Chapter Text
Something was wrong with his brother.
This is something that Damian Wayne had realized some time ago—quite frankly, everyone in his family had something. But this was different. Well, everything with his blood brother seemed to be different, so his issues may be different as well.
For the past week, ever since classes began once more, his brother seemed more… quiet than what Damian had learned to be the usual. His brother wasn’t home often, but when he was, his typing was loud and chuckles echoed across the manor. But now he was… quiet. It surprised Damian, making him think, if only for a second, that his brother had the Wayne Stealth Genes. But he found out that wasn’t the case a couple nights ago when his brother cursed so loud that even the bats inside the cave made a ruckus.
He stubbed his pinky toe, apparently.
Currently, Damian was on the courtyard, near the garden. He had intended on making a portrait of Ace and the cow, valiantly fighting a grinning dragon under a scorched kingdom… but he found himself distracted. Over, on the manor’s rooftop, right above one of the attic’s windows, sat his brother. Dressed in clothes so dull he’d camouflage with the manor’s gray without issue, only being noticeable thanks to his brightly colored hair.
Damian had overheard Tim and Duke speak about what could’ve made his brother so mad—-a girl, idiotically. A pink poison that had tainted his brother’s heart in a second. Damian didn’t understand, not yet as Alfred would usually say, but he was sure that even if he understood, he’d still find it idiotic.
He glanced at the empty canvas before him, and sighed. At this pace, he’d never start this new painting.
Tired of his brother’s moping, Damian decided it was time to fix everything himself. And running towards the manor’s outside, climbing to the top expertly, he made his way towards his brother. He was sitting right there, idly scrolling through his phone with a pair of cheap headphones—the kind with cables—-with a cigarette stuck between his lips. Damian found himself thankful that they were out in the open, that way, he wouldn’t have to sniff the scent of death so closely.
Walking up to him, Damian spoke. “Brother.” Silence, the music must be loud. “Brother!”
His brother frowned for a second, blinking twice as he turned to face Damian. Even while he was sitting, he was taller than the boy.
“Huh…?” his brother paused the music he was listening to before pulling out his earphones. “Damian?” He glanced around as if expecting someone else to be there. “What are—what’s up… buddy?” He blinked. “Need anythin’?”
Now that he was here, in front of his brother, in front of the man he almost murdered, Damian found himself at a loss for words. But shaking his head inwardly, he tried to find the courage to talk to him—softly, of course. He was trying his best to connect with him, after all.
So he asked softly: “Why are you moping, brother?!” Damian crossed his arms. “It’s been a week, and you keep loudly sitting in some corner while scrolling through that devilish cellphone. Forgive my words, but it’s grating.”
Softly, really. Damian was nothing but kind lately.
“Sorry…” his brother blinked. “I’m just thinking, yeah?” As if realizing how harsh his words must’ve sound, his brother cleared his throat. “I’ll go to my room.”
Damian frowned. If his brother left now, he’d keep being sad for god knows how long, and Damian couldn’t handle that. Sure, he may find it annoyingly distracting, but he understood—if vaguely—why. He was worried.
“Don’t.” Damian shook his head. “Let’s fix whatever is wrong, shall we?” Stepping in front of his brother, Damian plopped down with his legs and arms crossed. “So speak: What is troubling you, brother?”
His brother stared at him for a good minute—Damian counted—and after seemingly debating whether to leave or stay, he let out a deep, soulful sigh from his chest. “It’s nothing…” he began. “I just fucked—messed up.” He glanced up at Damian. Not at his eyes, but his forehead, as if eye contact was too much right now. “It ain’t deep. I’m just being dramatic, don’t worry.”
Damian frowned. “If it’s not serious, then why are you staring at nothing while looking at your phone?” he scoffed in what he’d call kindness. “Whatever it is you did? It cannot be so catastrophic that you’d wallow in pain like this.” Inwardly, Damian bit his cheek. He wasn’t good with words, not with normal people anyway, so he had to try better. “I’m sure you can fix it,” he nodded with confidence. “If not, then why bother? Just let it go and move on. Surely you can manage that, brother.”
He was his brother, after all. If Damian could handle being raised by assassins, his childhood robbed and his hands forever stained, and if Bruce could handle the pain of losing his children every other month, then his brother—-his blood brother, the one he now truly saw as his thanks to nothing but red—-could handle anything as well.
But you? You were shitting your pants. Just why did this murder child talk to you?
You were being willfully obtuse, of course. In his eyes you could see the same validation you had carved for your entire life. The child, so small his cheeks were as plum as cherries, just wanted to connect with his brother—but for fuck’s sake, he almost killed you! And before that, you had been nothing but a stain on the wall. You wouldn’t be mean, of course not, Damian was just a kid.
An evil kid, but a kid nonetheless.
“Don’t worry, Damian.” You strained a smile. “I’ll manage.”
You knew you would.
