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starsurface · 25 days ago

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Gala Problems - CG Selina Kyle w/ Regressor Bruce Wayne

TW: Really light cursing (Crap)

I don't know if it's triggering, but there's talk of diet restrictions? Because Batman's Batman, and his body needs to be in top condition, yada yada. So I'll put it in here incase that makes anyone iffy.

Link to Fic: Gala Problems

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

None of the Wayne's truly liked going to Gala's.

They were loud, crowded. Fancy Gala's meant fancy (or restrictive, as Damian claimed) suits. Fake smiles, too many people touching, and the food way always a hit or miss.

Fortunately for them, Bruce really needed only one plus one when he got invited to an event.

Unfortunally for Bruce, he still had to go.

Luckily, however, this time his plus one was his girlfriend, Selina. They had been going steady, thankfully. A few hiccups here or there, but nothing big or terrible. And for once in a long while, the Dark Knight felt more peaceful than he had in a small while.

Still, Bruce zoned out as some rich prick rambled about . . . something- He wasn't actually paying attention. He knew he should, especially if it was Wayne Enterprise related

. . . But he wanted to go home.

He had been at this event for almost four hours! His usual nice suit no longer felt as nice anymore. He wanted something comfy. The food was eh, but he kinda wanted something else? Like apple slices!

. . . Crap, was he regressing? And at a Gala of all places?!

No, no, he was fine. Just peachy!

Sure he felt a bit fuzzy, and he'd love nothing more than to go home and watch Gray Ghost. Maybe he could tell Alfred about how yucky some of the food here was? . . . Uh, how unappetizing some of the food was.

Suddenly the man laughed, playfully hitting Bruce's shoulder, "Those were the days, huh? Well, I need to see some potential clients. I'll see you around, Bruce!"

Bruce gave a nod and a wave as the man walked off. He would have said bye back . . . But he wasn't even fully sure what they spoke about.

"He took forever," Selina scoffed, eyeing her boyfriend. ". . . You look out of it."

"Do I?" Bruce tried to cover it up with a smile. "Well it has been a long night-"

"Right, of course, long night," Selina rolled her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I have no clue what you mean," Bruce tried to brush her off. "Did you see the dessert table? I think Jason would have enjoyed it . . . Don't give me that look."

Bruce didn't like the look Selina gave him, or how she crossed her arms. It made him feel small, tiny. Clearly she didn't believe him. And clearly, she was waiting for him to speak about what was wrong.

But Bruce was never a man to voice many things. So he also crossed his arms in reply, and the two glared at each other.

"Are you going to stay silent all night?" Selina sighed, putting a hand on her hip. "Or are you going to tell me what's going on? Because somethings clearly wrong, Darling."

. . . . Dirty cheap move, sweet nicknames.

". . . Wanna go home, Kitty," Bruce whispered, looking at the ground.

He didn't like calling Selina 'normal' caregiver nicknames when he was small, even if both her and Alfred insisted any nickname was normal. It felt . . . wrong, calling her 'Mama' or 'Mommy'. That title slipped away long ago. And while Selina might have adored the nicknames themselves, she didn't like how iffy Bruce got saying them.

Plus, Kitty was cuter anyways.

Selina's eyes widened, "Oh Baby . . ." She grabbed his hands, looking around. There were still many people, although none that came to bother them, yet.

Still, publicity was key.

And leaving an event before it ended wouldn't look the best . . .

"Do you think we can stay for another ten minutes?" Selina asked quietly, gently squeezing his hands. "Then we can scramble away from this silly party, okay?"

Bruce grimaced, he hated being small in public. He would always be afraid that someone, anyone, would pick up on the fact that he regressed.

He rarely ever regressed in public. Maybe once or twice, where he quickly ran home.

He was Batman, the Dark Knight himself. . . Who might have regressed the moment he walked into the Batcave after a bad night- But that only happened three times!

But right now, he was Brucie Wayne. And if the press found out that he used age regression?

. . . He didn't want to think of those headlines.

Still, he reluctantly nodded, ". . . O'kay."

Selina smiled, "Good boy. I know, I wanna go home too. But in about ten minutes we'll hit the four hour mark and then we can blow this joint."

But ten minutes seemed like so long! Bruce held back the want to stomp his foot and huff. They were in public after all, he couldn't be too pouty, yet.

Selina grabbed his arm, leading him towards the tables filled with food. Some of it was . . . there. Not healthy enough for Bruce's taste. Or perhaps Alfred just spoiled him with his cooking.

Still, there was the dessert table, which Selina made a b-line to.

"Look at all these sweets!" she said in a semi hushed tone. "Which ones should we try before we go? Hmm, such a tough decision, don't you think? I don't know which to choose!"

Selina was amazing at distraction tactics.

Bruce looked at all the tiny, bite sized cakes and finger foods. Normally he didn't tread near this kind of table. But tonight was an exception, he guessed.

He glanced around, just to make sure no one was watching or two close by, before smiling widely.

"Everything!" he whispered excitedly.

"Everything?" Selina gave a quiet laugh. "Someone's going to get a tummy ache if they eat all of that. How about we only choose a few?"

Bruce pouted, but looked again at all the yummy snacks. None of them compared to Alfie's snacks, but it all did look good. Better than the boring foods at the other tables.

He pointed to a mini cupcake, looking at Selina, almost for permission.

"Good pick, looks tasty," Selina smiled, handing Bruce the treat.

Bruce happily took the cupcake, immanently putting half in his mouth. Selina chuckled slightly at the scene. She wanted nothing more than to ruffle his hair, but they were still at the Gala, and Bruce needed to look presentable.

"Thank yew, Kitty," he managed through the mouthful.

Alfred would have a field day if he saw that, talking with his mouth full.

"You're very welcome darling," Selina smiled. She reached out and wiped the bit of frosting that got on his face. "Such a messy boy."

She side eyed as another man walked over, probably one of Bruce's many bushiness partners. He had a smile on his face . . . Selina didn't quite like it.

Bruce quickly shoved the reach of the mini cupcake in his mouth, quickly wiping his hands with a nearby napkin. He was really hoping no more social interactions tonight. He knew they should have left earlier!

"Bruce! There you are, I was hoping to catch you tonight!" the man laughed, holding out his hand for a handshake. "I assume you caught my email?"

Alfred had warned Bruce about several businessmen at the Gala tonight. If Bruce had anything to go by the silly little name tag on his suit, this was the one that was the most persistent. Always trying to get some kind of 'partnership' from Wayne Enterprises. Which really just mean he wanted to use Bruce for his money. He thought Tim had dealt with him, the partnership didn't look very promising.

