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jscrawls · 26 days ago

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Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of blood, mentions of injury, mentions of death, dreykov needs his own warning, mentions of alcohol.

Part 25.1: day and night

🔹🔹🔹

The floors warm under your sprawled out form today, the puzzle piece in your palm is equally warm as you flip it around and stare at the sunlit mess in front of you. Scattered puzzle pieces and a lonesome stuffed green dog with paint blotches messing up it's fur decorate and hardwood and the edge of the worn off-white carpet.

“giggles?”

You blink and roll onto your side to look up at the familiar woman, your mom smiles down at you from the sofa. Your mother. A woman you recognize and don't at the same time, you can't help but study her face closely despite your focus being mostly tied to the scattered puzzle pieces in front of you. Why do you feel like you don't know her?

You flatten against the floor and glance back at your half finished puzzle as you respond. “yeah ma?”

You hear a keyboard clacking behind you as she types something out on her laptop. “Dad will be home soon, can we move your puzzle to the coffee table? You know how clumsy he is with his dirty shoes. You don't want him to step on it do you?”

You glance down at the half finished puzzle and quickly drop the piece in your hand when you see a bloody lifeless woman surrounded by red staring up at you from the large blocky pieces, you hear mother shifting and you quickly glance at her in alarm, but when you look back down the puzzle is depicting a field of red poppies with a barn in the distance. No corpse dressed in black, no blood leaking from a woman's chest where her heart should've been. You hear Mom sliding off the sofa to pad over to you. Something creaks lowly behind her.

Rolling on your side again, you watch her kneel beside you to start carefully gathering the pieces up and set them in the box lid as a makeshift tray. The floor creaks again. Looking past her, past the couch and the TV stand and the old dresser that sits right beside the living room doorway, you spot dreykov.

He doesn't move, or blink, he doesn't even acknowledge your eyes on him. His dark wool suits as clean pressed as it's always looked, graying hair that can't decide if it wants to stay on his head or fall out. The same rings, your jaw aches and you taste metal in your mouth for just a moment as you stare at those rings.

Mom doesn't acknowledge him.

She shakes the puzzle box until you look back at her, her expression bemused as she kneels right next to you. “You're supposed to help ma clean up your toys and stuff, gigs.”

Your throats so tight you can only lift a small hand to point at the man across the room, she doesn't look at him even once. She grunts quietly as she straightens up and moves the box to the coffee table, setting it down right next to her open laptop and a stained coffee mug you didn't notice before.

You tremble in the floor, frozen like a cornered bunny before a hound. Doesn't she know who he is? The danger you're both in? You never saw him when you were this small.

…small? Why are you-

Mother's hands reach down to grab you under your arms, hoisting you up with a groan escaping her lips, grumbling about her back as she carries you to the couch. From this angle you can see what exactly dreykov’s looking at, a family photo on the wall.

You can't see the whole thing, but you see a man standing next to the woman you recognize as the one beside you, except with a different hairstyle and nicer clothes, a small one story house behind them. An even tinier version of you plays at their feet next to a girl in sunflower overalls, her face blurred out and hard to make out as your angle shifts.

Dreykov turns towards you just as your mom drops you on the couch, blocking him from your view and making your panic spike further, your mother sighs as she drops beside you unceremoniously and grabs at her laptop to pull it towards her once again.

Whatever she's typing is blurred to your eyes, just swirling grey lines against a white backdrop on some unrecognizable email, but you don't focus on that. You quickly hop onto your knees and peek over the back of the couch to watch the man who's terrorized your entire life even after his death. Once again he seems to be ignoring you in favor of staring elsewhere, this time at the back of your mom's head as she unhurriedly types whatever it is that she's doing beside you.

You hate it, the look on his face, the same dead eyes, staring at him now sickens you and frustrates you in equal measure as he ignores your existence completely. Your tiny hands clench against the couch cushion hard enough to hurt as you watch him, he doesn't belong in this small living room, he needs to die again.

It feels like the moment the thought crosses your mind the air shifts, dreykov slowly turns his head and meets your stare for just a second, his gaze pointedly flicks down before he turns around to face the hall. You hesitantly drop your eyes to your hands and nearly jump out of your skin when you see that your tiny hands and arms are coated in blood.

Your gasp and panicked flailing has your mom quickly reaching over and trying to stabilize you while she tries to keep the laptop balanced in her lap. “Woah, woah! Pumpkin you need to settle down before you fall.”

Her words fall on deaf ears as you hurriedly try to rub the blood off, the stench of iron fills your nose as it seems like more and more of the crimson liquid drips off your body and stains your clothing, your blunt nails start scratching skin as you roll off the couch and back away from her when you realize the mess is getting all over the furniture. But she doesn't seem to acknowledge it, she just puts her laptop down and starts to stand up.

The front door slams loud enough to make you jump and tear your gaze away from the mess, the faintly familiar jingling of keys being shoved into a pocket makes mom glance over the back of the couch and smile at the new face strolling in. Your dad groans dramatically and grins at you and Mom as he steps right past dreykov, he also doesn't even acknowledge the monster even as the older man turns to watch him every step of the way.

“C’mere pumpkin!” The man that has some of your features easily scoops you up in his arms while you try to fight out of his hold, the blood coating your body smears and soaks into his clothing making him look like he's part of some horrible crime scene, it's disgusting. The scent is bad enough to almost make you sick as you panic and try to get away from him before you stain him completely. But he holds onto you tightly like he's oblivious. “Settle down pumpkin, someone's not happy to see Daddy today.”

The man snorts in amusement yet still looks down at your struggling form with concern that you don't want, your mother's hand presses against your back and she murmurs softly to your father. “They've been a little jumpy, I told you letting them watch that movie was a bad idea.”

