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rizzanon · 24 days ago

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05 | UNTOUCHED MEMORIES

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Things between you and Damian weren’t perfect, but they were better. Slightly better.

Since that day, the tension that used to hang heavy between you had softened, just a little. He no longer avoided you like the plague, nor did he try to dismiss you every chance he got. Sure, there were still moments where you clashed—Damian was Damian, after all—but now, it didn’t feel like an outright war. It was more… playful. Almost.

He still had his sharp remarks, but they didn’t cut as deep anymore. And you? You’d give them right back, though with less heat than before. It was oddly satisfying to watch him bristle, his retorts coming slower and more thoughtful, like he was beginning to actually enjoy the verbal sparring. Though he definitely wouldn’t admit that.

One day, you decided to test the waters further.

You found Damian in the sitting room, a book in his hands and Titus curled up at his feet. He didn’t look up as you approached, though you knew he’d already noticed you.

“Hey, Damian,” you said, holding the plate out in front of you.

He finally looked up, one eyebrow raised. “What is it now?”

You rolled your eyes. “Relax. I made these with Alfred. Thought you might want to try them.”

He eyed the plate suspiciously, like it might explode if he touched it. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you offering me one?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “What’s your angle?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “No angle. If you don’t want them, you don’t have to take them. Simple.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want them,” Damian said quickly, his tone defensive.

You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “Oh? So you do want them?”

He scoffed, snatching the plate from your hands like you might change your mind. “I’ll try them. But don’t expect me to praise you if they’re subpar.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Damian took a deliberate bite, his expression carefully guarded as he chewed. You watched him closely, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you asked.

He paused, his lips twitching ever so slightly before he schooled his face back into indifference. “Adequate.”

You snorted. “Adequate, huh? That’s basically high praise coming from you.”

“Tt. Don’t let it go to your head,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop eating.

You grinned, shaking your head as you turned to leave. “Enjoy them, Damian. Or don’t. Whatever.”

As you walked away, you heard him mutter under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch: “I will.”

You didn’t look back, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

No, things between you and Damian weren’t perfect. But this? This was progress.

Stephanie twirled her mug between her hands, the steam curling into the air as she sat perched on the couch at the Clocktower. Across the room, Cassandra sat cross-legged on the floor, cleaning and reassembling her grappling gun with quiet precision. The rhythmic sound of Cassandra’s movements usually put the blonde at ease, but today, she couldn’t shake the restless thoughts spinning in her head.

“I don’t get it,” Stephanie muttered finally, breaking the silence.

Cass didn’t look up, but the subtle tilt of her head told Steph she was listening.

“It’s been almost three weeks,” Steph continued, gesturing with her mug like it emphasized her point. “Three weeks since (Name) quit, and I haven’t seen her here. Not once. No check-ins, no training, no anything. She just… stopped. Like she wasn’t serious about any of it to begin with.”

Cass paused her movements, her sharp gaze flicking to Steph. “Serious..?”

“Y’know, serious about being Batgirl..!” Steph exclaimed, setting her mug on a table with a clink. “I mean, she was so into it. Always had to be the best, always trying to prove she could do everything better than me. And now? Nothing. It’s like she dropped off the face of the earth.”

Cass raised an eyebrow, her hands moving again to tighten the grappling gun’s grip. “You miss her.”

“What? No! I—” Steph’s protest faltered under Cass’s calm stare. “Okay, maybe a little. But that’s not the point.” She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “It’s just so unlike her. You know what I mean?”

Cass considered this for a moment, then nodded. “She fights. Always fights. And she doesn’t stop.”

“Exactly!” Steph said, throwing her hands up. “She’s stubborn as hell. She’d never just quit without a reason. It’s like she’s a completely different person all of a sudden.”

Cass’s gaze stayed steady on Steph, her expression unreadable. “Maybe something happened.”

Steph frowned. “Like what?”

Cass furrowed her eyebrows, setting her grappling gun aside and leaning back on her hands. “I don’t know. But something.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Steph admitted, slumping against the back of the couch. “I mean, yeah, we weren’t exactly besties or whatever, but we spent enough time together. I thought I had her figured out. Now I feel like I don’t know her at all.”

Cass tilted her head. “Did you? Know her?”

Steph opened her mouth to respond but stopped. She hadn’t really thought about it that way. Most of her interactions with you had been competitive or snarky, sure, but there had been moments—rare ones—where it felt like there was something deeper under the surface. She just hadn’t taken the time to dig for it.

“I don’t know,” Steph admitted, her voice quieter. “Maybe I didn’t. But I thought I did.”

Cass nodded slowly, as if that answer didn’t surprise her.

“What about you..?” Steph asked, turning the question back on Cass. “What do you think of all this?”

Cass didn’t answer immediately. She sat in thoughtful silence, her dark eyes focused on nothing in particular. “Not sure,” she said finally. “It feels… off. Like she’s hiding.”

Steph frowned. “Hiding what?”

“I… don’t know.”

The room fell silent as Steph mulled over Cass’s words. For all your bravado and stubborness, there had always been something raw about you, like you were desperate to hold onto something—anything. Maybe Cass was right. Maybe something had happened—something you didn’t want anyone to know.

