, Alfred?! We had the right to know!” Dick shouted.

“Right? To demand your rights, you must first fulfill your duties, Master Richard,” Alfred retorted sharply. “Let me remind you — you were the ones who chose to exclude her from your lives time and again. And now you dare to make demands?!”

Apart from the argument, Barbara was frantically typing on her laptop, Tim leaning beside her. When she saw Bruce, she turned to him at once. “Bruce! The case isn’t closed — she’s just missing. They haven’t found her yet!” she said, her voice full of hope.

And Bruce clung to that hope. Even though deep down he knew Alfred would never claim such a thing, let alone hold a funeral, unless he was absolutely certain.

Against his better judgment, he chose to believe in that fragile hope of finding you alive.

“If she’s only missing, then why the hell did you bury her?” Jason snapped, glaring at Alfred.

Normally, Alfred would have ignored Jason’s insolent tone, but this time, the phrasing hit him like an accusation.

“Because I saw it. I saw her throw herself into the fire with my own eyes — it was a recording recovered by Miss al Ghul, along with the arm that had been cut from my girl. At first, I didn’t believe it — that’s why I didn’t tell the police and started my own investigation with them. But even they began to lose hope, though they avoided saying it outright.”

Bruce stayed silent, and the denial he’d been clinging to turned into fury. Talia had told Alfred — but not him? They had spoken for hours about Tim and the Pit, but she had “forgotten” to mention that?

Dick shot Barbara a look, and she nodded quickly, already reaching for her phone. “I’ll call my dad,” she said, while Tim refused to give up and started combing through city cameras from four days ago.

Public opinion was divided within hours.

“We could go look for her. She has to be out there somewhere,” Cass suggested, refusing to give in.

“We should check with Ivy! Maybe she knows something!” Steph added, turning to Bruce for approval.

“But— what’s the point? Didn’t you hear Alfred? There’s literally a recording of her—”

“You can’t trust the League,” Jason cut Terry off. “No body, no funeral. And that suicide story? I don’t buy it. Those things are premeditated — she never showed signs—”

“Maybe she did show them, and you were too busy taking your frustrations out on her to notice?”

Jason’s temper flared instantly, and he squared up to Terrence.

“What’s your problem?! You think you’re a saint? Far as I know, you didn’t even know her name five minutes ago!”

“And yet, I’m not pretending to understand her! I know I barely spent time with her — not enough to claim ‘oh, she’d never do that,’ like you’re doing! You were all treating her like the plague just last week — how the hell would you even notice if she showed signs of depression when you kept her isolated 24/7?”

“What the hell are we even doing, arguing right now?! You think this helps anything?!” Dick snapped at them.

“What reason would the League even have to lie?” Terry pressed.

“And what do we lose by going out to look for her?” Steph shot back. “It’s better than—”

The argument dragged on, but Damian wasn’t really listening anymore. His mind was elsewhere — tangled in guilt.

He understood why the family refused to believe she was dead, especially not by suicide.

He remembered that time — the pesticide, her silence.

But they didn’t know she had a history… that she’d tried before. Not even Alfred knew.

The signs had been there, and the attempt — but only he knew, and he had chosen to keep it to himself.

When he heard Alfred, the knot in his stomach grew tighter, heavier. His voice faltered, cold sweat slid down his palms and temples. His body felt unbearably heavy — he couldn’t stand to be in his own skin.

They’d find out. They’d find out everything.

What disgust. They told him Y/N was dead, and he was still thinking only about that?!

He could have prevented all this. If only he’d spoken up, if only his selfishness hadn’t won—

She’d still be here. The family wouldn’t be falling apart because of him.

“You can all keep this up if you want, but we all know it’s just to avoid facing the truth.” Alfred, regaining the composure that grief and chaos had stripped from him, straightened his back. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to pack my things. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“What?! Alfred, wait—!” Dick followed him, surely to try and change his mind.

Damian wanted to follow too. He wanted to stop Alfred, to tell him the truth — to beg him not to leave, because it wasn’t the family’s fault, it was his. He’d started the bullying, sabotaged every warning, even hid her previous attempt—

It was his fault. It wasn’t fair for the family to pay for his sins.

