The Misteryous Visitor Masterlist

The Misteryous Visitor Masterlist

On a cold, snowy dawn, a naive young girl knocks on the door of Wayne Manor in search of her brother, whom she hasn't seen in a long time.

⤿ Part 1 ⤿ Part 2 ⤿ Part 3 ⤿ Part 4 ⤿ Part 5 ⤿ Part 6

Longest Night (1)

[AK!Jason Todd x Reader]

Word Count: 2520

Summary: When you miss the last evacuation bus out of Gotham in the wake of Scarecrow's threats, you have to come up with a new plan. Meanwhile, the Arkham Knight is searching for someone.

A/N: Finally got up the nerve to post this! Please be kind. I finished the Arkham Knight game recently, so that's where the inspiration comes from. And my chronic Loving Jason disease.

You re-entered your apartment as quickly and quietly as you could, muffling the jingle of your keys in your jacket pocket, finding the right one by touch before pulling them free. The hall was dark, each apartment door uncharacteristically silent. You were Gothamites, through and through. You knew where this was leading the second the city broadcast system crackled to life that morning. Those that were able had packed up immediately, waited in the nicer areas of the city waiting on their phones for the evacuation plans to be officially announced. You estimated that most of the people on your floor were gone, and you were happy for them. Unfortunately, you’d been a few minutes too late. 

You tossed your duffle bag onto the couch, leaving the lights off as you set about securing the door. Your tenuous connection with the Wayne family didn’t afford you a home in the nicer parts of the city - to be fair, you’d never asked - but it did afford you slightly above-average security. Dick Grayson had installed the four additional locks on your front door himself, and most importantly, he’d had the decency not to sneer at the quality of the building you’d ended up in. You were a Crime Alley kid, born and raised. And while your family had clawed its way somewhere marginally more respectable by the time you were a teenager, after everything that happened with Jason, Dick couldn’t pretend to be surprised that you’d made a home for yourself in a place like that. Not quite Crime Alley, which despite or perhaps because of your grief was unlivable for you. But close. And just as dangerous. 

You wedged your security bar into place next, testing the stability with the edge of your boot. You briefly considered moving some of your furniture up against the door as well but determined it would be more trouble, time, and noise than it would be worth. If they could get through the locks and the security bar, an armchair or table wouldn’t do you any good. 

Just as you backed away from the door, trying to slow your heart rate and think your options through, your phone buzzed to life in your pocket. 

Alfred Pennyworth

You flinched a little, involuntarily, but answered anyway, moving deeper into your apartment and speaking softly.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you managed to get out of the city.” The lack of a proper greeting was the most obvious sign that Alfred was anxious. 

“Bad luck.” The disappointed sigh that followed almost made you smile. “You know I tried. I don’t have the pride or ego to assume I can survive the kind of night that warrants an official evacuation. I was just too late. There was one seat left on the bus, and it was either me or my 70-year-old neighbor. My chances of survival are better than hers, so…”

“If the people I cared about could all be a touch less noble, I believe I’d still have a full head of hair.”

“Funny.” You grabbed a utility knife from the top of your closet, propping your foot on the edge of wood trim to strap it around your ankle, concealing it neatly where the slightly bunched fabric of your jeans met the sturdy leather of your boot. 

“Well. Luckily for you, there is someone quite powerful who owes me a favor or two.”

“Bruce owes you about a thousand favors, but there’s not much he can do for me at this point, Alfred. I assume he made it out safely?”

“Your first option is to flag down a squad car and request refuge in GCPD. At the moment they’re still out patrolling, but I suspect they’ll be driven back before too long.”

You parted your curtains and blinds gently, making the tiniest possible gap to peer through. The streets below were deserted. No cars, no pedestrians, nothing. Calm before the storm, you were sure. Your remaining neighbors were probably doing to same as you were: waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for something to happen that would clue them in on how best to keep themselves safe tonight. 

“I don’t think I have the authority to do that.”

“You’re connected to the most powerful family in the city. Of course you have the authority. It may very well make you a target. That should be incentive enough for GCPD to take an interest. If not, you’re welcome to inform them that Bruce Wayne intends to repay them most generously for their assistance.”

Your chest tightened a little, the way it always did when someone reminded you of your “connection” to the Waynes. Because, to be quite blunt, there wasn’t one. Not anymore. All that was left, you suspected, was an uncomfortable obligation that came from guilt and grief. 

“Alfred…” You cut yourself off. There was no point in having this conversation now. Not again. “I don’t see any movement outside, let alone a squad car. And if I go looking for one, I have a feeling I’ll find trouble faster than I’ll find help.” 

“I see… Well, there is a second option. I’m afraid it’s a touch more… dramatic than the first.”

“Okay…” you said, letting the curtain fall back into place and looking around your dark apartment for anything that might be helpful to add to your bag or your person.

“Can you make it to the roof?”

“Probably.” 

With the duffle bag tossed back over your shoulder, you moved quickly to your bedroom, where the window opened onto a fire escape. Switching Alfred’s call to the earbuds you kept in the nightstand freed up both your hands, and you eased out onto the rusted metal landing carefully, pulling your bag out behind you and closing your window firmly. A quick glance around revealed the street was still deserted, nor were there any signs of life on the fire escape or in the other windows that let out onto it. 

“What’s the plan?” you whispered, moving upwards as quietly as possible. 

“I called in a favor. Someone will be along shortly to escort you to safety. Or as close to safety as we can manage tonight.” 

“That. Is unnecessarily cryptic, Alfred,” you complained, a panicked breath catching in your throat as an unfamiliar  low rumble echoed down the street. 

“You’ll soon see why.”

You gave an unconvinced grumble but were too winded to manage an actual reply, muscles straining as you pulled yourself over the top rung of the final ladder and onto the roof. 

“Move away from the edge. It would be better if no one saw you waiting.” 

“It would be better if no one saw me period,” you agreed, opting to stay low and crawl towards the water tank. You tucked yourself tight against it, trying to merge yourself with its silhouette as much as possible. 

The sun had almost completely vanished, and what was left of its light was heavily obscured by clouds. In these conditions, this roof was probably the safest place to be. Away from the parts of the city likely to see the most action. Not lit in any way, not overseen by the windows of taller buildings. And it didn’t hurt that, as a general rule, the criminals of Gotham had learned to steer clear of rooftops. Setting up shop on any Gotham rooftop was like sending a personal invitation to the vigilantes of the city to come ruin their night. 

You were considering sharing this thought with Alfred, pitching the idea of staying right where you were for as long as possible, saving that favor for later, when a faint rustling sound drew your attention. 

“Please try not to panic,” Alfred’s voice sounded in your ear as you stared into the shadows cast by the stairwell access. Something was moving there.

As you watched, a silhouette separated itself from the rest of the blackness. A very distinct silhouette, one you had never seen personally but could never mistake for anyone or anything else.

“Alfred,” you said softly, still not moving, hardly even blinking. “I hope you plan on telling me how the hell Batman ended up owing you a favor.” 

“In time. For now, we need to focus. Follow his instructions. Call me back when you’ve arrived safely.”

“Arrived where?” You pushed yourself hesitantly to your feet as Batman wordlessly held out a hand to you. 

“Please be careful,” was the only answer you received before the soft click of an ended call. 

*****

The remains of Killinger’s Department Store was a hotbed of activity and chaos. Groups of men in red military-grade body armor were engaged in the business of swiftly repurposing the space into a base of operations for the Arkham Knight and his militia. In a large and once-opulent owners office, the Arkham Knight himself paced restlessly in front of an array of recently-mounted monitors. More and more security camera feeds were becoming available as his men began to set up checkpoints and strongholds throughout the city. They needed to work faster. They needed to be better. Failure was not an option.

A brisk knock stilled him, and he called out his permission for whomever was outside to enter. A militia commander approached, face a solemn mask, betraying nothing.

