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introvertllux · 23 days ago

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Meet the Wayne’s Chapter 4: Fault Lines

I DON’T claim the rights to batman only the black!OC. Also this is pure fiction and NOT my thoughts on marriage or family at all.

Word count: 6703

Third Person P.O.V

The darkness of the Batcave barely registers tonight; it swallows him, its depths closing in as jagged memories claw through his mind, vivid and merciless.

He’s back in the chaos of the orphanage grounds, the moments after the explosion crashing into his senses. The blast hits him with relentless force, a wall of fire and shrieking metal tearing him from his family. Heat sears his skin; the raw, bitter tang of smoke and dust fills his throat, his vision flickering in and out of focus as the world twists into a blurred nightmare. A metallic taste sits thick on his tongue, the stench of burning debris choking every breath. Somewhere nearby, he hears the cries of panicked children, the dull thud of falling concrete, a cacophony of pain and confusion.

And in the epicenter of it all, he sees her—Scarlett, encased in a sickly, pulsing glow. His vision sharpens for a second, taking in the unnatural pink light radiating from her hands, illuminating her figure in the smoke-filled ruins. For a heartbeat, she is both familiar and terrifying, her skin emblazoned with symbols he doesn’t recognize—ancient, jagged symbols that coil around her body like hungry vines, each line bright and alien, pulsating as if they’re alive, twisting through her skin, binding her to something unspeakable. He can’t look away, horrified as she lifts her hands and the pink light spreads, expanding into a protective shield around the boys, shimmering with raw, arcane energy.

The symbols shift and flare, seeming to grow, searing themselves deeper into her skin until she looks less like the woman he knows and more like a creature out of a nightmare. Tendrils of light coil from her fingers, threading through the air, wrapping around their sons in a way that is both protective and horrifying, as if something monstrous is holding them close. His sons’ faces are wide-eyed, pale against the crimson haze of the chaos around them, their expressions reflecting his own fear, their voices swallowed by the explosion’s aftershock.

A flash of blinding pink light, and he’s thrown backward, hitting the ground with a force that cracks through his bones. He hears the world distantly, as if through water—the sound of Scarlett’s voice, strange and resonant, mingling with the low hum of power that feels like it’s bleeding into the very air. His head spins, pain rocketing through his body, and when he lifts his gaze again, she is still there, a vision of otherworldly power, the symbols now pulsating like a heartbeat. Every blink brings a new nightmare into focus—the symbols writhing across her skin, her eyes blazing with the same light, unnatural, almost… inhuman.

What has she become?

___________________________________________________________

Back in the Batcave, Bruce’s fists clench until his knuckles burn, his mind trapped between fury and a creeping sense of horror. It replays again and again, each time worse, each time clearer—the symbols, those terrible, glowing brands that marked her skin, the strange, almost reverent way they seemed to pulse with each of her breaths. And the power, raw and unearthly, wrapping around their sons with the force of an invisible hand.

The woman he thought he knew, his partner, his wife—she had stood amidst that chaos wielding powers he couldn’t begin to understand, forces that defied every rational rule he lived by. He realizes, with a cold dread creeping into his bones, that he’s been blind. Blind to the secrets she carried, to the darkness woven into her past. What else has she kept from him? What else is buried beneath the surface, concealed by her quiet words, her careful facade?. Questions swirl and harden into something cold, focused, and selfishly determined. He will have answers.

The moment Bruce storms into the manor, his fury is a palpable force, chilling the room as he enters. Shadows cling to him like a cloak, and each stride crackles with barely restrained rage. He’s singularly focused, almost feverish, every thought consumed by one need: answers. He has no concern for his sons’ well-being, no space in his mind to wonder how they’re handling the aftermath. The only obstacle between him and Scarlett’s secrets stands before him—Alfred.

In the dim light of the sitting room, Alfred stands protectively, the boys gathered around him like soldiers waiting for orders. They’re watching Bruce with uncertainty, tension radiating from each of them, but Bruce barely registers their presence. His face is a mask of cold resolve as he stares down Alfred, his jaw clenched, fists tight.

“Where is she, Alfred?” His voice cuts through the silence like a blade, each word sharp, deadly, and laced with venom.

