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Terry was grateful for the life he had now.
Sometimes it hits him, how lucky he is to have all this. From his own bedroom (an actual room with a bed, not a pod), to the collection of Nutcracker Musical CDs (actual videos on a screen, not information telepathically fed into his head), to the leather jacket he can’t help but wear with nearly every outfit (cool and casual and comfortable, nothing like the Cadmus spandex) to the fact that he had an actual name that wasn’t just ‘Project Beyond’.
He was grateful to Bruce for taking him in. For looking at him and seeing a son, not a successor or a clone. A child in need of guidance, a home, family, stability. For giving him his own identity, Cardinal, so he can work beside him and learn in ways the G-gnomes and Cadmus scientists could never teach him.
He’s grateful for Dick. For looking out for him, age be damned (the whole older-or-younger brother debate was still ongoing). For understanding what it’s like to carry out The Mission but empathizing with wanting a life besides it too.
He’s grateful for Alfred and his affection underneath the posh bearing; he’s grateful for the Team and their camaraderie; he’s grateful for the small group of friends he’s making at Gotham Academy.
But sometimes, it’s hard. Hard for him to let go of Cadmus’s words, his 'purpose'. Hard for him to let go of Batman; not the person but the mantle, the cowl.
Because before he was Terrence McGinnis Wayne, he was Project Beyond. Created to replace Batman if he should perish; destroy him should he turn from the light.
He was working on moving on from that; working on living outside of that. Nothing was set in stone. He wasn’t Cadmus property anymore, he was his own person; he can have his own wants and decide his own future.
He can decide who he wants to be.
Everyday, he tells himself that he’s getting better at that.
Until it starts getting harder.
It started during one of his ballet lessons. It doesn’t surprise him that most of his peers are superheroes fans. In this day and age, it’s kinda a bit of a necessity to be accepted by your peers (talk about social pressure).
He’d been warming up with barre rises while a small group of girls he recognized as schoolmates chatted behind him about, you guessed it, superheroes.
(It had been a bit weird the first time to hear them gush about them- especially if they were gushing about Batman and Robin specifically. The weirdness turned up a notch when they started talking about Cardinal too. However, Dick found it hilarious and overtime, he did too.)
(Both of them agreed to never talk about the Batman x y/n wattpad fics. Ever. Bruce didn’t need that additional layer of trauma.)
“Okay okay, this is gonna sound corny but if you guys could be any Justice League member, who would you be? And no saying Batman or Superman, we need some variety here.” Candice (redhead Caucasian, father owns a jewelry line) said.
“Wonder Woman, duh.” Beatrix (Candice’s BFF, has Type I diabetes) declared.
“Black Canary. She’s so badass.” Maggie (Beatrix’s neighbor, has the same Chemistry class as Terry) gushed.
They continued to chat with some of the others occasionally piping in to add their own opinion. Terry mostly kept an ear out for any embarrassing comments he could laugh over with Dick and Wally later.
“What about you, Terrence?”
He blinked, not expecting to be pulled into the conversation.
“Who would you be?” Maggie asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? He’d be the Boy Wonder.” Candice snorted.
Terry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Though it did give him an idea of who to dress up as for Halloween.
“I thought you could only pick a League member?” Beatrix pointed out.
“I don’t mind being Robin. The sidekicks are just as important.” Terry shrugged, hoping his voice didn't sound too defensive.
“But if it had to be a League member, then who?” Jean coaxed.
“Black Canary.” He decided.
It’s true. He admired her martial arts prowess and though her Canary Cry would be hard to master, it beats having to learn a whole package of other superpowers like super strength and super hearing.
The group was silent for a while, prompting him to pause in his stretching.
“What?” he asked, confused at the sudden awkwardness.
“Nothing just, you can pick the same hero as someone else, you know.” Beatrix said.
“Yeah, and there’s other members that haven’t been picked yet. Aquaman, Green Lantern, Hawkman, Captain Marvel.....” Jean said.
“Yeah, but I pick Black Canary.” He repeated.
