The Misteryous Visitor IV

The Misteryous Visitor IV

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Bruce finally confronts Damian, and hates how tonight's events seemed to turn out just to remind him what a terrible father he is. He felt like he didn't deserve you, and he wanted at all costs to avenge the injustice Talia committed with you two.

Warnings: Family discussion; maternal overprotection; Bruce has psychiatric problems and is mentally unstable, besides being very angry; mentions depression, post-traumatic stress and the like.

Word count: 3.7k

Note: I apologize for taking so long to post the fourth part. I was looking for inspiration to continue in other fandoms. Now I feel engaged again to continue posting

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

"She is not a secret." Damian tried to sound firm, looking Bruce in the eyes to avoid suspicion. But no matter what he did or how long he tried to maintain the lie, his father had already decided what to think about this enigmatic and strange situation.

"Hmm..." He let out a disheartened murmur, and the boy never thought something like this would happen, but he frowned with worry as he saw Bruce pour another drink. It wasn't like his father to act this way.

When Damian first met him in person at ten years old, he could have sworn Bruce and Talia were somewhat enjoying themselves that day, even with the barbs hidden in some exchanged sentences. Or maybe he was mistaken; after all, it had been so long. Perhaps he had preserved a false memory.

"How much have you drunk?" The boy asked with a disdainful voice, trying to hide that he was truly concerned.

"Why have you never talked about her? She is your sister, Damian." Bruce ignored the question but in a kind of silent acknowledgment, he rested the glass on the side table, preventing himself from getting drunk.

"Why are you acting like this? As if it's a big deal." He made a face of confusion. "Why do you care so much about this? She isn't even your problem. I won't stay here being interrogated because of her." Damian got up, taking hurried steps to the front door. He was running away, and he knew it.

"Where are you going?" Bruce stood to follow him, finally showing some kind of emotion beyond stoicism since they had been alone in the room.

"I'm going to wait for my mother outside. And when she appears, I'll come back to fetch S/n. Then you won't have to see her anymore, ever again." Damian said, and although Bruce didn't know if in the last part his son was referring to you or Talia, he didn't dare ask for the detail.

"Why didn't you ask any of us for help when you found out she was missing? If she is someone so close to you, you could have talked to us." Bruce was speaking in that strange way again, like when he found out Jason was the Red Hood. He was hurt, and as if a whistle had snapped in his mind, Damian understood that his father was like this because of him. It wasn't Talia or how she always ended up causing problems; it was him. "You hid from me that you were still talking to your mother."

"And did I need to inform you that I talk to my mother?" The boy tried to maintain a haughty tone, repressing the urge to shout so that Bruce wouldn't see his conflicting feelings.

The truth is that it hurt to lie like this. It hurt even more to lie to you. Damian didn't show or openly say what he felt; his mother once told him that was weakness, but honestly, now he was disgusted with himself.

"You didn't need to inform me, but you made an effort to hide it!" Bruce didn't shout. His voice was grave, authoritative, and deep down had a tone of betrayal that had twice the impact of a shout. He seemed to reflect on something, and patiently Damian awaited a lamentable outburst, but just as he himself would do, Bruce was avoiding becoming emotional.

"I don't understand why, but you came to live with me and seemed to exclude her from your life because of us. She is your sister and didn't even know I am your father! You sent letters, which I'm sure you hid not just from me but from her too. And she ended up here in the middle of the night like a fugitive. Will you tell me again that all this has no reason?"

"Even if there were a reason, it wouldn't be your business." The young man replied harshly, and once again: it was a lie. It was his business. Seeing Bruce's angry scowl turn into a defeated look made one of his fingers tremble. Realizing only after saying something that what he did was wrong made a panic arise in his chest.

Bruce sat back in the armchair, giving up on the discussion once and for all. He felt so stupid for thinking he was succeeding in freeing his son from the League of Assassins' clutches, that he was doing a good job showing him he didn't need the blind loyalty Talia taught him to have. He feared that Damian would succumb to a villain's life, exactly as Ra's al Ghul wanted Bruce to be: cruel and ruthless.