But why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he take a single step — just one step toward doing the right thing?

His body began to tremble — from panic, terror, and the unbearable need to let go of this secret once and for all.

Before he could even curse his own cowardice, the room around him began to blur.

In the end, the family split into groups.

One half continued searching through the most remote corners of Gotham, while the other went to interview Pamela Isley — arrested and locked up in Arkham for her crimes as Poison Ivy.

Damian stayed at the manor, asleep after his sudden collapse. Dick too remained behind, but he was managing everything from the Cave, trying to temporarily fill (or so he hoped) the butler’s role.

“We’re in,” BB reported.

“We’ll let you know if she reveals anything useful,” Orphan added. Then, their mics were muted by Oracle.

The long corridors between the cell blocks were as gloomy and endless as ever — though tonight, they seemed to test the vigilantes’ patience even more.

When they arrived, Ivy wasn’t exactly pleased to see them. (Not that she ever had been, but still.)

She sat on the other side of the table, chained and restrained by a collar — a new device inspired by Belle Reve’s system. A recently approved measure designed to keep villains like Ivy completely powerless inside the Asylum.

“I’m guessing you’re not here for gardening advice…” Ivy looked BB up and down. “…Or fashion tips.”

Red Robin was the one who sat across from her. Orphan and BB stood on either side, keeping a close watch on Pamela.

“No. This is more of an interrogation — about your daughter,” he clarified.

“Daughter? What daughter—? Ah. Her.” Ivy clenched her jaw but stayed quiet, waiting for them to continue.

“She’s been missing for days — four, to be exact. We need any information you have about her. People she might know, places she’s been. Anything could help.”

“…”

For several long minutes, Ivy refused to speak.

“I think it’s fair to warn you that the minor’s safety is a much higher priority than your comfort,” RR said, pulling a small device from under the table. “This is the controller for your collar. It delivers electric shocks.”

“We’ve been given authorization to use it if you don’t cooperate. So if I were you, I’d start talking — patience isn’t exactly one of our virtues tonight,” BB added.

“Tt. Let’s get this over with… First of all, don’t call her my daughter. She’s just a miserable little killer — and that’s all she’ll ever be to me.”

The young heroes frowned, several of them biting back things they wanted to say — but for the sake of the mission, they stayed silent.

“To answer your questions: when I was with her, I was her only acquaintance. I never let her go out, let alone socialize. The places she knows are ones you and Batman are already familiar with. I haven’t seen her in years; whatever she’s become now is beyond my knowledge.”

“I honestly don’t know why you even came. I’m the last person who can tell you anything useful.” Pamela crossed her arms. “The only thing I can offer is that if the past few nights have been cold, it’s more practical to assume she’s already dead.”

The door slid open as an alarm went off. The guard announced that visiting time was over.

Disappointed and powerless, they left without protest.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

“Send my condolences to Mr. Wayne!” Ivy shouted as two guards restrained her in the hallway. “If he wanted to get rid of that pest, something more decisive would’ve caused him fewer problems. Too bad for him!”

The corridor echoed with Ivy’s laughter — sharp, mocking, unable to hide her twisted satisfaction with the news.

Orphan took a step toward Ivy, ready to do something even she wasn’t sure of — but her brothers stopped her, reluctantly pulling her back and leaving with the bitter taste of defeat in their mouths.

Damian woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding wildly.

What time is it? Where am I?

Before he could find the answers, the next thought that broke through was Alfred.

Had he left? How long had he been asleep?

In the midst of panic, he forced his body to move and ran toward the old man’s room. Well—forced might be too strong a word, because he couldn’t control the tears streaming down his face.

He banged frantically on the door, praying for an answer.

“Master Damian?”

Alfred barely had time to process the scene before Damian threw himself into his arms.

“I’m sorry! Please, please don’t go… It’s my fault! I killed her—I killed your daughter, please forgive me—”

“They were right… They were right about me, I’m nothing but a murderer. Please don’t be angry at them.”