“Why?” Candice asked.
“Why not?” he bristled, wondering why they acted as though his answer to such a dumb question was weird.
“Nothing, just, didn’t take you for a Canary fan.” Maggie shrugged.
“Oh, so Wayne Junior has a thing for blonde chicks in leather, does he?” Candice smirked.
“WHAT-?!” Terry spluttered, face red in horror at the thought of crushing on one of his mentors which- no, just no.
He could feel the red spreading to his neck as his classmates laughed at him, convinced he’s a Black Canary simp. Before he could give them a piece of his mind, their instructor started the class, leaving Candice with the last word.
Terry slumped onto his bed, exhausted.
Today had been ‘one of those days’. The kind where the universe decided to line up a series of small inconveniences to slowly torture you.
After that nightmare conversation at his ballet lesson, he couldn’t bear to look Canary in the eye. Now, he had a thick face for lots of things but telling her about his classmate’s assumption? He doesn’t want Green Arrow to use him for target practice, thank you very much.
Unfortunately, word spread like wildfire at the academy and in no time, every boy was ribbing at him for his ‘superhero crush’. Just when the rumours about him being Bruce’s ‘bastard son’ had started to die off, a new ‘scandal’ had to shove him back into the spotlight.
Dick had been sympathetic (after the gremlin laughed his ass off, that is). Don’t worry, he said, sooner or later, Bruce would get involved in some other playboy scandal or the Justice League would save the world; once that happened, this won’t even be a footnote in anyone’s memory.
So, no problem, right?
It was petty, trivial; there were half a dozen things Terry could be focusing on instead (like his procrastinated homework).
So why was he still so hung up about it? Why was he replaying that conversation in his head the same way he’s been taught to review clues for a case?
“How did crushes even get involved? They were just asking which League member I wanted to be.” He grumbled aloud.
After all, when the girls talked about Wonder Woman, Black Canary and Hawkwoman, none of them were implying they had a crush on any of the aforementioned women-
Wait...........
Terry’s eyes widened and suddenly, he had the urge to punch something.
"SERIOUSLY?! They thought it was a crush because I chose a girl? What kind of bullshit is that?!” he roared, punching his wall and- crap, he shouldn’t have done that.
But in that moment, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
So, what if he didn’t pick one of the male members? What’s wrong with picking someone of a different gender? It didn’t matter- it shouldn’t matter, why was he so hung up about this?!
“Master Terry? Dinner is ready.” Alfred asked from the door.
“Be down in a sec, Alfie.” Terry choked out.
He braced his palms against the walls and took deep breaths. He had to calm down. He was probably just pissed at Mr. Johnson for being a prick during Literature. Once he went on patrol and dished some (anger, frustration, confusion?) justice out onto some asshole, he’d be fine.
He blinked away tears that weren’t there and went down for dinner.
He was fine.
Terry stared at himself in the mirror.
He had just finished a workout and, really, he should be showering and getting ready for the gala he had to attend with Bruce and Dick later.
Instead, he was just staring at himself like some kinda narcissist.
He knows a lot of his peers envy his looks and physique. Try as he might to downplay his combat capabilities, there’s no hiding how fit his body was. Though he never rubbed it in anyone’s face, he's quietly proud of his athletic build because they were the result of his hard work.
Yet.......
He flexed a bit, staring at the muscles. He’s always been fine with his body image. Yeah, he had a healthy lifestyle and routinely trained to maintain peak human condition but he wasn’t a health nut. He didn’t drink vegetable smoothies or raw eggs. He was content with the way his body looked.
But lately something’s been....different.
Look, the concept that only men can have hardcore muscles is sexist as hell. It’d leave a sour taste in the mouth of any human with basic decency.
But, for some reason, whenever someone voiced their approval of his muscles being a good sign for masculinity in general felt.....wrong.
He knew that despite his lithe figure, he was capable of bulking up as he grew. But the thought of looking burly didn’t sit right with him. The thought of gaining some muscular god-like physique like the ones artist exaggerate Superman and Batman to have didn't appeal to him at all.