After the Minnie fiasco, you had spent the last week beating yourself up. Just what were you thinking? Getting so violent over a nobody’s comment. It was embarrassing, but you couldn’t help it in the moment. What they said had struck a deep, insecure part of yourself, the one that truly understood how awfully you still desired your father’s love. Regardless, that show of volatility had made Minerva see just how little you had truly changed, and that hurt.
It was strange, really. You hadn’t thought about her for years, not even thinking too much after the breakup. But seeing her so happy and carefree made you think that, maybe, you were better too. That the years had changed you as much as they did her. And being honest, she was pretty damn hot, too—call yourself superficial, but God… you wanted to try and make her fall in love with you again. Both because she was hot, and to prove something to yourself—-that you did grow. That now, even after all the bullshit, you still deserved someone like her.
You just needed a plan, right? Over the years, you managed to make some very ‘good’ friends through nothing but your wits. Surely, you could conquer her heart the same way, right? You just had to show that you’ve changed.
Suddenly, your eyes landed on Damian’s form—-he was saying something, his lips were moving, but all you could focus on was just how young he looked.
Giving your family a chance counts as changing, right? And if you brought someone as young as Damian, taking into account that Minerva had always loved kids… maybe you had a shot. A pretty nice shot, and it was just your luck that Damian wanted to spend some time with you.
A betraying grin curved up your lips. “Hey, you don’t have any homework today, right?” Damian said no. “Wanna go to the mall?” The child’s eyes widened uncharacteristically, but you didn’t let go. “C’mon, we can watch a movie together or somethin’. I just need to meet a friend first, alright?”
Thank God he agreed.
After texting Minerva—-you managed to get her number back at the party—you both agreed to meet at Gotham Mall sometime later, not mentioning anything about Damian quite yet. Once she saw him, you’d tell her that he insisted on coming, and if Damian contradicted you? Well, kids lied all the time, didn’t they? And you knew, deep down, that this was an awful thing to do. Using a child’s innocence for your own selfish benefit.
But you needed a win, just one victory and you’d feel perfectly alright for a while. So, you reasoned that this would be Damian’s payment for his sins against you. He did offer his help to fix things, didn’t he?
Such is life.
Once the both of you got ready, you led Damian out of the manor. He seemed surprised at the fact that once you made it out, you simply… stood still—you were waiting for the tourist bus to come by, of course, but his minuscule gesture of confusion was enough to make you feel that this was worth it. The kid didn’t struggle a day in his life, he could handle getting used.
After a beat of silence, Damian spoke from your left. “Brother…” you glanced down at him, seeing how his eyes locked down onto the pavement. “Do you not have a car?”
“Nah,” you shook your head. “Don’t have a licence either, so it’d just be a waste.”
You did want a car, one that purred once you turned the key, the kind that roared at high speeds… but those were expensive, and for now, public transport did its job just fine. Sasha’s uncle let you ride her car every now and then too, so it wasn’t so bad. But Damian didn’t need to know any of that, right now, you were pushing your fear down in favor of having—reconecting with Minerva.
Once the bus came by, the both of you walked inside. The ride to Gotham Mall wouldn’t be too long, you’d just have to jump onto the subway to get there faster. And on the way, you went over your plan.
Minerva had always loved kids, having spent a nice childhood with her little siblings, often volunteering at the local library to read stuff to children, the likes. Bringing Damian with you—pretending you couldn’t help but indulge your little brother—could earn you some points with her. You’d have to keep Damian close, but not too close that her attention would stray from you, maybe send him to play in the arcade or whatever, it didn’t matter, he just had to be on the back of her mind. The hard part would be showing that you changed…
Because surely, you did change, right…? As you debated on the topic, your mind wandered back to middle school.
You remembered how you met her. It had been January, eighth grade and fresh from vacation, Joey, Sasha, and you had decided to skip class in favor of having a smoke at the back of the school—-right in front of the cameras, you remembered with shame, wanting to get scolded so your Father would see you.
“Okay, fine!” Sasha rolled her eyes from the spot right in front of you, long hair dyed black, frizzled and striped in colors to resemble a tiger’s fur print. “I do hate her a little bit, but she’s the one who failed me!” She groaned. “I literally could’ve made like, an extra project or something to make up for everything, but no! I had to come back on Christmas! Fuck her.”
She was one year younger than the both of you. At the time, you didn’t really like her, finding her too whiny and loud for your taste. The only reason you hung out with her was because she had been friends with Joey first.
Still, you shrugged. “She’s a bitch—” not really, the teacher was just doing her job. “They’re firing her soon anyway.” Flicking your head to the side, pushing your bangs away from your eyes. You weren’t quite as extravagant as Sasha, far from it, but your aesthetics did have similarities. “I saw her crying in her car,” you explained. “And the principal called her to his office on wednesday.” A shrug.
You remember glancing at Joey from the corner of your eyes—not looking at him, that would imply interest. Rather, paying attention to what he’d say—like you and Sasha, he had a cigarette between his fingers. But his hadn’t been smoked or flicked in a while.