“GCPD is pulling back their squad cars in response to the drone deployments on all three islands,” he reported. “They still have helicopters in the air over Bleake and Miagani, but enough of our missile defense systems are in place in Founders to keep the skies here clear.” 

“And your other operation?” the Knight prompted impatiently.

The militia commander hesitated for the briefest second. Anyone else may have missed it. The Knight did not.

“The name you gave wasn’t on any of the passenger manifests from the evacuation. She’s still in the city.” 

“But?” 

“I dispatched an APC and two drones to the associated address. No sign of her…” He swallowed uncomfortably. “The retrieval team reported an encounter with the Batman one block from the apartment building in question. In his car, headed the opposite direction.”

“Did they engage?” the Knight asked sharply.

“No, sir. He made no move to engage and evaded pursuit.” 

“Damn it!” The Knight’s fist came down, hard, on the desk. A crystal decanter, left by the office’s previous occupant, toppled over the edge and shattered explosively across the marble tiles. 

In that tank of a car, Batman only avoided a fight if he was carrying a passenger, and an important one, at that. One who wasn’t used to violence. One he didn’t want to scare.

He had her. The one person in this rotted cesspool of a city that was worth a damn. The person he had given his men orders to find and bring in, unharmed, as soon as they entered the city. 

Why, why would Batman take her? Why bother? He couldn’t know that the Knight was searching for her, not already. He couldn’t know anything about the Knight or his intentions. Scarecrow was the only one who had shown his hand. The Arkham Knight had yet to make his first move. So why? 

With hurried steps, the Knight approached the office’s computer system, drawing up the results of the borderline compulsive research he had engaged in before this plan was even fully formed. Images of you, stretching back a decade. The Gotham press adored a tragedy, and when the subject of a tragedy was as beautiful as you? Well, that was a gift that just kept giving as far as they were concerned. There were pictures of you published in the city’s newspapers every year on the anniversary of Jason Todd’s death, looking devastatingly lovely and distraught over the death of your first love, the ward of Gotham’s favorite billionaire Bruce Wayne. A fatal motorcycle accident, the papers’ reported, had turned your star-crossed love story into a tragedy and sent the eccentric and charming remnants of the Wayne legacy, Bruce Wayne and his adopted son Dick Grayson, deep into mourning. 

Bullshit. 

But more than enough reason for the press to chase you instead. You were much easier to catch. They turned you into a symbol, an icon, a tragic figure for the city to rally around once a year and consider the fate of Gotham youth. Of course, you were a grown woman now, but that only added more gravitas to the anniversary stories. Now, the photographers edited your photos in a gauzy black and white that gave you the look of an Old Hollywood star. Isn’t it so sad, the reporters wailed from the headlines, that she’s never moved on? Photos of you in a black dress because you knew the drill by now, crossing a busy street and pretending not to notice the camera flashes. 

But in the past ten years, you’d only been photographed with Bruce twice. 

Batman couldn’t have taken you because of the Knight’s personal feelings. And he certainly didn’t take you because of his own. What did that leave?

The next picture offered a solution. You were sitting at an outdoor bistro table with Alfred Pennyworth, sharing polite smiles and an array of breakfast pastries. 

Alfred. If there was one person whose heart and connections could be trusted, it was Alfred. At his current stage of life, he only left the grounds of Wayne Manor for people he truly cared for. And if he still cared for you that much, he would absolutely make whatever arrangements he could to protect you. Including calling in a very inconvenient favor. 

The Knight turned back to the militia commander, grateful, not for the first or last time, that his helmet concealed his face and voice. 

“Get eyes on every Wayne Enterprises building in the city. I want all angles covered, and I want to know the second someone gets eyes on Batman or that damn car.”

The commander nodded, tilting his head away to relay this information to his team via radio.

“Why’s he taking her to Wayne?” he asked, shifting slightly on his feet when he received nothing but a silent stare in response. “You want us to be able to think the way the Bat thinks, right? I’m not following this one.”

“She has connections to the Wayne family,” the Knight said impatiently, gesturing towards the monitors which were now filled with newspaper and paparazzi photos of you. “And those buildings will have the most state-of-the-art security measures in the city. He may even be able to airlift her out of the city from one of those locations.”

“Think the Bat’s on Wayne’s payroll?”

The Knight sighed in disgust, turning away again. 

“No. But that woman has been made important not just to the Wayne family but to the people of Gotham. She’s valuable. We need her. Unharmed.” 

“Understood.” 

“And commander?” the Knight called as the man made a move to leave. “If she arrives looking anything less than the picture of perfect health, I will be holding each and every member of the retrieval team personally responsible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want to hear from you again until you have something.”

****

Let me know if you're interested in more! Would love to know what you guys think

The Little Three

Platonic!Damian Wayne x WonderGirl!Reader x Platonic!Jon Kent

Summary: A short story on “really want to see just a cute little platonic relationship with a reader who’s wonder woman’s daughter with damian wayne and jon kent. like a mini trinity goofing around while bruce, clark and diana are like “oh hell 😐”

A/n: Inspired by this post

Masterlist - Tip Jar

“Obviously Jon will be the best leader.” Y/n declares, finger outright pointing towards the half kryptonian. Damian’s snorts at such a blasphemous proclamation.

“That is ridiculous, I am obviously the best suited to be a leader. If you two went on a mission by yourselves you would not even develop a sound strategy. Jon would come up with a half-baked plan which will quickly crumble, while you would just go to the location and wreck havoc until you win.” Damian accuses, a signature bat frown now adorning his features.

Y/n just rolls her eyes with a groan. “It’s part of my strategy to overwhelm the enemy… it always works.” Which only grates on Damian’s nerves.

“You are only proving my point further. It is reckless and stupid. You cannot be successful by being a brute.” A high pitched gasp escapes, Y/n’s hands now slamming down onto the table.

“Shut up Damian! Just because you don’t like my battle strategy, doesn’t mean you’re better.” Smirking he crosses his arms over his chest, feet now kicked up on top of the hologram table.

“I am better than you, because I am smarter, stronger and better trained than you.” Jon slouches further back into his seat, nervousness creeping up his spin at the familiar dispute.

“Guys… let’s just calm down -“

“Oh shut up you annoying little rat! How about a game of capture the flag to prove who should be the teams leader. Whoever captures the flag wins!” Y/n asserts, fist outstretched waiting for Jon and Damian to fist bump in agreement.

“You are on Little Wonder.” Damian stretches his fist out, bumping the young wonders knuckles with his own. Y/n only clenches her jaw in irritation.

“Don’t call me that, Shorty!”

“Not all of us are born with Amazonian genetics freak!” Y/n and Damian are just about pressing noses, now playing an unspoken game of chicken.

Jon continues to stand behind them pinching the bridge of his nose. The soft ticks and beeps sounding off from the technology around them. The Justice watchtower now shifting and readjusting before settling back to a set position. “Guys… I’m not encouraging this I’m out.” Jon crosses his arms, launching himself backwards into the leather seat again, he turns his attention back to the holographic table, checking for his Dad’s location and only hoping that the pin is moving back towards the tower. Y/n and Damian only meet eyes with a knowing smirk.

“Jon’s the flag?” Y/n asks only getting a small nod from Damian.

“On your mark.” Damian says which only makes Jon’s eye bulge.

“Guys - stop! I said I didn’t want to be part of your games!” The two devils only smile as if not hearing his refusal.

“Get set.” Y/n says, the two now shifting their weight to the balls of their heels. Jon growls twisting and taking off in a quick dash.

“Go!” Damian and Y/n both shout taking off at inhuman speeds, eager to catch their human(?) flag.

Damian pulls out his bat gun, launching a wire and hook into the long wall in an attempt to quick zip line towards Jon only for Y/n to grab the wire and snap it with her bare hands.

“Leave me alone!” Jon shouts, the sonic sound of his shout vibrating the objects around him.

“You’re mine!” Y/n springs out, grabbing the corner of Jon’s jacket only for Jon to step away launching Y/n head first into the large computers and screens with a loud crack. The screens glass sprays across the floor, the Amazonian only jumps up and bounds towards Jon without a second to spare.