“Terry, you ready?” Dick called.
Terry jolted, shocked at how long he’s been in a stupor.
“Coming!” he yelled, foregoing a shower in favour of getting dressed. Oh well, deodorant existed for a reason anyways.
It was another average patrol. A mugger here, an assault there, a larger robbery and an ambitious drug dealer, just another night out on Gotham streets.
Then one of the thugs made a comment that somehow made his gut twist worse than an actual punch to it.
“Come on birdie, square up like a man!” he sneered.
‘Man’, ‘boy’, why did it sound wrong? Why was he always knocked off-kilter whenever these guys did something as simple as call him what he was?
He was a boy, right?
.
.
.
When did that start to become a question?
He took the thug down with perhaps more force than necessary. It didn’t ebb the confusion in the slightest. The sour taste in his throat remained and it was nauseating.
“Terry?” Batman, no, Bruce’s asked.
Terry blinked. Bruce was still in his suit but the cowl, cape and gloves were off. His eyes were concerned. Dick wasn’t around- had he finished undressing or did Bruce send him off? How sloppy was Terry for not noticing?
“Are you alright, chum?” Bruce asked (always tough but not heartless, never heartless).
“I’m fine.” He lied. “Just- frustrated. It’s nothing.” It wasn’t. Really, it wasn’t life-threatening or anything!
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Bruce asked tentatively.
“No.” he shot down. Realizing how rude that sounded, he hurried to amend. “It’s nothing, Bruce, really.”
“....okay.” Terry knows that Bruce knows he’s lying. Knowing that he knows and knowing he’s letting it go anyways sucks.
“Goodnight, son.” Bruce said, warmly ruffling his hair.
Terry smiled, hoping it hid his wince at the last word.
But it was true, wasn’t it? Bruce was his father, and he was his son; him not calling Bruce ‘dad’ like all the other kids didn’t change that.
(Would Bruce still be his father if he wasn’t a son?)
So, it turns out the end of the world wasn’t the end of the world. It had been a stimulation; one gone down a horrible messy slippery slope but a stimulation nonetheless.
Does that make it any less traumatic? Hell-fucking-no.
“I’m hurt but more than that? I’m confused.” He confessed to Canary.
“Look, I know Dick is probably beating himself up over being the leader. He thinks he’s responsible for getting us all ‘killed’ and......” he swallowed.
“At first I thought it’s because he took on the role of a leader so well when it should’ve been me. Or well, I expected myself to be able to do it too because- that’s who Batman is, right? Since coming out, that’s what I’ve been trying to do. I can’t be Batman but I can understand him, can’t I? And-he’s a leader. But…..I couldn’t. I can’t find myself doing what Dick did. It makes me hate myself for having to push that burden onto him but at the same time it.....it......” he clenched his fists.
“It made me glad.” He choked out. “Because it made me think ‘this is proof that you don’t have what it takes to be the Batman anymore’ and I was glad because it meant I’d never have to live a life where I make those kind of decisions. And that gladness hurts because deep down, I still see Batman as a pillar, a legacy that Gotham needs- that the world needs.
“If Dick and I won’t pick up the cowl, what will happen to Batman? What will happen to one of the things Bruce dedicated his entire life to? What will happen to all the sacrifices he made?!”
He was crying. His shoulders shook and the tears burned as it all finally exploded. Repressed emotions were an ugly sight, laid bare in all its raw devastation.
But see, here’s the thing. Although his eyes were crying, his mouth hadn’t told Canary everything.
It hadn’t told her that....he doesn’t think he can even be Batman anymore.
Because he’s finding it harder to see himself as a man, period.
Terry bit his lip as he stared at the cosmetics before him.
One of the many things he’s been trained in is the art of disguise. Sometimes, it means you have to change your coloration and clothes; sometimes it means you have to copy an accent; sometimes it means you have to alter your body language and character tics.
