#doesn’t help that his boys look almost identical to this man so Vicki Vale comes up with the very clever theory that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

secretlystephaniebrown · 7 years ago

Text

The Hardest Part is Over

Sometimes the hardest thing is to trust.

Stephanie Brown comes out when Bruce Wayne offers her Robin. It’s time for Robin to be a girl.

A long, long time ago, I wrote a fic called These Twists and Turns of Fate. It was a long, detailed process, and the fic I wrote in that time was something I’m still proud of. But I always wanted to write another story; one where Stephanie Brown gets to stay Robin in that universe.

And when @insidiousmisandry suggested I write some Robin Steph, I confessed to this AU, and recieved plenty of encouragement to return. It’s been over three years since I posted the original. Let’s see if I’ve still got it, huh?

Special thanks to @blackstarfires for consulting on this, and @sroloc--elbisivni for beta-ing.

Warnings for: Dysphoria, homophobia and transphobia, child abuse, and panic attacks.

Also on Ao3

Some people say that the path that we have taken is concrete and can never be changed.

This is, in the plainest of terms, complete and utter bullshit.

One story goes like this; Stephanie Brown is Robin for a short time, and never as herself. She dies as Spoiler and comes back to Gotham as Stephanie Brown.

But this is not that story.

This is the story of Stephanie Brown, the first girl Robin, in a world where she does not die.

It starts, like most things do, with a mother.

Crystal Brown has a baby girl and names her Arthur Brown Junior. The girl names herself Stephanie Brown.

In one universe, Crystal learns about this from a woman named Leslie.

In this universe, she learns it from her daughter.

The smallest of changes can have enormous effects. In one universe, Stephanie Brown’s path as Robin is short and brutal and tainted with the heaviness and pain.

Crystal Brown begins the process of avoiding that tale when she looks up at her child and mentions a woman named Marcie.

Steph’s breath catches in her chest. “Marcie?” She repeats, voice unsteady.

“She lived above us when you were younger,” Crystal says. Her eyes are clear and sober, her voice steady and kind as she reminisces. She doesn’t notice the way that Steph clings to the kitchen counter, the way her breath stutters in her chest in a staccato rhythm, verging on panic. “I’m sure you don’t remember her.”

Steph remembers Marcie; she can never forget Marcie. Marcie, with her beautiful deep voice and her sad eyes and those words of wisdom and importance that Steph has held so, so close to her chest and never quite let go of, even in her darkest moments. Marcie, an inextricable, ever so important part of her life, and one that Steph has never acknowledged out loud, has never admitted to anyone, because Marcie is hers, secret and hidden and safe.

“She’s in the paper today,” Crystal continues, not seeing Steph in this moment, not looking at her. “A lovely piece. She’s got a dance school now.” Crystal closes the newspaper. “Good for her. After all that she went through when she was transitioning, I’m glad she’s found herself.”

And just like that, with her mother’s acknowledgement of who Marcie is, that Marcie is not just a girl that they’d once knew, but that Marcie is trans, that Marcie is like Steph, Steph crumples against the counter.

When Steph falls apart, it is like a dam bursting open. Her tears flood the room, her sobs drowning out anything else her mother might be saying as her knees buckle and she collapses against the counter. Her hands go to her face, trying to stem the tide, but there is nothing she can do, because her mother has, without even knowing it, indicated, for the first time in her life, that she might support Steph in this. In her life, in her struggles.

Stephanie Brown has been alone for such a long, long time, and in this moment, for the first time, she does not feel that way.

“Art?” Her mother is panicked, is fearful, because she can’t tell that these are tears of joy. She can’t see the lightness in Steph’s chest, the slightest smile curving her mouth even as she cries. “Art, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Stephanie Brown opens her mouth and looks at her mother and reaches out and pulls her into a tight hug, burying her face in the fabric of her mother’s shirt.

There is no decision. There is no deliberation. The dam has burst and with it goes Stephanie’s self control and her fear and everything. It has all been swept away and destroyed.

“I remember Marcie,” she finally says, when her voice is under control and the tears have stopped flowing freely. “I… I remember her.”

“Oh!” Crystal tries to look relieved, but she can tell there is something deeper, darker, more complicated here. She reaches up and caresses Steph’s cheek, trying to brush away the tears that cling there. “I’m sorry, you just… you were so young when she moved away.”

“She was beat up by Dad and his friends,” Steph whispers. “Because she was trans.”

Crystal hesitates, but nods. “Yes.”

“I—I knew why he did it,” Steph says. Her instincts scream at her to run. This is too much, too fast, too real. But she is rooted to the spot, held tightly in place. “And it… it made me scared.”

“Sweetheart,” Crystal breathes.

“Because I’m like her,” Steph blurts out, cutting off whatever it is that Crystal will say next. “I’m—I’m a girl Mom. My name is Steph and I’m a girl and—”

It is her turn to be cut off as Crystal envelopes her in a hug. It’s almost suffocatingly tight, but Steph clings back but refuses to relax, because a hug can mean anything, a hug doesn’t mean—

“Oh! Oh my god, I’m sorry, darling, I’m sorry, I never—I love you so much.” She pulls back and her eyes are as wet as Steph’s, and she touches her cheek again. “My baby girl,” she whispers, almost reverently. “My Stephanie.”

And Steph begins to cry again, big, heaving sobs that shake her entire body and send her tumbling to her knees, towards the floor. And Crystal goes with her, wrapping her arms around her daughter, whispering apologies over and over again and declarations and promises, and, most importantly of all, her daughter’s name.

