Chapter 1: Personajes
Chapter Text
𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚...
Bienvenidos.
Bienvenidos.
A nuestra nueva historia. Como habrás leído, está historia gira en el entorno del universo DC, con la familia Wayne, pero con un toque extra. Se me ocurrió durante una lectura de un nuevo envío que se ha desbloqueado, no sabía qué existía pero me encantó. Si bien no lo empleare (creo) lo haré a mi manera, entonces, vamos con nuestros personajes.
✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️
𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐞́𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐚 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐦 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝖺
𝖶𝖺𝗒𝗇𝖾
«Tenía miedo, mucho miedo y de pronto, estaba siendo nuevamente adoptada, pero amada»
•
𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞
𝖤𝗅 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗉𝗍𝖺 𝗇̃𝗈𝗌.
«Lamento todo lo que te hayan hecho, pero ya estás a salva»
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𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 (𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤) 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞-𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝗆𝖺́ 𝗀𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖺
«¿Necesitas un abrazo? Ven, deja que tu hermano mayor te lo de»
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𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞-𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝
𝖤𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗏𝗂𝖽𝗈
«¿El reemplazo tiene una hermana? Bueno no importa, ahora eres nuestra hermana»
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𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞-𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞
𝖤𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗈 𝗴𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗼
«Me llamo Tim, ya desde ahora, soy tu gemelo»
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𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚́𝐧 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞-𝐀𝐥 𝐆𝐡𝐮𝐥
𝖤𝗅 𝗉𝖾𝗊𝗎 𝖾𝗇̃𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗈
«No me agrada tener hermanos, pero eres agradable, creo que te conservaré»
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𝐀𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡
𝖤𝗅 𝖺𝖻𝗎𝖾𝗅𝗈 𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝗌
«Un mayordomo que miente es incompetente señorita, ahora puede contarme en todo momento»
•
Para esta nueva historia, se comenzará a desarrollar cuando Penélope tenía 13 años, ósea un año después de que fuera adoptada, después dará un salto en el tiempo hasta que tiene los 18 años y comienza el desmadre.
En total son 3 actos.
Acto 1: La familia de murciélagos
Acto 2: El arrepentimiento de una familia
Acto 3: La hija de Wayne
No puedo decir cuantos capítulos tendrá, porque al igual que toma mi mano, puede que me lleve más.
Sin nada más que decir, adiós.
𝐏𝐫𝐨́𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞.
Chapter 2: Chapter One: Penelope's Desire
Chapter Text
Penelope looks at the sky and thinks, When will I be able to leave here? She had arrived when she was eleven years old, and since she arrived, her life had been a hell, one she did not wish on anyone.
She was eleven years old, when a man arrived out of nowhere, at first she did not recognize him, until she soon remembered, it had been the kind man who gave her money! He had not given her food anymore, which she thought was good luck, but she understood too late that having received that shiny object had been her worst mistake. The man had arrived one day, shaking her hand and taking her with him, it had been very confusing, she could not believe it! But suddenly, she was being introduced as an Eckhart.
She never understood it, the man had mentioned a girl named Ivonne, so why was he looking for her? It had been complicated, but it was nothing, what had to happen.
Arriving at the duchy was a problem, the duke's children called her an impostor, and although she could see the hatred and disgust in the maids, none of them could do anything, not when the duke himself pointed her out as his daughter.
Everything had been fine for a while, three of her tutors were good to her (unlike the others) and since she already knew how to write and read at least a little, she began to keep a diary, where she wrote down everything she learned and the things that happened to her.
It was during the fireworks for the anniversary of the empire, when; with her total innocence, Penelope begged not to lose her place in that new house, she begged, that even if Ivonne returned, they would not return her to the street, too bad Reynold Eckhart misunderstood everything.
"It was her!" she had shouted at some point, taking Penelope by surprise, who was playing with a doll that the duke had given her. "She stole Ivonne's necklace!" I saw her!
“What?” she had asked in surprise, but no one heard her.
She tried to tell the duke that she had never entered that room, she knew that it was important for him that the memory of his lost daughter not fade, but she had not done anything wrong, she had been in the garden all day with Countess Michelle! But no one listened to her and soon, her (somewhat quiet) life disappeared.
The attacks on her person began, veiled insults from the maids, the angry screams of the second son, the cold (and strange) looks of the first son and finally, the cold treatment of the duke himself, her only consolation was that her tutors, Counts Michelle and Baron Brigman continued to treat her with affection.
In those moments, while she looks out the small window in her bedroom, she sighs and feels the urge to cry. She has to refrain from curling up and crying on the cold floor of the room. She wants to leave, she needs to leave, she can't be there anymore!
—Please, someone help me— she asks in a low voice, to no one in particular —I will be good, I will be a good girl… Please
She doesn't know if there is anyone capable of listening to her pleas, some god who will take pity on her, perhaps, even that goddess to whom her parents prayed when they were still alive.
—Follow me— a soft voice suddenly said —Come, daughter of magic, daughter of the bat
Curious, Penelope follows the call. Her calves, which have wounds inflicted by the housekeeper, drip a little blood, but she doesn't care. She follows the voice, soft and beautiful, it was like the song of a siren.
—Come, daughter of the bat… I must fulfill your wish— the voice says again
Soon, between the leafy trees of the duchy, right where the cistern the size of a small animal is, Penelope comes out. There's no one around, so she continues singing.
"Come, darling," she hears again.
There, between two huge trees, a small sphere of light awaits her, as bright as the moon, like a glimmer of hope for her.
"I'll take you to a new home."
And thirteen-year-old Penelope doesn't hesitate and takes the sphere in her hands. She is enveloped by it, leaving behind what she briefly called home or hell.
The Bat Family.
Selina Kyle had an extensive history of thefts in her life, and she certainly takes pride in them. From the years that began, until now, she could say that her critical eye became more than perfect and soon, she could recognize when a jewel was precious, perfect and exquisite, even a possible fake.
In those moments, as she left the warehouse of some poor devils that had been stolen by her, something caught her attention, it was a white flash, like a flash and she approached the alley.
It may be a foolish and risky move for someone who lives in Gotita, the city where crime never sleeps and there is a damn crazy pahyaso loose around there. Her shoes, pointy and useful to be able to hurt people who are not to her liking, make a soft echo. The alley she is going to enter is only an invitation to the worst actions, rape, kidnapping or homicide, but there is something, or someone, there.
She readies her claws, ready to pounce on whoever was there, but the glow that had faded away comes back, so strong that it stuns her quite a bit and soon, there on the ground is a small body and Selina's world stops.
It's a girl, a beautiful girl to be honest. She had dark hair (she couldn't see it very well in the dark) the little girl, very small, was wearing an enormous and exaggerated amount of fabric, and she wasn't wearing a shoe, so she could see her little sock, although she didn't know if it was white or what color it was. Selina knows she can't leave her there, she'll be easy prey for all the perverts and depraved people of Gotham, so she carefully took her in her arms and worries.
She's very light, she doesn't weigh anything, it was as if the girl had never had a proper meal, she fears that she has been a victim of neglect, so she rushes back to her home, she needed to keep her safe.
Every roof she jumped on, every alley she crossed was just a breath of fresh air, she would soon be back home, she could see the girl safe, she just had to avoid a certain bat and its shiny little bird.
When she gets home, Selina can breathe calmly, her heart, which seemed to beat at a worrying pace, becomes calm, she is home, nothing bad is going to happen and when she turns on the light, she feels satisfaction running through her veins, when she notices that…
1.- She did not fail in her prediction that she was a very small girl
2.- She was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen, in fact, she felt that she had already seen certain features of her face.
3.- That dress was too big and elaborate for such a small body.
4.- The girl had marks of beatings and torture, the latter caused her some nausea
Calmly, and nervously, she puts comfortable clothes on her, being simply a large shirt that she wore at home to be comfortable and she let her hair down from that elaborate hairstyle she had. She treated the wounds on her calves, and bandaged them, maybe, with some luck, she could get a little more information tomorrow, in the meantime, she would keep the girl with her.
"Welcome to Gotham, kitten," she whispered, looking out of her window at the dark and cloudy sky, noticing from a distance a certain figure jumping over the roofs.
Chapter 3: Chapter Two: Magenta Hair and Green Eyes
Chapter Text
It was comfortable where she was sleeping, her bed had never felt so comfortable... Her bed! Penelope jumps softly at that moment, where was she? She was aware that she was not in the duchy, the maids always woke her up with needles in their arms or throwing cold water on her. She blinks several times when an annoying light suddenly reaches her eyes and soon after, it is a soft voice that catches her attention.
"Hello kitten, it's good that you're awake," she hears.
Her attention and gaze goes to the woman who is nearby, right at the entrance with a nice black man in her arms. She was a young and very pretty woman, with black hair and light eyes, she had a soft light brown tone on her person, and honestly speaking, she looked very pretty from Penelope's point of view, although she had no one to buy her, since the noble women she knew were harpies, except for her teacher and the wife of Count Foster.
"Who are you? Where am I?" she asked with some fear. Had the duke finally sold her? She didn't know.
—Calm down kitty, you're in my house, I thought maybe you could tell me how you got here, Gotham is not the best place for a girl like you to walk around alone, much less at night— assured Selina, as she sat down next to her, right on the edge of the bed
—I don't remember, not completely— assured Penelope, then looking at the clothes she was wearing, her eyes widened even more, as if she were a deer in the spotlight.— M-My c-clothes w-what…
—Calm down!— Selina suddenly exclaimed, seeing how she was beginning to tremble— Calm down darling, I just took that dress off of you, it was too big and heavy for a girl as small as you
—Too big?— she asked surprised, that dress had been delivered by the housekeeper (who had smiled very strangely in her opinion) who had told her that the duke had sent it to her. Although Penelope later suspected that it was a lie, since the duke sent her to be punished for wearing a dress that wasn't hers and he sent twenty lashes to her calves. — But this dress is very strange
Selina laughs softly.