Her words are slightly scolding, but the look on both their faces is of concern when they peer down at you. Like you're not covered head to toe in blood that's dripping onto your father's shoes and the cream-colored carpet. Why don't they see the darkening mess? Why don't they smell the death on you? You feel like you're going to be sick and they're just treating you like you're-

Dreykov’s face appears over their shoulders, grinning down at you like he's won some prize. Like your tiny writhing blood soaked form is part of his game. He looks just as pleased with himself as the test. Wait, test? You're a child you didn't do any-

He reaches over their shoulders and grabs you over your arms, starting to pry you out of their grip just as you start to scream.

🔹

Waking up from that one was nauseating, your eyes fly open and you gasp hard enough to gag, the plain undecorated room you're unfortunately familiar with is a stark contrast to the small home still imprinted into the back of your eyelids. You feel as bad as the day you woke up in that hospital bed, who even were those people? Is that…. What your parents looked like? Did this alternate you live a happy childhood? Why was dreykov there!? He looked exactly as he did the last time you saw the man, not what you'd expect from something so long ago. damn it all are your nightmares leeching into the memories of this place? You can't even have those untainted!?

Your head pounds like a hangover as you gingerly push yourself upright, the sharp throb behind your eyes tells you a migraine is already forming. How lovely.

You could take one of the painkillers you're supposed to use for your injuries, but you won't. You've dealt with much worse. Instead you push yourself onto unsteady feet to start your day off, the floor sways underneath your feet as the pain in your head sharpens to a hot spearpoint shoving through your brain, hopefully you don't throw up in the shower…

…

The new marks catch your eye as you brush your teeth, cracked knuckles that pull painfully against bone, shiny thin skin on both your calves from healing burns, a thin red line runs down your bottom lip to halfway down your chin. A tribute from Bruce's fist that'll probably scar, funny how this body only gets all banged up and torn when you're the one controlling it.

You feel disgusting, the memory of tiny hands trying to wipe blood off your arms and face disturbs you. You're can't even think about his appearance, the glee in his eyes as you struggled in those people's grip, you might break something if you linger on the feeling of being ripped away from those two people. So you turn your attention to your current predicament.

Bruce Wayne.

For a moment you let yourself wonder what he'd have thought of you, the real you. The one in the black widow suit with the dead eyes and the red hands. Would he ever find respect for your skills like the avengers did? or would you be no different to him than the other murderers he put away. You know the answer, but you don't let the actual thought cross your mind. Thinking too much hurts right now anyways.

…

By the time you drag yourself through the shower and force yourself to get dressed in something appropriate, it's much later than your usual morning routine, The manor is blessedly quiet thanks to everyone having lives during the day, Which your head is thankful for. For once you feel like there's nothing to do, the youngest two are back in school, Bruce and Tim should be at work and you know that Alfred was going to a car dealership today.

You could go to the library, but your eyes ache at the very thought of trying to read anything. You could go snoop through bedrooms, but you have no doubt that would just lead to bigger problems with these people. Exercise is off the tracker right now, so you'll settle for eating something light and maybe just…. Taking a nap?

You didn't expect to find anyone in the kitchen when you shuffled in, but there Bruce sits at the table, Looking equally caught off guard as he pauses with a whiskey glass lifted halfway to his lips.

You stare at him for a moment and briefly assess the state of him, while he blinks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“…hi.”

“…hey…”

He sounds even worse than you do, voice uncharacteristically raspy as he swirls Amber liquid around the glass slowly. His tee shirt is all rumpled and he looks like he's letting his stubble grow out or something, he looks like a mess honestly.

You casually edge around him and pull the fridge open to rummage through it, the artificial light that assaults your eyes makes you squint as the dull throb in your head sharpens again. You make yourself grab a protein shake and nearly slam the damn thing before you turn to lean against it, again watching him. “…you stayed home to day drink?”

You nearly wince after you speak, you meant to sound more curious than judgmental…

He flinches, but doesn't reply for a minute, instead he sighs quietly and kicks back the rest of his glass before rotating in his chair to blatantly study you. “Believe it or not, it's easier to hide things in the day hours here from this family.”

You nearly snort in bemusement at that, yeah you could believe it. Alfred is way too good at stalking the halls at night and you'd bet the brats don't want him falling into a habit like this. “So you stayed home today for this?”

Instead of replying to your lighter tone, he stares down into his glass in silence until the air in the room starts to feel awkward.

“…do you know what it's like to mourn someone who's not exactly gone.”

You nearly choke at the sudden question, a pair of tearful green eyes immediately springs to mind but you quickly shake the thought away and cautiously step closer to the table.

“…. Is this about me.”

He turns away and refills his glass from a bottle of bourbon you hadn't noticed before, damn this migraine and damn you for not taking the medicine for it. You aren't supposed to be this clueless around these people.

His next words quickly snap you out of your mental self berating.

“It's…. In a way. A lot of things have happened in the past few months. I think I'm just now realizing I didn't really grieve them when they went into a coma. I did but I didn't do it right. Y'know?….”

The way he refers to it as ‘them’ instead of ‘you’ so casually irks you, but at the same time you're pretty caught off guard by how candid he's being. You step around him and drop down on the opposite side of the table, setting your drink down off to the side so you can really focus on him. His body language is open, but sad. His eyes steadily meet yours and you notice how worn out he really is. “I don't think there's a right way to grieve, you process things however you process them and that's that.”

Your words might be a bit cold, but his stare doesn't waver until he takes another sip of his bourbon.

“That's the thing though, I don't think I actually processed it. They were still alive, still breathing, then you woke up and I thought I was gonna get to make right. I didn't think I actually lost them that night…”

The genuine waver in his voice makes you drop your gaze to the table, studying the embroidered tablecloth as you try to process what he's admitting to you so freely. That damn familiar feeling of guilt curls in your chest like a heart attack as you're once again reminded if the fact that your very continued existence is painful, wrong. You find yourself blurting out words you probably shouldn't.