Talia stirred bad reactions in him, and his sense of justice hammered in his head. How could he simply hand you back into her hands after you came here tonight? That woman was a bad influence on anyone, and it didn't matter if you were her daughter; you were a child. And wasn't that what he did with all his children? Took them from the streets and bad parents?

He wanted to vomit at the idea of allowing you to continue being raised by someone like her, among those people, but if he couldn't even change Damian, what could he do for you? Bruce couldn't force you to stay, but at the same time, he grappled with the internal conflict of corroborating that one day you would become like those people. He is Batman, his duty is to protect. He should protect you too.

Bruce rubbed his eyes, feeling an intense headache and he day was already dawning again"Your mother isn't coming, Damian." He asserted, noticing that a long time had passed since they started waiting, getting up to return to his own room.

"You said we had a lot to talk about." Suddenly, the boy felt the need to prolong the conversation, if this could even be considered a conversation. It was as if they would never speak again if he allowed his father to leave.

"We don't anymore." Was cold, and that made the boy swallow hard. Bruce knew he would regret being so harsh, but at that moment, he wasn't thinking straight. The rational part of his brain was being dominated by his impulsive side.

Bruce opened his bedroom door with unusual violence. Lately, these episodes of anger were frequent, perhaps due to interrupted sleep; this damned insomnia was worse than in the last months. Alfred had already suggested he see a psychiatrist, but Bruce was sure he would leave there with a worse diagnosis than expected, so he avoided it as much as possible.

The butler once dared to mention that he might have some type of post-traumatic stress, but Bruce was stubborn and that led to an argument. He was a controlled man, but that day he shouted. The reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension from the chaos Scarecrow was causing in the city at the time, but Alfred was observant and knew the problems went beyond that.

The death of his parents was a delicate subject, and combined with the pressure of being Batman, Alfred saw Bruce become more obsessive, anxious, and even depressed over the years. Fortunately, the emergence of Dick was a break in the sad loneliness for him. And then came Jason, Tim, Damian, and things improved for a while, but the relapses still existed.

Bruce sighed as he admired his bed, wishing he could sleep again, but knowing he wouldn't be able to without taking another dose of pills, which certainly wasn't an option. Then he noticed your coat there. The garment had been left in his room, carefully placed on the arm of the room's couch.

He walked over and picked up the coat, rubbing the soft fabric with melancholy and noting how well-kept the garment was. It would probably be a good idea to return it to you; Would also be an opportunity to check if you were well accommodated.

Cautiously, he walked to the guest wing. Bruce thought he would need to check the rooms one by one to discover where Alfred had placed you, but a beam of light leaking from one of the doors indicated which one. He hesitated to turn the knob; it felt too intrusive. So, he knocked: three soft taps on the wood. He waited a few seconds, but you didn't come to open it, and he gave in to the act of opening it himself.

In slow movements, he leaned to look inside the room, without entering yet and checking if everything was okay. He saw your figure well wrapped in the covers, eyes closed and breathing in a consistent rhythm. You were sleeping, and the light he saw was the bedside lamp.

He entered, doing everything to control his steps, going to a chair to place the coat there. He felt the need to be gentle with the garment for some reason, handling the coat with such care, as if holding you in his hands.

He was envious of how pleasant your sleep seemed, wishing he could sleep like that too. He thought of turning off the lamp, but regretted it when he saw that his act interrupted your sleep. As soon as everything went dark, he heard the rustle of the covers, signaling that you had woken up. You stayed still for a while, staring at the shadow in front of you, knowing someone was there but too embarrassed to ask who it was, until the light was turned back on and you saw Mr. Wayne.

"Sorry, I think I woke you," he said softly, genuinely feeling guilty. "I brought your coat. I left it to dry better; it's still a bit wet," he continued, gesturing towards the chair.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," you replied groggily due to the minutes you spent sleeping. Thinking he would leave, you clasped your hands as if praying and placed them under your cheek on the pillow. A common but funny position.