—It's not a dress, it's one of my shirts and it's too big for you because I use it to sleep— she assured, as she approached the dresser, where there was a plate of food —I didn't know you liked it, so I made the basics, scrambled eggs, toast and a little bacon
Penelope looks at the food that has approached her. The soft aroma of the plate makes her stomach growl, but it seems strange to her. Where was the garbage that was mostly on her plate? And the egg... Oh god! It looked incredible, it didn't have greenish parts or little white foam, even the sausages looked good.
—You're not eating, kitten? — Selina asked suddenly, but before Penelope could say anything else, she spoke again. — Sure, the rule of not accepting food from strangers… well, let me introduce myself kitten, I'm Selina Kyle, what's your name?
—Penelope, Penelope Eck…. Just Penelope — she said, correcting that slip that would have caused chaos.
Selina nods, but still, she had noticed that the sweet girl was scared about something, so she tried to sound as calm as possible.
—Come on honey, eat some.
Penelope obeys. Selina looks at her and a pain takes over her chest, the girl was so small, too small for her liking. She details her well, she has beautiful (and strange) magenta hair and pretty blue-green eyes, she had pale skin (the same one that made the scars she had seen when she changed her stand out), she had bangs that enhanced her features, but it is those same features and loose hair, which provokes a reaction in Selina. He reminded her of the third Robin, a boy between twelve and thirteen, except for his black hair and she ignored the color of his eyes.
—So delicious…
She whispers and continues eating. How long had she been without eating properly? She didn't know, but it hurt, it hurt a lot.
—Do you want more? — she asked, looking at the empty plate
—Can I? — Penelope asked doubtfully, exchanging glances between the plate in her hands and Selina herself. — Isn't it forbidden?
—No honey, it's not forbidden — she assured
He takes her in his arms, Penelope; who was too still as if she was afraid that Selina would do something to her, but that didn't matter to her. They arrived at the kitchen, Penelope could see that there were several cats, but they were all beautiful from the minor's perspective, she wanted to play with them.
The place where they were was beautiful, small, but nice, there were some words on the wall, which shone, soon they arrived at the kitchen where Selina gave her some more food, along with a glass of warm milk.
—I'll go buy some things, honey— assured Selina, while she herself began to eat what was on her plate. — So calm down, eat what you want and rest a little
Penelope nods and continues eating.
The Bat Family
It was twelve noon when Selina helped Penelope take a bath, she had felt bad when she saw the marks on the sweet girl's body, but she hurried to bathe her and soon, the younger girl was wrapped in a towel. Finding something that could fit Penelope was complicated, since she had mostly women's clothes, not girls', and it was worse because Penelope had a small and thin body, it was not until she found some shorts that no longer fit her and a pink tank top.
She had been nervous that the clothes she had looked for would fit her, so soon, when she was ready, Selina let her sleep a little longer, so she took advantage of leaving the apartment, hoping she was okay.
She walks through the streets of Gotham and looks at the clothing stores. Selina did not know what size Penelope could be, but first, she needed money. Where would she get it? And the answer came quickly.
—Honey, I want to see that dress— said someone with a sticky vovoice
Aha, there was her ticket to get some money. She walked calmly towards the man and the woman and soon, with an agile movement, she took out of that guy's pocket, a small wad of bills, Ha! The rich people and their action of carrying the bills in a very obvious way. When she turned the corner, she hurried to go to a teenage clothing store, the prices were good, they were not expensive, but they were not cheap either, a fair price, she thought to herself. The teenage clothing section is complicated from Selina's point of view, the clothes are either too short or too big, the ones that caught her attention were some pants that were on sale, 3 for 2 and they were half the price, so she took some, she debated between sizes zero and three, when soon she saw a girl the size of Penelope, not as thin as the girl, but that did not matter to her.
—Excuse me— she said, approaching the mother and the girls, who look at her with some distrust.— Could you do me a favor? It's for a gift, and I don't know the girl's size, but she looks a lot like your daughter, do you think she could…
—Oh, of course!— exclaims the mother, suddenly cutting it and taking the garment and giving it to the girl, who goes to the fitting rooms.— Do you need help with anything else?
—Yes— says Selina, thanking that the woman is one of the few who doesn't want to jump on strangers.— Blouses, I'm not good with gifts, but if I could…
The woman laughs and nods. The blouses that the lady had shown them were extra small or small sizes, and the woman even pointed out the sizes that her daughter occupied in dresses if she wanted to give one as a gift. The girl returns with the pants, and points out that the size zero pants were the ones that had fit her.
Selina nods and thanks. She pays for the clothes and heads to the underwear store. Some of the clothes are too over the top so she looks for more lively clothes and when she finds them, she frowns, why did they have to be so expensive! Frustrated, Selina quickly studies the store, there are only two cameras, at the entrance and at the counter, but there were only three employees and they were certainly incompetent, two of them were looking at their cell phones and the third had gone into a storage room.
She grabs some clothes, and goes into the fitting room. The girls' underwear doesn't have a metal tag that will help prevent any theft, so she calmly removes the tags and begins to put the underwear away among the clothes she had bought earlier. She hums quietly and when she finishes putting away the last item, which is a bra, she kindly takes the opportunity to put away two bras for herself, and comes out with two other outfits that she leaves on a hanger with a tired air, as if it were a defeat.
—Did you find anything you liked? — one of the boys asked, looking up from his phone.
—Don't you have anything more daring? — she asked calmly, pretending to look at the counter.
—Just what's there— she says, pointing to the side and looks back at her phone.
—I understand, thanks— she nods.
It wasn't hard to get out of the store, the metal bars don't even seem to really work, so Selina gets away with it. She looks at the money she still has and thinks about buying some more food, maybe, something special for the girl.
Chapter 4: Chapter Three: Selina and Bruce's Talk
Summary:
Catwoman has gone out to the streets of Gotham City, her goal is to reach where a certain bat and a certain little bird are.
Chapter Text
Penelope feels happy surrounded by those fluffy and playful kittens. The clothes she was wearing were strange from her point of view, she didn't have her dress, but she wasn't uncomfortable either, in fact, she felt great with those strange clothes.
Selina had come to her with bags of clothes and food, which smelled so delicious that it had made her stomach rumble so loud that Penelope covered her face in shame. Selina had calmly told her that it was normal, she was small and needed strength, so calmly, Penelope tasted the food and looked at the clothes, curious she let herself be dressed by the kind woman, who had cleaned her wounds, and had made some threats in a low voice.
Now, with night falling on that strange place, Penelope watched as Selina dressed in her black suit and painted her lips with a soft reddish tone.
—Now then, kitten, I have to go find someone who will help us with your arrival at this dump, but I want you to listen to me carefully— she said, while running her gloveless hand through her magenta hair —No matter what noise you hear, no matter if someone comes to ask for help
—Wouldn't it be bad to ignore them? — she asked innocently
—Dear, I will teach you to trust your institutes, but in the meantime, don't open the door to anyone— Selina asked, giving her a kiss on the forehead, marking her lipstick on Penelope's pale skin —There is more food in case you get hungrier, I promise I'll be back quickly
Penelope nods and watches her leave through the window. She hopes that Selina returns safe and sound.
The bat family
Selina knew that the best way to get the bat's attention was by stealing, so she calmly approached one of the Falcone's old warehouses. She smiles when she sees no one, those idiots believed that no one was dumb enough to get her attention, so she enters the place, and tastes the money in front of her, maybe taking some for her new tenant would be the best, no one would have to know.
—I wouldn't do that, Selina— they said almost as a growl
—Well well, who were you looking for— she smiled, and looked at the smaller figure behind the huge guy —And the little bird I wanted to see
Robin, who was behind Batman frowns, his childish face was so adorable in Selina's sight.
—And why did you want to see us?
—I have a guest at home— she pointed out, Batman's frown deepened further, as if questioning her why she was of importance.— Before you say anything, the girl is between ten and eleven, although I'm not quite sure, she shows signs of malnutrition
—And what do you plan on having her do?
—You're a tough guy to deal with, but she's important to you, because she's identical to your little bird— she pointed out calmly
Robin, who was listening to everything, looked surprised. A girl identical to him? Impossible!
—I-It's impossible!— said Robin, raising his hands in surrender, he didn't want Batman to scold him for keeping that kind of information.— I'm an only child
—And I believe you, little bird, because I doubt you can appear in a ball of light— said Selina
—A ball of light?— asked Batman, with a tense voice —Did you bring a metahuman to Gotham?
—I'm not so wild to bring a power wielder, when I know you don't like them— assured Selina, her words, although they sounded abrupt, were tinged with sincerity. —That's why I came, I want you to see her for yourself, and even if you don't like it, that girl is suffering abuse, if you saw her calves, if you saw how her ribs are marked, a street child has better care than her!
—W-How bad is it? — asked Robin, her small hands, gloved by the black fabric, nervously fidgeting.
Selina's cat-like smile flared and Batman knew there was more than she had pointed out.
—I'm surprised that your stomach can handle large amounts of food, but at the rate it's going, I suspect that you'll be throwing up everything you've eaten— said Selina
Bruce Wayne's (not Batman) mind traveled to the second Robin, his Robin, Jason Todd-Wayne, who had eaten several dishes in one sitting and had thrown up everything after having eaten a large amount of food, just like what would happen when a child who hadn't eaten properly, who lacked food, experienced when he filled his stomach with large amounts that surpassed his small organ.