Stephanie takes every single utterance of those syllables and wraps them around herself like a cloak, like a talisman, like protection. Her identity, her mother’s love, they are all tied together, and she feels, for the first time in a very long time, that she can breathe again without fear, that she might not fall apart at the very seams of herself.

She puts on her Spoiler cloak that night and races across the rooftops by herself, and laughter bursts out of her lungs, a pure and joyful noise that sweeps her into the darkness of Gotham.

But no matter how much things change, some things must remain the same.

Tim Drake’s secret is discovered by his father, and it is one secret too many. Secret boyfriends and crime fighting—and the knowledge that Robin, his son, is dating Superboy as well as that ragtag, longhaired “boy” from the edge of Gotham is all too much for that man. He grounds his son, bans him from being Robin, and leaves Gotham without an important role filled.

Batman needs a Robin. This is a fact of the universe. He needs a Robin.

The role of Robin is balance in many ways. It is a partnership of banter and late nights, of reminders of who they are and who they should be. It is inspiration and kindness and light, balancing each other out and finding a dynamic that is… dynamic.

It is only natural, in many ways, that Bruce Wayne would extend the offer to Stephanie Brown when she stumbles into the Bat Cave, giddy that her codes work, intoxicated by the fact that her mother had called her by her real name before she crawled out the window that night, and generally radiating light and joy.

“Arthur,” Bruce says, and even that can’t dim the knowledge that her mom knows and loves her anyway.

She doesn’t protest the use of the full name, even though she hates it, even though it reminds her terribly of her father, and instead bounces on the balls of her feet, and grins. “Hey boss-man! So, I hear Timmy’s out of the game for now, so I was wondering if I could, like, start patrolling with Cass again, since she’s gonna be partnerless?”

He looks at her, and he sees someone determined to the point far past stubbornness, someone kind with a core of steel. Not a naturally gifted fighter, but there is always something to be said for not understanding the concept of staying down, of giving up.

He looks at her, and he sees Robin.

He offers her Robin, and the entire world grinds to a halt.

Every child in Gotham City has dreamed of being Robin. Every child dreams of donning the cape and mask, of being Batman’s partner. Robin is a Teen Titan, a member of Young Justice, Batman’s partner, the people’s friend, a force for good.

And Stephanie’s thoughts grind to a halt there.

Because Robin is a boy.

And…

Stephanie Brown is not out by any meaning of the word to anyone but her mother, and Marcie, who probably has not spared her a single thought since that day on the playground. But…

Steph doesn’t know if she can do this.

Here we encounter another ripple in the fabric of reality. In this universe, Bruce Wayne funds a scholarship for LGBT students at Gotham University, and Vicki Vale does an expose on it that hits the front page.

He funds it in another, sadder story as well. But it does not make the front page, and Stephanie Brown never sees it, and Crystal Brown never thinks to point it out to her daughter.

But in this world, she did, and Stephanie Brown stares at Bruce Wayne, and her mother’s support and that knowledge make her brave enough to do something she’d never have imagined doing before.

She shakes her head.

“I—I can’t.”

Bruce frowns, prompting a further response. He can’t understand; he knows this child in front of him, knows the desire to belong, to be a part of something, to help, even if he doesn’t always agree with the methods, and has occasionally suspected otherwise.

She swallows, gulping for air like a drowning woman, and finally blurts out. “Robin’s a boy. I’m not. I’m a girl.” She throws out those last words like batarangs, as if expecting them to soar through the air and cut him, as if expecting him to recoil and then counterattack.

Bruce glances at the Robin costume he is still holding out. “I don’t see why Robin can’t be a girl.”

Bruce Wayne, as it is fairly well known, does not handle emotions well. So when Stephanie Brown, future Robin, bursts into tears in the middle of the cave, he proceeds to awkwardly retreat several steps, set down the Robin costume, call Alfred, pat her on the back awkwardly, before he finally manages to suggest they go upstairs to continue this conversation.

Stephanie follows him upstairs. Alfred makes a pot of tea, places a plate of cookies on the kitchen table between the two of them, and then makes a strategic retreat, forcing Bruce to deal with this situation entirely on his own.

The situation is less than comfortable for Steph as well as Bruce. Bruce Wayne is strange and foreign and confusing to her; she never knows what he wants from her, she never knows how he will react to anything. This kindness so far is unexpected, and she’s not sure how long it will last.

“Arthur…” Bruce stops, and then frowns. “Do you prefer a different name?”

“Stephanie,” she says, her heart racing in her ears. “Steph.”

“Stephanie,” he says, and it’s like music. Three whole people now have called her by that name, outside of her own head. Renee Montoya, her mother, and now Bruce Wayne. He taps his fingers on the table, and she realizes, with shock, that he is nervous. She’s never seen him nervous before. He is always impassive and scary and occasionally a total dork, but never nervous. And suddenly, she realizes that he wants to do this right, and something in her chest loosens just a little.

“How… how would you like to handle this?” He asks.

Steph looks up, confused. “Handle what?”

He frowns at her, as if confused by her having to ask. “Transitioning.”

She gapes at him.

Transitioning is nothing but the most distant of dreams for her. Her father and money are two terrifying obstacles.

But she thinks about not hating the image she sees in the mirror every day, and her heart aches just a little, thinking about the possibility.