"Call me just Bruce," he sat on the edge of the bed, looking at your face. He had a question stuck in his throat and thought it would be a good idea to start a conversation. "Are you okay?"

"I am. Thank you for letting me sleep at your house." you answered serenely, and he nodded in agreement. "And you?" You asked back. Bruce blinked, surprised by your question, realizing that your eyes were shining. The truth is he couldn't say how he felt, so he said what anyone would say: 

"Yes, I'm okay," he said, more focused on your face, knowing you might be uncomfortable with that but wanting to see you better. 

“Can I ask you something?” He seemed anxious, and you waited expectantly in silence, which he took as a yes. “Why did your mother separate you two like that? Why didn’t she tell you anything?”

You stared at a random spot on the mattress, feeling a pang in your chest at the memory. “She did, in a way. Mom doesn’t like you very much, Mr. Wayne. I think that’s why,” you said, looking back at him, seeing him raise his eyebrows in amusement; you corrected yourself with a gasp: “Bruce.”

“Did she speak badly of me to you?” Bruce was curious like a silly child, even though a serious scowl was etched on his face.

“Not exactly about you. Mom and Grandpa hate Batman.” By this point, you had already figured it out. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots between your family and Robin with him after a few minutes of reflection. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Bruce let out a dry laugh, caught off guard. “Yes, it’s me,” he confirmed, and you shifted to sit more upright on the bed, excited.

“Is it true that you killed the Joker?” Your question made Bruce’s scowl turn puzzled. So that was the kind of rumor circulating.

“No, I didn’t kill him. He just... disappeared one day,” the same day Bruce thought he had lost Jason, and although deep down he wanted very much to have done it, he didn’t find it appropriate to admit that to you.

“I’m confused,” your voice became more relaxed, he thought it was due to the casual tone the conversation was taking. “If Damian is Robin now, what happened to the other one? He didn’t die, did he?” You asked the last question in a whisper, fearing it was true.

Bruce laughed at this. He had never thought about how people assumed Robin was a single person all these years. “No, he’s fine. You’d be surprised if I told you five different people have been Robin.”

Your eyes widened, and suddenly you remembered a detail: “There was a girl, wasn’t there? I remember seeing some photos in an old newspaper.”

Bruce was perplexed at how much you seemed to know about him, but in a good way. “Yes, there was a girl. She’s Batgirl now,” when he said that, your smile widened even more. It seemed like you were a secret fan, he would say, since in your own words: "Talia hates him" and Bruce knows she would hardly allow you to have such admiration.

But your smile faded, and that worried him for a moment until you spoke: “I didn’t know that man was Hugo Strange,” you looked at him with regret. “If I had known, I would have caught him for you.”

“Would you?” He asked, doubting you really could.

“Well... I would have tried,” you defended yourself, shrugging your shoulders.

“Very brave. But it’s good you didn’t do anything,” he said playfully, stopping to think for a moment. “S/n, what did he tell you?”

He saw you wrinkle your nose in a grimace before answering. “I thought we met by chance. I was walking and saw a man smoking a cigarette on a corner. I was going to walk past, but then he asked if I needed help.”

“Which corner?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t far from home. I was trying to figure out the street on a map I found in the municipal library’s phone book,” you sighed, frustrated at not being able to give the information. “I ignored him, but he followed me. I got scared and started running, but he said he was a cop, so I trusted him.”

“Did he have a police car nearby?”

“He said he was undercover. But I don’t know what that means; I thought it was the same as being off duty.”

“It could mean that too.” Bruce saw your guilty expression, your lip trembling and your hands nervous.

“You don’t need to feel bad for believing him,” his larger hand enveloped both of yours like they were nothing. They were warm, and it was comforting. “I know Damian said horrible things, but he speaks in the heat of the moment.”

“They’re not in the heat of the moment... He never just speaks,” your voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible. Your eyes burned, but there were no tears. Crying for your brother would be the last thing you would do again. “What was in the box?”

“What box?” He was confused by your sudden change of subject.

“Didn’t Dick give it to you?” You asked, feeling his hand move away from yours and touch his left pocket. What Dick had given him was a card and not a box. Maybe he had taken what was inside. “I guess he forgot.”