“Launch emergency Kryptonite!” Damian shouts into his suit mic now throwing lethal batarangs and recalling the projectiles. Jon only evading the objects by mere millimeters.

The projectiles where only continuously puncturing the steel walls and solid objects around. Sparks fly as Damian hits an electric reserve.

The red emergency lights now blaring a warning.

But the three pay no mind to the danger alarm, Y/n and Damian too absorbed in capturing their objective. Jon too distracted to not getting injured.

————

“Code Red, Watchtower is under attack.” An AI Voice announces into the earpieces of the Justice team. “Permission to counter attack the enemy by any means necessary?”

“The kids!” Superman exclaims, Batman redirecting the route of the Batship.

“Permission denied.” Batman grumbles into his mic. Worry now coating the features of Clark.

“What foe could be attacking the tower right now?” Diana voices, hoping that the answer will relieve some distress. Batman only grumbles a reply.

“Probably the kids.”

————-

Arriving to the tower the big three stand at the teleport entry, eyeing the mass damage that has occurred on the tower in the short moments they were gone. All of the screens are cracked and ruin, the holographic projector now laying on the floor in a broke heap. Sparks flying away from live wires.

“I caught him first!” Damian shouts, yanking Jon towards him.

“What are you stupid?! I caught him first!” Y/n shouts yanking Jon into her grasp. Jumping up she locks her legs around his torso, arms wrapping firmly around Jon’s neck in a lock. “You can claim him if you wretch my dead body off of him.”

“Fine.” Damian says coldly, taking a step back and launching himself onto the two making them tumble over with a loud thud. Yelps and grasps coming from the three now strewn a-crossed the floor. Jon now trapped between his two friends, thrashing limbs.

“What is going on here?” Diana yells making Y/n instantly release her grip and scrambling to get up only to slam into the floor as Damian’s grip is still wrapped around her ankle. The three slowly look up at their parents faces who are angry to say the least. “How could you let this happen.”

Y/n kicks her foot at Damian, before finally standing up, Y/n slouches under the angry gaze of her mother. “We couldn’t decide on a leader so we made it a competition of capture the flag… Jon’s the flag.” Diana’s eye twitched at the absurdity of your words. The watch tower was destroyed because their super kids decided to settle an argument with ‘Capture the Flag.’

“And added inflicted millions of dollars in damages in the process. You’re all in big trouble.” Clark reprimands, his usual friendly demeanour now replaced with stern anger.

“But Dad! I didn’t even want to be part of this stupid game!” Jon whines which only makes Y/n and Damian shoot Jon a silent deathly look.

“A good leader would’ve prevented a dispute in their team.” Clark reprimands Jon which only makes him bow his head in shame.

“You’re all clearly not ready for a serious role in the hero’s league if you plan of settling disputes with childish games and inflicting mass damage in the process - Clark, Diana and I will re-evaluate your readiness. Until then, the Little Three team is banned from missions.”

“What?! This is so unfair!” Y/n exclaims in exasperation. The hero’s team banned before they even got started. They hadn’t even picked a leader for crying out loud.

“What is unfair is that Jon, Damian and yourself have destroyed perfectly good resources all for a game.” Clark reprimands. “Jon your grounded, you will be staying home for the rest of the summer completing all farm chores including mine.” Jon groans at his punishment.

It was Bruce’s turn to supply Damian a punishment. “No vigilante work until you move stocks to cover the cost of your handiwork.” Damian stands stick straight, accepting his punishment without resistance.

“Yes father.”

Diana leans over, her brows knitting together in irritation. “Listen here missy!” Before Diana could utter another word, Y/n’s hands reach out to her mothers face, pressing her fingers into her mothers pinched brows, as if making Diana not frown would resolve her anger. Y/n begins to jut her lip out and stare up at her mother with big shining eyes.

“I’m sorry Mama, please don’t be mad.” Her soft and delicate voice pulling at Diana’s heartstrings.

“…it’s okay baby…” Diana folds instantly to her adorable daughter. “Just don’t do it again.” She coos giving her precious girl a big kiss on the cheek. Y/n only looks at her fellow mates with the cheekiest of grins.

The two boys stare in disbelief as Y/n escape parental punishment, especially as she is the instigator of the incident. Jon decides to take the plunge. “Dad-“

“Don’t even try it son.”

The Misteryous Visitor 5

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The argument between Talia and Bruce is catastrophic from beginning to end, and while the whole truth is revealed, neither of them wants to let go of you. Strange was always a greater danger than he let on and was closer than he ever thought.

Warnings: Family discussion; meaningless kiss; aggression; blood; kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4.5k

Note: Talia has a slightly different relationship with Bruce in my story compared to the canon, being more tense than the impression I got when I watched scenes between the two of them.

I forget to mention that English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

"Is it true?" Bruce asked quickly, barely giving Talia time to dare say anything before him. The woman rolled her eyes, still with her back to him, and prepared to maintain her confident pose.

She turned to face him and took a few moments to admire the vision, blatantly diverting her eyes to his lips and seeing how the messy shirt had given him a more fierce and attractive aura. Their relationship was complicated, that's a fact, but she could never stop finding the man in front of her charmingly handsome.

"You'll need to be more specific than that," Talia's voice dripped with a sweet and wicked tone as she walked toward him. Bruce violently stood up from the chair when he saw her hand reach towards him and imposed his height over hers to intimidate.

"Don't play the cynic." There was a suppressed fury in his tone, and she was sure he was using the last bit of self-control that still possessed.

"For heaven's sake, Bruce." Talia mocked, picking up the coat she had intended to grab from the beginning from the chair, having recognized it as yours. She grimaced as felt the damp fabric and dropped it in a corner of the room on the floor. The look she was receiving could burn her skin, and when she turned her face back to his, she realized how disturbed he was. "You look horrible. Strange really got into your head, didn't he?"

Talia saw him narrow his eyes with impatient indignation as he snorted. She found seeing him like this very peculiar and thought it would be fun to try and provoke.

The woman brought her face close to his, making her warm breath touch his chin provocatively while boldly wrapping her arms around the broad neck. She tested the waters, seeing how he remained still, and brushed her red lips along his jawline, then moved up until their mouths shared the same breath.

She was going to try to persuade, convince him that he was overthinking, and smiled inwardly when she saw Bruce become disconcerted for a second, completely unresponsive when she sealed their lips together. She managed to seduce him in that second to the point where, unconsciously, he moved his tongue with hers, but tasting her saliva brought him back to rationality.

He left her in complete shock when abruptly pushed her away and grabbed her face in an aggressive manner, squeezing the cheeks and making her squirm until eyes glazed over into his. “You repulse me.” Bruce spat and was glad to see her bold expression disappear. “Tell me once: she is mine?"

Talia tried to take his hand away with hers, but he seemed implacable, and didn't even move a finger out of place. He might be stronger, but she wasn't weak, and that was what made her let out an astonished sob.

"She is my daughter?!" He shouted, shaking her, no longer able to take the lack of response.

"Yes it is true." The confession made him let go of her finally, and she almost stumbled back with how sudden it was.

She massaged her face, seeking relief, and it didn't take long for her eyebrows to furrow in shock. Bruce felt no pity or regret, she deserved much more than he would ever have the courage to do.

"How?" By the way he looked, she knew there was no more room for lies or evasion. She had never seen him like this; Bruce had always been the most balanced man she had ever known in her entire life.

"She and Damian are twins," Talia responded immediately.

"Twins?" Bruce's voice sounded incredulous. He felt that even all the time in the universe wouldn't be enough to process that. It seemed simply unreal. "Why did you hide this? Why did you tell me about Damian and not about her?"

"Because you would have taken her from me!" She shouted, running her fingers over her face to check if her makeup had smeared. "I handed Damian over to you willingly, but if you had found out about him before, you would have brought him here just the same. And with her, it would be no different. You should be grateful to have had the boy."