Alfred’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly—a flicker of concern that doesn’t escape Bruce’s notice and only stokes his anger further. “She’s resting, Master Bruce,” Alfred replies, his tone calm, steady. “I’ve advised her to take time to recuperate, to let the—”

“I don’t care about rest.” Bruce’s voice rises, tinged with bitterness and barely restrained fury. “I need to talk to her. Now.”

Alfred’s gaze hardens, and there’s a steely resolve in his eyes as he meets Bruce’s. “With all due respect, sir, now is not the time. She’s been through more than you know. Let her rest.”

The betrayal twists in Bruce’s gut like a knife, the mere fact that Alfred—his oldest confidant—would stand between him and the truth, protecting Scarlett’s secrets instead of him. Him. The man who trusted Alfred above all else.

Bruce steps forward, his voice dropping to a low, venomous growl. “Alfred, I have every right to know what my own wife has been hiding from me. You don’t get to decide that.”

Alfred’s gaze remains steady, unflinching, calm as a stone in a storm. “And yet, Master Bruce, I fear pressing her now will only push her further from you. Perhaps… patience—”

“Patience?” Bruce’s voice is a raw, incredulous whisper, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles go white. “I watched her wield something beyond our world, Alfred. Symbols, light, things that have no place in this family. And you’re telling me to wait?” His eyes narrow, his voice a bitter accusation. “What else are you hiding from me?”

The tension between them is thick, suffocating, but the boys have had enough of watching silently.

“Maybe now isn’t the time, Dad,” Dick says, breaking the silence with a calm but pained voice. He steps forward, his gaze steady but pleading. “Mom’s been through a lot. Pushing her like this is only going to make everything worse.”

Jason scoffs, his arms crossed, a look of pure disdain on his face as he stares at Bruce. “Right, because ignoring everything has worked so well in this family.” He takes a step forward, his voice simmering with resentment. “Isn’t that how you work, Dad? Keeping everything buried under secrets, shoving us out whenever it’s ‘inconvenient’?”

Bruce’s eyes narrow, but Jason doesn’t flinch. The anger in his voice spills out with years of pent-up rage. “Funny. You act like you’re all about honesty, trust, family—but you’re just as much of a liar as she is. More, even. And you know it.”

Bruce’s jaw tightens, his voice coming out as a dangerous hiss. “This isn’t about secrets for the sake of it, Jason. This is about our safety. Your safety.”

Jason’s face twists with fury. “My safety? Are you kidding me? You know what’s not safe? Sending your kids out to fight psychos and maniacs every other night. You care more about Gotham than you ever did about us. About me.” His voice cracks, anger boiling over. “If she’s keeping secrets, it’s only because she knows that you’re incapable of dealing with anything you can’t control.”

Bruce glares at Jason, but he can feel the weight of all their eyes on him, each gaze a silent accusation.

Tim clears his throat, his voice careful but challenging. “But maybe there’s a reason she didn’t tell you, Dad. You’ve always been against… anything you can’t control. I don’t blame her for hiding it.”

Bruce’s gaze snaps to Tim, his fury mingling with a sense of betrayal that makes his voice icy. “I trusted her,” he snaps. “I trusted all of you. And now I find out that each one of you would rather protect her secrets than respect my right to know what’s happening in my own family?”

“Your family?” Damian’s voice is cold, almost mocking, as he crosses his arms. “Funny. You talk about family like you know what it means, but you treat us like soldiers. Like pieces on a chessboard you can push around and sacrifice when it’s convenient.” His words are bitter, razor-sharp. “Mother has her reasons, I’m sure. And if you can’t handle it, maybe that’s the issue.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow dangerously as he turns to Damian, his voice dropping to a deadly tone. “What I can’t handle is betrayal. Your mother has been lying to us—for years. You don’t keep something like this from your family.”

A scoff cuts through the room. “Family?” Duke says, his tone thick with disbelief. “You keep talking about family, but all you ever cared about is Gotham. You think being Batman gives you a free pass to ignore us, to push us out of your life and call it protection.” He takes a step forward, his voice steady but angry. “You weren’t even there when Jason—” Duke glances at Jason, his voice faltering, then regains his resolve, “when any of us needed you. And now you’re mad that she tried to do what you never did?”