“No. He didn’t forget,” he quickly responded, snapping out of a stupor. A curiosity grew in his chest, a need to know what was in that card.

Bruce fumbled in the pocket where the card still was and pulled it out. He quickly examined the paper, turning it over to check the back for anything. For a long time, his voice was muffled, and Bruce could only hear a buzzing in his ear. It was impossible for those words to have any real meaning. His breathing became loud and shaky, as if he were in the cold, and you were startled to see his eyes blinking frantically.

“Are you okay?” You moved to approach him, seeing moisture suddenly form on his forehead. It was cold sweat.

“How is this possible?” You heard him ask himself, bringing his fingertips to his eyes, rubbing them to make sure he was really seeing. That card had left him unsettled, you realized, and hesitantly, you tried to take it from his hands to remove it from him, but his grip tightened at the feel of your fingers, so tight that it completely crumpled the paper. “Sorry. It’s nothing,” he stammered, seeing that the abrupt movement had scared you.

He got up from the bed, completely oblivious to you or anything else now. He staggered before reaching the door, very disturbed and seeming out of it. Maybe it was you who did something wrong and didn’t realize it?

He didn’t seem fit to walk, so you quickly removed the covers from your legs and went to him, supporting and guiding him to the chair where he had left his coat. He was very heavy, but he was so disoriented that he went limp. He seemed so shaken that he didn’t protest and simply sat there. You stood in front of him for a few seconds, not knowing what else to do to help him.

“Shouldn’t I call someone?” You asked.

“Dick,” he mumbled without looking at you, and that worried. It seemed intentional, as if it was too difficult to face you.

“Where do I find him?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of something, but Damian’s voice on the other side of the door caught his attention:

“S/n, open the door.” You stood still, recognizing your brother’s voice, until he continued: “Mom is here. She’s going to take you home,” he said as a warning, opening the door after a moment without even asking. “Come on. Why are you standing there like a statue?”

He was perplexed when you didn’t respond, and then he noticed his father sitting beside you in terror.

“Dad?” He approached, kneeling to assess the severity. He was having another episode. Lately, Bruce had only been getting worse every day and still refused to ask for help.

“What happened?” Your brother turned to you, but your face already showed that you had no idea.

Damian tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Bruce pushed it away aggressively. Your father would never act like this just because of the argument they had before, much less give him a venomous look as he did now, but beneath it all, there was hurt. He had found out about you, somehow.

He should have felt bad about how the news seemed to have been revealed, but he was relieved not to have to lie anymore. At the same time, he regretted choosing to cater to his mother’s whims once again, deceiving his father this way. But the omission had grown so much over the years he spent in the mansion and, after so long, it didn’t matter when he told him, the damage was already done.

Bruce wasn’t in a perfect mental state. He wouldn’t react like this normally, and knowing that, the man felt pathetic in front of the two of you.

“He asked for Dick,” you said to Damian, giving him space to breathe by stepping back.

“Forget Dick,” Bruce replied firmly, surprising. In an instant, he had a fit, and as quickly as he entered this state, he left it. Now, he seemed furious. “Where is she?”

This was a ploy by Talia and Strange. They were planning this together to hit him, a way to weaken him. It could only be that. It was too much of a coincidence Strange had found you just that night; nothing made sense. When had he and Talia gotten involved again after that day that led to Damian? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t good at recalling such old things. Maybe that wasn't even true. It was as if there was a big blank page in his mind.

“Get out,” Talia’s silhouette appeared at the door where she was leaning. Like most times when referring to the children, her voice was imposing, leaving no room for contestation. “Both of you.”

“You were supposed to wait downstairs,” your brother tried to contradict her. Despite everything he did for your mother, unlike you, he was the only one who had the courage to face her.

Her frown deepened at Damian’s defiance, but her stern expression softened at your trembling voice: ‘Mom...’ She sighed and opened her arms to you, casting a challenging look at Bruce, who returned it with an even harsher one, while you clung to her smaller frame in a tight embrace.