—Where is it?— Batman suddenly asked
—In my house— Selina's gaze suddenly deviated to where the pile of money was, just a little, a little and she could buy many things for the girl
—Lead the way
Well, that was where her chance to get some money went, what bad luck!
They left the warehouse, it was clear to Batman that Selina not only wanted some money for herself, but also for the girl, and if so, he would gladly help her. The way to Selina's house was quick, the cat had told him what she had seen, but he had to hear the facts from the girl's mouth, so when they arrived at the apartment complex, he noticed that the light in the window that faced the street was on.
"Kitten?" Selina called, her voice, playful and mischievous, had become soft, like a mother calling her daughter, the third Robin looked at her surprised, he had never seen Selina speak like that. "I'm going in, I have guests..."
Selina's apartment was mostly full of cats, but now, these same cats were nowhere to be found, and in fact, it seemed that there were no traces of anyone less in the room either. Selina, who had taken off the top of her costume, looked around worriedly, and soon, she heard a meow. —Over here! — exclaimed little Robin.
In one of the corners of the bedroom, a little ticket was shaking, and she was surrounded by several cats, who seemed to be trying to cheer her up, but she seemed to be stunned, because she didn't even notice that Robin had knelt in front of her.
—Kitten— called Selina.
Soon, she finds herself wrapped in the little arms of the little girl, who still has a sheet over her person, while being watched by the bat and his little bird.
The bat family
Moments before…
The cat toys were pretty, there was a hard mouse and a feather as if it were a tail. Penelope laughs amused; she plays with the cats and although she felt sleepy, she tried to stay awake, she had taken the dishes to what she thought was the right place, and she waited anxiously for Selina. In the duchy, she had stayed several times in small places, the maids liked to lock her up as a form of mockery, while telling her that no one would come for her, being a fake, but the small space where she was was nice and comfortable. There were personal touches from Selina, for example the ribbons that adorned the mirror, the curtains she had on the pretty window were a pastel pink color, the bed where she had slept was more comfortable than the one she had in the duchy, all full of balls and dirty, the sheets were soft and did not smell of humidity.
Penelope had snooped around the place, and the more she saw, the more she liked it, it was nice and comfortable. After playing a little more, sleep soon began to take over her. Taking the smallest cat, black and white paws, and climbing onto the bed, she allowed her tiredness to take her to the world of dreams, but instead of having a pleasant dream, she had a nightmare.
There she was, in her room, she had been there since Reynold lied about seeing her in Ivonne's room. She was combing the only doll the duke bought her, when the door to her room swung open.
"Hey bitch!" Reynold had exclaimed, leaving a trail of mud on the floor. "What do you have there? Where did you get it from?"
Penelope, who was playing with her doll, stopped doing that, when a ball of mud hit her face and Reynold's mocking laughter was heard. She feels the tears surrounding her eyes, sliding down her cheeks, when suddenly, she feels her hair being pulled.
—Hey bitch, I'm talking to you! — he shouted, while pulling her hair roughly —Damn bitch, dad should have left you rotting in the slums, damn whore
—Stop, please— she sobbed, while she felt him pull her hair even more
—Be quiet!
The pulling on her hair increases, abrupt actions that make Penelope's body tremble, Reynold's words are harsh, he repeats several times that she is a bitch, but he also tells her that he wishes they had left her in the slums. She sobs.
—Be quiet, damn— he says, his voice is aggressive, hard, full of disgust —You are just a damn decoration in this house, you have no voice, you just have to be a decoration doll, you understand!
With that last thing, he lets go of her hair and makes the abrupt gesture cause her head to hit the nearest piece of furniture. She trembles when Reynold kicks her in the side, she shrinks when the maids mock her, and she trembles when Emily drops the dirty water on her body.
She doesn't know how much time has passed, but suddenly, she hears the voice of Derrick, the first master.
—This behavior is unacceptable, you will be grounded until further notice, you will only have a jug of water and a piece of bread
The mockery that is heard is like an echo, the tears are still on her person, when suddenly, she wakes up.
Her first instinct is to look for a safe place, a small corner between the bed and what seems to be a dressing table. The cats around her are like a comfort, but her mind refuses to leave the trance to which she is subjected. She doesn't know how much time has passed, when suddenly she feels someone's warm hand.
—Over here! — someone exclaimed, she's not quite sure who it is
—Kitten— a soft voice called, that voice she knows, it's Selina
Her movements are fast, soon, her small arms wrap around Selina's body in a hug, she needed to feel at peace, at least, until she looked up and saw a man in a black suit and next to him, a child dressed in flashy clothes.
—Who are they? — she asked, with such innocence that it made even the fearsome Batman, about to flank her
—They're friends, kitten— Selina assured calmly
Penelope watched them and smiled a little more.
Chapter 5: Chapter Four: Evidence and the innocence of a girl
Summary:
Bruce is about to break his only rule, no killing.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Bruce considers Selina's words. It was clear that the little girl deserved to have a family that would take care of her properly and although he wanted to tell her that she could give her that, he also understood her request. Selina Kyle was a known criminal for her audacity in stealing, so many people were not going to take into account the fact that she was going to raise a girl, who although she was not from this world (because she was not, he could see it by the color of her hair) could attract people's attention and be notified to child services, yes, Gotham was the place where public services were not the best, but there was also the fact that the girl was striking in the eyes of many, even for the worst rats there were.
He watched the girl eat the sandwich that Selina had given her and gave half to Tim, who cautiously took a bite, then smiled happily and began talking to the girl.
—I know I can't ask you for anything— Selina began, as she approached where he was—But I don't have anyone else to ask for this favor, the girl has suffered a lot, the scars she has are not suitable for a child Bruce, not even Robin has them and he fights crime with you
Batman was worried. Knowing that the little girl had been in imminent danger and that she had marks that not even Robin had, was terrifying. Who would dare touch a child? Who would dare hit such a small being? He was furious, upset, so he looked at the little girl, who listened attentively to what Tim was telling her.
What could be the best option? Leaving her in an orphanage was not one of them, and he knew that Selina was on tiptoe so as not to be located by those she had faced, so it was logical that he was the best option.
—I suppose she can come to the mansion— Bruce said, using his Batman voice —But I have to do some studies on her, the fact that she appeared in a ball of light, it's clear that she could be a metahuman
—I understand and I thank you Bruce— Selina nodded, then looked at the little girl, now she was asking Robin some things —Penelope honey, I have something to tell you…
—What is it? Is it something bad? If so, I'm sorry!— her exclamation, so alarming and defensive, had made Batman want to put his arms around her —I'll fix it!
—No, kitty, calm down— Selina said, as she approached and wiped away her tears —We just want to talk, it's nothing bad
—Do you promise?— she asked nervously
—I'll take care of you!— Tim assured, giving a smile to the little girl, who nodded and took his gloved hand
Selina smiled, an almost motherly smile, Bruce could notice it.
—Okay, kitty— Selina commented calmly —What we want to tell you is that it's not safe here, so this big guy and his little bird are going to take care of you.
Penelope's blue-green eyes, a color that reminded her of Tim when he wasn't wearing his mask, looked at her, with all the innocence she could still have.
—Will they take care of me?— she asked curiously.
—Yes, but I need you to tell me something…— Batman requested, while kneeling near her. —How did you get here?
—Oh well…— she stayed silent for a moment and played with one of Tim's hands. —I was in my room being punished, I was praying for someone to get me out of there and I heard a voice.
—A voice?— Batman asked curiously.
—Yes, he called me daughter of magic, daughter of the bat— Penelope assured.
—What is a bat?
Bruce, who was processing the things the little girl had told him, didn't notice Tim pointing at him and saying he was a bat.
"You said you were grounded, why?" Selina asked.
The stiffness that Penelope soon showed was a clear indication that something was happening, something happened to make the little girl feel threatened.
"If you don't feel comfortable, you don't need to tell us," Tim assured.
"I…" she takes a breath and looks at them. "I'm not bad, I swear, I was adopted as a replacement for the real daughter, but my life has been hell…" small tears accumulated in her eyes, and she held Tim's hand tighter. "The food wasn't bad, it was the same as what she ate on the street, the water was dirty and cold like the little she managed to get, but the punishments… the punishments were cruel, I…"
In all her innocence, having been raised as the daughter of a commoner and then as that of a duke, she lifted the pink blouse that Selina had put on her, turning her back to those present, letting the marks on her back be seen. Scary, marked lines rose on her back, marks that Bruce did not expect on such a small girl.
"What do you have there?" Tim asked, pointing to some purple spots on her sides.
"My maid was poking me with needles to wake me up," Penelope said calmly.
Oh gods, this was much worse than Bruce had imagined, that's why he couldn't leave the girl alone.
"Come on, we'll treat those wounds," he assured, as he stood up and extended his arms. "Can I carry you?"
Funny, no one had ever carried her. The bat's arms (Was it her dad? She wasn't sure) were comforting, Robin at her side, he showed her a smile and kept holding her hand, he looked at Selina.
"Aren't you coming?" she asked curiously
"I'll be there soon, kitty, you just have to obey the big guy," Selina said calmly
Penelope nodded and let the bat take her. The night air hit her face and hair, the place she had arrived at was different from Eorka, large structures rose up, the tallest had a "W" in the center and was illuminated by something she couldn't identify.
"Nelly," they called, it was Robin, who gave her a small smile. "Doesn't it affect you to go like this?"
"No," she denied calmly, while looking at him and tilting her head. "Why do you call me Nelly?"
—Well, your name is Penelope, right? — he ventured to ask, earning a nod from the younger girl — Pe-né-lo-pe, Nélo, Nelly
Penelope blinked several times and thought about it, it was true!
—Do you like it? — Robin asked, when they landed next to something strange, black and what seemed to have wings on the back.
—Yes — she said, then felt herself being placed in the front, right next to Robin, they both fit! How great! —Where are we going?