Selina noticed as Bruce tensed, almost glaring at her. She gave a sheepish smile, putting a hand on his back, gently running her hand up and down. She hoped it would soothe him a bit . . . Which it did.

"Ah, yes of course," Bruce nodded, giving the man the best handshake he could muster up. "Caught me at a poor time, I was just about to head back to the manor."

"Oh?" the man raised an eyebrow. "I was hoping we could have a conversation actually-"

"Unfortunately, as my boyfriend said, he's had quite a long week, and he's just exhausted. We were just about to leave," Selina stepped in,

"But-!"

Selina's glare made him shut up,

"Well- That's a shame," the business man quickly chuckled, seeming now a bit nervous. "Are you sure your alright there, Mr. Wayne? I mean, you usually spend a bit more time partying. Barely seen you with any drinks tonight!"

Bruce gave an annoyed smile. He didn't want to deal with people right now.

He wanted to go home, curl up in a nice blanket, and maybe have Kitty play with his hair. He could practically feel himself slipping!

"Fine," he mustered out. "Just tired."

Before the man could speak again, Selina grabbed Bruce's arm, giving another smile, "Well, we have to get going now. Have a good day."

Selina didn't care to look at the businessman's face as she dragged Bruce away and out of the building. She didn't bother to stop for anyone that tried to grab their attention, b-lining to the car.

". . . That was rude," Bruce pouted as they stopped in front of it, Selina already grabbing his keys. "Leavin' like that . ."

Selina huffed, "That man was insufferable. And you were in distress! We need to get you home, poor thing."

Bruce pouted a bit more, he didn't like leaving things unfinished. Especially when it came to his business . . .

But Selina's concerned tone and the little petname at the end made him decide it was better to just not argue.

. . . Another dirty cheap trick.

Selina carefully helped Bruce get into the passenger side, buckling him in, ". . . How about we get some McDonalds for the ride home?"

Normally Bruce was so strict about his diet, which made sense really. When competing against men like Superman or the Flash, who basically had super genetics, diet was important to being Batman.

Even little Bruce was a bit strict about what he ate, although a little less so. He gravitated towards things like fruit, which there was nothing wrong about that, but wouldn't turn down Alfred's cookies . . . or ten.

Still, Selina was sure he could coax him.

Bruce let out a quite hum, thinking. McDonald's sounded great right now. He'd probably regret it later, but right now? That didn't matter one bit! Big Bruce's problem after all!

". . . Can we get a toy too?" he asked quietly as Selina got into the car.

Selina smiled, turning on the car and starting to drive, "What if we go to Bat Burger instead? You could get a Batmite! Some Robin nuggets, a toy, some fries. How does that sound?"

Bruce seemed excited by the idea. Normally, Bruce didn't care much about the whole Bat Burger thing. Sure it was . . . there.

But his kids liked it. And more importantly, little Bruce liked it.

He fiddled with the cuffs on his suit, ". . . Can we get some apple slices too? Please?"

"Of course, Handsome. We can get you some apple slices too, I bet they're very yummy, aren't they? Anything else you want?" Selina asked. "Chocolate milk? Apple juice?"

Bruce thought about it, shaking his head, "No thank you."

". . . I'll get you an apple juice," Selina promised, earning a small huff.

She pulled into the drive thru, coming to a stop. Luckily, there was almost no one in line, and they got their order done quickly, ordering something for herself too.

Selina handed the happy meal to Bruce, setting her own food on his lap, driving back to the manor.

. . . But he didn't open it. Just letting it sit on his lap.

"Something wrong, Kit?" Selina frowned.

". . . Alfie says it's not proper to eat on the car ride home," Bruce quietly insisted. "Wait till we get home. Eat at the table."

Selina had to suppress a small laugh at his insistence.

She gave a soft smile, "I doubt one time would be such a crime. Besides, Alfred isn't here right now. Kitty will take full responsibility if Alfred gets all huffy about it. So there's no need to worry, okay?"

Bruce shifted slightly in his seat, looking a bit upset. He didn't have many rules when he was small . . . He wasn't even sure if no eating in the car was a rule for when he was regressed. it was a rule when he was a kid, and none of his kids were encouraged to do so either.

Sure, Alfred never lectured him or got too upset with little Bruce. Mostly because Bruce couldn't handle certain tones when tiny. But he was rarely bad on purpose . . . Unless it was a bad regression night- But Alfred never got upset at those either! In fact he tried very hard to make sure he didn't snap at Bruce on those nights, no matter how stubborn or fussy the Dark Knight was.

"I won't tell," Selina promised. "No Alfie, or Clark, no anyone else, I promise. It'll be our little secret, okay?"

". . . Pinky promise?" he asked quietly.

Selina coulnd't help but smile more at Bruce's question. Pinky promise? he was too cute sometimes.

It was nice, seeing him act more like this. She hadn't been Bruce's caregiver for very long. Technically that role mostly applied to Alfred. But Bruce's regression . . . Well, she was glad he was more worried about pinky promises and being naughty than helping her baby stop spiraling.

It saddened her, really.

She stuck out her pinky, "Pinky promise. And once we get back, I'll help you put on your comfy clothes, and then we can have a special night just for you. I'm sure you'd love to watch some Gray Ghost, right Sweetheart."

Bruce perked up at the idea. He loved that show! Both little and big- He could talk about it for hours if he could.

He hesitated, but linked his pinky with Selina's. Selina was telling the truth, and she wasn't going to tell on him. He immanently opened his happy meal.

He didn't eat . . . a lot. Only a fry or two.

But he quickly grabbed his toy, smiling at it, "Look! 'S Batwoman."

"Cousin Kane?" Selina asked, receiving a happy nod. "You'll have to show her it later, I'm sure she'd love to see a picture of it."

Bruce smiled at the thought, showing off his new toy.

They quickly arrived back to the manor, and Selina insisted on helping Bruce unbuckle, much to his pout. He might have been small, but he could very easily get out himself!

. . . But this once, perhaps he could let himself be helped and babied. Just a bit.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Uuuuh, I got really into DC lately.

Other requests will be done soon, I promise!!!

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pekejscatbed · 1 year ago

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Band-aids and too many scars | Jason Todd centric

info/warnings:

SFW age regression, little! Jason, slight cg! Bruce, slight cg! Alfred, lots of fluff with a dash of angst (only a sentence)

batman masterlist

song: little space - sxye

———

It's not the first time Jason finds himself in this position, breaking into Wayne Manor and crawling through his adoptive dads bedroom window while said dad is away at some fancy gala or work meeting, and it's also not the first time that Bruce's bedroom window has been left unlocked and Jason wonders if it's on purpose- if Bruce is aware of what his second son is doing, breaking into his room and regressing to the age of a child to relive the childhood he didn't get to experience, and if Bruce is intentionally leaving the window unlocked to make Jason's feats easier. Either way, Jason tries not to think about it too much, because he really doesn't want Bruce to know about his regression, even if Bruce is the one person Jason craves when he's slipped into that state of mind, and instead he just chooses to believe that the constantly unlocked window is merely a coincidence.