“Are you afraid of me?”

The question hangs between you two in the sunny kitchen like a weighted blanket, you almost think he'll ignore it, you hope he'll ignore it.

“…I'd be stupid not to.” He speaks bluntly, but there's not even any accusation on his voice. That almost makes it worse, the certainty scares you.

“…I'm afraid of you, and this place, all these people I don't know. I don't blame you for being scared of me…. But I'm-” what do you even say, you're not a danger? Not a threat? Not an imposter who shouldn't be here? Fuck, you really aren't prepared for this conversation. His drunken candor is getting to you for some reason, maybe you're just tired of hiding everything.

Bruce straightens up on his chair, blue eyes carefully flickering over your hunched over form as he tries to figure out what this is really about. “But you're what.”

“…. I'm not here to hurt you, any of you.”

He drains his glass slowly before setting it down and questioning you again. “If I'm to believe that, then tell me how and why you are here.”

It's not a surprise at all that he'd ask that, if anything you're shocked he hasn't demanded that of you already. On that night that you two argued after what happened in town…

Your eyes again drop to the table, but not before you reach across and snag his glass. The man is drinking way too much for someone who's supposed to be on medicine.

“I don't know, Bruce. Before I woke up in that hospital, the last thing I did was…. Die.”

The following silence feels different from the one before, maybe it's because you're finally acknowledging what happened to you out loud, maybe it's your heads pounding so bad your eyes she going numb, or maybe it's because he's looking at you entirely differently than you thought he would.

“…how did you die?” He speaks gently, for a moment you hear that same tenderness he once carried when you were in the hospital and he thought you were still his person.

You still don't like it, but now it's more out of guilt than panic at a stranger touching you. Telling him how you died without context would make the man think you were a hero, someone who was selfless enough to hurl themselves off a cliff in front of the only person they could call family just to save the universe.

That's not who you want him to think you are.

It wouldn't be fair to him to hear a partial story, and you don't have it in you to tell him the full uncensored truth. So you quietly gather yourself together and stand up from the table, grabbing the bottle of bourbon and securing the cap before tucking it under your arm. “…I'll talk about that some other time, you should get cleaned up. You look worse than I do.”

You slide your barely touched protein shake into his range and then step out of the kitchen. Ignoring the disappointed look that follows you as you leave the room.

It wouldn't be fair to wipe your tainted blood on anyone else, You keep telling yourself that over and over as you leave him to walk down the halls…

🔹🔹🔹

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A/n: apologies for the long wait y'all! guess who rewrote this entire thing in two days since I really didn't like how it kept turning out 🫩🫩🫩 this is technically gonna be a two part chapter ((I think)) so apologies if it ends too abruptly 😭

Taglist: @cxcilla @mercuryathens @dind1n @redsakura101 @ninihrtss @let-me-dance @ladykamos @one-piecelover @cuntiesweet @omnivirgo @shirp-collector-of-fixations @spidermanluvr444 @br33zy-blizzardz @lunarapple @findingjaxx @4rachn3 @buckturd @tsxukikami @paastaboi @duskeras @ibelyss @1abi @that-creepy-girl-000 @kaylaphantomhive @viilan @karmaxq @dr7girl @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue @esposadomd @cluelessteam @chenlelover @diseasedclitoris @justonerandomreader

#dc x y/n #dc x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batfamily x reader #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne x gn!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #black widow reader

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jscrawls · 3 months ago

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Bite your lips

Neglected children don't always take their pain out on the people around them.

(one shot neglected Wayne gn! reader, has some hints of Conner Kent x reader)

❗Warning, contains mentions of an ED, child neglect, poor mental health, character death, please read with caution if any of this bothers you!❗

🔹🔹🔹

You don't know what you're doing wrong.

Two years, two. Whole. Years. You've been clawing at the chance to be involved in their lives, to be part of their tight knit family group. From the day you were led out of that car - shivering in the snow - to standing here now in the hearth. it's as if they've all forgotten you're not still standing on the stoop as a stranger.

At first you didn't want them, they were too different, too old, too not your mother. You wanted to grieve in peace, to curse out loud and scream in your pillow and draw bad pictures of that man with the gun getting beat up by Batman. But you were just a kid, you didn't know any better.

Weeks turned into months and suddenly you weren't locking yourself away and insisting you eat in your room, but it felt like the damage was already done.

That didn't mean you wanted to be alone forever! The Butler was alright, well he wasn't acting like you didn't exist anyways. He wasn't exactly going to your school plays or anything, but he took you to appointments, took you clothes shopping when you needed uniforms or outgrew something, hugged you when you told him you wanted to go home…yeah he was alright.

You were twelve when you watched Batman drag a limping Robin through the manor from the top of the steps in the showing room, you were excited, scared, confused? Why were they here? How'd the kid get injured? If they're here instead of wherever they live does that mean there's bad people nearby? That last thought nearly had you jumping down the stairs and into their field of vision, that is until you heard Alfred speak up from somewhere in the heroes path.

“Master Bruce.”

That one single sentence had your entire body locking up like a gearshift.

…. That explains a lot actually, your biological father's Batman. holy crap your dad's Batman! As soon as you'd reentered your room you'd jumped up and down like a little child, your hands shaking as you'd grabbed your Batman themed stuffed animal you'd kept under your bed it was embarrassing to have stuffies all over your room at your age, but this one had always felt special. Now you have a reason!

This is why he and the others always say they're tired! They're up at night doing crazy karate stuff! Maybe you've been putting too much expectation on them all this time, after all your father's much busier than you ever thought.