—To the cave! — Robin exclaimed
Batman watched the two children talk to each other, and although he wanted to say some things, such as the use of magic, or where the girl came from, he also wanted to know more about her marks, but instead he remained silent, until he dialed a number he had memorized.
—Master?
Alfred's voice gives him some peace, a peace that somehow had made his pulse calm down properly.
"Alfred, Robin and I are going back to the cave, I need you to prepare a room for a guest," he said calmly.
"A guest? Is it a woman?"
Bruce smiles and looks at Penelope, who is looking closely at the Batmobile screen.
"Something smaller, I'll explain everything when you get there," Batman said calmly.
Alfred nods from the call, and when they turned a corner, Bruce presses a button above the call screen.
The ride down the ramp makes Penelope feel a slight vertigo, but it's not something that can make her completely dizzy, so it's only a matter of time before they're inside a cave, a cave! She can't believe it, when suddenly, the Batmobile, as Robin had called it, stops.
—Welcome Nelly! — Robin exclaimed, as he helped her down and gestured to everything around them — This is the cave
—It's a real cave — she said surprised, then looked at the older man who was approaching and by inertia, hid behind Robin
Alfred, who had approached the vehicle, looked at the girl with absolute surprise. For a moment he had thought he was seeing a smaller version of Robin, but with magenta hair. He looked at her, his instincts screaming at him to protect the girl, to wrap her in the softest fabrics and not let her leave the mansion, but he needed to know what was happening and he looked at his master.
—Master?
—Oh Alfred, I want to introduce you to Penelope, she will stay at the mansion for a while — Bruce said, as he took off his hood and looked at the girl — Do you mind if we do a routine exam?
—Routine exam? — she asked curiously, tilting her head and looking at where they were —Like a medical exam?
—Exactly— Bruce nodded, while looking at the girl —I need to know how your health is and see if there is a match in the system
For Penelope it was all very strange. Alfred, the man who had introduced himself had helped her change her clothes, but he never noticed how her expression had turned dark, nor did he notice how Bruce, the bat man, also tensed up when he saw the marks on her body, Tim for his part, after taking off his mask and revealing his eyes so similar to Penelope's (just a little more blue than green) pointed out that they shared the same mark; just on the right side.
—That's right, it's similar! — Penelope said cheerfully, ignoring the atmosphere between the older ones — How did you get yours? I got it when a knight got angry with me when I was walking in the garden, he hit me with the hilt of his sword, he said it was an accident, but I heard him laugh
—You didn't tell me your dad? — Tim asked
—The duke is not my dad, he only adopted me because his daughter got lost, many say that when Princess Ivonne returns, they will take me to a brothel — Penelope said calmly
Her statement has taken everyone by surprise. Tim, who had seen the way Bruce looks at them, rushes to entertain the girl.
—You know, we look a lot alike, do you think we can do a test? — he asks calmly
—A test?
—Yes, we look alike, so we can see if we are related or not— Tim said calmly, who looked fondly at the least —I always wanted a sister
—Sister? Me?— he pointed to himself, his small hand, smaller than a twelve or thirteen year old girl should have —Are you sure? I was never wanted by the duchy for being a fake
—Absolutely! What do you say?
Penelope nods. It's Alfred who draws some blood, although he had been skeptical seeing the amount of punctures the girl had in her arms, but still, he manages to do it. The screen of the giant computer (Batcomputer as Tim had pointed out) shines brightly, all the results are the same, there was magic involved, a magic that none of them could explain, but in the end, the loudest beep can be heard.
93.00% match with Timothy J. Drake.
Notes:
I know Tim's eyes are blue or blue-grey, but I would like to make them similar to Penelope's, that means blue-green.
Chapter 6: Chapter Five: Penelope and Timothy Drake
Summary:
Penelope has arrived at Wayne Manor, but Red Hood has arrived in Gotham.
Chapter Text
Tim's excited cry is heard throughout the cave, bringing Bruce and Alfred out of their shock. The young robin had hugged Penelope, and was lifting her up a little, spinning around and causing Penelope to laugh.
"Master Tim please stop spinning around, you're going to get dizzy and you're going to make Miss Penelope dizzy," Alfred said suddenly, seeing how the two children seemed to get paler and paler.
"Sorry Alfie," Tim said suddenly, leaving Penelope on the ground, who swayed gently. "Are you okay Nelly?"
"I think I got dizzy," Penelope commented, shaking her head, making her magenta hair move gently. "Why was that? And what does that mean over there?"
Her small finger points to where those dark letters were that were accompanied by an image that was clearly of the child next to her.
"What is concordance?"
—It means that we have the same blood, that we are family— Tim assured, while taking Penelope's hand— Right, B?
—That's right— Bruce suddenly said, while coming out of his state of shock, looking at the two children, who were shoulder to shoulder, showing their very similar features.— Penelope, you asked about the concordance, right? Well, it seems that Tim is your brother
—But how? I was an only child, at least from what I know, my mother died almost two years ago, and I don't remember my father, so I don't know how...
—I'll call Constantine— Bruce suddenly cut in, knowing where the girl's mind was going— If it's okay with you
Penelope hesitates for a moment, but ends up nodding, if she was Tim's sister, she wanted to know more about that matter.
—But first, the children have to sleep, Master Bruce. Just because young Tim is on school vacation doesn't mean they'll sleep late— said Alfred. —Come on, Master Tim, Miss Penelope, you have to rest.
Penelope hesitated for a moment, but Bruce's nod was somewhat reassuring, so, hesitant, she followed where Alfred was taking her, at least until Tim spoke.
—Wait! Look, put my slippers on— insisted Tim, giving her some small white slippers. —They're comfortable, what do they say?
—They're pretty— assured Penelope, looking at the slippers that fit her very well, to tell the truth, although she could see that they were a bit big. —Can I really wear them?
—Of course! I'll take off my armor and I'll follow you soon," Tim assured, as he headed to a place Penelope didn't know.
Penelope looked at Bruce and then at Alfred, unlike Pennel, Alfred had an aura of being the kind of person who takes care of you, who protects you, and she smiled.
"Will you take care of me?" she asked shyly.
"Always a lady," Alfred assured, then held out his hand.
"Come on, Master Tim and Master Bruce will follow us soon."
Penelope gave one last look at Bruce, who gave her a soft smile (or as soft as he could) and shortly after went up the stairs, to what seemed to be a silver-colored door, which opened and Alfred gave her the way so she could enter. The trip to the elevator (strange name she had to accept) was fast and when she reached a small door, Alfred opened it, in front of it there was something similar to the Duke's study, but without that feeling of being a cold place that scared him every time he entered. She could see the books on one of the shelves. Would they let her read them? She didn't know. There was also a dark brown wooden piano, which made her a little happy. Countess Colson let her play the piano every time she went home on those afternoons when Pennel himself took her out of the duchy when he didn't want her near some nobleman or high-prestige merchant.
"Where are we, if I may ask?" Penelope commented, looking around.
"Oh, miss, this is Master Bruce's study, it used to belong to Master Thomas," the kind man answered calmly, getting Penelope to nod. "Are you hungry, miss?"
—I…— Penelope couldn't lie, not when her stomach growled and that caused her cheeks to turn red.— Sorry
—Don't apologize miss, it's logical that your stomach asks for food and more, if you haven't been eating properly— Alfred assured, then guiding her to the dining room
It was clear to Penelope that this place was a mansion, she didn't know if it was as big as the duchy, but she didn't care either, to tell the truth. The walk to the dining room was quick, but very beautiful in Penelope's eyes, the works of art were beautiful, how did they have such a unique finish? She wasn't quite sure, but still, she liked to look around. The dining room was different from the one she had seen in the duchy, it did not look gloomy or with the memory of the death of the duchess or the disappearance of Ivonne, no, it had that tranquility that no one else could imagine, it was so beautiful, the wooden table was like a kind of dream, and the chairs, they were not annoying and ostentatious, but they looked comfortable, and they were!
Alfred goes to the kitchen, while Penelope waits, she was afraid of being alone, when suddenly, Bruce and Tim appeared, wearing clothes that looked different than the ones she had seen before, but seemed to be as comfortable as the one she was wearing and that Selina had given her.
—Hi, Nelly! See, I'm back— Tim smiled
Bruce, who was approaching, observed the two children, they were identical, almost twins! And with the percentage of compatibility that both had, that made the doubts continue in his mind; he would have thought that maybe Constantine or Zatanna could know a little more, meanwhile, he observed them. Both, sitting shoulder to shoulder, soon had a light dinner on their plates, Alfred, who had returned with something for him, gave him a quick look.
—Since we don't have anything for a girl, Miss Penelope will have to settle for one of Master Tim's or Master Dick's pajamas— Alfred assured
—What's wrong with my clothes?— she asked stunned and worried
—Nothing wrong miss, but those clothes don't seem to be comfortable for you to sleep in— Alfred assured, while giving a soft smile to the youngest —Now, finish dinner children, you must sleep
The food is delicious, Penelope had never eaten anything like it, yes, the food that Miss Selina gave her was delicious, but the taste of the food that Alfred had given her, was more than delicious, they had left the plate clean.
Bruce, who had been enjoying the brief dinner, watched his pupil and the girl, he would have to call Dick, yes, they were still fighting, Jason's pain was still there and the discomfort of having Tim, too, but he couldn't leave the girl alone and Selina had enough enemies for having stolen from the people she shouldn't. So there he was, watching the children begin to doze off, and he smiled.
"Come on kids, go to sleep," he said, getting up and holding the two children.
"I can walk," Tim assured, but his voice was giving him away, making the laughter increase.