Today, Bruce is attending one of the many galas Alfred urges him to go to in attempt to keep up appearances, and Alfred is with him as part of his "butler duties" as he calls them. Dick is still in Blüdhaven, Tim is on a date with his boyfriend, and Damien is... Jason isn't sure actually- that kid can disappear- but he's not at the manor, so Jason's happy (yes, Jason stalks his family, so what? it's not weird-). Since no one is home, it's the perfect time for Jason to indulge in his coping mechanism, which just so happens to involve breaking into his dad's bedroom, yes- but, in Jason's defense, being in the head space of child makes him crave his childhood home and the comforting smell of his Daddy's cologne, okay?

Speaking of his Daddy, little Jay is currently sitting on his Daddy's king-sized bed, pulling little gear out of the small, black backpack he brought with him. The first item Jay pulls out is his black bat Hello Kitty stuffed animal, a Beanie Baby Halloween plush in an orange outfit with details in the same color. Next, he pulls out two coloring books, the first being Superhero themed and the second being of the Lisa Frank brand; he also grabs a few small packages of crayons. The last thing Jay grabs from his bag is his pacifier, black with a red handle, decorated with a small array of stickers.

Jay slips the paci into his mouth, lightly suckling, and opens his Lisa Frank coloring book; he flips to a page of a girl in a princess dress, standing on what looks like a castle wall, a vase of flowers on the floor next to her. Grabbing a light brown crayon, Jay colors her skin first, then switches the color to a dark purple to color the girls curly hair, lips, and eyeshadow. Next, he grabs hot pink to color her dress, switching to a light pink to color the big bow on the front of her gown. Jay then moves onto the flowers, filling them in with different shades of purple and pink, then colors the vase with a orange-ish-brown. Finally, Jay colors the castle walls grey, switching between dark and light shades for every other brick.

The little continues coloring for a while, filling in a couple more pages, the last he does being a picture of Batman from his Superhero book, a present for his Daddy when he's finished, though he knows he'd never actually give it to the man (Jay wipes away the tears building up in his eyes with a sniffle, wishing the thought away). Once the picture is fully colored, Jay smiles at his work with pride, before a small yawn escapes his lips, muffled by his paci. His eyes start to close and his shoulders begin to droop, and the boy realizes just how sleepy he is and lies down on side, curling in on himself and grabbing his Hello Kitty stuffie to cuddle up to his chest. In his small, sleepy state, Jay falls asleep in the comfort of his Daddy's bed, forgetting that he really isn't supposed to be there in the first place.

———

When Bruce comes home and steps into his room, the last thing he expects to see is his second son asleep on his bed with a stuffed animal in his arms, an adult pacifier in his mouth, and a mess of crayons and coloring books next to the boy's body. The man takes in the sight before him, a fond, although slightly confused, smile on his lips.

Alfred comes up behind Bruce, wondering why his Master has stopped in the middle of his doorway with a genuine happiness on his face, though the butler immediately understands when his eyes lay on Jason, and he smiles, too, then whispers, "It seems Master Jason has made a mess. Shall I clean up for him?"

Bruce nods, though advises Alfred to be quiet, careful, not wanting to risk waking his sleeping son, then lightly walks towards his closet to change out of his suit and into more comfortable clothes. Alfred understands and quietly puts away all the crayons in their respective boxes, going as far as to put them in color order, then moves to pick up the coloring books, eyes widening when he sees the open page of a fully colored Batman. The butler waves over Bruce, who is pulling on a shirt, and shows him the carefully colored picture, hand drawn hearts covering the border as well as the single word, "Daddy".

Grinning, Bruce takes in the picture, asking Alfred to rip it out of the coloring book for Bruce to keep (Alfred has always been better at tearing along perforated lines than Bruce). Alfred does as asked, then gently puts the packages of crayons and coloring books into the backpack at the end of the bed, making sure to keep the Batman page out. As he does this, Jason shivers from his spot on Bruce's bed, a mumbled, "Daddy" falling from his lips as his pacifier gently slips out of his mouth and onto the bed next to him. Both Alfred and Bruce smile warmly at the sight, and Bruce grabs the fuzzy blanket at the end of his bed and gently covers his son with it. He then grabs the pacifier, asking Alfred to clean it off, then slowly pushes it back between his sons' lips. Once Jason is warm and comfortable, and the bed is clean, Bruce and Alfred both quietly make their way out of the bedroom, Bruce slowly shutting the door behind him with the coloring page in hand.

Together, the Master and his butler search the internet for answers to Jason's behavior and learn about the terms Age Regression and Little Space, quickly understanding the coping mechanism and how and why it would benefit Jason.

———

When Jason wakes up, all his coloring tools are put away, and moonlight shines in through the window he came in. His eyes widen, realization setting in; someone saw him. Quickly, Jason shoves his pacifier and stuffed animal into his bag, momentarily pausing when he comes across a plastic baggie filled with chocolate chips cookies. A light blush spreading across his tanned cheeks, Jason shakes his head, leaving the same way he came in.

(He eats the cookies when he gets to his apartment, the taste immediately giving away who baked them: Alfred. Jason smiles.)

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rizzanon · 12 days ago

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02 | A QUITTER?

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The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute.

Bruce’s brows furrowed, his usually calm expression giving way to faint confusion. “You’re… quitting?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, silence filled the cavernous Batcave, save for the faint hum of the Batcomputer. He studied you, his piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to read your mind. “Why?” he asked finally, his voice measured, almost clinical.

You froze, caught off guard. Why? Why had you suddenly decided to quit? Sixteen-year-old you wouldn’t have even entertained the idea. This life was everything she had worked for—every patrol, every bruise, every sleepless night fueled by a desperate need for validation. Why had the words come so easily to you now?

Your mind reeled, racing to string together an explanation that made sense. After a long pause, you took a deep breath and met his gaze. “Because… you were right,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “This life… it was never meant for me. I was just too dumb to realize it before. But now, I do.”

The admission felt strange, almost foreign. Sixteen-year-old you wouldn’t have said that—not to him, not to anyone. And yet, as the words left your mouth, they felt right.