The next day school felt like it lasted an entire eternity, you just wanted to ask your dad questions! Maybe you could finally get to know the man now that you know this terribly amazing secret, you could start to integrate yourself into his life just like Jason before you. Your classes were a blur, your teachers voices melded together in your brain until they all sounded like the same monotone droning sound, you even skipped cooking club to go home early!

The house was empty by the time you trudged up the long winding driveway, panting slightly in the soupy humidity that still lingers despite it being well into autumn. Only one thing was on your young mind though, as you hurriedly fished your keys out and dashed in as soon as the door was cracked, your hip catching a corner of a display table. Even the bruise forming in your side didn't damper your excitement as you ran to your room to change and finish your homework as you excitedly waited for your family to come home in time for dinner.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway has you feeling elated but you need to chill, no bouncing heels and giddy grins. you can't look too excited when you ask them!

You find Jason already at the dining room table when Alfred calls for you to come down, his left leg is wrapped in a cast from the knee down and sitting at an odd angle as he has to stick his leg far out to rest in the chair. He's got a busted lip and a bruise that disappears up into his dark curls on the left side of his head, stopping just short of his cheekbone. He wears a surly expression, though it seems to be aimed at Dad more than anything else, he must be Robin, right? ……Did something happen to Jason last night?

He must feel your eyes on him as you fumble to help set the table, because he glances right at you with a pointed furrow in his brows. His lips thinning when you quickly chance a look down at his leg.

“quit staring at me.” he grumbles unhappily, rolling his eyes when Bruce clears his throat at the head of the table.

You huff at the tone he uses as you drop down in your own seat, what? You're not a total pushover, he's being a jerk for no reason. “shut your face, What even happened to you?”

Even if you're irritated at Jason's clear bad mood you can't help but get excited again at what you found out last night, your feet swinging under your chair as you stare at him impatiently. Come on they've gotta spill the beans sometime!

Bruce shoots a look at Jason - which you happen to catch out of the corner of your eye - and the teen boy sighs and throws his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Rude.

“It's nothing you need to worry about.” He mutters lowly, and for a moment he looks tired as his head rolls forward to properly dig into the food Alfred put in front of him.

The strange attitude shift nearly makes you drop it right then and there, but you just want them to admit it! You're family, you deserve to be told of their own volition, not because you have to drop that you already know. Why are they hiding it from you after all this time!? “Come onnnnn Jason, you look like you tried to fight a car and lost! You've gotta tell me what happened, was it cool? Or lame?”

You gesture at him with your fork, your feet swinging wildly under your chair. You're surprised Alfred hasn't scolded you for all your behaviors yet, but then again the look Bruce is giving you is scolding enough so maybe he's hoping Bruce will tell you to?

Jason sighs as he avoids your eye as his voice dropping quieter and gruffer as he rebuffs you yet again. “I said it's nothing, drop it kid I don't wanna talk about it.”

“….. did you do something dangerous?”

your mumbled words seem to make Jason snap, he drops his fork and shoves his plate away from himself so he can lean forward on his elbows.

“Do you know how annoying it is to have someone questioning you when you've made it clear they're bothering you? Can you just shut. up.”

Your eyes widen, but before you could say anything or apologize He's pushing himself up and away from the table while Bruce also stands, the older man quickly tries to circle around the table to scold the teen.

“Jason don't talk to the kid like that! Come on just….sit and finish your plate. Okay?” Bruce snaps out with grit tooth calmness, the kind of barely constrained feeling that'd make you feel he actually cared to defend you. if he didn't just refer to you as ’the kid’.

“Give it to (name)! They'll obviously eat it.” He shuffled out of the room with as much irritation as his teen body could allow to come through while his leg was in a cast, which was still a lot.

You just sat there quietly in stunned, embarrassed silence, his parting words rattling around your head as you tried to make sense of the meaning. Your feet were no longer swinging excitedly under the table and you couldn't even bring yourself to look at the man you called your father, ’they'll obviously eat it’ why did that make you feel so….. opposite of small and unnoticed? Everyone's looking at you now, they're paying attention to you. and you can't even lift your gaze from the plate in front of you. the resounding silence from both Alfred and Bruce left you even more confused in Jason's wake.

You didn't dare touch Jason's plate, and you didn't find yourself hungry enough to finish your own food that night.

In the end they never told you their secret, and you? You stuffed your Batman themed stuffie back under your bed, far out of sight.

🔹🔹🔹

*”Aww, look at the newest Wayne added to the list! I could just pinch your puffy little cheeks!”*

The strange woman's words have been bouncing around your head for the past hour, you thought a gala would be like something out of a movie. beautiful outfits and soft music, quiet words exchanged in accents that promised generational wealth and wisdom that comes from the best educated. You'd see real refinery. Not….. This. Scathing smirks and drunken rowdiness seemed as interchangable as Bruce's nightlife. The expensive outfit you wore wasn't at all comfortable, apparently luxury fabric and high end designer labels don't mean soft and breathable. It's stiff, folds awkwardly when you slouch or sit so you've been forced to stand stiff as a board in uncomfortable shoes ever since you got out of the back of that limo.

The people were disappointing near moreso than the outfits, they stare, stare at everything and everyone that moves like T-Rexs from Jurassic Park. Did they have no manors? Or is it on purpose, a tactic to sniff out the squeamish. Like you.

Maybe that's all that the strange woman was doing, with all that tightened skin and cold thin fingers that pinched your face until your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, the scent of strong perfume still stuck in your nose as Bruce and Dick disappeared into the crowd with practiced ease. What were you supposed to do? Stand here and wait for them? You're too close to the crowds! What if you look like a weirdo who's watching them all silently, you feel like a freak, a total loser who doesn't even know what you're supposed to do in this situation. the longer you're alone in that brightly lit, crowded room the more alone you feel….