“It’ll be fine,” he looked up at the both of you, braced teeth showing in a soft, reassuring smile. Unlike your hair and Sasha’s, his was almost buzzed. Tight curls forming right on his scalp in a way you couldn’t quite understand at the time, while his summer-kissed skin reminded you of copper under the morning’s sun. “You still have seven months to make up for it.” He finally flicked his cigarette before forcing it between his lips and taking a drag out of it. “Worst case scenario, we help you study. She grades mostly from tests, right?”
His clothes were always simple, a stamped shirt you gifted him, a pair of jeans that, though washed, remained dirty by the bottom—yellowed inwards, right where his ankles met—no jewelry in sight, besides a single thick, iron stubbled, leather bracelet he bought. Back then, you didn’t even know his real name, he was just him. Joey.
“Yeah,” Sasha nodded. “It’s so unfair.”
“Better than Mrs. Morrington.” You shrugged with sass, even though you were failing as much as she was. But you hadn’t put your heart in it. “I swear she has somethin’ against me.”
Frankly, you hated them both back then. They weren’t popular, they didn’t bring anything but contempt towards you—an emo faggot, with a careless mimicry of eyelaner on your eyes, hair long, but enough to confirm your gayness. Part of the basketball team, if only benched. At the time, you remembered wanting to blend in with the rest, seeing your friends as nothing but placeholders. Craving the attention of your well-adjusted peers, the ones that would make fun of Joey for being darker in skin than anyone else.
And she became your door into their world.
She barged into your world, running into the gray hellhole your friends and you were smoking into. Prickling tears in her eyes, colorful pins on her cloud-like hair. She hadn’t even noticed the three of you, buckling under the weight of her own knees right by a tree the school had planted to seem eco-friendly. Her plump lips half-open, begging for air. Dressed in a modified version of the uniform, complete with colorful, dumb socks that you couldn’t help but snort at inwardly.
“Is she okay?” Joey asked.
You shrugged at the time, choosing to take a long, hearty drag from your cigarette instead as you leaned back against the wall. Whatever she was going through? You didn’t care. Not at first, much like you didn’t truly care about your friends at the time. To you, they were only placeholders. Nothing but people to waste your time with.
But then, Minerva herself walked up to you all. Puffy-eyed, her head lowered lightly to the ground as if her neck was too tired to hold it up, all the while she stared at you—not individually, but you thought so at the time—through her eyelashes, with her arms crossed under her chest. “Hey,” she greeted in a mutter, glancing away in hesitation before staring back up at everyone. “I—-can I have a cigarette?” Her voice, so light and childish at the time, cracked. “I need it right now.”
Not thinking much about the matter, and after glancing at Joey for approval, you nodded.
“Brother!” Damian suddenly spoke, pulling you out of your thoughts with masked urgency. “Our stop is here, I believe.”
Right, you blinked a few times to shake off the memories.
The Diamond District had always been varied in its contents, from clothing stores, food stands, through bars, some schools, and a bunch of hospitals—-it never truly stuck to a theme. Its only real landmarks had always been the Gotham Mall right at the center, and the Iceberg Lounge off to the edge. But you knew the place by heart. No matter how many stores open and closed, no matter the myriad renovations buildings went through, you’d always know your way only by the smell alone. If it began smelling like weed and sewer water, you weren’t far from the bars. But if it smelled like popcorn and that odd, artificial scent that came with women’s perfume, you were near the mall.
And as you made your way out of the subway and towards the mall, you grabbed Damian’s hand—if only for show, in case Minnie was outside to see you—-thankfully he didn’t protest. But he didn’t seem quite comfortable either.
Minnie had texted you not long ago, asking to meet right outside Big Belly Burger. On the ground floor, even though the food court was on the fifth. Still, you complied once you got inside, near that diabetic place, were many romantic-adjacent-to-middle-schoolers stores you had taken her to back in the day.
And when you arrived? God, was she beautiful. She hadn’t noticed you yet, busy glancing up to the crowd and back down at her phone as if waiting impatiently for your arrival. Today, she was dressed in some sort of short, white dress-thing that zipped up at the front. Stylized with a pastel pink ruffled and puffy-sleeved button up underneath, with a matching skirt to puff up the main dress, and embroidered pantyhose that covered her delightful legs. Today, her hair had been simply shaped naturally, in a cloud-like, brown afro that she must’ve taken time to style nonetheless.
How did you lose her? You didn’t want to remember, but God, did you fuck up.
Pulling up Damian as softly as you could, you smiled at her. “Hey!” A grin curved up your lips. “Sorry for the wait, babe. I had to bring this rascal along.” Jerking your ching down at Damian, and tightening lightly your grip on his hand, you tried to keep him as docile as possible. “He nagged me to come,” you explained to both her and Damian, hoping the psychopath would follow your scheme in exchange for what little, begrudging attention you’d give him. “Couldn’t say no, y’know?”