Bruce didn’t respond immediately. He just watched you, his gaze intense, cold, and calculating. You could almost feel him inspecting every inch of you, every nuance in your expression, searching for cracks in your resolve or signs of insincerity. The weight of his scrutiny was almost unbearable, and you found yourself holding your breath.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he leaned back slightly and nodded. “If that’s what you’ve decided,” he said simply, his tone unreadable. Without another word, he turned back to the Batcomputer, his eyes scanning the reports as if the conversation had never happened.

You blinked, stunned. That easy? He really just let you go like that?

For a moment, a flicker of relief passed through you, but it was quickly overshadowed by another thought: Just how much did he not want you to take up the Batgirl mantle? The thought gnawed at you, but you shoved it down, forcing yourself to nod.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked back toward the staircase, your footsteps echoing in the vast space.

As you ascended, you couldn’t help but glance back once, but Bruce didn’t move, his attention fixed on the screen. You pressed your lips together and forced yourself to keep going.

Bruce heard your footsteps fading up the stairs, each one echoing through the cavern like a countdown. He stared at the Batcomputer, his hands resting motionless on the console. But his eyes weren’t scanning the reports anymore.

He couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder as the clock door slid shut behind you. His expression hardened, his brows furrowing deeply.

Something about this felt… wrong. Letting you walk away like that—it felt final, like a line had been drawn in the sand. A line he couldn’t cross.

You’d said you were quitting because the life wasn’t meant for you. Bruce should be relieved that you were no longer putting yourself on the line, no longer risking your life for the sake of crime-fighting.

But now, it was as if he was watching you slip through his fingers, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Should he have said something? Say what exactly? That you shouldn’t quit being Batgirl? That he wanted you in his this life?

Bruce clenched his jaw and forced himself to look back at the screen, willing the unease in his chest to go away. He told himself it was for the best. He already long knew that this path was never meant for you.

And yet…

A faint, nagging voice whispered at the back of his mind, telling him he’d made a mistake. That letting you go like this wasn’t just about the Batgirl mantle—it was about you. About him. About the growing distance between the two of you.

He couldn’t afford to dwell on it, not now. Pushing the thoughts aside with the same discipline he applied to every other personal distraction, Bruce returned his focus to his work.

But that unease lingered, a heavy weight in his chest that no amount of reports or missions could quite shake.

“Richard,” Damian began, his tone flat and serious. “What does it mean when a girl cuts her hair short?”

The fast-food restaurant buzzed with the usual cacophony of clinking trays and murmured conversations. Damian sat stiffly across from Dick, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed in a way that made it clear he’d rather be anywhere else.

Dick, mid-bite of his burger, froze. Slowly, he put the burger down, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. Then, with a sly grin, he leaned forward. “Why’re you asking? Is there someone who caught your eye, little D? Someone from school, maybe?”

Damian scowled, his cheeks tinging slightly pink. “Do not be absurd. This is not about me.”

Dick chuckled, brushing crumbs off his hands. “Oh, so it’s not about you. But you want my expertise on the matter? Man, I didn’t know you valued my opinion so much.”

“I don’t,” Damian snapped, his glare intensifying. “But you’re a certified idiot when it comes to women, so your insight into their ridiculous behavior might be useful.”

“Ouch.” Dick placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury. “And here I thought we were bonding.”

“We’re not,” Damian replied flatly, though his posture shifted in discomfort.

At that moment, Tim approached the table, balancing a tray piled high with burgers and fries. He slid into the booth beside Dick, setting the tray down with a thud.

“What’s going on?” Tim asked, popping a fry into his mouth.

“Damian here wants to know why a girl would cut her hair short,” Dick said, his grin widening. “And apparently, I’m the expert on ‘ridiculous behavior.’”

Tim raised an eyebrow at Damian, who was now scowling at both of them. “Uh… okay. Who are we talking about?”

“It’s about… (name),” Damian muttered.

The lighthearted teasing immediately stalled. Tim and Dick exchanged a quick glance, their expressions shifting to something more serious.

Dick, however, quickly recovered, leaning back in his seat. “Nah, no way. (name) wouldn’t cut her hair. She’s been growing it out for years. You’re making this up.”

“I am not,” Damian snapped, crossing his arms. “You’ll see for yourselves later if you’re too thick-headed to believe me.”

“Okay, first of all, rude,” Dick said, grabbing a fry. “Second, I don’t know, man. She’s always been pretty attached to her hair. Like, she used to freak out if even half an inch got trimmed too short when she was younger.”

Damian scoffed audibly, narrowing his eyes at Dick. “Tsk. It’s not just a trim, Grayson. She cut her hair to her shoulders.” He said the word shoulders like it was a personal affront. “And it looks ridiculous.”

Dick frowned immediately. “Don’t say that, Damian,” he chided, but then his voice trailed off as his mind wandered. Shoulders? That was… really short.

His brow furrowed slightly as he thought about it. Had you really cut your hair? You were always so particular about it. He remembered vividly the offhanded comment you made years ago about how you liked your hair long because it made you feel elegant, pretty—like yourself.

Wait, years ago?

That sinking feeling began to gnaw at him. Sure, people changed their preferences all the time, but this felt… odd. Why now? Why so drastic?

“Grayson?” Damian’s sharp tone cut into his thoughts. “Are you malfunctioning, or have I rendered you speechless for once?”

“Huh?” Dick blinked, refocusing on the youngest Wayne.

“Useless,” Damian muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “I should have known better than to seek advice from you.”

Dick snapped out of it, shooting Damian a half-hearted glare. “Hey, you came to me, remember? And cutting hair isn’t ridiculous; it’s just a personal choice. People grow, Damian. Maybe she just… wanted a change.”

Damian raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Wanted a change? That’s the best you can come up with? Tt. I thought you were supposed to be insightful.”

“Okay, first of all,” Dick said, pointing at him with a fry, “you’re lucky I don’t throw this at you. And second, you’re the one acting all worked up about her hair. I’m just trying to figure out why you even care.”

“I don’t care,” Damian replied curtly. “I simply have standards, unlike you.”

“Oh, trust me, buddy, we know your standards are very high.” Dick smirked. “For someone who claims not to care, you’re putting a lot of energy into this.”

Damian glared, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I will not waste further time explaining myself to a fool.”

“Love you too, Dami,” Dick said with a cheeky grin, earning an eye roll from the younger boy.

Tim, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. “Alright, so… are we just going to sit here debating haircuts, or are we going to eat?”

“Good idea,” Dick said, popping a fry into his mouth. But the momentary distraction didn’t stop his mind from circling back to you.

Why did you cut your hair? Was it really just a preference change? Maybe.

Damian’s voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts again. “Grayson, you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Staring into space like a dim-witted cow.”