Word by word, sob by sob, Damian tore apart the web of lies he had built — one that, without realizing it, had become a noose around his sister’s neck.

He told him about the school, the tricks, the pesticide, and their confrontation.

“Pen—Alfred, please.” The butler’s mind went blank as he saw Damian begin to draw a dagger. “Please, I’m begging you—end me.”

Damian had nothing left. He had killed his sister. His family wouldn’t just hate him — they would despise him, banish him, and they’d be right to. He had killed an innocent. The League would hardly take him back… but Damian didn’t want acceptance. He couldn’t face his mother or his grandfather. It took everything in him not to run — not to flee from the inevitable anger of his father and brothers.

His best option was to pay in blood for what had been lost in blood. To preserve a shred of dignity… and perhaps find the eternal rest he didn’t deserve.

Alfred took the dagger with his dominant hand, feeling the edge with his fingertips, as if inspecting it.

But the redemption Damian sought was denied to him — instead, he received only a shallow cut on his hand before Alfred tossed the dagger aside.

“What…? But—but—” Damian stared at the small, meaningless wound on his palm. He pressed his lips together, but couldn’t keep the frustration from spilling out. “Pennyworth, please! Give me a little dignity…! I can’t—I can’t live like this anymore.”

“I know…” Alfred replied softly, brushing a hand over Damian’s head. “And that’s exactly why you deserve nothing else but to live with it.”

Damian looked up, confused — he had never heard him sound so… cold.

Your absence was starting to break him.

“This house, this room… it’s all a reminder of her,” Alfred continued. “This is where my first moments with her began. Did you know that when she had nightmares, her favorite story was The Little Mermaid? When I told it, she loved the idea of discovering another world under the sea.”

Damian looked past Alfred. His eyes landed on a photo hanging on the wall — you, holding a trophy in one hand and a volleyball in the other. Then another image: you, playing tea party, or wearing an apron, a little chef’s hat, and a red scarf around your neck. Above it, a shelf: first filled with drawings, then letters, and at the end, small objects — a pocket watch among them.

It was no surprise why your loss had shaken Alfred so deeply. Your arrival had marked a before and after in his life.

“This house… for a time, it felt like a home to her. Or at least, I’d like to believe it did...” Alfred said, averting his eyes as the faintest trace of a smile faded from his lips. “That’s why I’m not leaving anymore. She opened my eyes, Master Damian. I suppose I owe her that much.”

This room no longer held just memories, nor warmth. It had become the very heart of his grief — a tool that twisted his insides with guilt.

And that’s why he couldn’t escape.

He had to face the consequences of what he had done.

Just like Damian.

Dick watched the video in horror.

…He couldn’t stop himself from contacting the League—Talia, specifically—in a moment of sheer uncertainty.

He must have watched that footage at least a dozen times, trying desperately to find a flaw, something that would make him believe it was fake. But its contents were too convincing—just the right amount of imperfection to make it feel real.

It was real.

He leaned back in the chair, needing a moment to process the truth and to think about how on earth he was going to tell the family.

“Gray—… Dick…?”

He turned, startled to see Damian standing by the elevator, eyes red and wet with tears.

“...Can we talk?”

“Of course— I mean, yeah, sure. Come here…”

Dick was the next to find out. Just like with Alfred, Damian didn’t skip a single detail, no matter how mortifying it was for him to admit.

Dick listened carefully—no interruptions, no big reactions. How was he supposed to react? How was a leader supposed to behave in moments like this…?

He buried his face in his hands, unable to comfort Damian right now.

He quickly contacted everyone, requesting their immediate arrival. He simply said, “I’ve found something conclusive,” and that alone was enough to bring them all running.

Amid the anger and the helplessness, Dick couldn’t help but feel pity watching Damian crumble in place—knowing what awaited him once everyone else arrived.

“You… You…! Murderer! How could you?!”

“B, calm down!”

“Remember—he’s just a kid!”

An enraged Batman tried to lunge at Damian, but Jason and Terry managed to hold him back.