Only after working yourself up even more until sweat started to dampen your brow did you finally start nudging between bodies to look for your should-be chaperones, this place is claustrophobia inducing in the worst of ways. By the time you spot a familiar face you feel like you're about to puke, or maybe you'll go lock yourself in the bathroom until you inhale all the oxygen and pass out - some ladies leaning on Bruce while he smiles at another next to him. What the heck? He left you by your lonesome to go womanize?!?

You try to approach your father, you're about to have a freaking panic attack here and you'd rather do it near your dad than all these strangers who're leering at each other like unblinking snakes. But a very poorly contained whispered conversation next to you catches your ear and slows your stumbled steps when you realize two middle aged people are talking about you.

”You see them? The little tubby one, you think they're actually Wayne's biological kid?”

You freeze in place as soon as you hear the man whispering to the woman in stage tones, his voice carrying clearly in the little corner area you're all tucked into. Your widened eyes dart towards them to find they're already looking at you, the amusement in their eyes makes you quickly duck down and try to carry on towards your father as the woman replies to the man's theory.

”Could be, might just take after whoever the female was. then again Wayne might be stupid enough to not get them checked himself, can you imagine the scandal if they're some random skanks-”

You make eye contact with you father just as he tilts his head towards the pair, so he must have heard all that….. Why is he just looking away? Why has he been ignoring you this whole night? You couldn't take their words anymore, your mother wasn't ‘some female’ and she wasn't a skank! They don't even know you and they're belittling a child right in front of Bruce Wayne and he only glanced at you for a moment. You were only worth a brief look.

You're not sure what they said next, as you quickly turned and darted through the nearest door to get away. You couldn't even trust your dad here…

It was cold outside of the charity banquet this late at night, at least you felt like no one would question your little shivers as you curl your arms around yourself. You couldn't exactly hide the sniffles though, your cheeks burning as you angrily wiped at your eyes every time a tear rolled down your face. Why are these people so nasty? Is this what money does to people? Your own biological father looked at you like you needed to shut up in there and not utter a sound….. Well he can stuff it just like the rest of those snobby pricks!

“whatever….. They probably all hate themselves more than anything anyways.” Your words were self soothing and bratty, mumbled under your breath so quietly no one'd hear even if they were standing over you.

“Yeah tell me about it, they're all jackasses in there huh.”

The voice coming from directly behind you made you scream.

You turned around so quickly you slipped off the step and landed on your ass and elbows on the damp, gross ground, not that you're particularly worried about a little grime and old leaves sticking to your clothes at the moment.

Behind you still on the steps is a boy, maybe roughly your age? his dark hair is slicked back with visibly too much gel, it looks like it was an attempt to hide the clearly self-inflicted undercut?…. His hands are already up placatingly as an awkward smile stretches over his lips, his grey eyes darting all around like he doesn't know where to look. “I…. Are you good, dude?”

…

He slowly rubs at the back of his neck when you don't immediately respond, at least you weren't screaming anymore? He winces at the thought of a certain someone coming to investigate the shrill sound.

After a moment of shock at someone so thoroughly startling you in the middle of your little pity party, you shakily stand up and attempt to casually dust your clothes off, you end up wincing when you feel the damp muck on your back and now on your hands, gross.

“…yeah, I'm fine.” You wince again when your voice cracks, and here you'd hoped the dark would hide your disheveled appearance enough to play it off…

The boy frowns at you and actually steps closer, ignoring your attempt to put some space back between you to set a hand on your shoulder. “are you hurt?”

His behaviors so weird, he must watch too many cop and hero shows or something. “I said I'm fine! I fell while sitting down, how's that gonna hurt me?”

You cross your arms over your chest once again while he looks at you like a confused dog, head tilting and everything. actually now that you're this close you can't help but notice he's wearing smudged eyeliner….

“Well how am I supposed to know - never mind, if you're not hurt then……was it those people in there?”

His question snaps your focus back to his words and away from his emo boy look, blinking stupidly before turning away in embarrassment. Did everyone talk about you in there? Or were you unlucky enough to be followed out by someone related to those people. Where else would he have heard all…that. “doesn't matter, doesn't matter at all. Okay?”

You roughly sit down on the steps again, you're already dirty and disgusting anyway.

But then the scrawny kid just had to sit down with you, he drops close enough for your knees to brush together and you have to resist the urge to tell him to get out of your space. He seems a bit….. Socially inept or something, maybe he's homeschooled?

“I mean, it does matter if you're out here alone instead of sitting with your family, you know they're serving a little tiny dinner thing right now right? Don't tell me you're gonna let a stinky perfume lady get in the way of eating expensive food.”

He nudges your shoulder with the gentleness of a linebacker tackle, but still his words get a quiet snicker out of you. Even if the thought of going back in there and eating in front of those people makes your stomach churn. You just shake your head and tuck your arms around your legs, your chin sitting on your knees.

“I'd….. Prefer not to go back in, I'm dirty anyways. Not exactly acceptable on white chairs and couches.” You shrug awkwardly and look away, studying the far wall like it's very interesting. Hey those big cracks in the bricks kinda look like the letter S. You wonder if a therapist would find that interesting.

The mystery boy goes quiet for a moment, making you think that maybe your little visit time is up. He probably came out here to be polite or something anyways, you're just waiting in silence for him to start mumbling about his parent looking for him soon.

He glances at you, and then around the alleyway and back, then looks back at the door behind you. You know it has to be coming - “how about I bring you something then? I mean, it'll be a peace offering since I made you fall anyways…”

Your head snaps towards the boy, but before you could even question him or politely reject the offer he's jumping to his feet with surprising spryness for someone in a fitted suit. Quickly yanking the door open and slipping back into the noisy hall before you can get a word out.

After seven minutes pass you start to think he pulled one on you.

He's probably laughing with someone right now about tricking some muddy kid outside, that or he already finished mocking you and he's now forgotten you exist.