Dick sighed, shoving a fry into his mouth. “Great talk, Damian. Really helpful.”

“Likewise,” Damian muttered, clearly unimpressed.

But Dick was already tuning him out. He needed to check in with you later. He heard you had patrol tonight—or at least that’s what Barbara had mentioned. Wait, why didn’t you tell him that yourself?

Whatever. He’d figure it out. If you were on patrol, he’d just join you and ask about that then. That is, if Damian doesn’t insist later on being his patrol partner…

Maybe it was nothing…

Tim sat in the booth, idly picking at a fry as his mind wandered. He’d been the one to steer the conversation away from your haircut, but now he couldn’t help but think about what Damian had said. You cut your hair? That didn’t sound like you at all.

Then again, what did Tim really know? It wasn’t like the two of you were close. Despite living in the same manor for the past three—almost four—years, there had always been this… distance between you.

He frowned, resting his chin on his hand. It hadn’t always been that way. He remembered the earlier days, when both you and him were just starting out. Back then, you used to ask him the most ridiculous questions about cases and missions—questions that made him pause and wonder if you were even paying attention to the briefing.

“What do you mean, ‘How do you know which lead to follow?’” Tim had asked once, incredulous. He’d given you a look, that signature are you serious expression he reserved for when someone asked something truly baffling. Then, as always, he ended up solving the issue himself, bypassing the need to answer you at all.

At the time, it was mildly annoying but manageable. He figured you were just trying to find your footing. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. But gradually, the number of times you came to him for help lessened. At first, Tim thought it was progress, that you were finally figuring things out on your own.

But no.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that your work was slipping. You’d miss key details, overlook evidence, or focus on the wrong leads entirely. And every time, it was Tim who ended up fixing it behind the scenes, covering for your mistakes before they could turn a case—or worse, a mission—into a disaster.

He hadn’t minded at first. But as it kept happening, as he kept watching you barrel forward with that same stubborn, hard-headed determination, something shifted.

Tim’s frustration grew. He started to wonder why you were even in this line of work. If you couldn’t handle the basics, what were you doing risking your life out there? Of course, he never said it out loud. He wasn’t that cruel, and he knew voicing those thoughts would probably lead to a fight neither of you wanted.

But still, it gnawed at him. That unspoken tension built over time, creating the invisible wall that now sat between you. He’d distanced himself on purpose, convinced that staying out of your way was better for the both of you.

But was it?

Tim sighed, pushing his tray of fries away as Damian and Dick bickered in the background. Now, the idea of you cutting your hair had wormed its way into his thoughts, and he couldn’t shake it.

You cut your hair.

It wasn’t about the haircut itself—it wasn’t about aesthetics or style. It was about what it represented. Something had changed. Had you?

And while Tim told himself he didn’t care, deep down, a small part of him wondered if he’d made a mistake keeping you at arm’s length all this time.

“Hold up, Babs, why exactly am I needed at the Batcave tonight again?” Stephanie said, twisting the tool in her hand to tighten a small screw.

She sat at Barbara’s clocktower, absentmindedly flicking through her phone while doing a small repair on one of her gadgets. She was content, for the moment at least, doing something mindless and waiting for whatever task Barbara would assign her for the night.

But when Barbara called her name and asked her to suit up for the night, Stephanie couldn’t help but frown.

Barbara sighed, her voice a little tired but still managing to hold a calm tone. “Tonight, we’re a little short-handed, Steph.”

“A little short-handed?” Stephanie repeated, letting out a disbelieving scoff. She glanced up at Barbara, clearly unimpressed. “How can it be short-handed when she’s around?”

Barbara knew who Stephanie meant by “she”. Why? Because you used to grab every mission or patrol you could, like you were always hungry for action, hungry for validation. There had always been this one-sided animosity between you and the blonde—more so you toward her. And it wasn’t like Stephanie was oblivious to the reason why.

It was because she’s Batgirl too. When Barbara and Dick allowed her to don the cowl during the events after Bruce’s “death,” Stephanie had been given the opportunities you wanted for yourself. Barbara knew that too, but she had chosen not to intervene, thinking that the animosity you felt would die down after a while.

Well, it did. But not in the way anyone expected.

Barbara adjusted her glasses as she leaned back in her chair. “(Name)’s not around tonight.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, confused by the simple statement. “Well that’s a first. Why not?”

Barbara hesitated, the words slow to come. “She… she quit.”

“…..”

“WHAT??!?”

Barbara didn’t flinch at the outburst, her calm demeanor masking her own lingering confusion.

“Wait, wait,” Stephanie said, waving her hands in the air like she was trying to physically stop Barbara from speaking nonsense. “She quit? Are we talking about the same person? (Name) Wayne? The same person who basically begged to be Batgirl?”

Barbara shrugged slightly. “Bruce told me earlier today. Said she came into the cave, and told him she was done, and walked out. That’s all I know.”

“That’s all you know?” Stephanie repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief. She shook her head, scoffing. “That’s insane. She’s gotta be pulling some kind of dramatic move. Like, I don’t know, trying to get some attention or whatever. She’ll come back. Give her, like, two days, tops.”

Barbara frowned, though she didn’t entirely disagree. You were the type to make bold, emotional decisions, always seeking to prove yourself in some way. But there was something about how quiet and decisive you’d been when you quit that didn’t sit right with her.

“You don’t think she’s serious, do you?” Stephanie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Barbara admitted. “It’s… unlike her, I’ll say that.”

Stephanie scoffed again, shaking her head as she stood up to grab her Batgirl suit. “Whatever. I’m calling it now—she’ll be back, and when she is, I’m going to remind her just how ridiculous she’s being.”

Barbara watched Stephanie slip into her suit, her mind racing with questions she didn’t have answers to. This wasn’t like you at all. You were persistent, stubborn even. You fought tooth and nail for the Batgirl mantle, always pushing to prove yourself despite the doubts and obstacles.

For you to just walk away, without warning, felt… wrong.

As Stephanie tightened her utility belt and prepared to head out, she didn’t notice the far-off look in Barbara’s eyes. Even if you were planning to come back, the decision to quit felt too deliberate, too final.

And for the first time in a long time, Barbara found herself worrying about you in a way she hadn’t before.

After telling your father that you quit—and seeing how easily he let you go—you couldn’t stop replaying the scene in your head.

You walked through the halls of Wayne Manor, your mind heavy with frustration, confusion, and a gnawing emptiness that you couldn’t quite name. As you turned the corner, too lost in your thoughts to pay attention, you bumped into someone.

“Sorry,” you muttered automatically, not even looking up at first. But when you did, you froze.

Cassandra.