Stephanie sighed, reaching for her mug again. “You’re probably right. She’s hiding something. But what exactly is she hiding, that’s the question.” She took a sip of her coffee, grimacing slightly at the bitterness. “I hate not knowing. It’s driving me nuts.”

Cass offered a small, almost imperceptible smile. “You care.”

“Of course I care!” Steph shot back, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean, yeah, she’s annoying and stubborn and always has to prove she’s better than me, but…” She trailed off, her voice softening. “She’s still one of us. Right?”

Cass nodded, the smile lingering.

Stephanie leaned back again, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe I’ll try talking to her. Or something. I don’t know. This is just… weird. It doesn’t feel right. To just leave things as it is.”

Cass watched Stephanie closely, her quiet curiosity cutting through the lingering silence. “What was it like?” she asked, her voice calm but insistent. “Between you and her?”

Steph froze, mid-sip of her coffee. Her first instinct was to deflect, to brush the question off with a joke or a sarcastic remark. But Cass’s gaze—steady, patient, unyielding—made it clear she wasn’t going to let it slide.

“What do you mean, ‘what was it like?’” Steph muttered, setting her mug down with more force than necessary.

“You and (Name),” Cass said, gesturing vaguely with her hand. “Before all this. When she was still Batgirl. When you were still Spoiler. When you became Batgirl as well.”

Steph shifted uncomfortably, her lips pressing into a thin line.

What was it like?

“It was… complicated,” she said finally.

It was anything but normal.

Cass tilted her head, waiting for her to elaborate. Steph sighed, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees.

Stephanie could still remember her first few nights as Spoiler, still rough around the edges and carrying the weight of Cluemaster, her father’s, shadow on her shoulders. She’d been furious when she found out after he claimed to be “rehabilitated”, he actually returned to crime instead, leaving no clues behind this time. She knew then and there that something had to be done—that she had to do something—to stop her father. So, she made her Spoiler costume, and set out to stop her father. That night, she’d intercepted one of his coded messages and had made the decision to spoil yet another of his schemes—alone.

It hadn’t gone according to plan.

The warehouse was dark and cold, lit only by a few dim bulbs hanging from the rafters. Stephanie had crept in quietly, her heart pounding as she hid in the shadows. The stolen tech Cluemaster planned to sell sat piled high in crates, guarded by a dozen armed men. She’d hoped to sneak in, plant some evidence for the police, and leave unnoticed. Instead, she’d tripped a motion sensor and found herself surrounded.

She fought back with everything she had, but it wasn’t enough. Her moves were sloppy, unrefined, and born of sheer desperation. A blow to her ribs sent her sprawling across the floor, and she barely managed to roll out of the way of another thug’s steel-toed boot. Just when it seemed like she was out of options, a flash of movement from the rafters caught her attention.

You arrived like a force of nature, swooping down in your Batgirl suit, taking out two of the goons before they even knew what hit them. For someone who appeared composed and confident, Stephanie noticed quickly that your movements weren’t as fluid as you likely hoped they were. You were good—better than her, no question—but your hits didn’t land with perfect precision, and you occasionally stumbled, as though still learning the weight of your cape.

Still, the two of you managed to fight off the group, leaving the thugs groaning on the ground. Stephanie was leaning against one of the crates, clutching her side and breathing heavily, when you turned to her.

“Who are you?” you demanded, stepping forward.

“I’m…” She hesitated, brushing off her torn sleeve and trying to stand straighter. “I’m Spoiler.”

“Never heard of you.” You crossed your arms, looking her up and down. “What are you even doing here? Who are you working with?”

Stephanie groaned, more from frustration than pain. “I’m not working with anyone.”

“Then why are you here?” You gestured to the tied-up henchmen. “This isn’t exactly a neighborhood bake sale.”

“I’m here to stop my father,” she snapped, throwing her arms up.

That made you pause. “Your… father?”

She sighed, already regretting the slip. “Yeah. My father.”

You frowned, the pieces slowly clicking together. “Wait… you’re Cluemaster’s daughter?”

“Congrats, you solved the mystery, want a prize for that?” she muttered sarcastically, shrugging your hand off her arm when you instinctively tried to grab her.

You stepped back, your stance cautious now, your expression wary. “Why are you trying to stop him?”

“Because someone has to.” Stephanie said, her voice rising. “Because I don’t want people to get hurt because of him. Is that good enough for you, Batgirl?”

You stared at her for a long moment before sighing. “You shouldn’t even be out here. This isn’t a game.”

“I’m not treating it like one!” she shot back. “I know what I’m doing.”

“No, you don’t,” you replied bluntly, but your voice softened after a moment. “But… I guess I can see why you’re doing it.”

Stephanie braced herself for you to knock her out or drag her to Batman, but instead, you just grabbed the nearest thug and tied him up.

“You’re not going to say anything?” she asked, suspicious.

You didn’t look at her. “Not tonight. But don’t make me regret it.”

And with that, you had disappeared into the night, leaving Stephanie confused and to her own thoughts, unsure of what to think about you, Batgirl.