"How dare you say such a thing?" Bruce threw the chair to the floor in a fit of rage, making a loud noise that echoed even outside the hallway. "And 'handed Damian over willingly'? You only did that because you felt pressured after your father died." He threw it in her face and suddenly remembered something: "You made that boy lie for you." He accused her.

Talia was silent for a brief moment, but her face showed nothing but contempt. "I did, yes." She admitted.

"What's the point of that? Was it just out of whim?" Bruce seemed fragile before her for the first time in so many years. For a moment, she glimpsed an old argument, from when they were still dating and didn't hide feelings from each other as they do today. "Do you hold that much resentment? You know very well why I dismissed the League of Assassins."

"Of course, Bruce. Your morals are too valuable, aren't they?" Talia replied with her chin up, not letting him affect her. "You think you're a good guy, a pure superhero like Superman. But I know you and I know how rotten you are inside. You are not as different from us as you think." She spewed the words in his face like venom.

"You wanted her to come here, didn't you? You and he planned all this?" Comprehension seemed to have hit Bruce, but that only left the woman confused.

"If it were up to me, you would never have discovered her existence. Why would I send her here?" The confession left him silent, not because he wasn't angry anymore, but because he was tired of hearing her voice; he simply couldn't believe anything Talia said. "She is my daughter. And I don't care what you're going to do now, but don't think you're going to drag her with you like you did with all those boys.”

"You think you can offer something better? You, the same person who left her in the hands of that sicko, consider yourself a better option?" Bruce insinuated this with a firmness that made it clear he had no doubt Talia was cooperating with Strange, making her eyes turn red. She could hear many insults from him, but insinuating that she had put you at risk was something entirely different. "You can be sure you won't lay another finger on her."

She knew Bruce was serious, and that he could actually prevent any future contact betwedn you and her. She wanted to kill him right now out of sheer hatred, but she was smart and knew that acting impulsively wouldn't solve anything. So, reluctantly, she tried to change the tone of the discussion to a neutral one. There was no way she could leave without giving him explanations, and if she tried, he would stop her.

"Maybe Strange had been threatening me for some time, possibly before deciding to appear publicly again and attack you." There was a slight irony of indignation in her words. Her gaze was firm and her green eyes shining with the intensity of someone defending their own honor. "Let it be clear: I didn't help anyone; I was as much a victim of this as you were."

"Victim?" Bruce retorted with disdain.

"This threat wasn't for you, Bruce, it was for me. Today you didn't lose anything, quite the opposite." She ignored the acidic tone and continued. "Maybe this contributed to some kind of psychological game Strange is playing against you, but it must be just a bonus."

"Why is he threatening you?" The question contained no compassion or empathy, but it didn't matter to her to receive that kind of consideration from him.

"What did he do to you?" Talia ignored the question, and as a form of childish revenge, he did the same. She sighed and tried a different approach: "If you tell me, I'll tell you too." She needed to know to try to understand the depth of Strange's current intentions or at least get some clue about the plan he was plotting because although she wouldn't say it to Bruce, she was also trying to catch him.

"A photo of my parents," he confessed, trying to sound indifferent before continuing, "Photos of the boys, of Alfred..." Bruce left the sentence hanging in the air and didn't proceed. He would never say more than he deemed necessary to her.

"Damian too?" She asked, worried about her son, and saw Bruce nod affirmatively. Bruce calmly unwrinkled a card while handing it to her.

"He asked her to deliver this to me today." His tone was serious, revealing a determination to deal with the situation pragmatically and directly.

Talia repeated those printed words several times, and every hair on her body stood on end all at once. "Did she…?"

"She didn't read it." He said curtly. "But what I don't understand is how all this seems so convenient and you claim to have nothing to do with it. He had this card perfectly prepared."

"Knowing him well, he must have been waiting for an opportunity for many days, or he induced this to happen somehow." She reflected, scratching the fine texture with her nails right where the text was printed to the point of making it illegible. "The letter that Damian said she picked up took longer to arrive than the others; it must have ended up with him at some point."

"How could he be so close, and you didn't notice?" His voice became aggressive again, the same beastly rage returning.

"I did notice! I just didn't imagine Strange interested in her; I thought it was about Damian. So, I didn't worry because he wasn't with me; he was with you." She raised her voice, trying to match his volume. "Strange has been sending me coded messages. Threats that had nothing to do with my daughter. I thought he didn't know she was yours and therefore wouldn't care about her." She finished, and Bruce clenched his jaw, observing how she increasingly emphasized the expression "my daughter," excluding him.

"Threats related to Damian?" He asked. His muscles were tense and sore, but he endured the discomfort if it meant clarifying everything once and for all. "And, of course, you never considered telling me."

"This started long before I left him with you, Bruce. They were still children." Talia said, growing increasingly frustrated with the conversation.

"What could Damian have done to him as a child?"

"Damian ended up leaving Strange with one less eye. He was already pursuing him because of you, but after losing an eye, all he wanted was revenge." She walked to the bed, leaning on the arms while crossing her legs. A very characteristic gesture of her behavior, which was highlighted when she wore her extravagant dresses, but the cold pants she wore made the movements relaxed. "He was a child; he didn't do it on purpose. He was just protecting his sister."

"How could Strange have known about Damian for so long and not about her? What you're saying doesn't make any sense, Talia." Bruce was frantic, and after a brief moment of melancholy, she sighed:

"I blame my father for this." Her voice almost wavered in front of him, but being the proud person she was, she quickly composed herself.

“What did Ra’s do?” He threw the question into the air, laden with apprehension.

The room plunged into a disturbing silence. Talia remained motionless, while the sound of Bruce's heavy breathing was the only thing breaking the void in the atmosphere. For a brief moment, her eyes met his and captured the storm of emotions brewing there: betrayal, despair, expectation.

She did not fear him, but rather how he might react to this. You were there, nearby, in the hallway, and the last thing she wanted was for the primal figure Bruce was becoming to explode and expel her, taking you to him. Moreover, she needed to remind herself that she was at a disadvantage there. It wasn't just Bruce she would face if things turned worse or physical, but everyone else in the house.

“What did he do, Talia?” Bruce growled, repeating the question with intensity.

She stared at the floor, fully aware that her next words would turn against her later, but at this point, he needed to know. Strange was out there, and he was still as much of a psychopath obsessed with Batman as before, meaning he wouldn’t rest until he managed to take Bruce’s place as a vigilante. So, with a low but icy voice, she moved her mouth to tell him the truth:

“Years ago, Strange sought out the League of Assassins. That lunatic was always smart and somehow discovered the rift between you and my father.” The mention of such an old event took Bruce by surprise. He slightly recoiled and his eyebrows raised, but he restrained himself from interrupting her. “He wanted the League to help him defeat you and vice versa. My father was suspicious, but he was so resentful that he agreed. Your betrayal was still fresh to us.”

“And of course it went wrong, didn’t it?” He asked with implicit sarcasm.

“Strange was so cunning that he managed to manipulate him to his advantage. He provided us with precise and important information about you, but after a while, he wanted to advise my father on how to act. That’s when I started to hate him, realizing how he was controlling.” She shook her head in denial, recalling the memory with bitterness, and continued:

“My father trusted him so much that he allowed Strange to infiltrate us more and more, until one day, by chance, he found damian in Nanda Parbat. Strange was nosy and curious; he tried to extract the information from me, but discovered on his own that you were his father.” Talia blew a strand of hair that fell on her face and decided to add the next part with acidity: “Strange was so fascinated by this that he made an absurd request. We denied it, and then he rebelled against us. Of course, that incompetent couldn’t accomplish anything, and then disappeared, as he always does when things go wrong.”

“Ra’s and Strange working together?” Bruce asked himself. He could never have imagined that two such distinct people could have had a relationship like that in the past. “And what did he ask for?”