You're up against the building now, head tilted back against the rough concrete blocks as you stare up at the sky in a vain attempt to distract yourself from the frustrated tightening of your throat and the dull stinging behind your eyes, you're not a little kid anymore, you can't just cry Everytime something happens that you don't like…. It's only an embarrassment at this age…

Suddenly something yellow fills your entire vision, you nearly scream again but the snickering beside you has you scowling and shoving the….. Can? Away from your face.

The boy is back, two Styrofoam takeout boxes in one hand and a yellow can of some kind is in the other. An amused grin lights up his face as your frown deepens at him.

“Heyyyy I'm back! Didn't know what you'd eat so I grabbed a few samples, then I realized you might have allergies so I dumped those out and got something else, then I went and got you a drink…. And some wet wipes for your hands and clothes.” He sets the can and the takeout beside you and fishes a packet of wet wipes and an identical yellow and brown can out of his back pockets. Where does he get his pants from? You want pockets like that.

That's….. You stare at the mystery kid as he drops down beside you like he did before and starts shaking his can. The casualness of his kindness has your throat tightening again but for a different reason now, you're actually speechless. You slowly pick up the one beside you to see what it even is he brought you, something called a ’yoohoo’? It was a chocolate drink? Where did he even get this from?

“I…. Where'd you find this? I didn't see any canned drinks inside….”

He pauses his movements at your random question, but only for a second before he continues peeling his takeout box open. “I went across the street to the convenience store.”

He throws you a smile, then he quickly grows awkward and looks away from you. “…. Wait do you like yoohoo’s? Shoot I should've asked first sorry - !”

“No it's fine! I've…. Never tried one before, but who doesn't like mystery chocolate drinks, yeah?”

🔹🔹🔹

The mystery boy made you smile that night, his many attempts to cheer you up were awkward and rough, but also so genuinely kind that you could almost forget the rest of the awful things that happened. Almost.

The words stuck, being left to flounder in a setting that didn't want you stuck, maybe it was Bruce's way of discouraging you from asking to go again, maybe it was a punishment. Either way you couldn't seem to shake everything off, maybe it was the words used, or the looks, maybe it was entirely Bruce.

But mirrors aren't your friend right now.

The fullness of your cheeks that years ago were kissed and poked by a loving mother, the softness in your jaw that once would've reminded you of your grandma, it all caught your eye now. Brushing your teeth or washing up now felt like you were avoiding eye contact with a stranger.

It wouldn't hurt to work on yourself right? Maybe you could join a sport or something, maybe you'll be great at it! It could run in the family…..

“Your dad needs to change.”

You nearly choke on your lunch as someone whispers creepily behind you, you have to cough to avoid inhaling rice before you can even turn to look behind you. Though you don't have to as you hear a sigh and then a boy steps in front of you and sits across from you like you're friendly. You barely recognize the dark haired boy with the pinched expression on his face, light eyes focused on you as he props his head up on his fists.

“….um, hi?” What's even happening here?

The boys expression twists even more as you greet him confusedly, what did you do wrong and why is he here? He sighs again and speaks up. “Hi. Your dad needs to change.”

Well that's helpful and informative. “I heard you the first time? Who even are yo-”

“Call me Drake. Your dads getting out of hand at night, he's losing his stuff since…. Robin.”

Your spoon falls out of your hand as this stranger not only talks about no-no Batman stuff, but he's talking about your dead….. “Dude can I help you?”

You kinda wanna leave, you've completely lost your appetite and now this kid's talking about your dad's greatest secret like it's common knowledge. You're out of your depth here, And, you're just…. Rattled.

Unfortunately he keeps going, disregarding your discomfort and uncomfortable reactions to continue on like he's lecturing you, like you've personally disappointed this guy. “Yes, Batman needs a robin. You need to tell him that.”

Your eyes widen and you quickly lean in closer, trying to shush him. “okay, can you drop the weird act and just be normal? You can't just walk up to people and talk about…. Crazy stuff like that.”

He purses his lips and drops his gaze for a moment, yet clearly doesn't reconsider his approach. “It's not crazy, I know what I'm talking about. I remember the flying Grayson's and I remember the first robin, they had to be the same boy. Batman needs that again, he needs his partner back.”

You stare at him in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. This…drake guy is so blase about the second robin, your recently deceased brother. The boy that despite all the turbulences and petty fights, was still the reason you're back to eating alone in your room again. “…. No he doesn't, the second robin is proof of that. Can't you just…drop whatever this is, maybe go conspiracy theory somewhere else? I'd like to finish my lunch break in peace.”

You start to push yourself up from the cafeteria table, but he grabs your wrist before you can gather your tray and other items.

“Look Wayne, you can't just ignore your dad's issues, he's hurting people more and more and you could find the first robin and-” you interrupt him before he can finish. “and what, tell him to knock some sense into Batman? Do you even have any empathy for what might be happening to those two? They're grieving you jerk.”

You instantly regret snapping at him like that, you are a dumbass. You just indirectly confirmed everything he was spewing. Bruce and Dick are gonna kill you.

Drake's eyes soften, his expression falling slightly bashful and he loosens his grip on you to instead fiddle with his hands. He cracks his knuckles one by one and tries to start up again.

“….I didn't mean-” you again interrupt him before he can spew empty apologies, he doesn't even know you or anything about your family! “I've got class in two minutes. Have a good day Drake.”

You'd think you looked cool as you walked away from him, if you weren't a ball of anxiety and tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. which would be really embarrassing since you're in the middle of the lunch hall.

🔹🔹🔹

“You look tired, are things still awkward with the new kid in the house?” Conner nudges your shoulder with a gentleness he's finally learned after all the times he's nearly knocked you on your ass, it only took five years. a familiar yellow can is in his hand as you both stare down at the crowds far below the rooftop you're occupying.