“I… I don’t know,” she says, fidgeting in her seat, playing with the mug that Alfred had given her. “I—my dad—”

Bruce nods, considering. “Transitioning might be… difficult. Increasing your estrogen could threaten your physical regimen. We can work around it, of course, but it will take some considerations.” She thinks that if he had a notepad nearby, he would be taking notes, the look of concentration on his face is so fierce.

“I—”

“I believe Leslie would be willing to help,” he says thoughtfully, taking a sip from his own mug. “She’s had some experience with this.”

“Stop,” Steph blurts out, eyes wide. “You mean… you still want me to be Robin?”

He looks at her, looking slightly bewildered. “Of course,” he says, simple and easy, as if he hasn’t just overturned everything in Steph’s entire world. “I’ll help with the costs, of course,” he adds, and Steph doesn’t even hesitate, just throws her arms around him and hugs him tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He awkwardly pats her on the back, and in that moment Stephanie Brown realizes that Bruce Wayne, also known as the Batman, the terror of Gotham City, is a gigantic loser.

He places a Robin badge in her hand. It’s small and black and circular, with the bright yellow R emblazoned on it proudly.

“If you want,” he says, “Jason Blood enchanted this. It will allow you to alter your appearance while you’re Robin.”

Steph stares at him, gaping. Suddenly, the badge seems like the most precious thing in the entire world.

“I understand you’re only just starting your regimen,” he says. “But… I believe this might help with the dysphoria you mentioned.”

Steph wants to hug him again, but she holds herself back. Bruce Wayne, she is slowly discovering, is awkward at the best of times, and human contact baffles him. Steph is tactile by nature, but she’s trying to adjust. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to her, and she refuses to jeopardize it. “How… how do I use it?” She asks, staring down at it.

“We’ll stop by Jason’s on patrol tonight,” he says. “He’ll show you. His friend Sir Ysin is there as well. You might… talking with him might be interesting for you.”

Steph nods, not understanding. She knows about Jason Blood, Gotham’s local magic user, but Sir Ysin is completely unknown to her. But if Bruce thinks she’ll benefit from talking to him, well, it probably won’t be that bad.

She’s still patrolling with Bruce as Spoiler, as they work out the details of her costume and training, as well as the changes to her exercise routine and diet to try to compensate for the hormones she’s now taking. She’s itching to try on the outfit they’re designing; every inch of it feels more professional than her own Spoiler outfit, even if this one was designed by Babs instead of sewed by Steph herself. But even more importantly, the Robin costume is designed for a girl. She’s practically shaking with excitement whenever she thinks about it.

Robin, the Girl Wonder.

That’s her, that’s who she’ll be.

He pours her another cup of tea and she drinks. This is becoming routine, she thinks. Tea before patrol with Batman. It’s a quiet moment of contemplation before the chaos of the night. Just the two of them right now, with Cass out of town, but Steph wonders if things will change, when she returns. Maybe she’ll join them? Steph doesn’t know if Cass likes tea.

“Your hair,” he says suddenly, and Steph looks up suddenly.

“What about it?” She asks, fingering it. She’s got it in a ponytail, like she always does when she’s Spoiler, and then keeps it under her hood. She’s tried various things with it; sprays and pins and even tucking it into her costume, but the ponytail is the easiest way to handle things.

He frowns. “It’s a handhold. It could prove to be a problem.”

“I can’t cut it,” Steph blurts out, blanching at the idea of it.

He looks frustrated. “I know,” he says. “But we need to…” he trails off thoughtfully. “Hmm.”

“Barbara wore her hair long,” Steph blurts out. “Black Canary too.”

Bruce nods. “You’ll have to wear it loose,” he cautions.

Steph nods enthusiastically. “Okay,” she says.

When she comes back to the Manor the next day, after a long conversation with Sir Ysin about glamor magic for gender presentation and with her Robin’s badge calibrated to her appearance, she finds a bright red headband lying on top of her completed Robin uniform.

“To keep it out of your face,” Bruce says when she looks up at him.

Steph hugs him again, a giddy, light feeling building in her chest that only grows as she puts on the red tunic, the green leggings, the black cape. Red headband, yellow belt, the badge on her chest. The darkness, the long hair, the padding in her tunic already do most of the work for the badge. From a distance, in the dark, she already passes. Steph has worked hard on the badge’s illusion, carefully making sure that there’s no trace of shadow, that her jawline’s just a little softer.

She looks into the mirror and she sees Robin, and there’s no unease in her stomach. Maybe she doesn’t look like she wished she had as a child, but she’s Robin. She’s Stephanie Brown and she’s Robin, and that’s worth almost anything in the entire world.

Bruce sets a hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting, and she beams up at him, her smile so wide that she thinks her face might split in two.

“Are you ready, Robin?” He asks her, and Steph laughs, loud and cheerful and shameless.

“You know it!” She says, following him to the Batmobile with a spring in her step.

“You’re Robin!” Cass greets Steph eagerly when she comes home from patrol. How Cass got into her apartment, she’s not sure, but she’s waiting for her, looking tired but none the worse for wear after her own patrol. Cass’s mask is still on, but that does nothing to hide the enthusiasm with which she tackles Steph to the ground. “You’re Robin!”

“I am!” Steph laughs, hugging her best friend tightly.

“Happy for you,” Cass says, finally letting Steph sit up. “You… deserve this. Art.” Cass smiles at her.