Upon seeing you, she seemed… taken aback, but once she saw Damian, so small and—frankly—chubby-cheeked, her expression softened. “It’s okay,” a soft smile curbed up her lined lips. “My sister wanted to come, too,” she lied. “But she had homework to do. Maybe next time she can come.” She looked at Damian with those wide, deep eyes of hers.
And subconsciously, you pulled Damian lightly, as if prying him away from her eyes. For your own sake, to make her focus on you..
Hurriedly you offered: “Let’s go to the arcade!” You nodded vaguely upwards, before forcing yourself to look down at Damian. “There’s plenty of games there, y’know?” You gulped inwardly. “Bet you can’t beat my top score.”
Minnie would see through your deceit, of course. She’d know that you were trying to get Damian off your back to spend time with her—but, she’d understand. God knows how many times you had to help her babysit back when you were dating.
But Damian stared up at you. His hand on yours, eyes so calculating and… uncannily steady, that you thought, if only for a second, that he’d pull out a concealed knife to stab you again.
But he didn’t do that. He simply glanced at Minnie, then back up at you, before finally nodding. “Alright,” he said. “I shall conquer you, brother.”
Inwardly, you called victory.
Going up to the first floor, Minnie, you, and Damian walked up to the arcade. And after giving the devil some coins and bills to spend, you gestured for Minnie to follow you up to the last floor—out the food court and towards the top parking lot, where you could finally have a smoke to calm your nerves from being with Damian for such a long time. You were trying to show Minnie that you had changed, yes, but you had your vices still. So you made sure to buy her some food.
You’d pay your friends later.
Knowing it was best to acknowledge, if comically, what happened last week, you lit a cigarette as nonchalantly as you could manage. “So I fucked up,” you nodded more for her than yourself, but you quickly feigned guilt. “Seriously, though. I don’t know what happened back then—” you took a drag from your cigarette, making sure to stand against the wind so the smoke wouldn’t reach Minnie. “It’s a sore topic, y’know?” You forced yourself to gulp, walking with her towards the railing from which, if you jumped, your end would come. “I mean, I don’t know the guy and he comes up with that shit?” You looked at her, quickly easing your expression once more. “It… It brought memories. I’m sorry.”
As if. The only reason you reacted to that nobody’s comment was because it struck too close to home. Even now, you wanted to beat him to a pulp—Sasha should’ve stayed, she’d keep you grounded no matter what.
After a beat of silence, Minerva took a deep breath. “I’ts fine, really.” You both leaned against the railing. “I overreacted, too.” She bit her lower lip. “Wicked aim, though. I mean—for you to miss the shot?” At the time, you were aiming at the guy’s head. “I think you’d make a nice player still.” She chuckled. “I heard of your game during The Burn. You’re a bit rusty, but with a bit of practice, I think you can bring Gotham High’s team to the nationals.”
She took the bait.
“Nah!” You chuckled. “It’s too late for me. Coach doesn’t accept seniors right now—-let alone super seniors.” Another drag from your cigarette, this one slower before you blew out the smoke. “I’d bring us the win for sure, though.” You grinned cockily.
From her lips, a soft, melodic chuckle escaped. The kind that used to fill your stomach with butterflies, reminding you of a pinkish dawn. “Maybe you can join our team next year.” Minnie smiled. “Trust me, our team is in desperate need of a good player—”
“Your brother didn’t make the cut?” You asked.
“He did,” She sighed. “But he forgot everything you taught him.” She shook her head. “He plays like Donner used to,” looking up at you, she smiled. “Even Mom’s disappointed.”
Her mother had always favored the men in the family, going as far as to treat you with an odd amount of care back in the day. “Shit,” you chuckled., letting the silence linger for a second. “Maybe I can come over sometime ?” Another drag from your cigarette, trying to appear uninterested enough that it’d be normal for exes. “Bet I’d bring my baby prince Jonah up to shape.” You joked, using the nickname you had used to tease the boy in the past. “Slam dunk!” You mimicked doing one.
Through her eyelashes, her eyes softened. A teasing curve forming on her lips, as if challenging you to the task—testing your skill. “I think he can win.” She tilted her head. “He may not be as good as before, but he’s still a better player than you, Wayne.”
You laughed.
After chatting for a couple more hours, you made the conscious decision to end your meeting. Asking Minnie to accompany you to pick Damian up—the demon had somehow formed a cult of the blade on the arcade—and after picking him up, you bid your goodbyes. Making sure to buy Damian some ice cream later in case he asked about your promised hangout. That’d be enough, you thought. You had hung onto less, so surely, a kid as odd, and privileged as him could handle worse, and if he made a fuss? Well, psychotic and awful as he was, you knew Damian was still a kid. Pretending to see a movie on the family-shared subscription would be enough to confuse him.