“He was obsessed with surpassing you, but it wasn’t just that, he wanted to be you and have everything that was yours. He asked to raise Damian as if he were his own son, can you believe it? Luckily, Y/n never set foot in Nanda Parbat, so he didn’t discover her in that time.” She paused for a moment, reliving the events. “He wanted to prove that he could raise him and make a better Robin. Strange has known your identities much longer than you think; he knew the real Robin was your adopted son.”

Bruce’s face contorted in an expression of disbelief. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his mouth opened as if about to say something, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. He blinked a few times, needing to assimilate what he had heard. “If he never saw her before, how did all this happen?”

“A few years later, when my father hadn’t been dead for long, I returned to live in Gotham City with Y/n, and Strange found out Damian was here too and broke into the apartment where we were. He intended to kidnap Damian, but he used to share a room with his sister, and by mistake, Strange went to her bed.” She spoke with a heavy voice, the last sentence sending chills down her spine, but she persisted:

“I woke up to her frightened scream and a loud noise. I ran and when I saw it was him, I had no mercy. He is intelligent, but sometimes he is blinded by his own obsession and do stupid things. He was already bleeding, with a pencil piercing one of his eyes, thanks to Damian, then fled through the living room. I didn’t initially chase after him because I wanted to make sure Damian was okay; the problem was I hadn’t realized that Y/n wasn’t in the room. Damian had distracted Strange to let his sister escape, and because of my delay, he took her.”

Talia seemed to be in a trance. Each word weighed on her chest like lead, yet she threw them out as if they were disposable. Her usually confident and determined eyes didn’t know where to look. Sitting rigidly on the bed, her imposing posture didn’t waver, as her pride didn’t allow her to show weakness.

“What did he do?” Bruce throat tightened, as if the air was rarefied, as he waited for the answer. Talia might think otherwise, but he could see through her facade. And despite it being selfish to say this, he couldn’t feel a shred of concern for her, especially when someone more important to him was now involved.

After standing for so long, Bruce sat on the bed next to her. He reflected on the sad incident, deeply disturbed. He blamed her. He blamed her for her character, for lying so much, and for hiding from him that his children were in danger. He was grateful that she had fallen silent for a few seconds, as he was mentally preparing himself for a grim scenario, one he wasn’t yet ready to face.

“What happened to her?” He asked, seeing that she wasn’t showing signs of speaking, trying to prompt her to continue.

"Strange carried her through the city, desperately fleeing from me until he ended up in an alley. He encountered a group of drunks who surrounded and wanted to rob him. He's not a good fighter, you already know that, and like a damn coward, he threw her into their midst as a distraction while he escaped again.”

“Unbelievable…” Bruce massaged his eyebrows with his eyes closed, visibly upset. He pressed his temples hard, as if trying to dispel the accumulated frustration. After a deep breath, he suddenly exploded in a shout of frustration and anger, just like at the beginning. “You should have contacted me!"

“Are you trying to blame me?!” She asked indignantly.

"She didn't seem to recognize him when she spoke to me just now. It sounded like she was talking about a random stranger." Bruce was confused.

"I don't know if she would recognize him again, she never wanted to talk to me about that day. And I never mentioned Hugo Strange either, everything she knows about him she sees on the news."

“You and your father are the worst kind of people I could have gotten involved with,” Bruce said, his voice dangerously low this time. “If it weren't for Ra's, Strange would never have gotten close to them. If it weren't for your stupid lie, nothing you just said would have happened. And I don't even want to imagine what the hell happened after that!”

"You would have made sure nothing like that happened, wouldn't you, Bruce? You talk about it with such certainty, but weren't you the one who let the Joker do something similar to that kid… Is Jason his name?" A menção dela a algo assim fez os ouvidos de Bruce ficarem surdos. Ele podia ouvir claramente o som de seu coração batendo dentro do peito, até que a voz nojenta dela soou novamente: "You would have put her in the same disgrace!"

Bruce lost the control he tried so hard to maintain from the beginning. He threw the lamp next to him into the headboard on the wall. The movement was so violent that the wire connecting the object to the socket broke in a strange way and the entire glass part broke into several pieces. The noise was thunderous, and even when he stood up with a piercing look at her, Talia continued with her laughing face, enjoying watching him go crazy.

“Don't try to compare the two things. You didn’t tell me about Strange before because you were embarrassed. It's too hard for you to admit that you can fail. Besides, you always liked having someone to control, to manipulate at your pleasure. You did this to her, didn't you? And even then, you’re not satisfied. You continued to torment Damian, using him.” Bruce took a deep breath.“I thought you cared about him.”

Talia got up too and lifted her chin, her eyes shining with defiance. “You understand nothing, Bruce,” she responded with a firm and cutting voice. “Everything I did was to protect them both. I explained my reasons to you. Do you think hiding them was just my decision? My father would never have allowed it, and I won't deny that I wasn’t against him, but it didn’t depend solely on me. You, with your inflexible morality and your rules, would never understand.”

“Don’t give me that,” Bruce growled, his gaze fixed and penetrating. “You branded the girl with your initials like she was cattle. It was never about protection; it’s possessiveness.”

Like him, Talia stood up. “I may be a woman of whims, as you like to say, but I didn’t hide anything because I was embarrassed”

Talia paused, her voice softening but not positively. “And as for tormenting him… I trained him, prepared him for the cruel world we live in. Do you think you could keep him safe with your mild methods? He needs to be strong, needs to be able to survive, and in those years I taught him to protect her because no one else would. My father didn’t care about a granddaughter; he finally had the male heir he wanted. I had to meet his demands to make Damian perfect, and that allowed me the freedom to raise her away from all that. What I could do, I did. And what I wanted to do, I also did. And I’d do it all again.”

“You always think you did everything right, but everything you’ve said only proves how misguided you are. I remember I gave you a choice, Talia. I told you that you could abandon the League of Assassins and come with me. I told you that your father didn't need to control your life forever,” Bruce said, his voice laden with disdain. “You will never come near her again. You’ll have to go over my dead body first.”

Talia narrowed her eyes in contempt. “Do you really think you can stop me?” Her voice was low and controlled, but each word carried significant weight. “You always saw the world in black and white. Do you really think it was so simple to abandon my entire life and devotion for you, a mere fleeting romance? If you think it’s that easy to give up everything, I challenge you to abandon Batman right now. After all, it’s because of this secret identity of yours that all this started, isn’t it? Isn’t it as easy as that, Bruce?”

She took a step forward, facing him without wavering. “I can repeat it as many times as you want: I am a criminal, I am selfish, and whatever else you want me to say, but the only hypocrite in this room is you.” Her eyes shone with determination, while his wavered before her.

Bruce hardened his expression, sadness hitting him. He wanted to accuse her of being a low person, but deep in his conscience, he feared it was true. But he wouldn’t allow himself to be deceived; she was still the wrong one here. She was the one who completely distorted the situation, making herself the victim and trying to justify everything she did, turning him into the villain of the story.

“Talia, I never wanted you to be any of these things,” he began, his voice laden with anguish. He felt bitterness looking at her face now, as it painfully reminded him of the time when he had been deeply in love with this same woman. “I wanted to believe you could change, that you would be different from your father. But every choice you made, every lie you told… Our relationship was unsustainable, and now the only thing I feel for you is remorse.”

He closed the last distance between them, imposing himself with a somber aura. “Your actions, your alliances… they put her at risk. My duty as a father is to protect her, and I can’t ignore the danger you represent. I never wanted it to come to this, Talia. But if keeping her safe means keeping her away from you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Talia clenched her fists, her expression hardening even more. “Do you think I didn’t want to protect her too?” Her voice became silky. There was a dark delight in how the words dragged, a subtle poison hidden in each intonation. “You talk about protecting her, but she needs more than simple physical protection. She needs a mother, someone who understands the complexity of her feelings.”

“Look at yourself for a moment, Bruce,” said Talia, her voice icy and full of disdain. “You’re losing your composure. Do you really think she’ll like finding out that her father is this weak and ridiculous man you’ve become?”