Bruce’s fists clenched tighter, his face twisting with bitterness. “So this is all my fault?” He spits, his voice almost a snarl. “I put my life on the line every day to protect all of you. And this is what I get? Accusations? Disrespect?”

Dick steps forward, his face tense, his voice strong but filled with hurt. “No, Dad, this is what happens when you put Gotham before us. When you build walls around yourself and keep everything locked away. You think you’re protecting us, but you’re tearing us apart.” His gaze meets Bruce’s, steady and unwavering. “If you want to blame someone for all the secrets in this family, look in the mirror. We learned from the best, didn’t we?”

For a second, Bruce’s face softens, a flicker of pain crossing his features, but he steels himself, his gaze hardening. And then Jason steps forward, fists clenched, his voice dripping with scorn.

“You think you’re some great protector, but all you do is control. You’re so obsessed with Gotham, you can’t even see us for who we are. You use us, treat us like weapons, then demand loyalty?” He lets out a bitter laugh, stepping even closer. “Mom might have her secrets, but at least she gives a damn about us.”

Bruce’s face contorts in anger, and he takes a step toward Jason, his voice low and deadly. “Watch yourself, Jason.”

Jason’s sneer only deepens, his hands curling into fists as he stares Bruce down. “Or what, Bruce?” he spits, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re not half the father you think you are. You want everyone’s loyalty, but you don’t deserve it. Not like this.”

The words hang in the air, thick with tension, and for a moment, it feels like the thin thread holding them together is about to snap. Bruce’s hand twitches, his fury nearly blinding him, as he takes another step closer. It’s a heartbeat away from turning physical, the rage between them almost unbearable.

The tension in the room swells, pressing in like a storm about to break. The silence grows heavy, thick with unspoken accusations, with words so sharp and bitter they seem to hang in the air like knives. Each breath feels weighted, every glare a loaded weapon.

The boys are visibly shaken, their faces tense and guarded, raw emotions surfacing as they look at each other, uncertain, angry, hurt. Jason’s fists are clenched so tightly his knuckles have gone white; Damian’s face, usually calm, is clouded with a confusion he can barely conceal. Dick stands firm but pained, his shoulders taut, every inch of him aching with the burden of holding this family together. Tim’s gaze flits between Bruce and Alfred, his mind racing, analyzing every fractured piece of the scene. Duke, his usual calm slipping, looks ready to step forward, but something holds him back, a silent question in his eyes.

In the thick, tense silence, a presence shifts the air, drawing every eye to the doorway. It’s not the dramatic entrance of a warrior or a call for attention, but the quiet strength of a mother, a woman bearing secrets and scars. Scarlett stands there, her arms wrapped in bandages concealing the marks Bruce had seen, hiding the symbols that had just shattered the fragile trust between them.

Her face is pale, but her gaze is steady, deep as dark water, and beneath her composed exterior lies the weight of pain and secrets she’s carried alone for too long. There’s something hauntingly resolute about her, like a structure pieced together after a storm, refusing to let even a crack show. Every movement is deliberate, unyielding.

The boys, instinctively, draw closer to her, as if grounding themselves in her presence. Jason’s fists relax slightly, though his eyes still burn with restrained fury; Dick’s stance softens as he watches her, concern shadowing his face; Damian, usually guarded, reveals a flicker of vulnerable uncertainty, his gaze searching hers for reassurance. Each son looks to her with the raw ache of loyalty mixed with confusion, a need for answers balanced with an implicit, unshakable trust.

Scarlett meets each of their eyes, her expression unwavering as she takes a silent headcount, offering the reassurance only a mother’s presence can provide. Her calm gaze settles the chaos, even if just for a moment, promising them that no matter the secrets or tension, her love remains unshaken.

And then, breaking the stillness with a quiet strength that commands attention, she speaks.

"Enough."

The single word lands with the weight of an iron bell, stilling every lingering thought and dissolving even Bruce’s bitter glare. Her voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through the air with a finality that no one can ignore, not even Bruce. His face snaps toward her, caught off-guard by the power of her voice.