"Of course Tim, but I want to take you to your room and I know Penelope would like to sleep with you, right?" Bruce said calmly, snuggling the small bodies of the two children further into his arms and smiled softly.
Tim's room was in the family wing, yes, he was reluctant to let the boy into his life, but now, now he appreciated him very much, and in a way, he was grateful that this child had come to him. Alfred was the one in charge of waking Penelope and having her wear a pair of Dick's old pajamas, which had (to Bruce's irritation) the Superman logo on them.
—Good night, children— Bruce said, while ruffling their hair with some affection.
The two of them let out what seemed to be a soft whimper, it was funny in a way. Walking out of the room, he looked at Alfred.
—We have a lot to talk about— he said, sighing and frowning.
—We will, but first, the young lady is going to need more clothes— Alfred said calmly. —And I have doubts about her scars…
—I have doubts too— Bruce resigned himself.
He looks at Gotham, he's back, the place he called home for a long time, and now it was just a dump, that's how he saw it.
He couldn't believe that he hadn't avenged him, worse, that he had replaced him, replaced him with a rich kid, a kid who had been born with a silver spoon and was fed with a silver spoon, he couldn't believe it.
The deranged sound of his respirator makes the people behind him tremble, he's gotten eight idiots who played at believing themselves to be the kings of Gotham and that would stop being the case.
—Please! — one of them shouted, his voice filled with fear, it was a delight for him —Please!
—I like the way you scream, it fascinates me — he said, with his robotic voice —Keep begging, I like the way you cry
—Please... please...
But, while one of them was crying his eyes out, one of the guys was able to speak.
—Who are you?
His figure, tall and huge, with defined muscles and unusual clothing, with the soft jingling of the metal clasp of his brown leather jacket that he wore, but what caught his attention the most was the red helmet that he wore on him.
—I'm just one person— he says, his mechanical voice makes several people tremble, drawing a laugh from him, a colder one, one that made them even tremble. —I'm just Red Hood
The last thing that was heard was the sound of gunshots, and shortly after, what seemed to be the sound of a sharp blade cutting through the air, or their heads. As blood splashed on his boots and he heard the gagging of one of the poor devils who were there, he looked back to the front, where the night was beginning to give way to dawn.
He looked at the folder that Talia gave him and smiled, he would look for the right moment to talk to his replacement, in the meantime, he had to follow the plan he had devised to take over the crime alley.
I just had to keep waiting.
Chapter 7: Chapter Six: The Beginning of a New Day
Summary:
Bruce makes a call.
Penelope wakes up without pain.
Tim shares his coffee for the first time.
Chapter Text
John Constantine was known in the dark corners of the world as a true master of demon-wielding. His reputation wasn't just a matter of skill; it was also intertwined with his cunning and his ability to navigate the labyrinths of the underworld. A cigarette almost always dangling from his lips, Constantine carried himself with a carefree confidence, his blue eyes shining with a mixture of disdain and sagacity.
His adventures took him to the most unusual and dangerous places, from dens of iniquity in London to ancient ruins in the middle of forgotten jungles. Each mission was a risky dance, where the line between life and death blurred. Along the way, he crossed paths with individuals of all kinds: warlocks, fallen angels, and creatures that dwell in the shadows; each encounter was a test of both his wits and his endurance.
But his life wasn't only marked by battles with supernatural beings; There was also a more personal and tumultuous side. Constantine, with his undeniable charisma and dark sense of humor, couldn't help but draw people (or creatures) into his chaotic world. Lonely nights often turned into unexpected encounters, where tension and desire intertwined in a seductive game. Those who found themselves in his orbit, whether allies or adversaries, often ended up entangled in his life in ways that defied logic.
The sheets on his bed, worn and disheveled, bore witness to these encounters. His nights were filled with laughter intertwined with shared secrets, and whispers echoing in the gloom. In one instant, a battle with demons would transform into a fight for someone's heart, and in the next, into the fleeting embrace of a night of passion that defied the darkness that always surrounded him. And as the chaos of his life drove him back to drinking, Batman's call came one night.
"Contantine," he said, answering his cell phone.
"John..." Oh, I knew that voice.
"What do you want, Bats?"
If I heard the slow breathing, I didn't bother him. I knew the man well enough to know that, in fact, something was bothering him.
"I need you to come to Gotham," he said after a brief pause.
"What? Me, in Gotham?"
I couldn't believe it. I knew the no-metahuman laws in the crime capital of the world (and home to a twisted clown), so being summoned there was a huge surprise.
"Why?"
"A few hours ago, a little girl appeared in a ball of light. She said that voices brought her to our world, calling her the daughter of magic, and the daughter of the bat..."
John could have made a joke about the enormous bat having children, but his words and mockery never left his lips. He knew that, child of magic. That wasn't what they called those who could use magic, but a particular species.
"Are you sure about what you're saying?" he asked, the effect of the alcohol having left his system.
"I am," he assured. "I need you to come to Gotham."
He couldn't believe it, running his hands through his blond hair, trying to calm himself. His initial reaction would be overshadowed by what he was hearing now, a mixture of irritation and morbid fascination.
"Great," he muttered, stubbing out his cigarette with a brusque gesture. "Another thing to clean up."
There was no altruism in his attitude, only the morbid curiosity of a magician who sees a challenge, a riddle that needs to be solved, no matter the cost.
"He arrived at noon," he assured.
With that, he had hung up the call. Now he had to find all the information he had on ancient magicians.
The bat family
The next morning arrived faster than expected, and for the first time, Penelope didn't wake up with unbearable aches in her arms or dirty water falling on her tiny body.
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the window curtain being opened and tied by Alfred, who calmly smiled at her.
"Good morning, Miss Penelope," he said with that fascinating accent. "Did you sleep well?"
"Good morning, Alfred!" she exclaimed, happy to see a soft smile tugging at the corners of the friendly man's mouth. She had guessed his name right! How exciting. "I slept well, and I didn't have any nightmares!"
Alfred looked at the little girl with interest.
"Is that so?" he questioned, surprised by what she had said. "I take it it's a good thing, isn't it?"
Penelope nodded enthusiastically.
"Well, I think you can wake Master Tim. Do I trust you?"
"Of course!"
Alfred would never say it, but the little girl was a vivid memory of his own daughter, so small and innocent, that it pained him to know that she was, in fact, hurt, wounded, and that such small gestures were something the youngest greatly appreciated.
Penelope, for her part, began to wake Tim, who, after fussing a little more, began to wake up more decently.
"Nelly? Why are you waking me up? It's still early," Tim assured her, making Penelope smile at that.
"Alfred says we should be getting up," she said calmly.
Tim snorted and still obeyed. Penelope, who was used to having to dress formally for breakfast (a breakfast that was usually full of junk or overly seasoned), was pleasantly surprised when Tim dragged her out of the room, and they went downstairs to breakfast in their pajamas. It was something new for her, and although she was comfortable in the pajamas she was wearing, ones that didn't itch on her small body, she expected Bruce's scolding, a scolding that never came.
It was strange. The man who was the head of the house and family hadn't seemed bothered by the fact that she and Tim were dressed in their bedclothes. In the duchy, he would have been punished by now!
"Good morning, children," the man greeted in a tired voice, as he reached for the nearest cup. "How did you sleep, Penelope?"
Penelope jumps slightly. Was he talking to her? She blinks in confusion.
"Fine, sir," she said, expecting a possible scolding from the man, but that scolding never came.
"I'm glad," Bruce smiled, as he sipped his coffee.
Penelope feels strange, and no wonder. Somehow she knew she was fine, but at the same time, she knows something is wrong, or out of place. Her greenish eyes shifted to the various dishes; they looked appetizing, but what caught her attention was the aroma wafting from the cups they were holding.
"Tim," Penelope called softly, catching the child's attention. "What are you drinking?"
Tim, who was still a little sleepy, blinked several times.
"My coffee?" That earned Penelope a nod, noticing the curious glint in her eyes. It was a clear sign that she had probably never tasted anything like it before. "Do you want it?"
"May I?"
Tim nods and hands her the white cup with a yellow circle on it (Penelope doesn't know what a smiley face is) and lets the child try his coffee.
"It's very strong!" Penelope exclaimed, without spitting out the liquid and drinking it.
"That's coffee, Penelope. We usually drink it when we have trouble sleeping," Bruce assured her.
"But for you, Miss Penelope, there's warm milk," Alfred assured her, placing the glass in front of the younger girl.
"Thank you, Alfred."
The aforementioned smiled. While Penelope sipped the contents of the glass, Bruce studied her. It was clear she hadn't had the opportunity to drink coffee, either because she wasn't allowed to or because it wasn't within reach. He also highly doubted Selina would give the girl coffee. He often heard Selina say it would stunt Tim's growth, but seeing as Penelope preferred the glass of milk, well, he wouldn't have to worry about another caffeine addict.
"Sir, I recommend you take the day off today to accompany Miss Penelope to go shopping for clothes," Alfred said calmly.
"Oh, right, we need to buy new clothes," Bruce said, remembering the few clothes Selina had managed to get for the girl.
"Clothes?" Penelope asked, before putting a piece of omelet in her mouth.
"Yes, you'll need more than just a few changes. Constantine will be here at noon, so after he arrives, we'll go out," Bruce assured calmly.
Penelope blinked a little more, but nodded. She didn't know who Constantine was, but somehow she liked him. She wanted to meet him.
Chapter 8: Chapter Seven: John Constantine
Summary:
Penelope meets a drunken magician.
Chapter Text
Penelope, accustomed to the logic of the real world, to science and technology, would be deeply disturbed by witnessing John Constantine's magic. It would not be an innocent wonder, but rather a visceral fear that would take hold of her.