And Terry was good at disguises, hell he found them fun. But he remembers how shocked he was the first time he learned that Bruce was so good, he managed to pull off being disguised as a woman.
The shock quickly turned to glee as he pried Alfred for more disguise stories. He lost it when Alfred showed him a picture of the time Dick got dolled up like a girl to go undercover at a children’s beauty pageant, much to Dick’s embarrassment.
Now, here Terry was about to do a similar thing.
‘It’s for practice.’ He told himself. It was the same thing he’d tell anyone if they were to walk in on him as he was doing this.
‘Just some experimentation.’ he picked the shades he wanted to use.
Steadying his hand, he picked up the brush.
Although Terry already had Bruce’s distinct jawline, he had full lips and his eyes weren’t as narrow. As he gradually added another layer of makeup, he was surprised at how androgynous it made him look.
He applied a layer of lipstick and smacked his lips. He....he liked how he looked with the lipstick. He looked fucking hot with it, why hadn’t he worn it before?
Securing a wig over his hair, he stood back to take in his reflection.
Minus his flat chest and broad shoulders, he did a good job. He was proud of his work.
But he didn’t feel content. If anything, he felt like he was standing in the alley with that thug again.
“I’m a girl.” He said softly. Then louder. “I’m a girl.”
It rolled off his tongue awkwardly- rolled off wrongly because it wasn’t the truth.
Still, he tried (because what else could he do?).
“I’m a woman.” He struck a pose, trying to look confident despite how tumultuous his insides felt. “I’m not a man.”
Only the last part made him feel slightly better (and brought him back to square one because if he wasn’t a man, what was he?!).
Frustrated, he took the wig off and made to reach for the makeup wipes only to pause as another idea struck him.
Borrowing the basic black Kevlar suits they wore for more intense sparring sessions from the training room, he attached Cardinal’s cape to it and put on his mask.
Flicking his cape so it billowed behind him, he struck a pose.
“I’m Batgirl.” He proclaimed.
The words were as hollow and fake as the bravado of his pose. But-maybe that’s because it didn’t ring right. Batgirl sounded pretty lame and childish after all.
“I’m Batwoman.” He tried instead.
Same result.
“I want to be Batwoman.” He repeated. Because during those cold clinical days when all he knew was Cadmus’s apathy, telling himself he wanted to be Batman, that he was going to be Batman, was what kept him going. He knows he doesn’t want that anymore but, surely this alternative would work?
The stranger staring back at him offered no solace.
“I want to be Black Canary.” He was getting desperate, okay?
“I want to be Wonder Woman.”
“I want to be Green Lantern.”
“I want to be Green Arrow.”
He pressed his palm against the reflection. “I want to be Batman.” He whispered.
The reflection blurred as tears sprung up. He thought of Artemis's death on icy lands, smoke perpetually coating the sky and fire consuming lands once graced by sunshine. Of running on determination like a drug because the only other alternative was to drown in despair. The number of deaths that piled on but the constant lack of bodies to even bury-
“I don’t want to be Batman.” He gasped. His throat constricted, his heart squeezed and suddenly, it felt as if he was drowning.
“I’m not going to be Batman. I’m-”
His throat clogged as he choked back a sob. He hugged himself, struggling to find comfort in his own skin.
What was wrong with him?
“I’m someone else.” He whispered.
It was true. He was someone else now (he’s always been something other than a man, he just didn’t choose to face that fact until now). But it wasn’t an answer and he hated it; hated the circles he was running in.
“I’m not a man, I’m not a woman, what the fuck-” He sobbed. “What’s wrong with me? What am I?!”
It made no sense. If he wasn’t a man, the only other possibility was that he was a woman. But he was neither- how could he be neither? What was he then? Who was he anymore?
Sniffling, he took the wig off and wiped away the makeup. Then he tossed the suit aside and picked up his Cardinal uniform. Cape clipped on, he donned his mask.
For the first time, the image on the reflection looked incomplete.
His eyes fell towards the lipstick. He applied it again.