But the shock quickly gives way to cold disdain, his gaze raking over her bandages. His mouth twists into a mocking smile. “Oh, so you’re finally here,” he sneers, his voice thick with venom. “How convenient that you’d rather hide behind those bandages, wrap up all your little *secrets* than show me who you really are. Was this your plan all along? Making me think I had a partner?” He laughs bitterly, each word an accusation. “Or was I just another pawn you thought you could use?”

Scarlett’s jaw tightens, but she stands her ground, meeting his gaze without flinching. Her voice is low, steady. “I was trying to protect this family, Bruce. I didn’t want to drag you into something you could never understand.”

“*Understand?*” Bruce’s face contorts with anger, his voice rising, accusations spilling from him like acid. “Protect us? You don’t know the first thing about protecting a family. *I’m* the one who’s held this family together while you lied to us every day, hiding whatever that was. I’ve sacrificed everything—for you, for Gotham, for these boys—and you… you just stood back and watched, hiding who you are.”

A flash of hurt flickers in Scarlett’s eyes, but she remains composed. “I did what I thought was best. I kept it hidden because I wanted to keep you safe.”

Jason steps forward, his frustration boiling over. “Funny, isn’t it?” he sneers. “That word doesn’t mean a damn thing around here. ‘Safe?’ No one’s safe in this family. We’re dragged into all your secrets, all your lies.” His gaze, blazing with betrayal, locks onto Bruce. “And you, Dad—don’t talk to me about loyalty. You care more about Gotham than us. Batman first, Gotham first. We’re just what’s left over.”

Bruce’s voice is cold and sharp. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Jason. *Everything* I’ve done has been for this family.”

“No,” Dick cuts in, his voice strong but carrying a tremor of hurt. “Everything you’ve done has been for you. Every decision you make, every wall you put up—it’s to keep us out and protect yourself. And we’ve been left to pick up the pieces while you keep us in the dark.”

Bruce’s gaze snaps to Dick, his face hardening. “I’m the one who’s kept this family alive. You couldn’t possibly understand the sacrifices I’ve had to make for Gotham, for *you.*”

Duke shakes his head, his tone cutting. “Sacrifices? Sure. But if we’re so safe, Bruce, why do we keep coming back broken? We’ve all had to keep secrets just to stay intact. And now you’re furious with Mom for trying to protect us? You’re mad that she did what you’ve done every day. Look in the mirror.”

Bruce’s fists tighten, his voice turning icy. “This isn’t the same, Duke. I haven’t lied to you about who I am.”

Tim’s voice slices through, measured and clear, the analytical mind behind it breaking through Bruce’s denial. “But you *have,* Dad. You kept us in the dark over and over. You hid Damian from us for *years.* You lied about Jason after… after what happened to him. You’ve kept things hidden from each of us, all the time. This family is built on secrets—and most of them are yours.”

Bruce’s eyes turn to Tim, his expression twisting with a bitter frustration. “Those weren’t lies; they were decisions I made to protect all of you.”

“Protect?” Damian laughs, a cold sound that carries the bite of deep disappointment. “Or protect your image, Father? You talk about family, but we’re just pawns on your board, part of your crusade. The minute we become inconvenient, you toss us aside or cover up the truth. Maybe Mother kept secrets because she knew what you’d do. And maybe the problem isn’t her—it’s you.”

A dangerous glint flashes in Bruce’s eyes as he steps toward Damian, his voice a low, deadly rumble. “What I can’t accept is betrayal. Your mother has lied to us all, hidden parts of herself that none of you could understand. And you’re blaming me?”

“Maybe she thought you wouldn’t understand,” Dick says, his tone uncharacteristically harsh. “Maybe she thought you’d react exactly like this—lashing out, accusing her instead of even asking why.” He holds Bruce’s gaze, his voice edged with pain. “Maybe she didn’t tell you because she knew you couldn’t handle it.”

A thick silence falls, and Bruce’s gaze lands back on Scarlett, his eyes filled with fury, his face hardening further as he stares at her, the bandages concealing everything he suddenly feels he doesn’t know about her.