She knelt to your level, her hands gently brushing your cheeks and hair, noting how frizzy and messy it was. ‘Look at you. Your hair is all disheveled.’ She ran a finger down to your lip, grimacing at the cut there.

‘I’m sorry.’ Although less anxious now that you knew she wasn’t angry, you still regretted disobeying her.

‘My sweet girl,’ she said in a soft, genuinely affectionate voice. She kissed your cheek, casting that same malicious glance at Bruce again, as if provoking him. He felt a wave of nausea seeing her use you as a pawn just to taunt him. ‘Let the adults talk,’ she ordered, standing up and regaining her authoritative tone.

‘I’m staying,’ Damian protested. Leaving his father alone with her in his vulnerable state was a mistake.

‘Go and stay with your sister, Damian,’ Bruce was as harsh as Talia, but unlike her, he was seething with anger.

The boy closed his eyes in frustration but gave in, knowing it was useless to argue. He glanced at you, who had already walked out of the room and into the hallway. Damian was about to follow, but his father’s voice stopped him again:

‘She’s not leaving the house, Damian,’ his firm tone carried the weight of undeniable authority, with bitterness seeping through. The coldness in his voice left no room for warmth; it was distant. Bruce had finally gotten the push he needed. The possibility of you being his daughter gave him a sense of entitlement, and it made Talia’s arrogant expression falter for a moment; she looked apprehensive. ‘Do you understand?’ It was a question directed at both his son and Talia.

‘Yes,’ the young man replied simply, avoiding eye contact with his mother as he left. Damian paused in front of the door before fully departing, and his mother slammed it shut in his face.

He resisted the urge to eavesdrop and turned to look for you in the hallway, but you had vanished.

‘I deserve this,’ he muttered impatiently. You were avoiding him, and Damian couldn’t help but feel irritated at how childish that was. But he was one of the villains here; he was the one who lied, insulted, and rejected you. Realizing this filled him with shame, and unlike the first time, he repeated the words, this time with a tone of regret: ‘Yes, I deserve this.’"

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Like a lamb led to slaughter (my heart held in your hands)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: fluff? angst? kinda hurt/comfort?

warnings: this is the enemies part of the enemies to lovers so they're kinda mean and hateful, reader pulls a knife on damian at the beginning but it's pretty chill, also angsty ending in this but future parts where they're together and in love are already up and in my masterlist <3

a/n: enjoy xoxo

Damian pauses, holding his breath as the knife that's been suddenly pressed against his throat gets pressed a little harder. The wind blows the sand around his feet gently and he listens, straining for a hint as to who his attacker is.

"Damian Al Ghul, caught by surprise… you're getting slow," your voice makes him relax - much to his annoyance, his jaw clenching as he exhales slowly. You pull the knife away from him, ignoring the small trickle of blood that runs down his neck as you stand in front of him. 

"You shouldn't be here," he snaps harshly.

"Neither should you," you quip back.

"This is my -"

"For now," you interrupt, your grin wicked. "This war of ours isn't over yet, Al Ghul. I wouldn't claim the winning prize for yourself just yet - not when you're the one who's been caught off guard." Damian's fists clench, his eyes hard as he stares at you through the darkness of night, the stars dripping pinpricks of light onto the two of you.

"This is League territory. You are outcast. You're not welcome here, and neither are any of the others who follow you," he says viciously. You smile.

"So sure I won't beat you still," you say, a mocking edge in your voice that makes him huff. "So sure it'll be you leading the League one day, and not me."

Damian doesn't bite back, though. He opens his mouth to, but then seems to think better of it, opting instead to step away from you and plant himself on the sandy ground while the clouds part, the moon shining through. You think you hear him muttering, "why don't you just kill me and get it over with, then?"

You blink at his behaviour, following him cautiously and standing in front of him, blocking the light of the moon and shrouding him in darkness where he's sitting, knees pulled up to his chest.

"What's wrong with you?" You ask, toeing at his side with your shoe, jostling him slightly. He just clenches his fists tighter.

"You're blocking out the sky," he says bitterly. "And you stabbed me." You arch a brow.