Truth is, right now you didn’t care about connecting with any member of your family. All you wanted was to prove—to Minnie, surely—that you were a better person than you were back during teenagehood. Prove, sometimes you could fixate on that concept, hanging onto it like an untrained dog did a bone, it didn’t matter what you had to prove, as long as you were correct. From proving that your family didn’t care about you back in middle school to them, through proving it to yourself for your escape, and right now, to proving that you were better off now. That your family issues were long in the past, to know that today, Joey wouldn’t die because of you. Deep down, you knew otherwise. This trait was the one thing your mother, from the Vale name, had left you. This endless need to prove something.
Fuck her, was what your worst thoughts asked you to think of her. Not that she mattered anymore, you had spent more without than with her.
School had been going fine, amidst your sudden mopping. Not really out of choice—you told yourself—but simply to finally graduate along with Sasha. In the meantime, you had called Minerva almost daily to chat about just anything. College woes you couldn’t relate to, friendship shit you didn’t care about beyond picturing yourself and Sasha as better friends for her, and the usual nothing-burger in regards to things she enjoyed. All in all, things were going well enough. Damian didn’t even bother to talk to you again, which you thanked. Aside from the odd hangout with Tim, Stephanie, Cassandra, and Duke, your days had gone nicely.
Until today.
Out of nowhere, Minnie had asked you to hangout within a couple hours right by Old Gotham, near the library. The issue was that today, the tourists buses were out-of-order in commemoration of one of Gotham's largest tragedies. Luckily—maybe—for you, Dick Grayson was visiting.
You had heard him and Alfred mumble about… something down at the kitchen. Whatever it was, you didn’t care about hearing it. You just needed a ride. Knowing Grayson had been acting oddly clingy, far from how he had acted back in the day before Jason arrived, you took your chance. Walking down to the kitchen, dressed in oversized pajamas, trying to make him recall the days when the both of you were close. Hoping that a sense of guilt would crawl up his spine, through his throat and down his tummy. You prayed it worked, missing a second date—hangout—-would be a bad look for you.
Walking into the kitchen, right after Alfred left, you loudly approached the fridge. Dick seemed to have noticed your presence, judging by the way his head tilted lightly towards you before going back to mixing the dough. Opening the fridge, you spoke. “Hey,” you couldn’t be too needy, even when a distant part of you wanted to just so you could make up for the fact you were trying to use him. “Whatcha doin’?” You asked, picking a bottle of yogurt from the fridge before closing it, and shaking the bottle’s contents. “I mean you’re mixing something, but… y’know.”
His broad shoulders seemed to relax, his head briefly tilting from one side to the other as if trying to relieve building tension, before he glanced back at you through the corner of his eye with one soft smile. “I’m making cookies. Thanks for asking,” he chuckled. “Alfred’s trusting me with the kitchen for once, but only because I just need to mix this.” He jerked his chin down towards the dough. “I was thinking of adding some more chocolate chips, but…” he paused for a second, waiting for you to… speak? Maybe. You weren’t sure. But since you didn’t, he continued. “He’d notice, and I don’t want to get scolded today.” His eyes went back to the bowl.
All things considered, this could be a perfect opening. Back in the day, you used to make cookies with Alfred whenever you had nothing else to do—it had been a way of coping, at the time. Seeing your family enjoy the pastries you managed to not fuck up—and you did know how to tweak the recipe without him getting too angry. Maybe if you helped Dick, he’d be… malleable enough to give you a ride.
So, you shook your head with a grin. “Nah, man.” You walked up to a cabinet nearby. “The trick is to keep the extra chips inside the cookie,” easily, you picked a jar full of chocolate chips from the cabinet, closing it before walking towards Dick. “If Alfred eats one and notices—just blame it on me.” Placing the jar down next to the bowl, you forced yourself to look him in the eyes. Those deep, ocean-colored eyes that pulled you in like an abyss, freezing your spine as if you were up on the Antarctic sea. “Bet’s some other way to hide it, but I’m not a cook.”
Dick’s eyes softened, if slightly. “As long as we can get some more sugar,” he picked up the jar. “It gets hard on patrol y’know? Jason gets cranky without sweets.”
Huh?
“Patrol?” You couldn't help but ask.
Grayson’s eyes widened right before he chuckled. “Interviews and everything, inside joke,” he explained. “Dad’s about to launch a new batch of phones, so we’re all doing interviews, shootings, and everything ahead of time.” Opening the jar, he took a handful of chocolate chips in his calloused hands before dropping them onto the dough. “It’s an economic line—-according to Tim, W.E. won’t make a profit at all besides sponsors. But I think it's worth it…” leaving the jar open, he continued mixing. “Maybe you could join us? I mean—-you’re family, after all.”
All of a sudden, walking all the way to Old Gotham didn’t sound like such a bad idea.
Trying to process everything, you went point by point on your head.
The fact that your family had inside jokes didn’t grate you as much as it would’ve done in the past, but calling media shit ‘patrol’? Either your family was deeply unfunny, or you were truly missing some insane context. Whatever the case was, you suspected it wasn’t actually funny—and following that, what did Jason, of all people, with his disgusting face, have to do with that stuff? He lived basically off the radar. His last appearance on the tabloids had been months ago in one of Bruce’s galas. Did he have a change of heart or something? Now, you did know, if vaguely, that Tim had some hand on what happened at Wayne Enterprises. Back in the day you had been jealous, but after thinking about it further your envy had banished. What bothered you was the fact that Grayson had invited you to these… media hellscapes.