She stood in front of you, already suited up in her sleek black Bat costume, the faint outline of her emblem catching the light. She looked ready for patrol, or maybe she was just on her way to the Batcave. Her mask wasn’t on yet, so her sharp eyes were trained directly on you, studying you in the way that always made you feel exposed.

For a moment, you two just stared at each other in silence.

You were the first to move, brushing past her quickly without another word. But before you could make it more than a few steps, her voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Your hair.”

You turned around, confused, and caught her still looking at you with that unreadable expression of hers.

“Yeah,” you said, your tone clipped. “I cut it. I know. I get it. It’s awful.”

You made a move to leave again, but her next words surprised you enough to freeze you in place.

“No,” Cassandra said simply, her voice softer now. “It looks… really nice.”

You blinked, staring at her like she’d grown a second head. A compliment? From Cassandra? That wasn’t something you were used to.

“Thanks,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter now. “I guess.”

Without waiting for her to say anything else, you turned and headed back to your room. Your mind raced with the strangeness of the interaction as you climbed the stairs, the faintest trace of heat rising to your cheeks.

It wasn’t just her compliment that threw you off. It was the fact that she’d initiated a conversation at all. Cassandra had always been silent around you, her communication limited to nods, gestures, or the occasional word when necessary. For her to speak up, to make an effort, felt… different.

Weird, you thought as you closed the door behind you.

Uncharacteristic.

But as you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t help but replay her words in your mind.

“It looks… really nice.”

For some reason, they lingered longer than you expected.

From the moment Cassandra bumped into you in the hallway, she could tell something was off. The way you carried yourself, the weight in your movements—it was different. Subtle, but undeniable. She couldn’t quite place what had changed, but it unsettled her.

As she descended into the Batcave, the low hum of tension greeted her before she even stepped off the elevator.

Bruce and Damian were mid-argument, their voices sharp and escalating. Damian’s fists were clenched tightly at his sides, his face twisted in anger, while Bruce’s tone was firm but weary, as if he’d been repeating himself for the hundredth time.

Nearby, Dick stood between them, hands raised in a futile attempt to diffuse the tension. Stephanie leaned casually against the wall, scrolling on her phone while occasionally glancing at Tim, who was tinkering with one of his gadgets. They were the only ones who seemed unaffected by the brewing storm.

When Cassandra stepped into view, Steph looked up and gave her a warm smile. “Cass! Finally, someone sane. Come join us before this place explodes.”

Tim glanced up as well, offering a quick wave before turning back to his project. Cassandra hesitated for a moment but walked over to join them, her eyes still flicking toward the argument at the center of the cave.

Damian’s sharp voice cut through the relative calm of her corner. “Why is Brown here? Isn’t it supposed to be (Name)’s turn to patrol tonight?”

Stephanie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Wow, thanks for the warm welcome, little guy,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Damian ignored her, his gaze locked on Bruce. “Well?” he demanded.

Bruce sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s not patrolling tonight.”

Damian’s brows furrowed, his tone growing more impatient. “And why not? Where is she?”

The tension in the room thickened as Bruce finally answered. “She quit.”

For a moment, the entire cave went still. Everyone except Stephanie and Bruce froze, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.

“What?” Damian said flatly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Dick was the first to intervene, stepping forward and addressing Bruce directly. “What do you mean, she quit?”

Bruce’s tone was even, but there was an edge of finality in it. “Exactly what I said. She told me she quit, and I respected her decision.”

Damian’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists. “And you just let her?”

Bruce gave him a calm but firm look. “If that’s what she wants, who am I to stop her?”

Damian’s expression darkened, his anger bubbling over. “Unacceptable,” he growled. “There’s no way she just quits. Something’s wrong.”

Before Bruce could respond, Damian spun on his heel. “I’m asking her myself,” he snapped, already storming toward the elevator.

“Damian—” Bruce started, but Damian ignored him, disappearing up the elevator shaft before anyone could stop him.

The silence that followed was palpable, the weight of Damian’s fury lingering in the air.

Dick broke it first, his voice calm but resolute. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Bruce hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Go. Make sure he doesn’t do something reckless.”

As Dick followed after Damian, the remaining group stayed quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Cassandra’s gaze lingered on Bruce, her mind still replaying your distant expression from earlier. Something about all of this felt… wrong.

And she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

The peace and quiet of your room shattered when the door slammed open without so much as a knock. You looked up, startled, to see Damian standing in the doorway, his eyes blazing with fury and confusion.

“You quit?” he demanded, his voice sharp and biting, his tone leaving no room for pleasantries.

Caught off guard, you blinked at him. “Good evening to you too, Damian,” you said dryly, already bracing yourself for the argument that was clearly brewing.

He stepped inside, fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Don’t give me that,” he snapped. “What do you mean you quit? You seriously quit? Why?”

You let out an annoyed sigh, already tired of his interrogation. “Why? Can’t I quit?” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

Damian’s jaw tightened, his expression shifting from anger to utter disbelief. “Are you right in the head?” he shot back, his voice rising. “What kind of madness is this? Did all those late nights finally drive you insane?”

Ok, that ticked you off. Slightly.

“Seriously?” you deadpanned, giving him a pointed look. “You think this is about me losing it?”

“Yes!” Damian barked, his voice ringing through the room. “First, you cut your hair off like it didn’t mean a damn thing to you, and now you suddenly walk up to Father and say you’re done being Batgirl? Just like that? You’ve completely lost it!”

You frowned, irritation creeping into your voice, but you kept calm. “Nothing is wrong with me,” you replied firmly. “I made a decision. I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Not my business?” Damian repeated, his voice incredulous. He stepped closer, pointing a finger at you. “This affects all of us! You can’t just make a decision like this without considering what it means for the rest of the family!”

You stood up, arms crossed. “And why does that bother you so much? You’ve never cared about what I do. All you’ve ever done is criticize me, undermine me, act like I don’t belong here in the first place! So why do you care now?”

“I don’t care!” Damian snapped, though his voice faltered for just a second. “I care about what your actions mean for our family. You walking away like this—it’s selfish, reckless—”

That was it. The breaking point.

“Selfish?” you shot back, the irritation in your voice finally boiling over. “You’re calling me selfish? After everything I’ve done to prove myself? After all the crap I’ve put up with just to show all of you that I deserve to be here? And you have the audacity to call me selfish?”

Damian threw his hands up in frustration. “This isn’t just about you! Do you even realize what you’re throwing away? What your actions say about the rest of us? You’re acting like—”

“Like what? Like I’m done?” you yelled, cutting him off. “Because I am, Damian! I’m done trying to live up to expectations that no one even thought I could meet in the first place! I’m done being the one who has to prove herself every damn day just to get a shred of acknowledgment!”