“Oh!” Steph says. “I guess you haven’t heard?” Her heart races slightly in her chest. Another one, another risk, another time to have to tell someone.

Cass tilts her head in one of the silent but very evocative gestures she’s so good at. Steph thinks Cass could tell an entire story with a head tilt.

“My name is Steph now,” Steph says. “I’m… I’m a girl.”

Cass tries it out. “St-eph,” she repeats slowly.

“It’s short for Stephanie,” Steph says. “Like Cass is short for Cassandra.”

“Steph-an-ee,” Cass says again, as if she’s tasting it. She takes off her mask and smiles at Steph. Her smile is wide and honest and quite possibly one of the best things that Steph has ever seen. “It’s… good.”

Steph grins, trying to act as if there isn’t the strange feeling in her stomach that always happens when she’s worried about something and it doesn’t happen. Cass, she was sure of. Cass was never a risk. But it’s still so wonderful.

“Steph,” Cass hums again, thoughtful. Her dark brown eyes flick over Steph’s body, categorizing her every twitch. Steph wonders what she sees. “Names are… important? Being a girl… is important?”

“Very,” Steph says, then fights back a yawn. “I’ll explain more later, if that’s okay?”

Cass snickers. “You’re sleepy,” she says, both teasing and accusing. Then she picks Steph up bodily and dumps her in her bed. Steph yelps at the indignity, and tries to protest being thrown into bed while still wearing her full costume, including her boots, but Cass doesn’t seem bothered at all. She pecks Steph on the forehead briefly before putting her mask back on. “I’ll go now. Good morning!”

Then she opens Steph’s window again and vanishes into the first traces of dawn, leaving Steph alone in her room with a light heart and heavy eyelids.

“Stephanie,” Bruce’s voice is calm and steadying. It grounds her, even as the room feels like it’s spinning around her.

“He knows,” Steph blurts out. “My dad he—he knows. Tim’s dad—he—he—visited and he said he talked to him and—”

“Stephanie,” Bruce says, and her name, urgent and earnest and in the voice that is Bruce, not Batman helps her breathe again. “Can you get here? I’ll make sure your mother gets to the manor, but can you get here yourself or should I send Cassandra?”

Steph stares down at her hands.

“He says Tim can be Robin again,” she hears her own voice say, distant and far away. “He says he’s not going to stop him anymore.”

“We can discuss this when you’re safe,” Bruce says. “I haven’t heard from Tim.” He pauses, then says urgently. “Robin. Get back to the Cave.”

Steph nods jerkily, realizing that he can’t see her, but not saying anything. “Oh! The… the plans?”

“Bring those,” he says. “But get out of there now.”

Steph has a go bag—she’s had one for years now. But it won’t do for a situation like this. She grabs her Robin costume and stuffs it in there, snatches up anything that might be sensitive, that might give her father a clue where she’s going, and throws it all in haphazardly. The bag that results is too bulky and doesn’t contain the things she wants to bring; not her books or little treasures. But there’s no sign of her transition or job as a superhero here, and that’s what matters. Her father knows she’s gay, know she dates guys, but he does not know her to be a girl.

She snatches photos off her desk, shoves them in on top of things. Faces, faces, she can’t have him knowing the faces of people in her lives, even if most of them are harmless. She has no photos with Tim, and only one with Cass. But she can’t risk it. He might go after people in her life.

She has been scared of Arthur Brown as long as she can remember; he has ruled over her life, even in his moments of kindness. He is a tyrant, a locked closet, a black eye, and a cruel laugh. He can find her anywhere she runs, he always used to tell her that.

But he can’t find her if Batman’s protecting her. She whispers that to herself, like a talisman. She’s Robin. He can’t touch Robin. Bruce will protect her, Bruce will hide her.

She’s not that scared little girl locked in a closet anymore. She can fight back.

Or at least, that’s what she tries to tell herself as she barely remembers to snatch up the sleek black USB drive from her desk and holds it in her hand as she bolts for the front door, her cell phone in her other hand.

She collides with Jack Drake on her way out, and she draws herself up to a halt.

“Mr. Drake,” she says. Her tongue is clumsy in her mouth. “Can I help you?”

He frowns at her. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Just to a friend’s house,” she lies. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her—with her long hair and her piercings. He looks down on her, she already knows that, but does he notice that her jaw is softening, that there’s the faintest hints of mascara around her eyes? They weren’t there when she used to visit his house, showed up for her study dates with Tim. Does he notice them now?

“I was wondering if I can use your phone,” he says. “I’m afraid someone slashed my tires.”

Steph wants to scream at him, wants to tell him to go away, to find someone whose life he hasn’t just ruined, but she’s supposed to be a hero, she’s supposed to help people. Fumbling, she sticks the drive into her back pocket and hands over her cell phone. Trying to distract herself while he makes the call, she turns around to lock the door, anxiously looking at her watch the whole time.

She doesn’t notice that the USB drive was in the pocket where she keeps her keys, and that pulling out the keys sends it onto the ground.

She doesn’t know that after taking her phone back from Jack Drake and running to get her bike, which she will drive as Robin to the Batcave, he will see it.

She doesn’t know that Jack Drake will, realizing it is hers, pass it off to her father, who will use it to try to start a gang war that will end with himself in control over all of Gotham’s gangs.

All of that comes later.

Right now, Stephanie Brown is rushing towards Wayne Manor, heart in her throat as she tries to put as much distance between herself and her father as she can possibly manage.