Her soul, already wounded by trauma, would shrink from the manifestation of the supernatural. She would see in Constantine's magic a threat, a danger that confirmed her worst fears. The sight of objects moving inexplicably, of lights flickering for no apparent reason, would send a chill through her body.
The rest of breakfast passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the clinking of spoons and Penelope's soft chewing. Yet the girl could not hide the growing anticipation that consumed her. Her eyes, bright and curious, constantly strayed toward the clock on the wall, as if each tick shortened the distance toward noon and Constantine's arrival. In her mind, the wizard had transformed into a mysterious and fascinating figure, a promise of something new and different from the monotonous life she had known until now.
"Miss Penelope, how about taking a bath?" Alfred suggested suddenly. "You could wear some of the clothes Miss Kyle bought you and get ready for the visit, and then go shopping."
"Will there be hot water?" she asked curiously. "I rarely had hot water."
"Oh my miss..." Alfred looked at her with a look that promised everything would be fine. "I promise you'll have hot water."
Smiling, Penelope curtsied, which Bruce longed to tell him wasn't necessary. It wasn't! But just as he was about to say something else, Penelope and Alfred left the dining room, leaving Tim with Bruce.
Unlike Penelope, who was happy to meet someone new, Tim, on the other hand, watched the scene with a mixture of nervousness and concern. The idea of Constantine, with his aura of mystery and reputation as a manipulator, getting close to Penelope caused him deep unease. He had seen how the magician could influence people, how easily he could manipulate their emotions and decisions. And Penelope, with her vulnerable soul and traumatic past, seemed the perfect target for his schemes.
"Do you think... that Constantine will hurt her?" Tim asked Bruce, his voice barely above a whisper. Concern was palpable in his eyes. Bruce, noticing the tension in his adopted son, placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I don't think so, Tim," Bruce replied, his tone firm and reassuring. "Constantine is... complicated, but he's not a bad man. He's here to help Penelope."
But Bruce's explanation didn't entirely calm Tim's anxiety. The image of Constantine, with his enigmatic smile and penetrating gaze, loomed in his mind, fueling his fears. Tim knew he should trust Bruce, but the idea of someone like Constantine getting close to his (new) little sister, the girl he now protected with all his might, sent a shiver of fear through him. It was somehow something that was threatening Tim's heart.
"Tim, I know something's bothering you," Bruce said, noticing how distracted Tim seemed, lost in his own thoughts.
"I... no..." he sighed and looked Bruce in the eye. "I'm afraid they'll take Nelly away."
"Take you away?" Bruce asked. "Who would want to take you away from her?"
"Brother, you don't want metahumans in Gotham, and if Nelly's a mage like Constantine or Zatanna, I know they'll want to train her." He sighed in resignation, lying down on the table, a gesture that would have been scandalous to his mother, but it was clear to Bruce: he was afraid something was going to happen to Penelope.
Bruce watched Tim, leaning back on the table in a defeated, childlike gesture. The image, so out of character for the astute and always controlled Robin, spoke for itself. The fear in Tim's eyes was palpable, a crack in his adopted son's armor that revealed a poignant vulnerability. Bruce felt a tightening in his chest. Tim's confession wasn't just a concern for Penelope; it was a declaration of love, a deep connection that had blossomed in such a short time.
The question "Who would want to take you away from her?" wasn't a simple answer. It was a statement, an attempt to reassure Tim, to minimize his fears. Bruce knew exactly what he meant. The danger the metahuman world posed to Penelope was real, a threat looming over them. The possibility that organizations like the Justice League or even darker groups would try to recruit a girl with magical powers was a terrifying reality.
The silence that followed the confession was heavy, charged with the suppressed tension between them. Bruce understood Tim's fear. He himself had fought that same battle, that of protecting those he loved from the shadows of Gotham. And now, that same struggle was reflected in his son's eyes, an echo of his own experience, intensified by Penelope's fragility and Tim's inexperience.
The mention of Constantine and Zatanna was no accident. They were symbols, representatives of the magical world Tim feared so much. A world that, despite its fascination, posed a constant threat. Bruce knew he had to act, not only to protect Penelope, but also to reassure Tim, to show him he was not alone in his struggle. The sight of Tim, defeated and vulnerable, stirred in Bruce a steely resolve.
He would have to find a way to protect Penelope without isolating her, to guide her without robbing her of her freedom. And, above all, he would have to help Tim overcome his fear, to find the strength to protect the girl he had come to love like a sister.
"I promise you, no one will take you away from her," Bruce assured him. "Not even your parents."
The image of his parents, a jumble of blurred, painful memories, burst into his mind. Tim's eyes widened, not in surprise, but in a kind of silent shock. He had forgotten his parents. Not a simple omission, but a suppression, a defense mechanism his mind had activated to protect itself from the pain.
An awkward silence filled the space between them, a void that resonated with the absence of those memories, with the loss Tim had suffered. The mention of his parents hadn't brought comfort or nostalgia, but a wave of confusion and a pang of grief. It was as if a part of his history, an essential part of his identity, had been erased, leaving a void that prevented him from connecting with that past. His expression was a mixture of confusion and dull pain, a mixture of feelings struggling to surface.
Bruce's promise, the reassurance he'd been trying to convey, faded into the background, overshadowed by the sudden and overwhelming reality of his own amnesia. The mention of his parents had not only made him recall his past, but had also highlighted the depth of his trauma, the fragility of his memories, and the difficulty of reconstructing a broken identity. Tim felt lost, disoriented, as if a fundamental part of himself had been stolen.
Bruce's promise, though comforting, faded in the face of the magnitude of his own loss.
"I'll have to see what I'll do," he sighed resignedly. "Is it possible to forge papers?"
"We could try," Bruce smiled.
They wouldn't have any problems forging papers; the Drakes' open marriage and the fact that a girl had emerged from nowhere weren't news. Well, Jack couldn't deny anything.
"I think we'll ask Barbara to help us," Bruce smiled.
Somehow, that calmed Tim, at least for the moment.
The Bat Family
Penelope was excited to meet someone new. Her past experiences had been painful and bitter, but she hoped that would no longer be the case.
The nobles of Eorka were shallow people; they only saw social standing, and if someone threatened that position, even with the smallest things, they would attack them. The cruelest had been Gloria Kellyn and Countess Dorothea. They always attacked her when she attended an event, even when she didn't want to or stayed away from large crowds.
Now, as she put on the small socks Selina had given her, Penelope looked at herself in the enormous full-length mirror. Accustomed to large, elaborate skirts, the pastel pink skirt reached her knees, and had two dark blue suspenders and a white blouse with a unicorn in the center. Although the colors reminded her of Reynold and Derrick, to her horror, the clothes were beautiful; so she didn't complain. She had put on Tim's shoes. They fit her! And they were very pretty little shoes, white with red laces. Red!
She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled.
"What do you think, Alfred?" she asked, as she looked at the butler who had been waiting to enter.
Alfred watched from a distance near the door, his heart filled with a mixture of tenderness and nostalgia as he saw Penelope in front of the mirror. The image of the little girl, dressed in her pastel pink skirt and shoes borrowed from Tim, evoked a sweetness that made him feel as if time had stopped for a moment. He thought of his own youth, of the simplicity of happiness, of the purity that was often lost in the daily struggle against evil.
Penelope's smile was a reminder of that purity, a shining light in an often bleak world. He wanted to protect that innocence with all his might, as if it were delicate glass that could shatter with the slightest touch of darkness. In part, it also reminded him of his young teachers, Dick and Jason, so innocent in a new world where money reigned.
Hearing her question, "What do you think, Alfred?", he felt a surge of affection. The way she addressed him with that mixture of curiosity and trust made him feel as if he truly mattered in her life. He leaned closer, his smile warm and comforting.
"Oh, my dear, you look absolutely lovely," he replied, his voice soft and full of affection.
To him, it wasn't just a compliment; it was an affirmation that, despite the storms she had faced, there was room for beauty and joy in the world. Penelope smiled, her eyes shining with a mixture of shyness and pride.
"The shoes are Tim's," she said, indicating her feet with a shy gesture. "They fit me."
Alfred nodded, his gaze filled with tenderness.
"Yes, they are lovely shoes. Master Tim has very good taste." He paused for a moment, then added with a mischievous smile, "Although, I think he's going to need them now that you've put them on."
Penelope giggled, the pure, crystalline sound of her laughter filling the room.
"Sorry, Timmy," she murmured, still smiling.
Alfred smiled, feeling a deep sense of contentment. Seeing Penelope happy, even in the small ways, was a balm to his soul. But in the back of his mind, a shadow of worry crept in.
He knew Penelope's life had been marked by pain and trauma, and that innocence was fragile. He wondered if he could protect her from the storms lurking on the horizon, from the shadows that always seemed to follow them.
"I must do everything I can to keep her safe," he thought, determination flowing through him.
As he watched her, a part of him longed for her to remain like this forever, oblivious to the complications of the outside world. But he knew life wasn't always so kind.
"Despite the challenges ahead, I will do whatever it takes to ensure her light never goes out," he silently promised himself, feeling a renewed determination in his heart.
The Bat Family.
Constantine, accustomed to dealing with demons, fallen angels, and all manner of supernatural beings, would encounter an unexpected reaction upon seeing a small girl with striking hair.
The image of the girl, hidden behind the imposing figure of Batman, dressed in her innocent pastel pink outfit, would be a direct blow to his usual cynicism. His first impression would not be one of threat or danger, but of a strange vulnerability that would leave him momentarily speechless. In his mind, the image would overlap with his expectations. He had come prepared for an encounter with a dark creature, with a murky and dangerous source of magic.