“That’s ridiculous!” Damian shot back, his tone defensive. “Father wouldn’t have given you the mantle if you didn’t deserve it. You’re just—”

You cut him off again, your voice sharper, harsher. “He gave me the mantle because I practically begged him to. Not because he thought I deserved it. And every day since, I’ve tried to make up for it, to prove that I do deserve it. But nothing ever works. I get sidelined, tossed aside, whenever Father or Dick or anyone else decides I’m not good enough to help.”

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms. “You don’t get sidelined. You’re just making things up.”

“Oh, shut up,” you snapped, your tone biting now. “Don’t act like you know what I go through.”

Damian opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off again, your voice rising. “No, don’t you dare. You don’t know. You don’t know how it feels to constantly feel like you’re not good enough, to be compared to everyone else and always come up short. You don’t get it, Damian, and you never will. Because you’ve always been the heir, the one Father sees as his true successor. But me? I’ve been nothing but an afterthought.”

Damian’s face faltered for a brief moment, something unspoken flashing in his eyes. He hated the way his chest ached at your words.

“That’s not true,” he said finally, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Isn’t it?” you challenged, your voice trembling with exhaustion and frustration. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like it. Not when I’m constantly being sidelined, not when I have to fight for scraps of approval while everyone else gets a free pass. And definitely not when even you can’t see me as anything but second-rate!”

Damian hesitated, caught off guard by the raw emotion in your voice. He quickly shook it off, doubling down. “This is beneath you,” he said coldly. “Throwing a tantrum and walking away won’t fix anything.”

“A tantrum?” you echoed, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and hurt. “You think this is a tantrum? Damian, this is me saying I’ve had enough. I’m tired of breaking myself for a family that doesn’t even see me!”

“Then make them see you!” Damian countered, his voice rising again. “You don’t just quit because it’s hard! You don’t just give up!”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Of course, that’s your answer. Just fight harder, right? Because that’s all you know how to do. But I’m not like you, Damian. I can’t keep pretending that this fight is worth it.”

“Not worth it?” Damian repeated, his tone disbelieving. “Are you actually kidding me? Richard told me that fighting for family is always worth it—”

“Well Richard can go fuck himself for all I care,” you snapped, cutting him off. “For someone who prides himself as a family guy, he’s done a great fucking job proving that, hasn’t he?”

Damian bristled, his voice rising. “Don’t talk about Richard that way—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “I forgot he actually gives a damn about you. No wonder you have such a biased perspective on how he really is.”

Damian froze, stunned into silence by your words. The room grew unbearably quiet, tension heavy in the air.

Finally, Damian let out a sharp breath, his voice low but laced with finality. “This isn’t over,” he said, turning on his heel.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you alone, your chest heaving from the intensity of the argument. You sank back into your chair, exhaustion settling in as the adrenaline faded. But the ache in your heart lingered, sharp and unyielding.

Damian’s words echoed in your mind, each one like a sharp jab to the chest. Selfish. Reckless. The words rang in your ears, infuriating and unfair.

Damnit. You hadn’t meant to blow up on him. But everything was just… too much. It wasn’t like you could keep pretending it was fine anymore.

Your fingers dug into the armrest of the chair as you shut your eyes, the headache beginning to set in behind your eyes. You could almost feel the physical ache of the emotional turmoil. I don’t care… You repeated the words silently, but it only made the ache in your chest worse. You had always cared about this family. You had tried so hard to belong, to prove yourself.

But what had it gotten you? You fought tooth and nail for the mantle of Batgirl, begging for the chance to prove you were worthy of it. Yet, here you were, useless in Damian’s eyes, ready to walk away. Maybe he was right—maybe you were being reckless, selfish. Because if you weren’t being Batgirl, who were you anymore? You certainly didn’t feel like the Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

You scoffed bitterly, shaking your head. They’d be fine without you, you thought. They always are. It wasn’t like your role in the family made a difference. You had always felt like an afterthought, never quite fitting in the way your siblings did. They all had their roles—Damian was the heir, Tim was the brain, Jason was the wild card, Cassandra was the silent powerhouse, and Dick was the one holding everyone together. You? You were just… there. Batgirl, but only when they needed you, only when it was convenient. When Stephanie wasn’t around. You hated to admit it, but she was undeniably a better Batgirl than you could ever be. You only saw that now, after everything you’ve been through.

“I should’ve quit a long time ago,” you muttered to yourself, your voice hollow.

They didn’t need you. Not really.

You clenched your fists at your sides, frustration building again. But then, as much as you tried to convince yourself that quitting was the right decision, you felt the doubt creep in. The sting of Damian’s words lingered like a cut, refusing to heal. What had you really thrown away?

Damian thought it was selfish? Well, maybe it was. But that wasn’t all there was to it. He couldn’t see it. He didn’t know the pain you’d been carrying all this time. The weight of the mantle, the pressure to be someone you weren’t sure you could be. You literally died because you wanted to prove you deserved this mantle.

But Damian didn’t know that. No one in the family did. To them, you were still 16. But you were 20, somehow in your 16 year old body. And frankly, you didn’t think anyone would have believed you if you told them. They’d probably rule you off as delirious.

Was it selfish to want to take a step back, to breathe, to figure out who you were without the costume, without feeling the need to live up to unrealistic expectations?

You ran a hand through your hair, pulling at the ends of the newly cut strands. It felt different—lighter, maybe—but it didn’t fix anything. The ache in your chest remained.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and walked over to the window, staring out at the Gotham skyline. The night was quiet, peaceful even, but you felt nothing but turmoil inside. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to feel so lost, so empty after making a decision that was supposed to bring you peace.

But all you felt was the sting of Damian’s words, the echo of a family that would carry on without you. Maybe you weren’t meant to fit in. Maybe you were never meant to be Batgirl. Maybe quitting was the only way to let go of the weight you couldn’t carry anymore.

But the thought of it didn’t bring relief. It only brought more questions. More doubts. And the ache in your chest kept growing.

Dick made his way out of the Batcave, the soft hum of the cave’s equipment still echoing in his ears as he began his search. He knew the halls of the Batcave well, had spent hours running through them as a child, but for some reason, he couldn’t place exactly where Damian had gone.

Where would he be?

He knew Damian wasn’t the type to go off and brood in silence. No, if Damian had something to say, he’d say it—loudly. So the question was: Where would he go to find you?

Dick’s feet moved without thought, his mind running through options, trying to remember every possible place Damian could have gone. There was the training room, sure, but that didn’t seem likely. The library, maybe? No. He probably went to look for you in your room.