She parks the motorcycle, and Bruce is waiting for her. He’s not in uniform, instead wearing one of those simple, but elegant suits she sees him wearing for work at Wayne Industries. She called him away from work, she realizes, and guilt floods her. He does important things and she pulled him away from it because she was a scared little girl—

“Are you alright?” He asks, doing the most intimate gesture he knows how to do, placing an awkward hand on her shoulder.

“I’m—is my mom okay?” Steph says, because that’s easier to think about than the answer to that question.

“She’s here, she’s upstairs with Alfred,” Bruce says. “Stephanie. Can you tell me what happened?”

Steph looks up at him. She’s not short by any definition of the word, but Bruce Wayne is tall, and his presence is dwarfing. “My dad knows I’m gay because Tim’s dad told him.” She hates how small she sounds there, how pathetic and quiet and sad. She waits for him to react as he realizes she was overreacting, for him to tell her to just go home. He probably thought her dad knew his secret identity or something like that, he didn’t realize it was just her being scared of her father.

Bruce just nods, as if that’s more than reason enough to be scared. “We’ll keep you safe, Stephanie.”

Steph remembers playing hide and seek with her father. He could always find her, had a nose for knowing all of her little bolt holes where she’d go to hide. She remembers his laughter when he found her; sometimes kind, usually cruel. If he finds the Cave—

“He won’t,” Bruce says, and she realizes she must have said it out loud. He places his other hand on her other shoulder, standing in front of her, a wall of muscle and confidence. “Steph. You’re not alone. Let us help you.”

Steph opens her mouth and sobs come out, and Bruce Wayne hugs her tightly, pulling her against his chest. She grips the jacket of his suit and buries her face in the fabric and cries and cries and cries until there’s no tears left, and she’s kneeling on the floor of the Cave, with Bruce’s arms around her.

It takes them a day to realize the plans are missing, and Steph has a panic attack right in the middle of the kitchen, in front of Bruce and Alfred, as she realized just how badly she screwed up. Bruce sends Cass to go back to Steph’s apartment to see what she can find out.

But it’s Tim who shows up, bearing the bad news.

“He gave them to your dad, uh, Steph?” Tim Drake cuts an awkward figure, staring at her like he doesn’t know what to make of her. Cass has lent Steph one of the skirts Bruce keeps buying her, and she’s thrown on one of her baggy band t-shirts on top of it. She’s still working with the makeup thing, but Cass tried to help her that morning. The result is that her mouth looks lopsided and there’s mascara smudged on her cheekbone, but Steph is just trying to enjoy herself. She can work on perfecting how she wants to look later, when there’s not crises looming on the horizon.

He doesn’t know how to address her as Stephanie, his ex-girlfriend. And that’s not even tackling the big elephant in the room that wears red and green tights.

Maybe it wasn’t Bruce’s to give away, Steph thinks, as they talk about what her father might do with the plans, should he be able to access them. Maybe Tim can just take it back whenever he wants.

Steph can’t meet Tim’s gaze. It feels scorching on her back, and despite all of her anger and hurt, she feels ashamed.

She took Robin from him. She had no right to do that.

Being Robin is the best thing that ever happened to her, but it was also the best thing that ever happened to Tim. Steph can’t justify keeping it to herself, not when she has Spoiler and Bruce is helping her transition and—

Cass nudges her sharply. “Out of your head,” she says. “Focus.” It’s kind and soft, without condemnation, but Steph tries her best to refocus, to help.

When the meeting ends with Alfred calling them to lunch, Steph lingers back, meeting Tim’s gaze. “Tim…” she says, unsure of where to begin, of how to explain. Maybe she should cuss him out for letting her father drive her away. Maybe she should cry about him breaking her heart, let him actually deal with the mess he made of her for once instead of pawning her off to others.

But here she stands, tall and proud, her hair forming soft waves around her face and her chin held high, and she says. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you before I started being Robin.”

Tim lets out a sharp exhale and looks away. “You’re… you’re doing a good job. I’m glad he had you.”

Steph tries not to flinch at the past tense, but he’s a detective. He spots it.

“Has. Has you.”

“It’s… it’s yours if you want it,” she says, trying to keep her voice calm and firm and not to let the waver in, no matter how much she wants it to. Her throat is closing up with tears but she tries her hardest not to let them fall, because Tim Drake, she decides here and now, does not get to see her cry over this, not when he didn’t let her inside on the worst day of her life.

Tim looks at her, and he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, and Steph stares at him.

Because the thing is, she knows Tim Drake. She knows that he loves Robin, she knows that he begged for this position. She knows he loves it, loves being clever, being a detective. This is his family.

She’s grateful, yes, she wants to cry and shout it from the rooftops that she’s Robin, but she doesn’t understand.

“Batman needs a Robin,” Tim says, and it’s slow, like he’s trying to figure out the answer even as he’s saying it. “But… I don’t think… I don’t think I’m the Robin he needs right now.”

Steph frowns at him. “But I am?”

“You… it’s different with you,” he says, still struggling for words. “He’s… you… you challenge him. You’re good for him.”

“Tim,” Steph says. “You were great at Robin.”

Tim shrugs. “Maybe I was,” he says. “But he needs you, now.”

Steph wants to reach out to him, wants to hug him, but the space between them is still too awkward, too heavy, too loaded. There are still too many conversations they need to have before she can hit that point, before she can open herself up to him like that.