Instead, he encountered a girl, a girl who seemed so out of place in that context that the irony of the situation would momentarily stun him. His mind would begin to work, analyzing the situation. Penelope's clothing, so incongruous with the gloomy surroundings, would be the first piece of the puzzle. Why was such a seemingly innocent girl hiding behind Batman? What role did she play in all of this? Penelope's apparent innocence would become an enigma for Constantine, a mystery that would awaken his curiosity and his instinct to investigate.
His expression, normally marked by sarcasm and reluctance, would become serious and observant. He would put aside his usual mocking attitude, aware that he was facing something more complex than it seemed at first glance. The girl, with her innocent attire and shy expression, would challenge his perception of the world, proof that even in the darkest places, innocence could exist. Constantine, despite his cynicism, would find himself intrigued.
The girl, hidden behind Batman's shadow, would become a new mystery to solve, an enigma that would challenge him to use all his skills to unravel the truth hidden behind that facade of innocence. His mind, accustomed to challenges, would begin to work, developing theories and hypotheses about Penelope's true nature and her role in the unfolding game.
Constantine, after his moment of bewilderment at the sight of Penelope, quickly composed himself, his usual cynicism returning to his face. However, the image of the little girl, so out of place in that grim context, was still etched in his mind. He approached Batman, his gaze piercing and filled with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.
"So, Batsy," he began, his voice husky and thick with cigarette smoke, "it seems you've stolen a little girl. A new superhero project? 'Batman and the Girl Wonder'? Sounds a little corny, even for you."
Batman's response was instantaneous, a low, menacing growl.
"Constantine," he said, his voice as cold as steel, "she's not a project." She's a child who needs protection, and she's Robin's sister. And if you think I'm going to tolerate your sarcastic comments about her situation, you're wrong.
Constantine smiled, a gesture that didn't quite hide the irritation he felt.
"Relax, Bat. I'm just making an observation. Though I must admit, the child is... unexpected. It doesn't fit your usual somber style. Have you perhaps developed a fondness for pastel pink?" he mocked, trying to sound amused.
Batman's tone became even sterner.
"Don't mess with her, Constantine. If you try to use your magic tricks to manipulate her, you'll regret it. I understand your curiosity, but Penelope is vulnerable, and I won't allow anyone to harm her." His voice was not only a reminder that he was the fearsome Batman, but he also sounded like a concerned father.
Constantine raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on Batman.
"Oh, are you playing protector yet?" The Dark Knight who cares about a little girl's feelings? This is new. But hey, if that's what you need to justify your obsession with the little girl, go ahead. Just don't blame me if things get... interesting." There was a hint of defiance in his voice, but also a hint of respect for Batman's determination.
Constantine knew Batman wasn't joking, and that he was willing to do whatever it took to protect the little girl behind him.
"So, will you tell me why you called me?" he asked, because at that moment, he could have been enjoying a bottle of liquor, but no, he was standing right in front of the Goth. "And why is your little bird looking at me with hatred?"
Robin was next to Penelope, but she was looking at him with a frown.
Penelope, huddled behind Batman's imposing figure, watched John Constantine with a mixture of fear and fascination.
The man was a whirlwind of contradictions: a long, worn trench coat that looked like it had seen better days, a relaxed demeanor that contrasted with the palpable tension in the room, and a cigarette burning between his fingers, releasing smoke that seemed to dance in the air. He was the complete opposite of the neatness of Wayne Manor, of Bruce's seriousness, of Tim's kindness.
His piercing blue eyes rested on her for a moment, and Penelope felt a chill run down her spine. It wasn't a fear of aggression, but of something deeper, of the unknown. It was as if Constantine could see right through her, as if he could read the secrets she held in her heart. His words, quick and full of a humor she didn't understand, floated in the air like a spell. He spoke of demons and angels, of magic and tricks, of a world beyond her comprehension.
Bruce, with his imposing figure, stood between her and Constantine, like a shield against the storm. But Penelope couldn't help but feel a strange attraction to the wizard. He was a mystery shrouded in smoke, an enigma that called to her despite her fear. There was something in his gaze, a spark of intelligence and cunning that intrigued her, that made her feel that, perhaps, he understood more than she believed.
While Constantine spoke with Batman, Penelope clung to Tim's hand, seeking comfort in his familiarity. But a small part of her—a part that longed for adventure, excitement, something more than the humdrum security of her new life—was captivated by the wizard's presence. It was a new world, a dark and mysterious world opening up before her, a world that, despite her fear, beckoned her to discover it. Her first impression of Constantine was a mixture of fear and fascination, the seed of a complex and surprising relationship that was about to blossom.
"Good!" Constantine exclaimed, exclaiming at Penelope, who looked at him. "I'll check on the girl."
The very air seemed to vibrate as John Constantine focused his perception on Penelope. It wasn't a simple sensation, but a surge, a tsunami of magical energy that hit him with the force of a train wreck. His eyes, normally filled with calculated cynicism, widened, reflecting the shock and disbelief that flooded him. This wasn't simple residual magic, a vestige of some miscast spell; it was pure, raw, an elemental force that far surpassed anything he had encountered in his decades of experience. Even he, John Constantine, the master of the occult, felt dwarfed by such power.
A tense silence fell over the room, broken only by Constantine's faint gasp as he tried to process the magnitude of what he felt. Batman, with his usual impassiveness, watched the magician's reaction, his senses alert to any change in the dynamic. Tim, however, was visibly worried, his eyes fixed on Penelope, as if afraid the intensity of the magic would hurt her. Penelope, oblivious to the commotion she had caused, continued to sit calmly, her expression serene and innocent.
"What... what the hell?" Constantine managed to stammer, his voice barely above a whisper.
The smoke from his cigarette trembled, as if the same magical energy affected it. He approached Penelope, his movements cautious, as if afraid of disturbing a force of nature. "Child," he said, his voice now firm, but with a hint of wonder,
"Do you know what you are?"
Penelope looked at him with her large eyes, a confused expression on her face.
"I'm... Penelope," he answered timidly. "I'm Robin's little sister."
Constantine ignored the answer, his eyes fixed on the girl.
"There... there is a power within you," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and fear. "A magic... immense." Bigger than mine, bigger than anything I've ever seen." Batman approached, his voice deep and commanding.
"Constantine, what's going on?" Bruce asked in his Batman voice, worried that something might happen to the girl who had the same genetics as his Robin.
"It's her, Batsy," Constantine replied, without taking his gaze from Penelope. "She has power... unimaginable. She's a source of pure magic, a bottomless well. She's descended from the first wielders of magic."
Tim, his voice shaking, chimed in.
"They're not going to take her away from me, are they?"
Constantine looked at Robin, then back at Penelope.
"Don't worry, kid," he said, his voice softer now. "We won't hurt her. But we must understand what we have here. This... this changes everything."
The weight of the revelation loomed over them, a new threat, but also a new hope, a a new mystery that challenged their knowledge and abilities. The world had suddenly become much bigger, much more dangerous, and much more fascinating.
Chapter 9: Chapter Eight: Shopping
Chapter Text
John's words lingered in his mind.
The silence that followed Constantine's revelation was heavier than the night itself. Bruce sat at his desk, the image of Penelope, small and defenseless, etched in his mind.
The girl, with her innocence and easy smile, was now the epicenter of an immense magical force, a force he could barely comprehend. The idea that such a vulnerable child could wield such colossal power filled him with a deep fear, a fear mingled with the crushing responsibility of protecting her. His
thoughts churned like a raging sea. "How will I protect her?" he asked himself over and over again. The security of Wayne Manor, the army that consisted of a single person like Alfred, and Batman's own vigilance now seemed insufficient, insignificant compared to the magnitude of the danger looming over Penelope. He needed something more, a strategy that transcended human limitations, a solution beyond his understanding.
Guilt ate at him, though it wasn't his own either.
Whatever had brought Penelope to that world, to his world, seemed to have left her in a city where danger was daily, where the world was even dangerous for those with pure and peaceful hearts.
Whatever deity or whatever had brought Penelope to him, he believed he could protect her, that he was somehow her father; though when he had been highly compatible with Tim, and now, that fact had become a promise that felt like a burden, one way or another.
The image of the little girl, dressed in her innocent pastel pink outfit, contrasted cruelly with the dark reality before him. It was a cruel irony of fate, a wounded child who wielded immense power, a paradox that left him breathless.
A sigh escaped his lips, a sound that broke the silence of the room. He stood up from his seat, the wood cold beneath his hands. He needed to think, he needed to plan, he needed to find a way to protect Penelope, not only from external dangers, but also from the very magnitude of her power. The responsibility was his, and he was determined to face it, whatever the cost. He stared out the window, the sleeping city stretching out before him like a sea of flickering lights. The night was long, and the road ahead seemed uncertain, but Bruce Wayne, the man behind the mask, was prepared to fight for the girl he now considered his own.
And Tim, oh gods, Tim wouldn't let anything happen to Tim.
He knew Tim had a desire for siblings; he'd seen him try to get closer to Dick and Barbara, but the two of them were still immersed in the pain of losing Jason and had been cruel to the boy with the huge, striking blue eyes, who huddled around the little girl wearing his shoes with immense joy.
"What the hell is going on here?" Bruce muttered to himself, feeling the tension in the air intensify. He turned to Constantine, who was still absorbed in Penelope's gaze, as if trying to decipher an ancient spell hidden in her innocence.
"John," Bruce said in a deep voice, breaking the silence, but without taking his eyes off the two children who were now intently staring at the cartoons Alfred had shown them. "You can't play with this. If what you're saying is true..."
Constantine raised a hand, interrupting him.
"I know, Batsy. But I can't ignore what I feel. This girl..." his voice softened, almost reverent, "there's something deeply special about her, it's as if she's been blessed."