The woman took a step forward, fixing her eyes on his with a challenging gleam. “The only thing she’ll feel for you is shame.”

"Do you really think you can tell me who I've become?" He paused, swallowing hard. "I didn't want it to come to this, Talia, but if you don't leave voluntarily, I'll be forced to tell that girl everything you've done. And then we'll let her decide."

He intensified the confrontation, provoking her: "Are you sure she would still choose you after so many lies? After everything you've hidden from her?" His eyes darkened, pupils dilated by the dim light in the room. "Value the good image she still has of you."

Talia was momentarily silent, her eyes meeting Bruce's with a genuine expression of concern. She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice a bit more dangerous than before. "Would you really do that? Tell her everything?"

Bruce replied firmly, maintaining his serious gaze on hers. "It's what I must do, regardless of everything. Continuing to hide things isn't right. But if the only way for you to leave more easily is under this condition, then go now."

Talia took a few steps back, her serious expression showing shock and worry. Her thoughts repeated Bruce's ultimatum continuously, knowing you would not react well to it.

You were a smart girl, but emotionally very fragile. Your bonds of trust were limited to her and your brother, and you two had been apart for so long that having your relationship with your mother destroyed in this way would leave a huge scar on your heart. This would be the best choice, both for her and for you if Talia didn't want everything to fall apart.

She turned towards the bedroom hallway, as if seeking a moment to ponder the consequences. After a moment, she turned her gaze back to Bruce, her shoulders slightly lower. "You are not going to involve her in your vigilante life." It wasn't a request, it was a warning, and Bruce didn't contest it to avoid further conflict. Understanding that she had decided to leave was enough to reassure him.

"I didn't mean to." He walked past her, picking up your coat she had thrown on the floor earlier, checking carefully that it hadn't been damaged by the broken lampshade, and lifting the chair to let the piece dry once more.

"You know where the exit is; don't take too long." Without bothering to be polite, he quickly opened the door, leaving her standing there. He knew she would really leave after seeing how she reacted. She wouldn't risk irritating him by taking longer than necessary.

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➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER THREE: DEBUT

SUMMARY

↳ School's in, and so is Spinnerette. Unfortunately that spidey luck doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. Must be a canon in every universe.

Crouching off the ledge of the building, you prep yourself. “Back to the ole grind, K.” and then you fly. Leaping off the building, you feel the rush of wind call you. You flick your wrist, sending a web at the nearest building. You swing forward in a graceful arc, flipping and twirling. Each swing makes you faster and sends you higher. You grin under your mask and let out a whoop.

“We are so back!”

warnings: hostage situations, mugging attempts, guns

wc: 4.3k

You’re irrational in your worry to don the suit. You know logically the battery can last you months, but it might take months to build a nanite chamber. You don’t even want to spend months in this dimension.

Your makeshift nanite chamber is horrific at best. The cord management breaks several lab safety rules. The amalgamation of cables is tucked away in your closet. You haven’t tried to use it yet because you’re absolutely certain it might cause a city-wide power outage.

Tonight, though, you’ll finally introduce Gotham to Spinnerette.

You won’t patrol in East End, Catwoman’s got that covered. You’re not dumb enough to mess around in her territory. You plan on swinging by Crime Alley and the Narrows, two of the worst parts of Gotham. If you find any of the Bats, you’ll just use your totally awesome charm and super duper hero skills to wiggle your way out of their watch. Hopefully.

You take a deep breath, the suit breathing with you. Gotham is so different from your New York. Your home, the “City that Never Sleeps”, is true to its name. The city becomes so much more alive at night, so much more colorful. You’ve seen many New Yorks and its variants, and you’ve never seen one so… lifeless… like Gotham. In all fairness, Gotham is Gotham and not New York.

You sniff, rolling back your shoulders. “How are things looking, K?”

“My forecast predicts rain to hit in 2 hours. Temperature is 74॰, wind speeds are optimal for swinging. I have intercepted police reports nearby about a hostage situation, shall I optimize a route, [Name]?”

Crouching off the ledge of the building, you prep yourself. “Back to the ole grind, K.” and then you fly. Leaping off the building, you feel the rush of wind call you. You flick your wrist, sending a web at the nearest building. You swing forward in a graceful arc, flipping and twirling. Each swing makes you faster and sends you higher. You grin under your mask and let out a whoop.

“We are so back!”

You tuck your knees to your chest, avoiding a billboard. Below you traffic roars. You perform a dance in the sky, swinging from building to building. You feel that familiar adrenaline returning, a reminder of who you are. The weight of responsibility is momentarily forgotten, replaced by sheer freedom.

You flip one last time in the air, landing in a crouch at your destination. You look over the edge. It’s just one guy waving his gun around madly. In his grasp is a child.

“I’ll fucking shoot, I swear! Get me my money right fucking now!” He’s panicked and desperate, which means he’s trigger happy. Normally you’d defuse the situation the best you can, but now? You have the element of surprise. You’ll act quickly.

You send a web and yank the gun out of his hands, then send another web, hauling the man up to you. You web his mouth shut, fisting his shirt and making him face you. His eyes are fearful, but you can’t think of anything to say. You look over to the tense faces of the police. Among them is Jim Gordon. You know he can’t see you, but he’s looking right at you.

You huff, lowering the man. You wrap him up in your webs with familiar ease, like a real spider saving its prey for later. He yelps as he’s dropped and yanked back up, the cops pointing their guns in his direction. The kid from earlier is safe behind Commissioner Gordon, letting you know your job here is done. The only sound they hear is the thwip of your web as you swing away.

“I’d say that went well. Enough,” you blurt into the silence as you’re swinging.

“Certainly, [Name].” You’ve never been able to tell when Karen uses sarcasm, and you suspect you never will.

Over there! In there! Help!

You swerve to your right, barrelling into an alley. You crawl alongside the wall, slowing down when you hear voices.

“Please, I don’t have any money on me!” A woman cries, hands in the air. “Please, please don’t do this. I-I have a son!”

She’s face to face with the barrel of a gun. “I-I don’t give a fuck! I ain’t stupid either. I see them earrings. Cost a pretty buck, I’m sure. Just give me all ya money, and we can both go our ways.”

The gun in his hands is shaking and his voice is wavering. He’s just as nervous as the woman is.

“His name is Garrett Fields. He recently lost a custody battle for his child to his ex-wife. He spent his last dollars fighting for his daughter.”

You purse your lips. One of your least favorite realizations as you got older was how gray the world is. This guy fought for his daughter till the very end, and look where it got him. It doesn’t excuse his actions, but it does explain them.

You approach him from behind silently. You put a finger to your mask when the lady’s eyes flick over his shoulder. Claws dig into his arm as it’s wretched back and the gun is yanked out of his hands. You face the woman.

“Go.” Your voice is distorted thanks to the suit. She doesn’t need to hear anything else before she bolts out of the alley. You make sure Garrett can see it when you crush the gun in your grip. He whimpers.

“What’s up, Garrett.”

He struggles in your grip. “You with the Bats or somethin’?” He asks hysterically.

“Nah,” you wave. “Trust me, though. You’d rather deal with me.” You drop him against the concrete. You rock back and forth on your heels. “So, sorry to hear about the daughter.” You pull up a virtual interface of her face and show it to him. “She’s pretty cute.”

Garrett goes misty-eyed almost immediately. “Emma…”

You kneel in front of him. “Lemme ask you something, Gar.” Despite the mask blocking his view, Garfield shudders when he makes eye-contact.

“Have you killed or otherwise hurt anyone before this? I’ll know if you’re lying.”

There’s a tear rolling down his face. He’s got anger and sadness in his eyes. You see the fruits of Gotham’s influence weighing down on him. You’re once again reminded that some things are just out of your power. Hurt people, hurt people.

“No,” he grumbles out. He’s not lying.