Why did you let her go?

It didn’t make sense.

Stephanie leaned back against the nearest crate, ignoring the dull ache in her ribs as her mind spiraled. Was it pity? Did you feel sorry for her something?

The thought stung more than she wanted to admit. She didn’t need anyone’s pity—least of all from someone who’d clearly been at this vigilante thing longer than her. Or maybe—you just thought she wasn’t worth the effort of turning in.

Over the next few weeks—for some reason—Stephanie kept on running into you. Sometimes it was because you were actively following her, and sometimes it was sheer coincidence. Each time, the dynamic between the two of you shifted slightly.

“I don’t need your help,” Steph had snapped when you intervened in another one of her plans to foil her father’s, her voice tinged with irritation. She’d bitten off more than she could chew, but the last thing she wanted was you swooping in to save her.

“You’re welcome,” you’d replied coolly, barely glancing at her as you tied up the last of the thugs.

Steph had bristled. “I had it handled.”

“Sure you did,” you’d said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “That’s why you were about two seconds away from getting your head bashed in.”

This cycle had continued for weeks—an endless back-and-forth of barbed comments and unspoken challenges.

But then there were quieter moments. Like this one night—you both got stuck during a freezing rainstorm, huddled together under a flimsy overhang.

“You’re shivering,” you’d noted, tossing your extra cloak over her shoulders without a second thought.

Steph had blinked at you, surprised. “…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” you’d said, leaning back against the wall and pulling your own cloak tighter around you.

That same night she’d cornered you on the rooftop after the two of you left evidence for the police and Batman to find to deal with Cluemaster.

“Why?” she’d asked, crossing her arms. “Why’d you go along with my plan instead of running to Batman?”

You’d glanced at her, your expression unreadable. “Because you’re not like him,” you’d said simply.

“Cluemaster, I mean. And because… I do think you mean it. The whole ‘trying to stop my father’ thing.”

For a moment, Stephanie had been speechless. She hadn’t expected that kind of answer—or the quiet sincerity behind it.

She hadn’t expected that. Not from a Bat. They weren’t exactly known for handing out compliments—or trust. Especially not to someone like her.

But then again, from the moment she met you, you hadn’t exactly acted the way she thought someone trained under Batman would. Not that she would know what that was like.

Stephanie’s arms dropped to her sides as she studied you, standing there under the faint glow of the Gotham skyline. You didn’t look like you were second-guessing your words or regretting them. You were calm like you’d just stated a fact. Like you really meant it.

Stephanie felt the knot in her chest tighten. What if you were wrong? What if she was like him? She hadn’t exactly proven otherwise had she?

Sure, she was trying to stop him now, but that didn’t erase the fact that she was his daughter. His blood ran through her veins, no matter how much she hated it.

But then, there was another thought, quieter and harder to ignore. What if you weren’t wrong? What if—just maybe—you’d seen something in her she couldn’t see herself?

Stephanie didn’t know what terified her more then—the idea that someone believed in her, or the possibility that you might be right,

She glanced at you again, half-expecting you to take it back or brush it off like it didn’t matter. But you didn’t. You just stood there, calm and steady, like your words had been obvious all along.

And for a moment, she let herself believe it. Just a little.

“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice barely audible, as she looked away. She didn’t know if you heard her or if you’d even care, but it felt like something she had to say.

When she turned back around though, you were gone.

Stephanie blinked, her breath catching for a moment as she scanned the empty rooftop. “Really?” She muttered, dragging a hand down her face.

“Was that a ‘dramatic exit’ thing, or do all you bats have to disappear every time someone tries to say thanks?”

“Afterwards…” Steph began, her voice soft. “I didn’t really get to see much of her.”

Cass looked up briefly, her head tilting in silent acknowledgment.

“I mean, even after I met you,” Steph continued, “I didn’t see much of her. I thought we were chill. You know?”

Cass’s hands paused over the grappling gun. “Thought?”

Steph hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. Her gaze fell to her mug, and she let out a slow breath. “I guess… everything kind of changed when Bruce ‘died.’” She set the mug on the table and leaned back against the couch. “When you quit being Batgirl, and gave me your costume to take over you.”

Cass blinked, her expression neutral but her body language subtly shifting. “Oh.”

Steph turned to face her fully, brows knitting together. “I thought things would still be fine, but no. Not when Dick and Babs allowed me to take up the Batgirl mantle.”

Stephanie had found you on the rooftop of an old apartment building, your silhouette outlined against the Gotham skyline. The wind cut through the air, sharp and cold, but you didn’t flinch, your posture rigid as though the weather didn’t touch you.

“I figured you’d be here,” she’d said softly, walking closer, the crunch of gravel under her boots breaking the silence.

“What do you want, Stephanie?” Your voice was hoarse and low, but your tone was sharp enough to stop her mid-step.

Steph froze, the weight of the Batgirl costume suddenly feeling heavier than ever. There was something in the way you said her name—so cold, so distant—it made her chest tighten.

“I just… wanted to talk.”

You let out a dry, humourless scoff, still not turning to face her.