“Oh, I can handle it,” he sneers, his voice low, mocking. “The real question is, what else are you hiding, Scarlett? Or was this all just some twisted game from the beginning?” His voice drops into a cold, scathing whisper as he steps closer. “Did you ever care about me? Or was I just another step in whatever plan you had?”

Scarlett’s expression holds steady, though pain flickers in her eyes. Her voice is quiet but unwavering. “I did what I thought was best for all of you, Bruce. I didn’t want to drag you into something you’d never accept.”

“Oh, spare me,” he spits, his voice full of contempt. “Best for you, more like. You kept us in the dark, treated me, treated all of us, like strangers. And you think that’s what’s best?” He leans in, his voice a cold, venomous whisper. “If I’d known who you really were, Scarlett… I would never have married you. I regret every single moment I wasted on your lies.”

His words hang heavy in the air, cruel and final, as Scarlett’s face pales, unshed tears brightening her eyes. The boys stare at him, each of them stunned, the devastation of his words settling over them like a suffocating weight.

She finally whispers, “You don’t mean that, Bruce.”

“Oh, I mean every word,” he sneers, bitterness dripping from every syllable. “You wanted secrets, Scarlett? Well, I want none of them. I want nothing to do with you if this is who you really are.”

The boys, caught in the tension, glance between their parents, trying to reconcile the love they thought they knew with the anger and betrayal spilling into the room.

Without another word, Bruce turns sharply, his footsteps echoing as he leaves the room, his final words hanging like a curse in the air. And as he disappears into the shadows, the shattered remnants of their family stand in stunned silence, the weight of his words pressing down on them like a suffocating shroud.

___________________________________________________________

Scarlett stands there in the heavy silence left in Bruce’s wake, her heart splintering with the weight of everything unsaid. She can feel the anger radiating from each of her sons, the betrayal simmering in their eyes, the questions they’re too hurt to voice. She forces herself to take a steadying breath, anchoring herself so she can be the calm in their storm, even as her own heart fractures under the burden of their pain.

She steps forward, her voice soft but imbued with a strength that she hopes they can lean on. “Come on,” she says gently, extending a hand to each of them as though gathering her flock. “Let’s sit down. Let’s talk.”

The boys exchange reluctant glances, some scowling, some averting their eyes, but they follow her, settling into the familiar comfort of the living room. Jason drops onto the couch with barely restrained fury, his gaze fixed on the floor, arms crossed tightly over his chest like a fortress. Damian sits stiffly, shoulders squared, masking the conflict within. Dick leans against the back of the couch, arms folded, his expression tense. Tim and Duke linger by the doorway, guarded and wary, their eyes flitting between her and the empty hall Bruce left through, as if hoping he might walk back through it.

Scarlett takes a seat beside Jason, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension wound tightly beneath her touch. “Jay,” she murmurs, her voice a balm, even if his walls are up. “It’s okay to be angry. You’ve got every right to be.”

Jason flinches but doesn’t pull away, though his jaw tightens, his voice raw and low. “Angry? That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He glances up at her, pain flickering in his gaze, barely concealed by the anger layered over it. “He doesn’t care about us, Ma. He only cares about himself—and that damn city.” His voice cracks, the vulnerability seeping through despite his effort to suppress it. “You’re the only one who’s ever really been here for us.”

The words cut deep, and Scarlett feels her heart shatter just a little more as she takes in the hurt he tries so hard to hide. “I know, Jason,” she says, voice steady but laced with sorrow, trying to reach through the bitterness to touch the young boy she remembers, the one who always looked for his father’s approval. “Your father… he has his own way of loving. It’s not perfect, but that doesn’t make your feelings any less valid.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Jason’s voice rises, frustration spilling out. “Why is he out there, doing what he does best—running from us?”

Scarlett lets the silence settle, her hand tracing soft, comforting circles on his shoulder, the way she used to when he was younger, before everything became so complicated. Her gaze drifts to the others, each of them wearing that same look, a mixture of frustration, hurt, and exhaustion, all of them silently asking the same question: Why isn’t he here?

Finally, she speaks, looking each of them in the eyes, grounding them with her gaze. “I can’t explain all his choices,” she says softly. “I wish I could. But I know he loves you, even if he doesn’t always know how to show it.”