"You're stargazing now? How novel. And I didn't stab you - don't be dramatic. It was just a little cut… you've given me worse," you point out.

"You deserve worse," he snaps. You straighten back and away from him, moving to let the light of the moon shine down on him as you sit next to him.

"You know I'd never kill you on a night like this," you say, a softness in your voice that makes you both queasy. You feel the weight of the knife in its sheath against your leg and press your hand to it. You could try to kill him - you probably should. God knows there are enough people waiting for you to.

"Not enough of an audience?" Damian says dryly. You kick a pile of sand near your foot.

"Why didn't you fight back? You could just as easily try to kill me tonight. But you wouldn't because we've been at this far too long to let it end in private… just the two of us." The end of your sentence is murmured, your eyes trained on his face while he stares up at the night sky. It takes him longer than you'd like for him to tear his gaze away from the full moon and look back at you, the light shining on one half of his face while the other now sits in shadow. You imagine you look much the same, half bathed in light, half shrouded. 

"What do you think will happen?" His question finally cuts through the silence. "When one of us finally kills the other." You pull your hand away from your knife like it's burned you. 

"When I kill you?" You say haughtily. "The League will be mine."

"And when I kill you?" Damian snaps back. You seem to mull over your answer for a moment too long, Damian huffing and turning back up to the sky.

"Then you win," you say quietly. "And you're rid of me." Something in your heart twinges at that and you grit your teeth.

"What would I do?" He says it so softly you're sure you wouldn't hear him if you hadn't spent so many years learning him. You fix him with a hard look, but he keeps his eyes pointedly on the stars and not at you. "What would I do without you?"

"What would I do without you?" Your response is so wavering and hushed that you think he must have missed it. It must have simply been caught in the wind and carried away to somewhere where the two of you could be anything other than what you are now. The way Damian turns to look at you, eyes wide and vulnerable and hurting, tells you he heard you just fine. 

"I don't want to kill you," he says it like kindness is a crime.

"You have to," you respond, like a lamb led to slaughter. "It's what we're made for, you and me. To be each other's end - each other's undoing. Only one of us is making it out of this alive." There's a weight in your words that goes unsaid. A part of me will die with you. Neither one of us will make it out of this and stay whole. A part of me belongs to you.

Damian stands suddenly, sand flying at where you sit as he shoots to his feet. You brush it off of you with a sigh and crane your neck to look up at him where he's standing tall, fists clenched and shoulders back, his feet planted firmly and holding him steady. You assume there's a determination in his eyes that you're intimately familiar with to go with his stance. He's blocked out the moon with his figure, leaving the two of you in shadow with a blinding halo around his silhouette, but you don't need to see his face to know what look he's wearing - you haven't needed to for a long time.

"There's a way around this, I'm sure," he says. You sigh and a breeze floats by, ruffling through him and into you. Your nose burns when you pick up the faintest whiff of his scent and you wonder, just for a moment, if he can detect the same from you… if he knows you the way you know him.

"You don't want that," you say flatly.

"Don't tell me what I want," he snaps back, voice hard. "You don't get to decide how this ends." You shoot up at his words, standing chest to chest with him, so close that you bump into each other.

"I decide just as much as you do." Your voice mimics the steel in his own. "This is about us, not you, and… and," whatever you were saying dies out as you look at Damian, his eyes staring back at you intensely. You hadn't really realized, in your anger and haste, how close to him you'd shoved yourself, but you can feel his breath on your skin and see the flecks of colour in his deep brown eyes.

"And… what?" He prompts, scowl still on his face. He seems to take no notice of the way his nose brushes against yours. That is, until your eyes flick down to his lips for a split second too long.

He lurches away from you, stepping back to create distance and holding a hand out in surrender, as if the close proximity to you just then had been more threatening than all the times you'd pointed a sword to his chest. The way your heart thumps behind your ribs and your breath catches, you're inclined to agree.

"I'm going to fix this," he says breathlessly.