As far as you were aware, your existence had become a sudden meme on the internet. One side joking about the useless son of Wayne, while the other asked for a comment from your family about your crashout—and the cowards who were too afraid of believing in anything, but they didn’t matter—so why would you make an official, PR-approved appearance under the Wayne name?
You shook your head inwardly. None of that mattered right now, you could tell Sasha about it later.
“I dunno,” you shrugged, taking a sip from your yogurt. “I don’t think Gotham’s ready for me—” you grinned. “They gotta turn it up beforehand.” For years, you had wished to be as famous as everyone else, if only to be closer to them. But after the… fiasco that had been your crashout, you appreciated your small fame. The kind that only people who had met you could give.
That, and having the weight of Wayne fame on your shoulders would fuck things with Minnie. You didn’t question why you hadn’t been swarmed with DM’s and the like.
“By the way…” you added after a second of silence. “I, uhh…” biting your bottom lip, for show and for comfort, you looked down at the counter. “I’m going out for a date—-” like all interactions, words were important. If Dick wanted to play big brother, then this would hopefully make him fall. “Her name’s Minnie. And… God,” you chuckled. “We’re trying to rekindle our relationship, but shit. I’m nervous.” You were, and you were trying to get back together with her. But you were trying to sell a gemini fantasy, where both sides wanted to be close once more. “I mean, It’s been so long, and it feels like I’m meeting someone new. But at the same time, there’s these little things that I know about her.” Looking away to the side, with a sheepish, dreamy grin, you sighed. “I don’t want to fuck it up.”
You had learned, a long time ago, that by opening yourself up like this—not deep enough to scare—people would become more… open to your questions and demands. It brought them a false sense of familiarity, making them think of you as a close friend. And that expectation set upon them would, more often than not, make them yours.
It never lasted, of course. But it was enough for the short-term. And with Dick, vaguely knowing his long-history of failed relationships, you were confident it would work.
Yet, he stayed silent for a couple seconds, his hand sloppy in its mixing as his eyes blanked. You failed—shit, you thought. If he got put off by that, then not only would you lose your ride, but also whatever closeness you somehow scraped from your near-death experience. What could you do to fix it? Switching topics wouldn’t work, it’d leave that thorn inside him. Maybe pretending everything was a bust and coming back tomorrow as if nothing happened? That usually worked on others, for some reason.
“Don’t worry, ba—bro.” Dick smiled suddenly. “You won’t fuck it up,” he turned to you. “If she’s interested, then she’ll fight, too. Call me corny, but you just gotta be yourself. And if it doesn’t work out? Then…” Shrugging, he began mixing properly again. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
Fuck, you sighed in relief inwardly, glancing at the still open jar of chocolate chips. “I hope you’re right, man.” You chuckled. “If things go well… maybe you can meet her?” Looking back up at him—not at his eyes, but close enough. “I think you’d like her.” Too close, you realized. You misjudged your closeness with him on that comment.
“Don’t fuck it up, then,” he teased. “Otherwise I’ll keep wondering about just who stole my—your heart.” He laughed.
Realizing you won the second part of your scheme, your grin widened. Time for the third part—asking him for a ride. Truth is, you could technically spend on a taxi or an uber, but that would mean asking one of your friends for money so you would treat Minnie to something nice, and you already owed them, collectively, around $316.
After Dick closed the jar, you picked it up to place it back inside its spot on the cabinet. And soon, the both of you began shaping the cookies—that is, after Dick spent a good hour kneading the dough. Whatever thoughts about his biceps and sweat surfaced on your mind, you chose to push them down—making sure that very few chocolate chips showed on the top and bottom of them, lest Alfred’s rage face any one of you. And with your hands sticky with dough, and your pajamas mildly stained with flour, you finally asked.
“Hey,” you began, with one small ball of dough rolling on your hands before you pressed it down onto the floured counter. “Uhh… you know how today’s the anniversary of that earthquake?" Dick nodded with a hum. “Right, so. I was wondering if you could give me a ride to O.G.?” Your eyes didn’t stray from your work. “I mean, there ain’t no buses going around right now… Alfred’s too busy to give me a ride,” a lie, long ago, you had asked him to never give you rides. “And… Listen, if you can’t, it’s fine. I just really want to see this girl—I can look for a taxi or something.”
Part of you, a very ugly, unkind side, knew it would work. And by the heavens, for once in your life, you were right about something positive in regards to your family.
“Sure!” Dick said too quickly. “Let’s finish this first, though. How long before your date?”
“About two hours,” you hummed. “Plenty of time to eat some mac-n-cheese.”