Damian’s scoff breaks the moment, his posture rigid, arms crossed tightly. “Father has a very… peculiar way of showing love,” he mutters, sarcasm dripping from every word. “To him, we’re soldiers. Tools to be used in his crusade. That’s all we are to him.”

Scarlett turns to Damian, her expression softening as she reads the complicated tangle of hurt and pride in his eyes. “He’s not perfect, Damian,” she says, her voice a gentle balm. “None of us are. I know he can be… distant, cold even. But he’s just as human as the rest of us, even if he doesn’t like to admit it.”

Damian meets her gaze, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through his hardened exterior. “Does he even know that, though?” he says, his voice softer, tinged with resentment.

Tim’s voice cuts in, calm but lined with a bitter edge. “That’s just it, Mom. He demands perfection from all of us, but he’s the first one to leave us behind when things get too hard.” His gaze is dark, conflicted, and Scarlett can see the weight of years spent trying to live up to his father’s impossible standards. “He sets expectations that no one can meet, then just… walks away when it suits him.”

Scarlett’s heart aches as she listens, taking in the toll Bruce’s distance has taken on each of them. “I know,” she says gently, reaching out to Tim, her touch light but comforting. “Sometimes he’s so focused on protecting all of you that he forgets you need more than just protection. And that’s unfair. It really is.”

Dick, leaning against the couch, lets out a long, weary sigh, his voice quiet but steady. “It just… it makes it hard to trust him, Mom. Every time he walks away, every time he shuts us out, it feels like he’s choosing his mission over us. Like we’re just… side projects.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his every movement. “And he doesn’t even realize it.”

Scarlett reaches for Dick’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, grounding him with the warmth of her touch. “I know, Dick,” she says softly, her eyes filled with a fierce love that envelops each of them. “You all deserve more than he’s giving you. And I know it’s hard—harder than it should be. But you’re not alone in this.” She glances around, her voice firm and steady. “You have each other. And you have me. No matter what happens, I’m here, and I will always be here.”

A heavy silence settles over the room, her words sinking in, and she can see each of them absorbing the reassurance she offers, letting it fill the void left by Bruce’s absence. Jason’s shoulders ease slightly, his anger softening into something quieter. Damian’s posture relaxes, the usual tension between him and the others fading, if only for a moment. Tim looks down, his expression unreadable, but she can feel the shift in him, the way her words have touched a part of him he rarely shows.

But beneath Scarlett’s calm exterior, a storm rages. She feels the weight of her choices, the secrets she’s kept, bearing down on her with unrelenting force. She wonders how much of this hurt she could have prevented if she’d been more honest, if she hadn’t woven her life with Bruce out of carefully constructed facades.

A memory stirs, drawing her back to the early days, when everything felt simpler, when she hadn’t yet seen the cracks forming beneath the surface of the life they’d built.

The memory washed over Scarlett, vivid and raw, as if she were back on that rooftop with Bruce, caught between the stars and Gotham’s fractured lights. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of rain and smoke, and each sound—the faint hum of the city below, the occasional gust of wind—felt amplified against the silence that stretched between them. She remembered the feeling coursing through her then: a thrill tinged with fear, an excitement she could hardly contain. She had been so young, eager to escape her past, to finally seize control of her own destiny. Being here with Bruce had felt like a door opening to a life that once seemed impossible.

She’d stood beside him, teetering between disbelief and exhilaration, tasting freedom on the edge of every breath. Her past with Ra’s al Ghul felt like a distant ghost, something she could leave behind if only she played her part well enough. She saw in Bruce Wayne the ultimate escape, a life that promised security, power, and maybe even the family she had always craved but never dared to dream of. Yet there was something else, too—a magnetism she hadn’t expected, a pull toward the man behind the wealth and mystique. She knew she had walked onto this rooftop to be exactly who he needed, carefully crafting herself into that perfect “cool girl” he might fall for. And yet, standing here, looking at him, she found herself suddenly questioning her own intentions.