“Alrighty,” you clap your hands, huffing when he flinches at the clink sound your claws make. “Listen, I know. Times are tough, you’re flat broke. That gun didn’t even have any bullets in it.” He scoffs. “There’s this cafe in East End. Owner’s feisty, but real understanding. I got somebody called [Name]  that can vouch for you. We’ll get you set up.”

Garrett scowls at you. “Fuck off. I don’t want your goddamn pity.”

You wave your hands frantically, sitting down next to him. “It’s not pity at all. Understanding. I gotta look out for my little guys. The people who get overlooked or judged too quickly.” You pat his shoulder. “You didn’t kill anybody, so I got you, man.”

Garrett stares at you in visible disbelief. “I’m sending you a couple hundred bucks directly to your bank account. Don’t worry, I stole them from rich people,” you drawl.

He can’t do anything else but chuckle. “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

You hum. “At least I ain’t Batman. He would’ve put your ass in Arkham.”

“At least with Batman I can guarantee I’ll be alive by the end of it.”

You scoff indignantly. “I wouldn’t have killed you!”

He grunts. “Don’t mean you don’t kill in general.”

You shrug, ignoring his side-eye when you don’t deny it. Sighing, you stand up, stretching. “In return for my endless kindness–” Garrett squints in suspicion and rolls his eyes. “–I just need one simple favor.”

“Of course,” he scoffs out.

“Don’t be like that, I just need you to spread the word.”

“The word?”

“Tell people that a giant spider was around webbing up criminals.” Garrett blinks. “It’ll be funny,” is your only explanation.”

You turn and send a web away in preparation to swing away, smiling at his surprised sputter. “My actual name is Spinnerette.” Facing him one last time. “I don’t mind if you call me Spinner, though.”

Your final parting words are “It’s not the end of the world, friend. Keep looking up.”

“News of a ‘Giant Spider’ Webbing Up Criminals in Gotham! A Good Sign or Not?”

“Giant Spider Makes Home in Gotham City.”

“New Threat in Gotham – How to Stay Safe.”

Bruce Wayne rubs his face in exhaustion. Since last night, many articles have sprung up about this ‘spider’ tying up no-gooders in an actual web-like substance. He couldn’t take a sample for himself, it was far too sticky. But he received word from Gordon that he himself had had a run in with the spider.

“It was definitely human-shaped.” He had gruffed out, “The web dissolved after an hour.”

So there’s a new meta in Gotham acting as a spider. And as a vigilante. Bruce can respect delivering justice, and it doesn’t look like they’ve killed anyone. Even so, he can admit he has control issues (maybe not out loud, though), and an unknown variable puts him on edge.

For now though, Bruce has other things to focus on. “What were you saying, Barbara?”

“Somebody got a perfect score on the entrance exam for GA.”

His brows raise. “And who would that be?”

“Some kid named [Name] Stark. I knew you were gonna ask, so I looked into them. It’s kind of weird, their father’s name is Tony Stark, dude’s loaded. He’s an avid traveler, but nothing seems amiss. [Name] is living on their own in East End, working at ‘Carrie’s Cafe’ and getting sporadic payments from her father. Wonder why the hell they’d choose to live in Gotham of all places.”

His eyebrows furrow. “They’re living on their own?”

Barbara scoffs over the call. “They’re 18, don’t get any ideas. I guess they flunked a grade or something, or maybe it’s a late birthday. They just seem like strange people to me.”

Bruce hums, satisfied. “We’ll give them the scholarship, of course. I’ll address the letter personally. And we’ll give them a stipend, as well.”

“Their dad’s rich.”

“That means nothing to me.”

You chuckle mischievously at the headlines. You’ve been cracking up the whole morning about them. You’ll thank Garrett when you next see him as Spinner.

“A successful debut, if I do say so myself, [Name],” Karen pipes up in your ear. Nari meows in your lap. He’s become a faithful companion (read: cuddle partner) in exchange for food. He’s got a good mindset.

Sam’s at the cafe early for once. They give you a smile as you enter. “I was worried that big ass spider got you.”

“And why would it get me, specifically?” you ask as you put on an apron.

“I know you’re an evil freak from the way you have your coffee,” they scoff.

You stick out your tongue at them. “Nothing wrong with my death brew.” Your preferred coffee is known among the staff for its near poisonous potency. You don’t tell anyone the recipe, because you’re kind of afraid it actually is poisonous for normal people. It did it's job in keeping you awake back in the day when patrol ran late.

Carrie walks out, calling for you. She tells Sam to go handle the register, an obvious sign that she needs to talk to you alone. Sam gives you a look as they walk off. Garret Fields is waiting for you in the back.

“I’ll keep it brief so you can get back to work. He’s tryna get a job and said you can vouch for him?” Carrieis suspicion isn’t hidden. Garrent isn’t the same man from the night before. His posture curves in on itself and his eyes are tired. It’s as if he’s already resigned himself to the worst outcome.

You nod, fast. “He’s a friend. It’s a tough time right now, and he really needs a job.” Garrett’s staring at you. “I promise he’s a good egg.”

Carrie ‘uh-huhs’ but lets it go. “Good enough for me,” she pats his shoulder, hard. “I’ll go get the paperwork, then.” And she’s gone, leaving you with Garrett.

“Understanding, right?” you say, quoting yourself from last night.”

“No kidding,” Garrett huffs, before staring at you again. “Thank you. Both of you.”

You raise a brow. “No questions, you sure?”

“Something about a horse gift and a mouth,” he rumbles. “Y’all got me a job, I owe ya.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you wave him off. “Spinner’s in the helping people business, a.k.a, the hero business. They don’t do it to be owed. They’re looking out for people like us.”

“The.. little guys?”

You nod sagely. “You get it.”

He sighs, simultaneously grateful and regretful. “Thank you,” he says once more.

Garrett settles in nicely the next week. He’s got that southerness that charms people into leaving tips, and he knows how to use it.

“Say oil.”

“No.”

Sam likes him well enough, so that makes him a-okay in your books.

“Big day tomorrow, how are we feeling?” Sam asks during closing time. Tomorrow marks your first day at GA. Karen strongly suggested not patrolling on the basis of getting a good night’s sleep, and you’re more keen to follow her advice in this universe.

“What’s tomorrow?” Gar, pipes from the back.

“Our little scholar got a full ride to GA, signed by the big man himself. Ain’t that right?” Sam is getting good at imitating Gar’s accent.

Getting accepted into GA wasn't a surprise. The surprise was the nature of the letter itself.

“Dear [Name] Stark,

I am delighted to inform you that you have been accepted into Gotham Academy under the Martha and Thomas Wayne scholarship! GA looks forward to seeing you grow.

It is also with great pride that I am able to inform you myself that you have scored perfect on the entrance exam, and are the first in history to do so. You’ll be awarded with a stipend of $500 every two weeks.

I look forward to seeing you overcome challenges and become a part of our community.

Signed,

Bruce Wayne.”

You should've been paying more attention to the answers you were putting down. You had been on autopilot when taking the test, and now Bruce Wayne himself knows about you. To add more insult to injury, you're the first person ever to get a perfect score. You just hope scores aren't available for others to see. You can't imagine the type of vultures that await you if that's the case. At least you can stop stealing from gullible rich people now.

“The hell you doin’ runnin’ with folks like them?” Gar is far more subtle in showing his dislike for Gothams’ elite, but not that subtle.

“Oh, goodie. There's two of you,” you chuckle. You untie your apron. “Uh, for one, it'll look good for me. Two, it'll be easy stuff. And three,” you pause. You can't say you need access to the lab and its funds so you can create a dimensional portal so you say, “and I'm trying to find my rich future spouse.”

Sam cackles, slapping your shoulders. “I've trained you well.”

Gar raises a brow. “Easy? They got college level stuff in that school and you find that easy?”

“They do my work for me sometimes,” Sam states, ignoring Gar's incredulous look.

“Shit, kid. You’re going places.”

You cheekily smile. “I’ll be sure to put you in a nice nursing home.”

You dodge the leftover pastry he throws at you.