"Fix what? There's nothing to fix, Damian." His name burns your tongue, like it's an intimacy you shouldn't indulge in. "There's nothing to fix. This is the way it's supposed to go."

"I won't kill you," he's all but yelling at you now. "And I won't let you kill me." You make the mistake of closing your eyes, hanging your head slightly and sighing as you prepare yourself for another fight. It's a moment of weakness that you would never allow in front of any enemy other than him - a moment of vulnerability that could cost you your life. But you hear it, ever so slightly, the whisper of him moving with a stealth that only the two of you know. By the time you open your eyes, he's gone.

You realize, in the days following the incident, that you'd never gone so long without seeing Damian before. At first, you were shoved against each other by your respective sides in never-ending fights to see who would triumph. Then, as time passed and the two of you grew, your skills matched and fights ending in draws over and over, you started seeking each other out on your own. To know your enemy, you'd always told yourself. You're sure he'd always tried to convince himself of the same. 

But now? Now days have gone by without a whisper, without a flickering shadow or a hushed breath. Eventually, you go looking, silent and hidden and so desperately hopeful. But that's when you hear it - the rumours.

Damian Al Ghul is gone - gone to live with his father and train with him. He'll be back, you promise yourself. He'll come back to me. 

But he doesn't. Time passes and he remains gone, the rumours spreading.

Damian Al Ghul has found a home beyond this war, beyond you. You're sure that only makes you so nauseous because now you'll never get the chance to kill him.

Damian Al Ghul has no interest in fighting a war that isn't his anymore, you hear. Damian Al Ghul has no need for a vicious prophecy or a never-ending rivalry.  Damian Al Ghul has found a home, apparently, and it's somewhere far… far away from you.

Of Songbirds and Phoenix

al Ghul!Batmom x Gotham Knights (CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM GOTHAM KNIGHTS!)

Prompt: After the death of Bruce Wayne, his wife had vanished from the city, and only returns when she knows her children are in danger.

When Wayne Manor blew up and Bruce Wayne had been pronounced dead, one of the biggest questions was the outcome of his wife. Y/n Wayne was at the manor the night it blew up, but her body had never been recovered. The wonderful investigators at GCPD brushed it off under the excuse that your body had been completely blown up. A bullshit reason, but they were too lazy to do an in depth investigation. Your family however, worried that your body had been buried under the rubble in the now destroyed batcave. 

Fortunately for them...everyone was wrong. Days leading up to your husband's death, he sent you away to investigate his latest case. The Court of Owls. A conspiracy theory that he believed to be true, and so he sent you overseas to investigate some other claims of this infamous cult. The conspiracy only detailed members from Gotham's wealthiest families, but he wanted to be thorough. Your investigation led you to your twin sister, Talia al Ghul. You figured out her plan at the same time that your children had, and you didn't hesitate on making your way back to Gotham. 

Talia's plan to take over Gotham had been foiled, all while you watched from a distance. It was Bruce's wish. He wanted his family to be able to take care of Gotham should he perish, and wanted them to have the chance to thrive. You granted that wish by watching your children from the shadows. They were trained well because several times they turned in your direction or almost caught you. 

Tonight, Bruce's wish wouldn't be met. You'd been stalking Robin since he left the Belfry. He was on a routine patrol. Take down the bad guys and protect the city. What he didn't notice were the several League of Shadow members tailing him. You noticed right away. They were using the same methods you were. Talia's doing no doubt. She wanted revenge, and would ambush your youngest son to get it. 

Robin had just finished the takedown of some Freaks when several puffs of smoke appeared all around him. He wasn't a stranger to an ambush from the league, but this was more than he was used to. Luckily he wasn't alone. Using his bo staff and sling shot, he quickly darted around taking down members of the League. However, it seemed that the more they took the...the more that appeared. 

"Get down, little bird!" A voice called out. Robin ducked down without hesitation and heard the sound of metal flying through the air then a scream of pain. Looking up, a shuriken was embedded in the chest of a league member. A female dropped down in front of Robin, wielding two beautiful katana's in her hands, "Talia?" He asked, in confusion. The figure turned towards him and he paled, "M-Mom?" 