Beside her, Bruce was half-hidden in the dim light, his features etched in shadow, his gaze fixed on the skyline. There was something unbreakable about him, a figure carved from stone and shadow, an enigma that made him seem almost otherworldly. But tonight, as she watched him, she could see a glimmer of something else, something fragile beneath the armor he wore. He wasn’t just Gotham’s billionaire or some untouchable vigilante; he was a man bearing a burden that seemed insurmountable. It was that rawness she saw beneath his façade that intrigued her, more than any amount of money or status could.

They shared the silence for a while, sipping wine as they looked out over the lights of Gotham, two figures united yet worlds apart. Scarlett could feel the weight he carried, a heaviness that seeped into his every movement, as if he were bearing the weight of the night itself. She felt a strange pull to ease that weight, to step into a role he’d never asked her to play but that she could see he needed. And yet, a small voice whispered that this was more than just a role. She wanted him to look at her and see something beyond the woman she pretended to be.

And then, as if pulled by some invisible force, he spoke, his voice low, barely more than a murmur. “Do you ever wonder if it’ll end?”

She blinked, caught off-guard. Bruce, ever composed and controlled, rarely revealed anything personal. For weeks, he had been a fortress, someone whose charm and mystery she could only glimpse, never fully reach. But tonight, something had shifted. She leaned in, cautious, aware that this might be one of those rare moments where he allowed himself to be vulnerable, even if only for a moment.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice soft, almost a whisper, careful not to break whatever fragile connection had formed between them.

“This,” he said, gesturing out to the city sprawling below them, Gotham stretching endlessly into the dark. “This need to protect it. To keep it from falling apart.” He paused, his hand falling back to his side, and his gaze turned distant, his eyes darkened as if he were somewhere else entirely. “Sometimes I wonder if it’ll ever be enough. If anything I do will ever be enough.”

Scarlett felt something shift within her as she listened, sensing the depth of his burden. She could see it in the way his gaze lingered on the skyline, the city that had shaped him and scarred him in equal measure. But tonight, there was something different—a vulnerability that clung to him, making him seem less like Gotham’s mythic hero and more like a man struggling to hold himself together.

“Gotham’s… always been home,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s also the place that took everything from me. My parents. My sense of safety. There are nights when I feel like I’m fighting against something impossible, trying to save a city that doesn’t even want to be saved.”

Scarlett’s heart twisted as she listened. She knew the story of his parents—everyone in Gotham did. But hearing him speak of them, feeling the anguish woven into each word, made him feel heartbreakingly real. She understood, then, that his mission wasn’t just about Gotham; it was about trying to fill the void that had been left in him as a child, a promise he’d made to himself to never feel powerless again.

“When I was young, I thought the world was safe. That it would always protect me.” He laughed then, a hollow sound that seemed to echo into the night. “But that night—” His voice faltered, and his face hardened as he looked out over the city. “Everything I thought I knew, everything I believed, it all disappeared in an instant. I realized that no one was going to protect me. No one could.”

A chill ran down her spine, her own heart breaking for the boy he must have been, the boy forced to grow up in a single, shattering moment. She wanted to reach out to him, to bridge the gap between them, but she sensed he would only pull away. So instead, she let the silence linger, allowing him the space to speak, to collect himself.

“And that’s when you decided…” She let her question hang in the air, sensing he would understand, even if she didn’t finish it.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone resolute, though a dark resolve had seeped into his words. “That’s when I knew that if I wanted the world to be safe, I had to make it that way myself. I couldn’t let myself be vulnerable again. I couldn’t let anyone else feel what I felt.”

There was a silence then, a weight that settled over them as his words hung between them, unspoken truths filling the empty space. She could see it etched in his features, the years of pain and anger that had shaped him, the walls he’d built so high even he couldn’t see over them. Batman wasn’t just a mission or a mask; it was the only way he knew how to survive. Yet she sensed that the same armor that protected him had also trapped him, locking away any part of himself that might still feel.

“You carry so much,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, afraid to shatter the fragile openness between them.

He looked at her, his gaze piercing, as if studying her, weighing her understanding. “It’s not something I expect anyone to understand,” he replied quietly, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Not really. Batman… he’s the only part of me that makes sense. When I'm with him, everything is clear. The purpose, the mission—it’s the one thing that feels real.”