Fuck your life, your upbringing, and your mother. But God, did those things teach you how to win. The only miracle was that these tactics were finally working on your family.
After putting all the cookies inside the oven, you and Dick went your separate ways to shower and change clothes. You made sure to wear your medium best, with animal-print, mildly expensive clothes that anyone could afford, accompanied by a nice pair of shoes, and jewelry that’d tell Minnie you could afford her, but without being overwhelming. Both because you were only rich in name, and to keep everything casual since it was only a second date. And after drawing yourself in cologne, you met Dick outside the manor.
His car was, frankly, nothing to write home about. It seemed to be the kind he must use to pass as a regular citizen on Blüdhaven, since he worked as a flatfoot, a cop, it made sense to keep a low profile. But still, back in the day? This old thing would’ve been the cream of the crop. Anyone with eyes would know that a car like this, with proper care, would be lusted after no matter the race—even if it was reserved for exhibitions.
Once Dick dropped you off at Old Gotham, you took in the sight to quell your nerves. Unlike the Diamond District, this place looked old all around. Sure, at this time of the day, the far-away neon signs faintly lit the brick-lined buildings. But the gargoyles judging your every move, and the worn, graying look of the buildings, gave you that uneasy feeling that only this district could give. This district had always been one you rarely visited, thanks to its lack of bars and general creepy look. But you knew thanks to your online friend, Conner Kent, that the look of this side of the city was what people imagined when thinking of Gotham.
It was in the name, you thought. Gotham. It had vampires in Bats, Frankenstein-like monsters in Grundy, hot chicks all around, and with rich, mysterious heartthrobs in your family.
Oddly enough, Old Gotham was the perfect spot for a date, as even though neon lights tried to drown the place around the edges, the cacophony of colors seemed to drown against the simplicity of a warm, oil-born orange. After absorbing the atmosphere, you walked up to the library’s entrance—since barely anyone your age hung around these spots, especially today, then Minnie was sure to spot you from a mile away.
God was she quick.
“Hey, stranger!” She chirped from your right, making your head snap towards her form—today, her hair shaped like a moon, with pigtails fluffed into stars—as rosy as ever, such a contrast to your own style. “I’m surprised you’re early,” she chuckled.
“What can I say?” you shrugged with a grin. “I’m a changed man.” You joked, but you were sure the concept would stay on her mind, waiting for confirmation. “Wanna go grab some snacks?” You jerked your chin vaguely. “I know a coffee shop that’s always open.”
She nodded. “Lead the way.”
Hiding your hands inside your pockets nonchalantly, you began leading Minerva towards the coffee shop. And as you glanced at her laid-back stance, your mind couldn’t help but wander to the past again.
You remembered, surprisingly vaguely, how the both of you got together. After maybe a month or so of chatting through text, and sharing some smokes with your stand-by trio, you had all decided to spend some quality time after school. Joey had been hesitant at first, you remembered. He had never done well with properly hanging you with someone outside your small circle.
Sasha’s heels, horribly uncomfortable for the walk that awaited you, echoed through the pavement. That day, she had a small purse hanging from her left arm, while a vape—so odd to see at the time, and marketed to smokers trying to quit—rested on her right hand. She dressed a lot like you did in the present, really, but with a touch of rainbow colors that would easily scare the elderly into a satanic panic. “---and I’m gonna be so honest,” she whined. “I like her, like… a lot. But she’s so clingy. It’s insane.”
You were walking on a triangle formation, with Joey leading, Sasha on the far right, Minnnie on the middle, and you on the left. And glancing back at you, Joey chuckled. “Give her a chance!” He laughed. “She had the nerve to approach you, yeah? So have the nerve to keep it up if you want somethin’ with her.” A shrug from him. “I mean, time’s fleeting. So fuck it up as much as you have to—-but try, at least.”
Minnie had her arm locked onto yours, but you didn’t quite reciprocate. Choosing instead to keep your hands inside your pockets. “Don’t start,” you rolled your eyes. “The girl’s annoying. If she—” Sasha, “Wants to ignore her? It’s her deal.” You smirked at Minnie. “And between you and I? She has more fails than wins.”
From your side, Minnie chuckled. You didn’t remember what she said, but you did remember the odd, tired look Joey sent your way.
In the present, Minerva and you had already taken your seats. And after ordering, and right after starting the meaningless talk again, your mind betrayed you by continuing the memory.
The three of you had arrived at a party, the small kind, full of kids—and some creepy adults—dressed in fishnets, long-sleeves, and with eyeliner so sharp it’d be a joke of self harm at the time. But knowing these type of spaces by heart, the four of you carelessly walked towards a make-shift kitchen, where a bunch of high-as-kites idiots were trying to fry a bottle of deodorant. They had died a couple years later in a usual Gotham Shooting. And after grabbing a whole bottle of vodka from behind them, you all walked to the very back of the crumbling building, sitting on a no doubt infested couch without care. You weren’t posers, you thought in remembrance and humor. The only poser thing from most of your group, was that three of you had never self-harmed in a way that warranted blood.