Dick’s boots echoed softly on the polished floor as he headed toward the hall where your room was supposed to be. His steps slowed, however, as a troubling realization settled in his chest.

Wait… where was your room?

Dick froze in the hallway, blinking in confusion. His gaze wandered down the corridor, his mind grinding to a halt. He’d known you for years, shared the same space, even lived under the same roof for what felt like forever—but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where your room was.

It was a simple enough question—where was your room? He’d been there countless times, right? He’d spent so much time around the Manor, yet now, all he could think about was the fact that he couldn’t pinpoint the location of your room. The door had been right there, hadn’t it? Near the end of the hall? Or maybe down by the study?

Dick’s breath caught in his chest, and he quickly shook the thought off.

This is ridiculous.

He was probably just overthinking it. He was the oldest, the one who had been around the longest. It didn’t make sense for him to suddenly forget something so simple. Get it together, Grayson.

But the more he tried to focus, the more his thoughts twisted into a spiral. He knew where everyone’s room was.

How could he not know? Sixteen years. He’d known you for sixteen years. He’d visited this house, stayed in this house, lived in this house for years, and yet…

His breath hitched. The realization was almost too absurd to comprehend.

He knew where Damian’s room was. Knew where Tim’s was. Knew Cassandra’s, hell, he even knew where Jason’s childhood room was—Jason, who didn’t even live here anymore. He even knew the little quirks about each of their spaces: the sword display in Damian’s, the books stacked haphazardly in Tim’s.

But your room?

His mind was blank. He couldn’t even picture it.

Had he ever been to your room? Surely, he must have at some point. Right? His stomach twisted as he tried to remember, as if dredging up a memory he wasn’t sure even existed. Why couldn’t he see it in his mind? How could he have let this slip past him?

Panic began to rise in his chest as the uncertainty clawed at him. He’d been part of this family for years. He knows you the longest out of everyone. He should have known this.

Dick stood in the middle of the hall, mind reeling. How could he forget?

Before he could descend further into his spiral, he heard it. Muffled voices, raised in anger, followed by the unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut.

Your room.

Without thinking, Dick’s instincts kicked in, and he started moving toward the sound. He rounded the corner just in time to see Damian storming off, his face set in a mask of fury. He didn’t even spare Dick a glance, his steps quick, purposeful.

“Damian!” Dick called, jogging after him, a mix of concern and confusion flooding his mind. “Hey, wait up.”

Damian didn’t slow down. If anything, his pace quickened, and he shot a look over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “I don’t have time for this, Grayson.”

Dick’s frustration only grew. “What’s going on? What happened in there?”

Damian’s fists clenched at his sides as he turned his head back toward the direction he was walking. “Nothing you need to know.” His voice was tight, clipped.

Dick’s steps faltered, but he wasn’t about to back down. “Damian, come on—don’t shut me out. What happened with you and (name)?”

Damian, however, wasn’t interested in talking. His head jerked up with a scowl. “I don’t need you to fix this, Grayson. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Dick, unwilling to let it go, caught up to him and blocked his path. “Damian, I’m not trying to fix anything. I just want to understand what happened. Why are you so upset?”

Damian’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something more than anger. “Because I don’t understand it!” he snapped. “(Name) quit. She quit, Dick! And you’re all just standing around pretending like nothing’s wrong! That it doesn’t matter!”

That stopped Dick in his tracks. His heart sank as the weight of Damian’s words hit him. Standing around and pretending like nothing’s wrong? That it doesn’t matter? Of course not. He’s worried too. You quit? It didn’t make sense. But before Dick could respond, Damian was already pushing past him, practically shoving him out of the way.

“Damian—” Dick started again, but the younger boy cut him off, raising a hand to silence him.

“Don’t. Just don’t. I’m done with this conversation.”

Dick’s hand shot out instinctively, grabbing Damian’s arm before he could walk past. “Damian, stop. Just talk to me for a second.”

Damian whirled around, his eyes full of frustration and barely contained rage. “Why? So you can tell me everything’s fine? That we’re just supposed to accept this?” His voice cracked, just slightly, and Dick saw the sharp pain beneath the anger. “You don’t get it, Grayson. She quit. She walked away, and it feels like no one’s doing anything about it. No one cares!” His fists clenched tighter, the tension in his body radiating off him like a live wire.

Dick felt a heavy lump settle in his throat, a mixture of confusion and concern. He understood Damian’s anger—he was angry too, but his reaction was much more raw, and far more personal than Dick had anticipated.

Dick’s hand remained on Damian’s arm, his grip tightening ever so slightly, trying to ground him in the chaos of the moment. He stared at Damian, confusion and concern evident in his eyes. “What do you mean by that?” Dick asked, his voice softer now, tinged with confusion. “Of course I care about her, Damian. But getting upset won’t change anything.”

Damian let out a sharp, humorless laugh, his eyes narrowing in frustration. “Sure, you care now,” he scoffed. “But it doesn’t feel like that to her, does it?”

Dick froze, his hand still gripping Damian’s arm, but now it felt more like a lifeline for him, trying to hold onto something solid in the midst of this emotional storm. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his heart starting to pound. “You’re not making sense.”

Damian pulled his arm away sharply, his movements tense and jerky. “Whatever,” he muttered, his voice growing colder. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going to the cave.” He turned on his heel, striding away, his anger still hanging heavy in the air.

Dick stood there for a moment, his mind reeling. Damian’s words were like a punch to the gut, and Dick couldn’t make sense of them. It doesn’t feel like that to her. What was he talking about? Was Damian implying that you didn’t believe Dick cared about you? That you’d somehow gotten the impression that no one cared, that no one was doing anything to stop you from leaving?

A knot of anxiety formed in Dick’s stomach as the implications of Damian’s words settled in. Did you really think he didn’t care? The thought gnawed at him, twisting and turning in his chest.

He had always assumed you knew how much he valued you, how much he cared for you—as family, as his sister. But now, he wondered if he’d ever truly shown that.

Damian’s words continued to echo in his head as he stood there, frozen for a moment longer. What did he mean? Dick couldn’t fathom why you would feel that way.

With a sigh, he pushed those thoughts aside, his mind refocusing. He had to find you. He couldn’t let this go on any longer, especially if you thought you weren’t seen, weren’t valued. He had to fix this, whatever it took. But when he makes his way to your room, Dick just freezes in his place. What should he say to you? What would make you feel better? Dick hates how nothing instantly comes to his mind, hates how he couldn’t form a solution to try and resolve whatever conflict you had with Damian.

Without another word, Dick turned towards the cave, his resolve hardening. He’ll just wait until you’ve calmed down from your emotional argument with Damian, and then talk to you.

how we feeling about this chapter 😘

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