Scarlett felt her breath catch, realizing that Bruce Wayne was little more than a shell, a role he played for the world. Batman was who he truly was. He’d compartmentalized his pain, his trauma, turning it into a weapon, and yet she sensed he’d lost himself in the process. And standing here, she felt herself slip into her own role, crafting herself around his needs, becoming the woman who would understand without question, who could shoulder his darkness with quiet strength.

But beneath her calm exterior, a small voice whispered that she wasn’t here only for him. She was here for herself, too, for the life he could give her, for the chance to build a future free of her past. She was drawn to him, yes, but she had crafted her persona deliberately, adapting herself to fit his world, his desires. She was the “cool girl” who wouldn’t flinch at his shadows, who could meet his intensity with unwavering resolve. It was manipulation, she knew, but a necessary one—one that would allow her to escape Ra’s, to create the life she’d always dreamed of.

Yet as she listened to him speak, something deeper stirred within her, an unexpected tenderness that caught her off guard. She was drawn to his brokenness, to the pain he carried so privately. She wanted to be the person who could understand him, to be the one he turned to when the darkness grew too heavy. She wanted him to trust her, not because she played a role, but because he saw her as the one person who wouldn’t turn away.

“Then why keep up with Bruce Wayne?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light. “Why not let the world see Batman instead?”

He gave a dark, hollow laugh. “Because Bruce Wayne is necessary. He’s a distraction, a mask. If people saw the real me… they’d see the darkness, and that’s not something the world needs.” He looked at her then, his expression hard, yet with a flicker of something vulnerable. “The world doesn’t need me. It needs the myth.”

And in that moment, Scarlett realized that she had lost control of her game. This wasn’t just manipulation anymore. She cared for him, deeply, in ways she hadn’t anticipated. She wanted him to see beyond the mask she wore, to know the woman beneath the facade. But she had built herself around his needs, and now, she was trapped in a role she had created, bound by her own manipulations.

They sat together in silence, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Finally, his hand brushed over hers, a small, tentative gesture, and her heart quickened. She had crafted herself to be his perfect companion, yes, but somewhere along the way, she had fallen for him. For the man beneath the armor, for his complexity and pain. And in that touch, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, one day, he would see her for who she truly was.

But as the years passed, that hope withered, cracked under the weight of the personas they’d both created. She had molded herself around his darkness, but she had done so at a cost, bound to a man who belonged more to shadows than to her. And now, as she sat beside her sons, aching for the family she’d tried so hard to hold together, Scarlett felt the weight of that night settle over her. She had wanted to be his partner, his equal, but in doing so, she had bound herself to his darkness, forever caught between the woman she truly was and the mask she wore to be loved.

A soft touch on her hand pulls her back to the present, and Scarlett’s gaze meets Jason’s. His anger, always so fierce and relentless, has softened into something raw, something painfully vulnerable. He looks at her with eyes that, despite the walls he’s built, reveal a flicker of the boy he once was, the boy who trusted her implicitly, the boy who had once looked to her for all the safety he could never find in his father’s absence.

“You’re not going anywhere, right?” His voice is barely a whisper, a plea wrapped in bravado, but she can see the fear buried deep beneath it.

A tender smile softens her face as she reaches out, brushing a lock of dark hair from his forehead, just as she had done when he was young. “No, Jay,” she murmurs, her voice steady but gentle, infused with a quiet strength that she knows they all need. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She lets her gaze sweep over each of them, taking in the lines of tension in Damian’s posture, the guarded look in Tim’s eyes, the quiet ache on Dick’s face, the simmering frustration in Duke’s furrowed brow. These were her sons—not bound by blood, but by choice, by the promises she had made to them over the years. And now, looking at each one of them, she knows that, despite everything, she would keep those promises until her last breath.

“Whatever happens, I’m here,” she says softly, letting her words settle into the stillness that’s fallen over them. “I’m here for all of you. Always.”

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Prior Chapters:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

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Story Timeline and Overview:

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Additional info:

I know Jason never calls Bruce "dad" unless by accident in the comics. I sort of did that vibe. But generally when reading, I want it to read as sarcastic or even him subconsciously doing so. The idea is that underneath it all he does see/consider Bruce his dad and wants a dad. So if I write him saying dad it's a vulnerable moment where he cares and wants love.

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