“What will you do?” She asks, instead of saying any of the things on her mind.

Tim shrugs. “Maybe work with Babs for a bit. And…” He hesitates. “Cass and I have been talking about Bludhaven. Maybe I can find a new start there.”

Steph swallows. “I see,” she says. She glances over at Cass, who’s eating, not paying attention to them right now. She tries not to be hurt, that Cass is going to leave again. But Cass is always leaving, Steph has to learn this. Cass is going to be Batman one day; it’s unspoken, but Steph knows this to be true in her bones. Cass needs to learn everything that she can learn; leadership and detective work and reading and writing and every other thing she can get her hands on, because she’s going to be the best.

Steph can’t begrudge her that, even if her heart already aches with the predicted absence.

“That’s nice,” she says. She turns, unsure of where she’s going, but wanting to end this conversation. Tim Drake is overwhelming. Right now, he’s bringing up all of the old memories, all the old hurts, and Steph can’t handle that right now. Right now, she needs distance, she needs focus…

She needs the old piano in the upstairs library.

“Steph!” Tim catches her on the arm and Steph turns. “Look after him, okay?” And the look on his face is full of such raw, honest concern that she melts just a little.

“I will,” she promises, and gives him a smile, a real one, warm and bright. She can’t remember the last time Tim made her smile like that.

He gives her an answering grin in response, then lets go of her arm. Once, she would have been upset at him letting go so quickly, would have mourned his absence. But that was then, and this is now, and Steph just quietly slips out of the room, searching for the piano that she knows exists in this large, cavernous house.

The Manor is a maze that Steph is still learning; Alfred and Bruce have provided her with a room, close to Cass’s. Her mother has one too, for the duration of their stay while they try to hunt her dad down,, to put him away so he can’t hurt either of them.

The room feels odd. It feels permanent. Every time she steps in there, she feels like something warm and soft has been wrapped around her. Like it’s saying welcome home every time.

Never in her life has Stephanie Brown felt so comfortable in every way; not in her own skin, not as a superhero, and not in this strange house that she’s wandering, in search of that piano that she’s seen once or twice before.

She finds it, and sits herself down to play. There’s sheet music in the bench; old pop songs that she doesn’t recognize and some classic pieces, yellowed with age. She flips through them, and promises herself she’ll go through them all, and add them to her repetoire. But now, all she wants to do is play an old favorite.

Melodia Africana II is fast and lyrical and it sweeps her up in it, helping her muscles relax as she plays. The piano is beautiful; old but well kept, and shockingly in tune, given that she’s pretty sure no one in this ancient manor actually plays. But the sound is gorgeous and deep, and she finds herself losing track of everything else in the room as she immerses herself in the music.

“You play very well,” Bruce says from behind her, as the last chord fades. She looks up.

“Thanks,” she says. She runs her finger along the edge of the bench. “Whose was it?”

“My mother’s,” he says. Steph swallows, but nods. “How long have you been playing?”

“Forever,” Steph says. She offers him a grin, wide and cheeky and far more confident than she feels. “Got a request?”

He laughs, honestly laughs, and Steph nearly falls off the bench. “Maybe another time,” he says, placing a hand on her shoulder. Steph grins at him even wider now, something warm and happy in her chest. “Right now, Alfred’s almost got dinner ready.”

Steph bounces up to her feet, grinning. “Food sounds awesome,” she says. “Then patrol, right?” The best part about summer is that there’s no homework before patrol. She can mess around with Cass and maybe Tim, if she’s up for it, instead of slogging through writing papers.

“That’s right,” he says. “I was thinking you might like to go out with Cassandra tonight. I’ve got a few things I need to do on my own.”

Steph nods, grinning. She hasn’t gone out with Cass as Robin yet, and her walk gains an extra bit of bounce as her excitement sets in. Batgirl and Robin are a dynamic duo in their own right, legends of their own, separate from Batman in many ways. She can’t contain her eagerness as she sits down next to Cass at dinner, and even knowing that Cass is thinking about leaving soon can’t reign in her enthusiasm. She isn’t even worried about her dad having Bruce’s plans, isn’t even worried about having to hide from him.

Those are worries for later.

For now, things are just fine.

She races Cass along the rooftops.

Being Robin is amazing, Steph thinks as she leaps across the gap over to the next block, the impact hitting her ankles hard but not slowing her down in the slightest.

Cass is faster though, always faster, and tackles her, arms wrapped around Steph’s middle as the two of them go crashing down to the ground in a tangle of limbs and capes. “Tag,” Cass says, incredibly smug and proud of herself, as if she couldn’t take Steph blindfolded with one hand tied behind her back. As if tackling Robin the Girl Wonder is an achievement that could even register to the One Who Is All. Steph laughs, letting her head fall back against the cement of the rooftop.

“When do you leave?” Steph asks, looking at Cass, when they’re sitting down, feet dangling over the side of the fire escape. It took them a while to find this place, but it’s a good one. Steph almost wishes she had food or something. It would be a good hang out spot, she thinks. Gotham is full of nice little niches like this one. Places to just take a moment and look at the world.

Cass shrugs. “Don’t know,” she says. She reaches over and pats Steph’s hand. “I’ll visit,” she promises. “We’re… a team.”

Steph turns and grins at her. “Thanks, Cass,” she whispers, and hugs her best friend as tightly as she can. Cass hugs her back just as tightly. It’s a wonder no one has a broken rib.