Stephanie clenched her fists at her sides, willing herself to continue. “Look, I know you’re upset. I don’t know why Dick decided to bench you from being Batgirl, but—“

“Oh, you don’t know?” You spun around, finally facing her, your eyes burning with frustration. “It’s because of you, Stephanie. He benched me so you could play hero. He chose you. You. Over me. He’s saying I wasn’t good enough to be Batgirl. His Batgirl.”

Stephanie’s heart sank at the venom in your voice. She took a step closer, shaking her head. “That’s not true… Cass wanted me to take over her as Batgirl because—“

“Because what?” you snapped, voice rising. “Because she thought I couldn’t handle it? Because she thought you deserved it more than I do?”

“No!” Steph said quickly, her voice breaking slightly. “Because she thought I needed it. And maybe she’s right. But that doesn’t mean—“

“It doesn’t mean what?” you interrupted bitterly. “That it wasn’t a slap in the face? That it didn’t rip away the only thing I had left?”

Your voice broke, just slightly, and Stephanie’s heart clenched as she watched your walls crack under thr weight of your emotions.

“My father is dead, Stephanie. The one thing that he gave me that meant something, the one thing that I thought could truly be mine, was ripped away. Do you know how much it hurts to watch you parade in that suit like it didn’t mean anything to me? Like I don’t mean anything?”

“It’s not like that,” Steph shot back, her voice more desperate. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I never wanted to hurt you—“

“Just stop,” you interrupted, turning away from her again. Your shoulders were stiff, your voice cutting like ice.

“I don’t care what you wanted. I don’t care what excuses you or Barbara or Dick have. They decided you were better than me. That I wasn’t good enough. That I was expendable.”

“That’s not true,” Steph said desperately.

“Oh sure,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You somehow convinced Dick and Barbara to let you play Batgirl while I’m sidelined and tossed aside. Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t know what this would do to me.”

Stephanie felt frustration bubbling under the surface. “Do you think I have it easy? Barbara doubted me from the start! She didn’t think I’d survive as Batgirl. She only gave me a chance because I refused to back down—“

“So then why did they replace me?” you snapped, your eyes glistening with tears you refused to let fall. “Why did they bench me while you got to take my place? Even Cassandra seems to think you’re better than me.”

Steph froze. “That’s—“

“Am I really that replaceable?” you interrupted, your voice trembling.

Stephanie opened her mouth, but no words came out.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Save it, Stephanie. I don’t care what their reasons are. You want the mantle? Fine. It’s yours. But don’t come here pretending you didn’t know what this would do to me.”

Stephanie took a shaky step forward. “I’m not trying to—“

“I’ll prove them wrong,” you interrupted, your voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I’ll prove I’m better than you. Better than any of them thought I could be. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Stephanie stared at you, stunned, as your words hung heavy in the air.

“So enjoy being Batgirl, Stephanie,” you said coldly. “And stay the hell away from me.”

Steph stood there for a long moment, frozen, as your words hung in the air. She wanted to say more, to fix this somehow, but the look in your eyes told her there was nothing she could do.

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the night as you turned back to the skyline, the cold wind biting at your skin.

Stephanie’s hands tightened around her mug as she replayed the memory in her mind.

“From then on,” Steph said, her voice soft, “she did everything she could to one-up me. Patrol routes, takedowns, intel—anything. It was like she was trying to prove herself, not just to Dick and Barbara, but to me, too.”

Cass tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable.

Steph hesitated before asking, “Why… didn’t you seem bothered by her quitting? Didn’t it… I don’t know, feel weird to you?”

Cass stayed silent, her hands stilling over the grappling gun.

“Cass?” Stephanie pressed.

Cassandra sighed softly. “If it’s what she wanted, then everyone should respect it.”

“But isn’t it weird? That she suddenly quit?”

Cass’s gaze flickered. “Yeah,” she admitted, her voice calm. “But it’s better if she doesn’t continue this path.”

Steph’s brow furrowed. “Better? What do you mean?”

Cass hesitated, her voice even. “She wasn’t built for this life.”

Steph blinked, confused. “Wait, what? What are you talking about?”

Cass looked at her, her voice quieter but resolute. “I’ve always seen it. A… blockage. In her body language. When she fights, when she moves, it’s always there. It never goes away.”

Steph tilted her head, confused. “A blockage? What does that even mean..?”

“It’s like… a wall she can’t break through.” Cass explained, her tone calm but firm. “No matter what she does, it stops her from reaching her full potential. And that wall… it’s dangerous. For her.”

“But she’s strong—“ Steph opened her mouth to protest, but Cass cut her off, her tone firmer.

“She’s strong,” Cass agreed, “but not for this. That blockage is something she can’t overcome. And if she keeps pushing herself, it’ll hurt her. Worse than being benched. Worse than losing the mantle. She should live a normal life. Away from this.”

Steph stared at Cass, her confusion shifting into an uneasy understanding. The weight of Cass’s words settling heavily in her chest. Cass’s ability to read body language was unparalleled—if anyone could see something like that, it was her.

“But…” Steph started, trailing off, her voice uncertain.

Cass shook her head, her voice soft but final. “This life—it would break her. It’s better this way. For her.”