“You could say that, he got a dog recently so that's actually kinda neat. I think he likes it more than the rest of the family.”

The drink tastes like bile on your tongue as you sip it, it's too sugary, too thick, it feels like choking down butter just so you can smile at your friend. Things have been even weirder in your house ever since Damian arrived and you've kinda made it Conners problem with all your complaints, the kids not exactly the problem or anything, he's just…. Quiet. It's everyone else filling his silence that bothers you, the kid straight up had to ask who you were in the middle of dinner when you were walking through the hall to grab an apple. You don't eat at that table anymore, too many eyes too much judgement in every bite you managed to choke down.

He smiles encouragingly at you like you just told him something fantastic, he's probably the only one who could do that while you're stuffing your face in front of him. “yeah? The way you talk about him I'd assume he'd want a cat….. Maybe I'm just used to y'all being emo over there.”

You can't hold in a snort at his expense. “Y'all?”

You set the can down on the ledge of the building and move to prop yourself up on the concrete, feet swinging childishly as you study the less familiar skylines of metropolis stretching before you, it might just be across a river from your home yet somehow the city feels less…. Heavy.

“Yes, y'all. Sorry I don't speak with enough grandiloquence for your taste. I'm just a boy.”

He leans close enough that for a moment you think he's gonna lean into you, all teeth and gums bared and for just a moment you feel like a teenager. then he snatches your drink from you and takes a long drag. “Damn, you've barely touched this-”

You roll your eyes and push at his shoulder in an attempt to look mad that he stole from you, to pretend anxiety didn't just roll over you the way cold water at the beach does. at least you don't have to force yourself to drink more for a moment. “Shush! ‘just a boy’ my ass. You're a hick and a thief with no morals! Stealing from a poor billionaire heir, for shame Mr Kent, for shame.”

You shake your head in mock exasperation as he just giggles harder, taking one final sip of your drink before he passes it back to you and pushes himself up on the concrete ledge with too much ease. “Oh I'm shameful alright, hey are we still on for the black Canary concert?”

For a moment you don't even know what he's talking about, mind drawing blanks as you open your mouth to answer, and then close it as it clicks. “…yeah, yes I mean! Sorry, stuffs been slipping my mind more lately. School finals and crap…”

Your eyes drop to the yellow can held between your fingers, you try to ignore his concerned stare as you idly rotate the yoohoo and swirl the remaining liquid around. You just need something to do with your hands. His silence makes you want to fidget and that'll just make him concerned.

He hesitantly speaks up while you're trying to act normal. “(name) are you-” you quickly speak up before he can start questioning you. “It's getting late dude, I've got gym in a little while.”

He remains quiet for a moment after you cut him off, you just can't bear to hear it from him. The powdery concern and baby talk and the…. Difference. You've heard it before from the school nurse and old friends you've long since stopped talking to. You're just sick of feeling different.

Eventually Conner shifts, turning himself to be facing towards you and sits crisscross on the ledge, his hands flatten against his knees as he leans towards you a bit more. “…you know I'm not gonna be….weird about the memory thing, right? You've just…. Been forgetting more stuff lately, I've noticed….”

He looks uncertain of himself as he hesitantly speaks, unsure if he should vocalize the question clearly written all over his face.

“…I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, but…. What's going on (name)? This feels like more than school stress or family image stuff.”

You just shake your head and grin easily at the boy, countless hours in front of cameras and mirrors has hammered it into your muscle memory until you can fool even the observant Batman. Is he actually fooled or does he just not care. “It's just study stress dude.”

“I think you should talk to someone if schools stressing you out for this long.”

You don't like the implication of that, who likes being reminded that people think you're failing. You snap at him without thinking. “i think you need to mind your business.”

The venom in your own voice surprised you, so much so that you quickly spoke up again when you saw his expression tighten. “….I didn't mean that.”

He doesn't look like he believes you.

“….y'know, last week I saved someone who fell off a boat.”

The random topic switch throws you for a loop, but the look he's giving you keeps you frozen in place. He leans back on his palms and looks down at the street far below again, people watching until he continues his odd spiel.

“Do you think I was wrong to do that?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you find yourself staring at the side of his face like it'll help you make sense of this. “…no? You're a superhero I'm pretty sure it's in the job description to save people.”

He turns his head and gives you a pointed look. “Well that person could swim, they didn't need an extra hand at the moment. I could've just waited until they were actually drowning to give them help. I could've minded my business until they were in real danger.”

The now-blatant analogy slashes through your previous defense so quickly that it almost embarrasses you, heat rising to your face as your look away. He can no doubt hear the panicked racing in your chest…

“…so I fell off a boat, in this instance. You're here to tell me I need to be saved.” You don't know if you sound bitter, or resigned. Maybe something between somewhere the two, all you can focus on right now is the inevitable pity party and acts of disgust disguised as just giving you your space when they pull away-

“No, I think you're the driver in this instance. You need to steer yourself out of trouble, and maybe just find someone who can actually teach you to not fall in the damn ocean like a drunk.”

The words are meant to make you laugh, they don't. Your nails tap against the side of the metal can without rhythm as you desperately study the different buildings, now catching the light of the descending sun like maybe you could find a way to escape this situation if you just avoided his stare for long enough. You don't need a ‘teacher’, someone who doesn't even know you acting entitled to your memories and thoughts. Does he want you to go check into Arkham or something? The media would never leave you alone if they saw the Wayne name anywhere near a shrink office, they'd think you were in rehab again.

No, you just need to work through this yourself. For the family reputation. It's just for the family image….

🔹🔹🔹

You're eighteen when you see your mother's name on a piece of paper.