You take a bunch of pictures of Nari in the morning when you find him sleeping beside your head. The school uniform is your average private school get-up. You forgo the loafers in exchange for some converse instead. Something about doing your own thing.

Taking the subway reminds you of the late nights of messing around in the empty station with your friends.

“It’s crooked!

“It’s not!”

“It’s definitely crooked.”

The five of you should definitely not be here right now, but teenagers will be teenagers. You showed the gang a spot you found earlier where Miles could spray-paint to his heart's desire. Gwen insists it’s crooked, despite the picture having no defined shape. Miles’ is insisting he knows what he’s doing and Pav is taking a million selfies.

You and Hobie are leaned against a back wall, observing.

“I think I like this.”

Hobie hums, tilting his head to hear you better. “It’s not really talked about, but I know most of us–” you gesture to the trio. “–Spiders have to grow up fast, or don’t really get to grow up at all. I like giving them the chance to be kids.”

You and Hobie are a bit older than the kids. When something happens they turn to you first for answers.

“We gotta… break that generational trauma, or something.”

Hobie chuckles. “I see what you’re saying.”

When Miles is done, he shows you an image of a figure outlined multiple times, showing multiple identities.

You blink when the speakers crackle to life to announce you’ve reached your destination. It’s a short walk to the grounds of GA. Karen is playing ‘calming’ music in your ear. The school feels much more alive now that there are people chatting here and there.

Some people look at you as you walk by, but they’re mostly looking at your shoes. Hopefully the school doesn’t care enough to say something about it. It takes a little longer than it should to find the front desk, but the school is huge so you think you’re allowed some slack. Your schedule has all advanced core classes, Engineering, Ballet, Computer Programming, and Studio Art. Looks like you’ll be starting all your weekdays with Advanced English Lit from now on.

The class is empty when you walk in, and you scurry to the back immediately. You’ve always preferred to see everything happening in the classroom, even before the bite. People fill in slowly, taking up seats randomly. That familiar anxiety comes creeping back in. You tell yourself in your head that everything is fine, but the weight of your situation has been piling up on you. You can pretend everything is fine and that you’re totally okay with being stranded in another universe. You can pretend like you belong, going about your day like a normal person, but that’s all you are. A pretender.

You begin biting your nail. Somebody sits down next to you, and a quiet snap is what you hear. There’s blood crawling down your finger. You bit too much off.

A woman comes into the classroom. She’s got that look about her that says she hates her job, and you get it. Her voice comes out gnarly. “Good morning, class. I hope you’re all settling in comfortably.” You don’t need Nat’s teachings to tell that she’s lying. “My name is Ms. Varley, I’ll be your teacher for the next school year. We’re going to start with some introductions.” The class groans. Ms. Varley tuts. “None of that complaining mess. We’ll start with you.” She points at a poor unfortunate soul.

You zone out as introductions go on. Your ears are filled with snooty accents and proper tones. Most kids talk about what they’re the heir to, barf. Someone mentions how many vacation homes they have.

You stand up when it’s your turn. “[Name] Stark. I like ballet and hot pink,” you pause, thinking of what you can say that’ll make them turn their nose up at you. “I like spiders.”

Predictably, faces of disgust are sent your way. You grin and sit down. Your seat-mate stands up in turn. You’re more occupied with staring head on at the few eyes that are still on you.

“I am Damian Wayne. I am the blood-heir of Bruce Wayne and I have a keen interest in the arts.”

You do your best not to scream. Of course. Of course! You’re convinced this universe has sentience and is belly-laughing at you right now. And he sits right next to you! Why did he choose to sit next to you? There’s an empty pair of desks right over there! God forbid you can just be left alone.

Damian sits down after his brief introduction, you suspect his peers are used to it, if the knowing smiles and head shakes are anything to go by. You sigh and slump down in your seat. You risk a glance at him and will yourself not to jump when you see he is already looking at you.

You feign nonchalance and raise a brow. “Take a picture.”

“You’re not nearly enough of a sight for that.” You bark out a laugh in surprise at the quickness in his answer. Typical.

“Ouch, my feelings.”

“I know you got a perfect score on the exam.” There it is. The bomb. The reason he sat next to you. So, he’s suspicious of you? Great, awesome.

“Yeah, your daddy himself signed my letter. What, you a fan or something? I know I’m pretty awesome.” You’re not sure what you’re trying to achieve with this act, but you can’t really seem to think straight right now.

“I have my suspicions.”

“That I cheated?”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s not a good idea to monologue your evil plans. Why do you care if I did anyway? You know half of these trust fund babies wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for mommy and daddy’s money, right?”

He scoffs. “That much is obvious. And I don’t care if you cheated or not. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“So, what? You jealous that I'm so much better than you? I know, it’s hard to cope.”

His eye-roll is violent. “Wait, I know,” you interrupt when he opens his mouth. “You’re worried I’m a super secret spy working for, like, the Joker or something and that I’m endangering the lives of all the students. You’ve always had dreams of being Robin and kicking ass with Batman so this must be your chance to prove yourself.” What do they say about freudian slips? “How right am I?”

You’re certain his suspicion runs deeper than that, but hopefully your spiel gets him off your ass for a while. He won’t want your (joking) suspicions about Robin to fester and have you realize he actually is Robin, so he’ll let it die.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

You can feel his eyes on you for the rest of the class. You’d think Robin would be more subtle. The lab for your science class is… fine. Maybe you’re just spoiled from the Tower’s labs. You feel the same when you walk into the computer lab. You should probably start bringing your own laptop to school. The dance studio is cute, though. The teacher is faking a russian accent, but you think you’re the only person who can tell. She only teaches you how to do proper stretches, so at least it seems like she knows her stuff.

Finally, your last period comes down to art class. A chill class to end the day makes you happy. Large windows let the sun cast its rays. You take your seat in the corner. There’s various plants littered around the room, real plants. There’s even fairy lights hanging above. This is definitely going to be your favorite class.

You hum along to the song Karen plays in your ear.

“Harness your hopes on just one person…” you hum.

“Already talking to yourself, I see.”

You look over to where Damian is settling down next to you. “Can’t get enough of me?” You coo.

“On the contrary, I’m already sick of you.”

“Still suspicious of me yet, boy wonder?”

His glare would kill a lesser person. The teacher walks in with a bright and cheery attitude. She’s got that Ms. Frizzle attitude about her that makes you either love her or hate her. You love her.

She sets you all up with your own sketchbooks, high quality ones. You decorate your cover with all the colors of your friends. You draw little coffee cups and pastries in unconventional colors. Big graffiti style letters spell out random phrases. You peek at Damian and see that his notebook just has his name on it, boring.

Ms. M, as she’s allowed you all to call her, begins droning on about color theory and principles and elements and a bunch of other stuff you don’t pay attention to. You count the minutes as you watch the sun slowly set outside the window. You clack your nails together in boredom.

“Hundred bucks for me to moan out loud.”

Damian does a good job of keeping his composure, but you can see the disbelief from your words. He grits out, “Why would I ever pay you to do such a thing?”

“One might feel adventurous on occasion.” You weren’t going to moan even if he did pay you a hundred bucks, you just felt that twitch to say something to dispel the quiet.

You suck in a breath. “So…”

“I have no interest in conversing with you.”

You dramatically whine. “You’re no fun. What does a guy like you even do for fun?”

“It is as I said, I don’t–”

“–wish to converse with me, I know. So, art then? You like to draw?” You lean forward towards him.

“It does not concern you–”

“I think you’re the type of guy to like minimalist  art. You’d be the type to find something outta nothing.”

He scoffs, and you know you’ve got him. “Minimalist is the most baseless form of all. The lack of detail is abhorrent and requires no true skill. Classical is far superior, it takes a certain mastery of skill to truly imitate the renaissance–” he pauses. You grin, showing your teeth.

His huff is silenced by your giggles.

Not me wailing and burying my head on my pillow as I cry my heart and eyes out because Jason Todd can never be real and it hurts.