“I’m glad you’re Robin,” Cass says in her ear, almost soft enough that Steph might miss it.

Steph pulls back slightly, frowning. “You don’t miss Tim?” Cass and Tim were inseparable, like siblings. Their Batgirl and Robin dynamic had been wonderful; that was why Tim was going with Cass to Bludhaven. They balanced each other out nicely, in a way that Steph wasn’t quite sure she and Cass would be able to recreate.

Cass shrugs again, then places her hand over Steph’s Robin badge. Steph flushes slightly at the action, but Cass plows on, not noticing where the badge is or not thinking it important enough to move it right away. “It makes you happy,” Cass says. “I like that.”

Steph grins at her, and oh. That’s a thought for another time, she thinks, staring at Cass’s masked face and wishing that the mask wasn’t there so that she could see Cass’s face.

A crush on her best friend is not exactly convenient.

Cass, oblivious to Steph’s thoughts, stares up at the sky, at the signal, blazing right against the clouds. “I’ve never been to Bludhaven,” Cass says, and it’s almost conversational, almost nervous, but yet neither of those things at the same time.

Steph grins at her, shaking her head slightly. “You’ll make it yours, Cass,” she promises her. “You’ll figure it out.” Because if anyone could, it would be Cass and Tim. It should be fascinating, watching the two of them try to untangle all of the complications and the dirt and the lies that flood Bludhaven.

They’re going to be amazing, Steph thinks, and she hopes Cass can see those thoughts in her body language. She doesn’t doubt Cass, not one bit.

Cass clearly smiles, even behind her mask. “Yes,” she says, confidently. “Tim will help.” She gets to her feet in a swift, graceful movement that mere mortals like Steph can only dream of. “Let’s go,” she says. “Night is… still young.”

Steph bursts out laughing, but takes Cass’s offered hand to get to her feet.

They take off across the rooftops again, this time with Steph chasing Cass. She probably won’t catch her the fair way, but then again, where’s the fun in that?

Some people say that Robin has to be a boy.

That is, to be crude, complete and utter bullshit.

In one world, Stephanie Brown dies on a helicopter. Her heart stutters to a stop and Leslie brings her back. She dies because of her own mistakes and the mistakes of many others, but particularly she dies because of the cruelty of two people.

Leslie hides Stephanie Brown away, where she comes out of the closet and transitions. She stays away until she is healthy and whole.

Stephanie Brown stops being Robin the day that Jack Drake visits her apartment in that world.

But this is not that world.

In this world, Stephanie Brown joins the Teen Titans. She joins Young Justice and fights by their side. She grows up and comes out in Gotham, and it’s messy and complicated. Her hair grows longer and her smile grows wider, and she lives.

She’s Robin.

#Stephanie Brown #Bruce Wayne #Cassandra Cain #Tim Drake #Steph Writes #DC #These Small Hours

65 notes · View notes

hysterialevi · 7 years ago

Text

In the Smoke pt. 20 (Cobblebats)

From Thomas’ POV

THE VALES RESIDENCE

Once we finished interrogating Gideon, Gordon and I went to the Vales’ house with a handful of other cops, only to find a gruesome crime scene in front of us. Both of the Vales had been brutally murdered by who we assumed was Lady Arkham--or after doing a little investigating--Vicki Vale, and their foster child was the only survivor. Apparently, the reporter created the horrid identity after her parents were assassinated, and had actually been Victoria Arkham this whole time, wanting to get revenge on her new, abusive family for torturing her as a child. Normally, I would’ve been shocked by the morbid discovery, but honestly, nothing was able to surprise me anymore.

“Goddamn it,” Gordon muttered, his eyes traveling from Mrs. Vale’s corpse to the child. “It just gets worse everyday, doesn’t it, Batman?”

I nodded. “And it’ll only continue to get worse unless we bring Lady Arkham behind bars.”

He took out a cigarette, sticking it between his lips and setting the tip aflame. “Well, at least we know who the head terrorist is. Now it’s just a matter of finding her. Any ideas?”

I paused in thought. “It would be foolish to try and take her down directly, especially when she has people like Penguin and The Unknown protecting her. We’ll have to get rid of them before we do anything else.”

“Good point,” Gordon agreed. “Who do you think we should tackle first?”

Answering that didn’t take much thought.

“The Unknown. He’s managed to become one of the biggest threats in Gotham since this whole thing started, and he clearly carries a lot of weight with the Children of Arkham. Taking him down will cripple them badly. There’s also the fact that we have no clue who he is.”

Gordon sighed, shaking his head. “Give me a good ol’ honest bank robbery over...this any day. At least then, we’d actually know what they were after...or who they are.” He put out the cigarette. “All right. I’ll get to work on tracking down The Unknown--see if Gideon has any other useful information for us. Meanwhile, let me know what you find, or if you just need help.”

“Good luck, Jim. This isn’t going to be easy.”

He scoffed, walking out to join the other policemen. “You don’t have to tell me twice, but I know we can do it. You and I have handled some pretty bizarre stuff over the years, and there’s no reason we can’t succeed now.” Opening the door, Gordon gave me a concerned, but caring look. “Take care, Batman. This city needs you now more than ever.”

And with that said, the lieutenant was gone, leaving me alone in the Vales’ house as police sirens began to wail outside, muffling in the distance while they drove further, and further away.