Dick stepped in front of Damian, shielding him, with Cass quickly following his lead. The rest stood frozen, still trying to process what they had just learned.

“I never should’ve taken you in…!”

Damian stood paralyzed where he was, tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted to tell Richard to move—he didn’t deserve to be protected.

“Bruce, you’ve just lost one son—do you really want to lose another?!” Dick tried to reach him, hoping his anger would give way to reason.

“I don’t see a son right now,” Bruce growled, “I see a murderer…”

“Listen to yourself!” Cassandra shot back. “You sound just like Ivy! Is that really who you want to become—knowing how ends up?!”

Bruce looked at Damian again—at the way he trembled, at the tears brimming in his eyes, heavy with guilt and sorrow.

“Mom… Mom…”

Bruce’s fury subsided on the surface, though rage and helplessness still tore through him inside.

“Get him out of here. I don’t want to see him.”

He turned his back. Cass gently took Damian by the arm, guiding him toward the elevator, hoping Bruce would cool down with time.

Damian stopped for a moment and turned toward him.

“I’m sorry, Father. You were right about me… I really am just a killer.”

Cass led him out of the Batcave, and only once the elevator doors closed did she notice—Tim was nowhere to be seen.

For the first time, he was feeling the “side effects” he’d once asked Jason about.

Maybe the whole scene had been the trigger—the exhaustion, the frustration, the helplessness, the stress… The anger toward Ivy, toward Alfred, toward Damian—and, above all, toward himself—had all become one big switch.

He was so angry he didn’t even know where to direct it anymore… and whoever might have ended up taking the hit, it wouldn’t have been fair anyway.

Jason had been right—it was like someone else had taken up residence in his head. Every small action, every sound, even a faint smell would send him into a fury that burned through him. And when it all piled up like that, there was no choice but to explode.

That’s why he left as quickly as he could. He couldn’t stand the yelling and the fighting anymore. And the only place he knew no one would dare to go—for now—was her room.

…

The moment he lay down on the mattress, he realized just how uncomfortable it really was. He could literally feel the wooden boards pressing into his tense back.

He forced his attention elsewhere, trying to ignore the discomfort—trying not to think at all.

He took in the scattered threads and needles, the drawings, the toys, and all the little things that—

Wait. Was that his camera?

Tim shot up like lightning, grabbing the video camera from the shelf and inspecting it closely.

The same scratches, the same model—even the tiny Pokémon sticker he’d put on it years ago was still there.

No doubt about it—this was his camera. But the last time he’d seen it, he’d tossed it aside because the buttons had stopped working, and Bruce had simply bought him a new one.

Had she fixed it? On her own?

He waited for it to power on, and once it did, he lay back on the mattress again and played the oldest file.

One video led to another. And another. And another.

Before he knew it, it was already four in the morning.

Then, a new message appeared in the family group chat:

“Screw you all. I’m not going down alone.”

Attached to it were about twenty-five videos.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Happy Halloween! Did you all have a good one?

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ God, I still can’t believe I officially turned 18 a month ago. I just can’t get used to it—like, do you realize I don’t have to lie about my age online anymore? Just—wow.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Anyway! I really took my time with this chapter—either because I was running low on inspiration, or because I just wanted it to hit emotionally… The next one is definitely better, I promise.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ You’ll probably see a new layout on my blog soon! A little refresh wouldn’t hurt.

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Lastly—some of you already know this, but the taglist is now a lot more limited and currently closed. I’m really sorry, but if I add more people Tumblr might hit me with another “possible spam” strike. 😭 However, you can still follow me to stay updated on everything related to this story!

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ As always, likes, reblogs, and especially comments are super welcome (I love reading what you all think (●'◡'●)❤️).

✿⁠ ⸺ N/A ⦂ Thank you so much for reading this far! Sending you all a big hug and a ton of love (❁´◡`❁) 💕

└───thanks for read!──➤

🅑🅨🅔-🅑🅨🅔

⸺ ⌈📷⌋⨾⨾ 𝑰𝒈: @_𝑟𝑢𝑏𝑦_𝑚𝑔