"What the hell did you just say?" The voice of Red Hood spoke through the comms. Robin couldn't answer, all he could do was watch as you skillfully took down the League of Shadows members. When the last member went down, you sheathed your blades and made your way over to Robin, "Little bird? Are you injured?" You asked while kneeling down in front of him. His mask didn't have the white lenses so you saw how watery his eyes were, "M-Mom?" He whispered in disbelief. He'd been mouring you as well as Bruce for weeks now. Knowing that he wouldn't relax until you proved that he wasn't dreaming, you wrapped your arms around him. Robin collapsed against your chest with loud sobs escaping his chest. That was the confirmation that the rest of the team needed. You were alive. 

After calming down enough to drive, Robin drove you both back to the Belfry on the bike. He held your hand in a death grip from the moment you stepped off of the bike. Tim had been so torn up about losing his parental figures that he wasn't planning on letting you go anytime soon. The doors opened, and you hesitantly stepped in. There you saw what remained of your family. 

Dick looked like he wanted to cry and pass out at the same time

Alfred was holding back his tears behind a relieved smile

Barbara had a few tears slipping from her eyes, but kept trying to wipe them away. 

Jason was staring holes into the ground. He couldn't bring himself to look at you. 

Dick was the first one to walk towards you, "You're really here?" He asked so softly, you almost didn't hear him. He gently touched your face, hair and shoulders. If anyone had been mouring you harder than Tim, it was Dick. You'd raised him since he was eight years old. He dug through piles of rubble with his bare hands looking for you, and here you were. Completely unharmed. 

"I'm here, my songbird." Dick wrapped his arms around you, nearly crushing you against his chest. Tim let go of your hand to give you this moment with your oldest son. Dick was the leader of this team. Batman's chosen successor. The one who was supposed to be the strongest, and yet he fell apart once he hugged his mother. He didn't have to be the strongest with her. He could be that eight year old boy again. The one that ran to her whenever he had a nightmare. The one who would gush over him and mend all of his wounds from his time as Robin, "How are you here? We thought you died?" He asked, pulling away from you. 

"Bruce sent me away to investigate the Court. They originate here in Gotham, but he heard rumors of other sightings in the middle east as well as the UK. He wanted this to be as covert as possible. That's why he told Tim I left for a business trip for Wayne Enterprises. If the world thought I was dead, then I could continue my investigation from the shadows." You were an al Ghul by blood. You were raised as a killer and taught to use the shadows to your advantage. Before his death, Bruce made you swear to never take another life while with him. Now that he was gone...you had no one to keep the vow to. 

Alfred and Barbara joined Dick with several tear filled hugs and questions. Tim was glued to your side, only leaving to change out of his suit, "Why did you come back?" You turned away from Barbara to look over at Jason. His jaw was clenched, and his arms crossed over his chest, "You didn't bother to reach out after Bruce's death, so why bother now?" Everyone, but you had glares on their faces. 

"My phoenix, I wanted to reach out. The moment I heard of Bruce's death, I wanted nothing more than to be right here with you all. I stayed away as a promise to Bruce. I'm glad I did. You all did so much more than what I could have. I'm so proud of you all. Especially you, Jason." 

Watching this big brute of a man melt at the words from a woman much smaller than him was a funny sight. Jason visibly relaxed and you wrapped him up in a warm hug. He hugged you back tightly, and let out a shaky breath. 

"I missed you, Mom. So much."

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!!!Author's Note!!

Sorry for going MIA for so long. I have been very busy, but I am hopefully going to be back in action soon. I've been working on a new series for this blog that I'm excited to present to you all! Enjoy this little imagine, and I hope to see you all very soon! <3 ~ Batty

The comic I did for the @gothamhorrorzine

I feel so called out

me, a writer, at 3am: WHAT? I CANT FIND THE SPECIFIC FANFIC THAT I MADE UP IN MY MIND WITH A WHOLE PLOT AND ORIGINAL CHARACTERS??? WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE??? DO THEY EXPECT ME TO WRITE THE STORY I THOUGHT UP OF???