At the time, your alcohol tolerance had been worse than now, which was strange given that it usually worked backwards—but given that you were nothing but a dumb, idiot child at the time, maybe it did make sense—still, your arm had been draped around Minnie’s shoulders, as your free hand widely gestured at nothing, with a red cup in hand as you spoke. “Dude! I swear he ain’t it!” You laughed. “I mean, he’s gonna shoot out the school? He pisses his pants when he gets a nosebleed.”
The kid you had been speaking about, Thomas—no, she had always wanted to be called Jessica.
Jessica Wilbur, a trans girl who had never gotten the chance to express herself as she had wished, who had been called countless slurs by everyone—you included—who thought she was nothing but a faggot, had threatened the entire school in hopes, maybe, of getting the help she needed. Sadly, it never came. And instead of a shooting, she had taken her own life, being mockingly mourned by everyone who had treated her as nothing, only to show the cameras that Gotham wasn’t as heartless as it may look. Deep down you knew that she would’ve fitted right into your group.
But if you hadn’t managed to help Joey, then how would you have helped her?
“For real!” Sasha sighed, taking a drag from her vape. She claimed to want to get better at the time, but you knew that she only wanted to seem like the it girl. “Still,” she shook her head. “We should like… I don’t know. Befriend her so she doesn’t kill us?” Looking back, that had been one of the signs that Sasha was, and would always be, a better person than you. In her own way, she had asked you all to try and befriend Jessica so she’d never commit whatever she had planned.
But you didn’t care, did you? All that mattered was you. And knowing that there were other edgy kids around you, plus Minnie, you played it cool. “He won’t do shit,” you said. “Half the school knows what he’s plannin’. They’ll call the police.”
“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t help.” He muttered.
Sasha, you, and Minnie turned towards Joey as you questioned. “Huh?”
Joey played dumb, and Minnie spoke. “She’s just hurt,” she explained, calling Jessica by her preferred pronouns even though two of you never cared to. “I’ve talked to her, and God—she’s a nice girl! She’s funny, kind, sassy as you guys.” A chuckle escaped her lips. “You should give her a chance. Trust me.”
Sasha, who vaguely knew your plan, and Joey, who had never truly dared to challenge you—even though you’d follow him to hell and back—-didn’t comment. So you simply nodded. “Alright,” you lied. “We’ll try.”
Try or do. The distinction was important. Try implied a sense of choice—you would all choose to give Jessica a chance—-while do, ‘we’ll do it’ implied obligation, an unintentional lack of choice. Nowadays you realize that even back then, you were mildly smart in your words, since a young Minnie wouldn’t have noticed the difference.
In the present, you spoke to Minerva. “I’m graduating in a couple of months.” You grinned. “Free from the super-senior shit. I’ve been feeling like a creep.” A chuckle escaped your lips
“Nice!” She smiled. “What’re you planning to study?”
“Journalism,” you said on instinct, even though you didn’t truly care about the subject anymore—a remnant from your mother. “It’s been on my head since I was a kid.” You sighed with humor, taking a sip of the water you bought for yourself so Minerva could have her sweet coffee. “A little secret of mine—I used to write articles ‘bout our days in school on Alfred’s typewriter.” As if.
Before joining the Waynes, you did think of pursuing the same career your mother had. But that didn’t matter anymore.
“Hey,” you whined to Minnie back at the party, all those years ago. Sasha and Joey were alone doing their own thing, mindful of leaving you and your girl alone so you could try and do your magic. “Wanna kiss?”
A simple, young request. But at that age, it carried meaning. Kissing someone on the lips meant a relationship, introducing your new—if fleeting—boyfriend to your friends. And that's what you had cared about at the time.
“Sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly. “I just…. We’ve been hanging out for so long,” about a month. “And I wanna take the next step with you.” You looked her in the eyes. “So… you wanna be my girlfriend, Minnie?”
You wanted what little status she'd give you. A chance to escape your placeholder friends, a trap door to the world of the loved. And once she said yes, you had… ‘won’.
“Why are you doing this—” in the present, Minerva spoke your name in question.
“What do you mean?” You asked.
She gestured widely at… you. “This!” She frowned. “I mean… maybe I’m the crazy one,” she chuckled without humor. “But I know you—you don’t get along with any of your siblings,” she stated. “That video of you made it clear—as you’ve always said, a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.” As if her presence, or her words, burned her, Minerva recoiled. “I… I don’t want to give that asshole any credit, but,” she called your name once more. “This isn’t you. I know it isn’t.”
“How do you know?” You asked defensively.
“I know it thanks to that,” she looked away. “I know that tone—and listen.” Her frown seemed to pain her. “I know you’ve changed, just looking at you is enough. But this? Just what are you trying to get from me?”
This bitch—no. You pushed that thought aside.
What did you want?
Just what did you, of all people, want from the girl you had hurt so horribly?
Good thing that Grayson’s stalking hadn’t crossed your radar, huh?