There. Like the final screw for the machine, he was complete.
“I’m Cardinal.” He declared.
This time, his voice echoed sure and certain. And he could almost cry at how easy it was. Cardinal, not Cardinal Man or Cardinal Woman, just Cardinal.
Inhaling, he took off the domino mask.
“I’m Terry.” He said.
Te-ri. It rolled off the tongue naturally. The ‘ri’ sounded more pleasant compared to the enunciation in “Te-ren-ce”.
Sitting heavily on the bed, he ran a hand through his hair.
Damn, he was a mess, wasn’t he?
His phone rang with a message. Checking it, he saw a text from Wally asking if he was down for a movie night.
He glanced at the mirror, saw his puffy eyes and the traces of makeup he’s yet to properly remove.
‘Can’t make it tonight. Got research to do.’ He texted.
Silencing his messages after that, he opened Google. Google usually has all the answers, right?
He typed into the search bar ‘what if I’m not a boy or a girl’.
He hesitated, finger hovering uncertainly over the screen.
Wow, he laughs in the face of a psychotic clown and quips against an immortal who wants to commit mass genocide, but this was what truly frightened him?
He stared at the discarded Kevlar suit. For a second, he could’ve sworn he saw a bat symbol glaring at him from the chest.
Resolve steeled, he pressed ‘search’.
“I need to tell you guys something.” Terry said.
Dinner was over but he waited until dessert so he could stuff himself with Alfred’s cookies in hopes it’d calm his nerves. All it did was leave chocolate stains and crumbs he stiffly wiped away with his sleeve (Alfred shot a disapproving look at that).
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Dick asked, concerned etched on his face (strong because of his empathy, never in spite of it). Of course, he’d be concerned. No doubt he’s noticed how tense Terry has been but was too kind to call him out on it.
Bruce nudged a plate towards him, one with the last cookie, as a wordless gesture of comfort.
Usually, he and Dick would engage in a Battle Royale over who gets the last one but tonight, they spared it for him because his dad and brother were so stupidly considerate like that.
‘See? They love you, they care for you. It’s okay. They’ll accept you.’ He told himself.
Taking a deep breath, he told them.
“I’m non-binary.” He, no, they confessed. “I prefer they/them pronouns and I wanna change my name to Terry Min-Joon Wayne.”
They held their breath as their eyes widened. Now, more than ever, they wished they had Megan’s telepathy to help get a read on them.
But they didn’t need it.
The understanding smile on Dick’s face, Bruce’s warm hand on his shoulder and the crinkle at the corner of Alfred’s eyes told them everything they needed to know.
“Terry Min-Joon Wayne. It’s a good name.” Bruce rumbled.
“Thanks I-” they rapidly blinked past the tears of relief (they could breathe, they hadn't realized they had such a heavy weight on their chest until now). “I found out that my egg donor was Korean and that was her dad’s name. I figured it’d work.”
“So this is what’s been eating you these past few months?” Dick asked.
“Yeah.” They admitted.
“Well, I’m whelmed. Gosh, did you really think we wouldn’t accept you?” Dick asked.
Terry shrugged. “It wasn’t just that. I mean, it kinda was but then there was the whole Batman thing too because of the ‘man’ at the end and- god, saying it out loud like that, it sounds stupid.” They groaned.
“Oh, Terry.....it doesn’t matter. That mantle doesn’t define your place in this family. You’re my child, simple as that.” Bruce said.
“Just c’mere.” Dick said, hugging them. “You’re my sibling and we’ll always be family, got that?”
This time, they let the tears fall freely.
Before, they were Project Beyond. Created to replace Batman if he should perish; destroy him should he turn from the light.
Now, they are Terry Min-Joon Wayne. Bruce Wayne’s child and Dick Grayson’s nibling.
They wouldn’t grow up to be Batman. But it’s okay. Because they were Cardinal. A different name that carries out the same mission as Batman, that protects the same people as him.
They were a person, they had an identity and they had a family.
And those three things carried more value than any legacy in the world.