Without anyone else around, the house suddenly grew an intense, eerie vibe to it, and I wanted to get out of the murder scene as quickly as possible. Before I could however, I heard a soft whoosh emit from behind me, and I hurriedly whipped around in alarm, only to come face-to-face with a hologram of...Bruce?

The hologram was being displayed by one of my drones--one that he probably stole--and I immediately noticed that he had made some modifications to it, including a thick EMP shield to keep it resistant to my gadgets. Smart move.

Cautiously approaching Bruce, I realized that he wasn’t wearing his mask, and instead of his usual, psychotic expression, he actually appeared...sad. What was going on?

“...Bruce?” I called out. He casually gazed around the house.

“You met Gideon, I see. Interesting guy, isn’t he? I knew he’d be able to grab your attention easily.”

“Gideon...” The puzzle pieces clicked together in my head. “You used him to lure me here, didn’t you? I was right. This is a trap.”

Bruce shook his head. “No. Not a trap. Just a chance to talk with you.”

I crossed my arms. “You want to talk? Then why didn’t you just stop by the manor?”

He let out a soft chuckle, though not out of amusement. “I wouldn’t be able to even if I tried. I’m not exactly just ‘Bruce’ anymore, dad. I’m...” he exhaled, “...I’m The Unknown.”

“I’m well aware.”

He didn’t seem surprised. “I figured you were. The look you gave me back at Falcone’s manor, I knew you had recognized me instantly. Though, what I don’t understand is...why haven’t you exposed me?”

“Same reason you haven’t exposed me,” I replied. “Because it would no longer be our battle to fight if people figured out our identities.”

Bruce’s face scrunched up a little, almost like he was about to cry. “...I don’t want to fight anymore, dad. Not with you, not with him, or anyone else. I can’t.”

I quirked a brow. “What? What are you talking about?”

“He won’t leave me alone,” Bruce carried on. “I’ve tried...so hard...to get him out of my head, but he just keeps getting stronger. It’s like he feeds off of my weaknesses. There’s no way to beat him. He’s driving me insane.”

“Wait, just slow down, Bruce. Who’s ‘he?”

“The man you saw at the banquet...the man who murdered Hill, and Falcone...that wasn’t me, dad. That was...The Unknown.” He practically growled the last words, a certain rage sharpening his tone.

“I used to be able to ignore him,” Bruce continued, “but now he’s always there. Always controlling me like a puppet. And Oz says there’s no way to get rid of him. There’s no cure.”

I frowned. “You mean...the drug.”

Bruce groaned, ranting through gritted teeth. “Even when he’s dead, Hill still manages to fuck me over. He was the one who pumped me with this damned chemical, you know. The one who took away my sanity. God, if that pig were still alive...I’d do more than just kill him. I’d rip him to shreds and--”

Halting mid-sentence, Bruce suddenly turned to me, frightened by his own words and scared to even continue speaking. His head lowered with guilt.

“I’m sorry, dad. I can’t...I can’t even imagine how disappointed you must be in me. How disappointed mom would be if she were alive. The whole reason I joined the Children of Arkham was to get revenge, but instead, I’ve only turned into what killed her.

I went to put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, stopping myself when I remembered he was just a hologram.

I sighed. “I hate what you’ve been doing, Bruce, but I’m not disappointed in you. Not at all. I know it isn’t your fault. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to help you sooner.”

His tone changed again, switching to annoyance. “I didn’t bring you here so that you could coddle me,” he snapped. “I’m not a little boy.”

Bruce softened his voice, looking at the floor. “I brought you here because I need you to...to make a promise.”

“A promise?” I repeated, confused. “All right...shoot.”

He gestured to my armor. “You’re...Batman. The world’s greatest detective. You’re capable of anything, no matter how challenging.” He took a breath. “And that’s why...that’s why I need to know you’ll be there to stop me.”

I was taken aback. “Stop you? You’re asking me to arrest you?”

“No,” Bruce corrected. “I’m asking you to do whatever it takes to keep me from turning into a monster. I don’t care how you do it, whether you wanna throw me into Arkham, or Blackgate...or even...kill me. Just, please, promise me you’ll fight The Unknown...because I can’t.”

I slowly nodded, wanting more than anything to give my son a hug.

“...okay.” I said. “I can do that. I can fight ‘him’ for you, and I will. I promise.”

A faint smile grew on Bruce’s face. “...thank you. The last thing I want is to become like Lady Arkham. I just want my old life back.”

Regaining composure, Bruce straightened his suit. “Anyway, I should get going. And so should you. Gotham isn’t going to save itself, and neither am I.”

Not even giving me the chance to respond, the hologram suddenly shut down as the drone flew off, hovering out of one of the windows. I stood there in shock, trying to process what just happened.

As heartbreaking as it was to see Bruce’s current state, a part of me couldn’t help but feel relieved that he hadn’t been completely lost yet. He still preserved some of his sanity, but we both knew it wasn’t going to stay that way forever. Eventually, the drug would swallow his mind whole, and he would just be another patient in Arkham Asylum, rotting away with everyone else. I intended to save him before that happened. Before I would be forced to witness it myself. As a father, not even Batman could go through something like that.

Exiting the Vales’ house, I began to think about what Bruce told me earlier, replaying our entire conversation in my head as I entered the Batmobile.

He thought I was capable of anything, the poor boy, “no matter how challenging.”

And yet, little did he know, he was the very exception itself.

#cobblebats #batman telltale #bruce wayne #oswald cobblepot #harvey dent #fanfic #story

3 notes · View notes