Stephanie leaned back into the couch, the weight of Cass’s words pressing down on her. For the first time, she felt a flicker of doubt—not about you, but about what this life demanded of you.

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Her thoughts swirled as she tried to piece it all together. Cassandra had always been the most perceptive person Stephanie had ever known, able to read people in ways that felt almost supernatural. If she said there was a “blockage,” some invisible wall holding you back, Steph believed her. She had no reason not to.

But why hadn’t Cass told you about it? Why hadn’t she tried to help you work through it instead of letting you walk away? Cass wasn’t the type to give up on people, so why had she just… let you go?

Stephanie’s grip tightened on the mug. She thought back to the nights she’d watched you push yourself too far, the way you’d thrown yourself into patrols and fights with a reckless determination that bordered on desperation. It made sense now, in a way. You weren’t just trying to be good enough—you were trying to be better than everyone’s doubts.

“I don’t…” Stephanie hesitated, her words faltering. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”

Cassandra didn’t respond, her silence stretching between them like the distant hum of the city outside.

The weight of the conversation pressed on Steph’s chest, but then a stray thought flickered in her mind, pulling her out of her tangled emotions. She striaghted slightly, her brow furrowing.

“Wait. Where’s Barbara anyway?” she asked, glancing around the Clocktower.

Cass tilted her head, thinking. “Not sure,” she said simply. “I think… she said she had plans. With someone.”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Plans? With who?”

Cass shrugged, her expression giving nothing away.

Steph groaned, flopping back against the couch. “Great. So now Barbara is being cryptic too. What is it with you Bat people and your secrets?”

The lunch spot was cozy but buzzing with just enough noise to drown out any awkward silences—though not nearly enough to mask the tension sitting between you and Barbara. She sat across from you, her gaze flickering between the menu in her hands and you.

You should have refused the lunch. Should have claimed you were busy. But the text Barbara sent you left you with no real excuse:

“Lunch? 1 PM? Don’t pretend you’re busy, I know your schedule. ☕”

And so here you were, caught in what felt like an ambush.

As the server came over, you placed your order for a black coffee and a bagel.

Barbara blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Black coffee?” she repeated after the server left, her brows slightly raised.

You glanced up from your phone. “Yeah?”

“I just… didn’t think you’d be the type.”

It took you a moment to register her confusion, but then it hit you. Back when you were sixteen, you hated coffee—especially black coffee. You’d always opted for sugary drinks or anything sweet enough to mask the bitterness. Sixteen year old you would’ve gagged at the bitterness of black coffee. But time had changed you, as had many sleepless nights spent staring at mission briefs or reports, that you’ve gotten used to the taste of coffee.

“Just need all the energy I can get,” you replied, plastering on a small smile.

Barbara hummed, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to push further.

The two of you fell into a strange silence, interrupted only by the soft clinking of cutlery and quiet chatter around you. Barbara shifted in her wheelchair, wondering why this felt so… awkward.

Were you always this… standoffish?

After what felt like forever, Barbara finally spoke up. “I heard about what happened to your friend.”

Your fingers stilled against the edge of your cup. Oh.

Barbara glanced at you, gauging your reaction before continuing. “I just… wanted to say I’m sorry. That he got caught up in everything. I should have been more thorough.”

Your lips twitched downward, your voice coming out sharper than intended. “Yeah. You should have.”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Barbara’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the honesty of your tone catching her off guard.

Silence again. This time heavier.

The tension thickened between you both, the silence growing louder by the second. Barbara swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your words settle uncomfortably in her chest.

She opened her mouth again, determined to steer the conversation somewhere less hostile. “How’s school?”

You shrugged, your tone clipped. “It’s alright.”

“Are classes okay? Teachers good?”

“They’re fine.”

Barbara frowned, but she pressed on. “And your friends? Have you made any new ones?”

“No, not really.”

This wasn’t working. Every answer you gave was short, distant, like you were putting up walls. It felt unnatural, almost deliberate. Barbara wasn’t sure if she should press harder or back off entirely.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” she finally asked, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer. Was this about your friend getting hurt? Was this about her not being quick enough to prevent the incident? Or was it something else all together?

You paused, but your face remained impassive. “No,” you replied flatly, taking a bite of your bagel.

Barbara’s stomach twisted.

That wasn’t a no.

Not really.

Before she could respond, a voice spoke from behind her.

“Hey, I thought I recognized you two!”

The familiar voice broke through the tension like a wrecking ball, and Barbara couldn’t have been more relieved.

Dick.

He slid into the seat next to Barbara, flashing his trademark grin, though his eyes darted to you with a hint of hesitation. “What’s this? A secret meeting without me?”

Oh, so this was a setup.

Dick must have told Barbara about you avoiding him, and they must have planned this.

You straightened, folding your arms and leaning back into your chair like a wall had gone up.

Dick, oblivious, leaned forward with his usual enthusiasm. “What are you guys talking about? School? Life? Come on, catch me up.”

“Not much to catch up on,” you muttered.

Dick frowned slightly but pressed on, his tone light and cheerful. “You know, I’ve been meaning to hang out with you more, (Name). It feels like we haven’t really spent time together lately.”