Finding out you inherited anything from your mother was jarring, just an envelope slipped under your door by Alfred with some official looking stamp on it. Opening it up you were shocked to see anything addressed to you from a conservator…

There wasn't much, an account with a bit of money in your mother's maiden name, notes about the division of property and assets conducted by distant relatives, a storage unit with some of her belongings. That last one caught your attention enough to make you look the place up and call the conservators number about getting the key. It takes a few days but It gets you out of the house, an oversized coat dangling off your frame as you shuffled out to a car while trying to put in coordinates on your phone's GPS. You don't know what you expect, or what you'll even remember. It's probably all moth chewed and mildewy clothing and throw pillows, but you have to look.

Dew sticks to your skin as you slowly trudge past the rows of storage units behind the disgruntled old man with an obvious limp, his cane tapping loudly on concrete in the early morning silence. He didn't ask much, just what lot number you were looking for and if you knew where to find it. When you'd reluctantly said no he'd sighed loudly and hauled himself up, and now you're trailing after him as he slowly moves through the rows of lots.

Finally he stops in front of a lot, red metal garage style door just like every other neighboring storage lot. There's nothing special or noteworthy about it at all. Yet the thought of anything belonging to your mother being right here has your throat tightening, clammy hands shake as you pull the plain looking little key out of your pocket to find out what's in literal store for you.

The old man quietly disappears back towards the front building after turning one of the outside lights on for you, but you don't pay him mind as you examine the bagged up cardboard boxes. You can only silently wonder who went through the extra effort of wrapping up each box in protective plastic.

The first few boxes you get open are kinda what you expected, clothing, blankets, curtains and tablecloths. You pause and giggle with misty eyes when you find an old roller set that you vaguely remember seeing your mom wearing in the mornings as she cooked breakfast and sang along to some forgotten song on the cranked up radio. Dropping little bits in that mangy cats bowl while you tugged at her bathrobe and asked for your own nibbles.

You wipe at your eyes and continue.

You clamber over some furniture and nearly step on a smaller box half tucked under a stained up coffee table, when you regain your balance after nearly falling flat on your face, you test the integrity of the coffee table and sit down on it. This box is lighter, and when you shake it something hard rattles inside, well you know it's probably not an undergarments box anyways.

When you get the bag off and peel the box open, the first thing you see is your mother. This box is full of pictures. An old wooden frame finds it's way into your grasp and you examine the little forgotten piece of your past. You stared down at the photo in your shaking hands, you couldn't believe this was even still intact after all these years….

Your mother's face is staring up at you with a smile from within the frame, a baby you balanced on her knee. Who even took this photo? You recognize that tiny kitchen, the stains on the countertop from too much bleach cleaner, the old dining table that had a few scratches in it from your mother's wayward cat. It's a flashback to a whole different life, back when you only worried if you'd be on time to watch your cartoons or cried in the middle of class because your friend didn't want to play potion making with you on break.

Conners words from months ago repeat in your head as you study the face you'd nearly forgotten, was she always so…soft? A soft jaw, no jutting collarbones, she looks….. Peaceful. The fullness of her cheeks accentuates her barely-familiar grin, her hands, you remember they were always so warm, smooth back the baby you's hair with a tenderness you can see even in an old still shot. You lift a hand and press it against your own cheek, the digits are cold against your flesh.

What would she think of you if she could see you now?

Disappointed? Angry? Disgusted? No, she'd probably just be sad. Your thinning limbs and sunken eyes would've made the woman weep.

Your thumb sweeps over the photo frame, trying to remember every little moment with her you can pull up from the depths of your muddled memory. Did she ever make herself sick to feel beautiful? Did she ever look at the mirror and see a grotesque monster looking back? Did she ever look at you and sob at the happiness in your eyes, just as you're crying now and trying not to mess up her picture?

You'll never really know.

🔹🔹🔹

It's been two years, two whole years since you left that city.

The weeks stretched into months and longer between contact with the Wayne's, no texts or phone calls, no letters, not even an email. It used to bother you how easily they disappeared from your life, or rather that you disappeared from theirs. Now you're just numb to it, why should you waste anymore time on people that never saw you as one of their own? You've only got one life to live and you've wasted enough of it being in miserable company.

The metropolis skyline is still one of your favorite sites as you sit at your apartment window in relative silence, the quiet doesn't bother you anymore. Not like the manor did anyways. Here in this little place nothing disturbs your peace besides the little dumb orange kitten who keeps batting at your face whenever you're too relaxed.

Said nuisance is currently in your lap, acting like your thighs are biscuit dough it's shaping as it purrs and chuffs up a storm. It's a far cry from the pitiful little beast you'd pulled out of a dumpster, scrawny and scared but even then it'd purred when you'd gingerly tucked it under your arm, That's the main reason why Conner kept calling it boat.

Months ago it would've bothered you more to feel something press at the fat of your thighs, to bring attention to parts of yourself you still couldn't stand to look at.

Your therapist told you it was a sign of progress.

You finally peel your eyes away from the window pane when you hear keys jiggling in the lock and the door cracking open, you watch as Conner strolls in the door and quickly kicks it shut with his heel. He's already starting to awkwardly peel his leather jacket off with one arm by the time he looks up and catches your eye, he grins and holds up the two bags occupying his left elbow and shakes it like it's a cat treat bag. It's a takeout bag and a convenience store bag that you can already see The familiar yellow cans through.

“Hey, i brought some dinner home.”

🔹🔹🔹

| m.list |

A/n: If any of this is too insensitive please let me know, I based this off my own struggles with self image but I don't want to hurt anyone in anyway. That said, I was also inspired by @viilan and @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue their neglected reader fics were really inspiring and I love how they write their works💜

#dc x reader #dc x y/n #batfamily x reader #batfam x neglected reader #batfam x reader #conner kent x reader #Conner Kent x gn reader #tw eating issues #tw ed implied #eating disoder trigger warning #kon el x reader

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