You didn’t respond.

“Maybe we could grab dinner sometime?” Dick offered, smiling earnestly. “Or I could swing by the manor and we could—”

“I actually have plans, so I can’t stay,” you said curtly, reaching for your bag.

Dick blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. “What? No, wait,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “You just got here.”

“I already told you,” you said, standing up. “I have plans. I can’t hang out.”

“But—”

“Thanks for lunch, Barbara,” you interrupted, sparing Barbara a quick glance before heading for the exit.

“Wait—”

You were already gone.

Dick watched you go, his shoulders sagging as the door swung shut behind you. He slumped back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. For a moment, he was quiet, his usual energy dimmed.

Barbara sighed, setting her cup down. She wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t have the words. After all, you’d been acting the same way toward her. Aloof, distant, standoffish.

“Don’t take it personally.”

That was all she could come up with.

Dick frowned. “She’s never acted like this before. It’s like she doesn’t even want to be around me.”

Barbara didn’t respond. She didn’t know what to say. She just wished she had an answer.

“She hates me,” he said quietly, his voice almost drowned by the chatter from the cafe.

Barbara glanced up at the man. “She doesn’t hate you, Dick.”

“Feels like it,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “It’s like every time I try to talk to her, I just make things worse.” He paused, swallowing thickly. “….You don’t think she’s acting like this because of what happened before, do you?”

Barbara leaned back in her chair, her expression softening. “Which part of ‘before’ are we talking about?”

Dick’s gaze dropped to the floor as his mind pulled him back, unbidden, to those first turbulent days after Bruce’s death.

The cave had never felt more suffocating, its dim light and cold walls amplifying the tension crackling in the air. You stood across from Dick, your posture tense, fists clenched at your sides.

“You’re benching me?” Your voice was sharp, anger barely masking the hurt underneath.

“It’s not permanent,” Dick said, his tone measured but firm. “You’re not in the right headspace right now—”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, cutting him off. “I’m doing my job, same as I always have.”

“No, you’re not,” Dick countered, his voice tightening. “You’re reckless. You’re putting yourself in danger for no reason.” He took a step closer, his jaw tight. “I’ve seen you out there, and it’s like you’re not even trying to come back in one piece. You’re acting like you have nothing to lose.”

Your heart lurched at his words, but you refused to show it. “Don’t stand there and psychoanalyze me. I’m doing my job. If you think I’m not good enough, just say it.”

Dick let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. You’ve been through hell—losing Bruce—your father—and instead of giving yourself time to deal with it, you’re throwing yourself into the field like you have a death wish.”

Your fists clenched tighter. “So what? I’m just supposed to sit around, doing nothing? Let Gotham fall apart while you and Damian play Batman and Robin? I’m trying to help, Dick!”

“I know you are,” Dick said, his voice softening, but there was a steel edge to it. “But this isn’t helping. Not like this. You’re going to get yourself killed, and I can’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

“You can’t what?” you demanded, stepping closer, your voice trembling with anger. “You can’t trust me? Can’t rely on me? What, am I just some burden to you now?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Dick snapped, his frustration finally boiling over. His voice echoed through the cave, bouncing off the walls. “I’m saying I care about you, and I’m not going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself like this.”

The raw emotion in his voice caught you off guard, but it only fueled the fire burning in your chest. “You don’t care about me,” you spat. “If you did, you’d let me do what I’m good at instead of sidelining me. You’re becoming just like father—deciding what’s best for everyone else without asking.”

Dick flinched at the comparison, but he recovered quickly, his expression hardening. “This isn’t about control. It’s about keeping you alive. You’re grieving, and it’s clouding your judgment. Until you can think clearly, I can’t let you keep putting yourself in danger.”

“You can’t let me?” you repeated, your voice cracking as your anger reached its peak. “You’re not my father, Dick. You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do!”

“No, I’m not your father,” Dick shot back, his voice low but sharp. “But I am your brother. And I am Batman now. So it’s my call.”

The words landed like a blow, cutting through the air between you. Your breathing was ragged, your chest heaving as you stared at him, your emotions warring inside you—anger, betrayal, grief, all swirling together until you couldn’t separate one from the other.

“Fine,” you said finally, your voice cold and flat. “Do what you want. Bench me. Replace me. I don’t care.”

Dick’s expression flickered, a crack in his resolve, but you didn’t give him a chance to respond. You turned on your heel and stormed out of the cave, your footsteps echoing behind you.

The memory twisted in Dick’s chest like a knife. A few days later, he’d seen someone in Cassandra’s Batgirl costume, her movements unfamiliar, the seams of the mantle not quite fitting yet.

“Tsk, tsk. Sloppy.” Damian had commented.

“How is this the woman who led the League of Assassins? The “warrior” who ran the outsiders at father’s command?” he had asked sharply.

“You’re right..” Dick muttered, narrowing his eyes as he realized who it was.

“She’s not as good as the other batgirls..”

When he confronted Barbara about mentoring Stephanie, the conversation had been anything but calm. She believed in Stephanie, believed Gotham needed a Batgirl. He’d been reluctant, furious that Barbara had allowed Stephanie to go around Gotham wearing that Bat symbol on her chest when she’s not prepared for what the city has become in the absence of Batman. But he’d eventually agreed, seeing how much Stephanie needed this, seeing how much Barbara needed this too.

But when you found out? That had been the breaking point.

The sound of hurried, angry footsteps echoed through the Batcave, snapping Dick’s attention from the monitor. He turned just as you came storming in, radiating anger.

“Are you serious?” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet hum of the cave’s machinery.

Dick sighed, already bracing himself for the confrontation. He should have expected this, but the fury radiating off you still caught him off guard.

“Stephanie’s Batgirl now?” you said, your words laced with disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“She’s doing good work,” Dick said, keeping his tone neutral, though he could already feel the tension building.

“She’s replacing me!” you snapped. “Neither you nor Barbara even thought to talk to me about this. Not a single word. You didn’t think for one second about how I’d feel.”

“She’s not replacing you, (Name),” Dick said, his voice taut as he tried to keep his composure.

“Yes, she is,” you shot back, your tone rising. “You’re saying I’m not good enough. That I’m not fit to be Batgirl anymore.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Dick countered, his patience beginning to fray.

“Then what is it about?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you decided I wasn’t worth it. You didn’t even give me a chance to prove I’m not—”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Dick interrupted sharply.

“Clearly, I do!” you spat. “Because you didn’t just bench me. You handed over my mantle to someone else, like I didn’t matter. Like I’m just… disposable!”

“That’s not what happened,” Dick said, his voice rising. “This isn’t about replacing you—it’s about keeping you alive!”

You froze for a split second, stunned, before your expression hardened. “Keeping me alive? What the hell are you talking about?”

Dick exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Like I already told you, you’ve been reckless. Ever since Bruce died, you’ve been—”

“Don’t bring father into this,” you interrupted, your voice dangerously low.

“I have to,” Dick snapped back. “Because ever since he died, you’ve been running yourself into the ground, throwing yourself into danger without a second thought. You’re not thinking clearly, and it’s going to get you killed. I had to take you off the streets before it was too late.”

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not fine,” Dick retorted, his voice sharp. “You’re angry, you’re grieving, and you’re not in the right headspace to be doing this. You think I wanted to bench you? I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” you bit out. “And you chose her.”

Dick’s jaw tightened. “Because Gotham needs a Batgirl who can think straight right now. Someone who isn’t running on grief and anger. That’s not you right now.”

“Oh, so Stephanie’s better than me now?” you said bitterly. “I see how it is. First, you replace Tim with Damian—without even talking to him about it—and now you’re doing the same thing to me.”

“This isn’t the same,” Dick said, his voice hardening.

“Isn’t it?” you challenged, stepping closer. “You didn’t even ask me. You just made the decision for me. Like I don’t get a say. Like I don’t matter.”

“Tim can handle himself,” Dick shot back, his voice sharp. “Damian can’t. He needed someone to guide him, someone to keep him from spiraling out of control.”

“And I don’t?” you fired back. “I lost my father, Dick. Everything changed the moment he’s gone. The ‘normalcy’ I had was no longer there. But instead of helping me, instead of guiding me, you just… tossed me aside. Like I wasn’t worth the effort.”

“That’s not what I did,” Dick said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

“Then what did you do?” you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.

“I’m trying to protect you!” Dick shouted, his frustration boiling over. “You don’t see it, but you’re not okay. You think you can just power through this, but you can’t. Not like this. If I let you keep going, you’d—” He stopped himself, his voice catching.

“I’d what?” you pressed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt.

Dick’s shoulders slumped, and he looked at you with a rawness in his expression you weren’t expecting. “You’d get yourself killed,” he said softly. “And I couldn’t live with that. Especially when I’m in charge.”

“Don’t make this about me being reckless or grieving or whatver you think is wrong with me,” you said through gritted teeth.

“It is about that!” Dick snapped, his voice rising even more than before. “You’re spiraling and you know it. You’re not in the right headspace to be out there right now, let alone as Batgirl.”

“I’m fine. I’ve been fine. I’m doing my job—“

“You’re throwing yourself into danger without thinking,” Dick interrupted, his voice sharp. “You’re not acting like someone who’s fine. You’re acting like you don’t care if you live or die, and I’m not going to let you do that under the Batgirl mantle.”

You stared at him, your chest heaving, your emotions a chaotic storm. But instead of softening, instead of understanding, the words only made the ache in your chest worse. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you said coldly.

“Someone has to.”

You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes. “No. You don’t get to make that call, not for me. You didn’t even try to understand. You just made your decision and moved on.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed toward the exit, leaving Dick standing in the empty cave, his hands clenched at his sides.

Dick stood there, staring at the spot where you’d disappeared. His chest felt tight, a mix of guilt and frustration twisting inside him. He didn’t mean to hurt you. That was the last thing he wanted. But letting you keep going out there, in the state you were in, wasn’t something he could allow.

“It’s for your own good,” he murmured to himself, but the words rang hollow in the silence of the cave.

Dick stared down at the hot cider Barbara ordered for him, the steam curling lazily above the cup. His voice was low, almost pained, as he broke the silence. “It had been rocky after that,” he admitted, the memory of your argument still sharp in his mind. “Even after I told her not to go out as Batgirl, she disobeyed me. Again and again.”

Barbara didn’t respond, her gaze steady on him, waiting for him to continue.

“I’d bench her, and she’d show up on patrols anyway,” Dick said, his tone bitter with frustration, but there was no hiding the regret beneath it. “At first, I thought she was just trying to prove a point—to prove me wrong—but the more I watched, the more I realized…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “She was just hurting. She threw herself into every fight like it didn’t matter if she came out of it.”

Barbara shifted in her wheelchair, her fingers tightening around her own mug.

Dick ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to admit then, but I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought taking her off the streets would help, but it just pushed her further away. The fights got worse. She wouldn’t talk to me—or if she did, it would get messy. She didn’t trust me anymore.”

He paused, exhaling heavily. “And I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for that.”

Barbara’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she stayed quiet, sensing there was more.

“When Bruce came back, I thought things would go back to normal,” Dick said, forcing a hollow chuckle. “I thought we could reset, you know? Bruce took over as Batman again, I went back to being Nightwing, and she officially went back to being Batgirl. It was like the pieces were all back in place. Like things were the way they were supposed to be.”

Barbara tilted her head slightly, catching the way his voice softened.

“But they weren’t,” he admitted, his voice breaking just slightly. “Not really.” He hesitated, gripping the edge of the table. “(Name) quit three weeks ago. Officially. And… she’s been avoiding me ever since. I see it in the way she leaves before I show up, the way she makes sure she’s never in the same room as me. It’s like—like whatever this is, it’s irreparable. Like I played into her quitting.”

Barbara reached out slightly, her hand brushing against his briefly, grounding him.

“I don’t think I was wrong in my decision,” Dick said, though there was an ache in his voice that made it hard to believe him. “I just—I handled it badly. I hurt her, Babs. And now, I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to make it right.”

He fell silent, staring into his drink like it held some sort of answer.

Barbara shifted her gaze to him, guilt clawing at her chest as her own memories surfaced.

“I…. should have handled things better too,” she admitted softly, almost to herself.

Dick glanced at her, surprised by the admission.

“I should have been there for her,” Barbara continued, her tone quiet but heavy with regret. “(Name) wasn’t in the right state of mind, and I knew that. I knew it. But I…” She hesitated, gripping her mug tightly. “I chose to focus on Stephanie instead. To guide her. To help her become Batgirl.”

“You were trying to do what was best for everyone,” Dick said gently, but Barbara shook her head.

“No, I wasn’t,” she said firmly. “I was avoiding the harder choice. Helping her—helping someone who was grieving, who was hurt, who needed someone to pull them out of that spiral—that would’ve taken more from me. More patience. More time. And I didn’t give it to her.”

Dick’s expression softened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I thought Stephanie needed me more,” Barbara said, her voice cracking slightly. “She was trying so hard to prove herself, to find her place—find what she needs. And she deserved my guidance too—but I shouldn’t have left (Name) behind. Not like that.”

The two of them fell silent for a long moment, both lost in their thoughts.

“She deserved better from me,” Barbara murmured, her throat tightening. “And now I have to live with the fact that I didn’t give it to her. I have to live with the fact that I let this gap between us grow so big. And I don’t even know when it happened.”

Dick looked at her, his expression softening. “It’s not too late to fix that.”

Barbara gave him a small, sad smile. “How do you fix something when you don’t even know where to start?”

Dick opened his mouth to respond, but the weight of her words settled over him. He knew exactly how she felt. But just like her, he didn’t have an answer.

“She’s so… closed off now,” Dick said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know how to approach her anymore. Every time I try, it’s like there’s this wall between us, and I just—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “How did I mess up so bad?”

Barbara studied him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Dick admitted. “I just—I wanted her to be okay. I wanted her to stop putting herself in danger, to stop tearing herself apart over everything she lost back then. But now… I don’t know if I helped her at all. I think I just pushed her further away.”

Barbara placed a hand over his, squeezing it gently. “You did what you thought was right,” she said softly.

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less,” Dick muttered, his voice thick with regret.

They sat there in silence for a while, both of them weighed down by the choices they’d made and the consequences they were still grappling with. Neither of them knew how to bridge the gap you’d left behind—but they both knew they couldn’t just leave it like this. Not anymore.

finally done with this chapter lol. it’s been long overdue, so sorry about that 😭😓 i had to rewrite a lot of these scenes so many times because i wasn’t satisfied with it…but hopefully you lot are okay with this chapter haha.. 😬🙃 i slightly adjusted stephanie’s relationship with reader in this compared to the background info i posted because i thought this would fit better with the dynamic i intended for her to have. but for now, have this while i’m going to take a semi-hiatus/break to celebrate my bday which is coming up in 4 days and some other stuff 🫶 next chapter will most likely come out on 28 dec so yeah, until then, i’ll still try to reply to whatever is in my inbox 🫨

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