Meanwhile, Penelope continued to sit next to Tim, her large, curious eyes observing the adults as if they were figures in a fairy tale she had never imagined. In her childish mind, confusion mingled with a spark of excitement; could it be that she was part of something bigger? Bruce felt a tug at his heart as he saw Penelope's vulnerability.
She was just a child, but she had already been marked by suffering and danger. Why should she carry this burden? His protective instinct kicked in.
"We can't allow anyone to harm her," Bruce said, staring at Constantine. "If there's magic in her, we must make sure she's safe."
Constantine nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of the matter.
"I know, Batsy. But we must also understand her power. Ignoring what's inside her could be a fatal mistake."
Tim's eyes filled with tears as he looked at Penelope; his little sister was trapped in a world she couldn't escape.
"I don't want to lose her..." Tim whispered, his shaky voice filled with fear and despair.
Bruce crouched down to Tim's level and placed a hand on his shoulde
"You won't lose her, Tim. I promise to protect her."
Penelope felt the emotional weight hanging in the air and sought comfort in Tim's hand once again. Her innocence contrasted with the gravity of the moment; she didn't know exactly what this "magic" everyone was talking about or why it was so important, but there was something inside her that told her she should be ready to face the unknown.
Suddenly, Penelope broke the silence with a soft, determined voice:
"Can I... can I help?"
Everyone turned to her, surprised by her courage. Constantine raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly.
"Help? With what exactly?"
"I don't know... but I want to understand," Penelope replied, with unexpected determination for someone so young.
The answer left the older men in the room speechless. Bruce felt his heart beat faster; this little girl had more courage than many adults possessed. It was as if she already knew she was destined for something great, and if the signs of abuse went beyond that, that would explain why they were so eager to keep the child safe.
Constantine smiled broadly now, revealing a glimmer of admiration for the girl:
"Sometimes the greatest power comes from a pure and brave heart."
Yes, it wasn't like Constantine. He didn't even like children, thank you! But that little girl, with that long magenta hair and round green eyes, had something special.
As Bruce gazed at Penelope and felt his thoughts intertwined with those of the magician in front of him, he began to ponder Constantine's words: could there really be hope in this situation? Could it be that Penelope was not only a victim but also a key player in changing the course of their lives?
The answer was still far from clear, but the only thing that was certain was that the journey had only just begun, and the shadows of the past were about to collide with the lights of the future. a future where a wounded little girl could become the unexpected heroine everyone needed.
Bat Family
Bruce kept his promise to go shopping with her and Tim.
Alfred had made a call, and the children's area of the mall had been closed off so Bruce wouldn't have any setbacks. Many knew that he, in some way, looked out for Tim; after all, the Drakes were his neighbors, but him showing up with a little girl was something else.
The car they had chosen had been more affordable for transporting minors to places with minors, and unfortunately, it had been a white luxury sports car. Yes, it wasn't the best option, but so far, it was the most viable.
After Constantine left, Bruce thought things over and called Dick. The answering machine immediately picked up, so, discouraged, he had left him a voicemail, asking him to come to the mansion. There was an urgent matter to discuss, and it was, in fact, very important.
Now, Penelope, looking outside through the glass, felt that this new world, this new home, was much better than being in the duchy, and her new dad was kinder! So when they arrived at a large, shiny, polished glass building, she felt small.
The automatic doors of the mall opened, revealing a world of bright colors and cheerful sounds that contrasted with the usual austerity of Wayne Manor.
Penelope, wide-eyed, marveled at the explosion of sensory stimuli. Tim, at her side, smiled tenderly, observing the fascination of his new "little sister." Bruce, on the other hand, maintained his usual serious expression, although a slight smile played on the edges of his lips. Alfred, discreet as ever, remained at a safe distance, keeping watch with his sharp gaze.
The children's area, normally bustling, was deserted, an oasis of calm amidst the whirlwind of shoppers. Alfred had made a call, a call that had closed the area for them. Many recognized Tim Drake, the young heir to the Drake fortune (and Robin in his spare time, but it wasn't something they needed to know), and knew that Bruce Wayne was somehow involved in his life. The Drakes were, after all, their neighbors.
But Penelope's presence was something new, something that aroused curiosity and respect. The discretion surrounding the girl was palpable, a veil of mystery enveloping her small, delicate figure.
"This... is incredible," Penelope said, her voice filled with wonder.
Her eyes darted around, absorbing every detail of the place: the bright colors of the toys, the stuffed mannequins, the plays of lights decorating the shops. It was a whole new world for her, a world of fantasy and joy that contrasted with the darkness and pain of her past. Which was in stark contrast to the treatment she had received at the Eckhart Duchy, a place she had arrived at the insistence of a man who was clearly in denial about the death or loss of his daughter.
Tim turned to look at her, appreciating her surprised face.
"What do you find most interesting?" he asked with a warm smile.
"We can start there." Penelope hesitated for a moment, her eyes scanning the shelves full of toys.
Then her gaze fell on a small, pastel pink teddy bear with a blue bow around its neck. It was a color that reminded her of something... something painful, but also something comforting. After all, she always believed she would get along better with Reynold than with Derrick.
"That one," Penelope said, pointing at the bear with a trembling finger. "I like that bear."
Bruce watched the scene, a mixture of tenderness and concern in his eyes. Penelope's innocence, her ability to find joy in the simplest things, was touching. But he was also aware of the danger that lurked within her, of the immense power that lay dormant within her.
Shopping for clothes had become something more, a mission, an attempt to create a space of normalcy, a refuge from the coming storm. While Penelope chose a teddy bear, Bruce planned his next move, aware that protecting the girl would require more than the safety of Wayne Manor.
"That's a very good choice, Miss Penelope," Alfred said calmly, looking at the bear. "May I ask the reason?"
"I always thought..." he sighed and took a breath. "Ever since I arrived in the duchy, I thought I'd get along better with Reynold than with Derrick, but it was clear he didn't see me as anything more than an intruder."
His eyes had filled with a feeling of sadness; Tim didn't like it.
Whoever Reynold was, it was clear that in one way or another, he had contributed to Penelope's suffering. How? He didn't know, but he was.
"Besides, it's my first stuffed animal," she said, trying to calm the situation.
It didn't work.
The silence that followed Penelope's confession was heavier than the teddy bear itself.
Alfred, with his usual serenity, felt a deep sorrow wash over him. The girl, with her innocence and fragility, had revealed a deep wound, a wound that extended beyond the simple loss of what he had thought was an imaginary friend. He now knew it was the son of the man who had led her through hell.
Reynold, whoever he was, had left an indelible mark on her soul, a void that Penelope tried to fill with a simple teddy bear.
Tim, at her side, felt a pang of rage. The image of Reynold, a blurred figure in Penelope's story, became an intangible enemy, a threat that had contributed to the suffering of the girl he was now protecting. The desire to find Reynold and make him pay for the pain he caused Penelope took hold of him. (Tim didn't know he wouldn't be the only one seeking the Eckharts' blood in the future.)
Bruce, observing the scene with a mixture of concern and determination, felt a deep respect for Penelope's vulnerability. Her confession, so simple and yet so revealing, had exposed the depth of her trauma, the fragility of her soul.
The girl, in her innocence, had trusted them, had shared a piece of her broken heart. And that trust, that vulnerability, was something Bruce couldn't afford to disappoint. Alfred, breaking the silence, approached Penelope and placed a hand on her shoulder. His touch was gentle, comforting, like the embrace of an old friend.
"I understand, my dear," he said, his voice full of compassion. "Reynold... it seems he caused you a lot of pain."
Penelope nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
"Yes," she whispered. "I thought... that we would be friends. But he... he never saw me."
"Don't worry, my dear," Alfred said, his voice soft and reassuring. "Now you have friends. You have Tim, Bruce, and me. And this bear," he added, pointing at the stuffed animal, "will be your new friend, a friend who will always be there for you."
Tim, his voice shaking, approached Penelope and offered her a warm smile.
"Yes," he said. "We'll always be here for you."
Bruce, for his part, just nodded. Penelope had confessed that it was the first stuffed animal he'd ever received, and in a way, it almost broke him. Bruce wasn't the best at showing his feelings, he knew that, and after losing Jason, he'd shut down completely. Many thought he was the one who found Tim, but that wasn't the case. It was his little Robin who found him surrounded by squalor, drunk, and in the most deplorable conditions. That's why, when Penelope had clung to him the night before, he'd been reluctant to let her go.
"Penelope," he called calmly, "don't you want to see some clothes?"
The girl's greenish eyes, a green that blended with Tim's blue, looked at him, and without letting go of her bear, she nodded.
"Can we go that way?" she asked, pointing at the long rows of clothes.
Penelope, who had only planned to buy the basics, was surprised when each of her companions began showing her outfit after outfit, the goal being for her to take a little more than she expected.
And Bruce didn't mind paying with his credit card.
Chapter 10: Chapter Nine: Dick's Mailbox
Summary:
Dick appears! Before you say anything, I feel like I have to add drama to Tim's relationship with Dick, so I'm sorry.
Chapter Text
Selina had been to the mansion more times than Bruce had expected, even when he'd been expecting the arrival of his first child, Dick.
It had been painful for Bruce to notice that Dick hadn't been willing to return to the mansion. It had been a while since Jason's death, and yes, he was still grieving over his son's death, but Dick hadn't been back since that day he'd given him the tragic news.
So there he was, a week after he'd bought clothes for Penelope, with Selina in her living room listening to the little girl talk, and Tim sitting beside her, smiling at the youngest.
"Bruce?" they called.
Selina seemed to have separated herself from her children for a moment; she took the opportunity to approach him.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yes, Selina, it's just that Dick..." He leaves his meaning hanging in the air, making Selina realize what was happening.
"Is he still not talking to you?" I ask, earning a nod from him. "Wow, he seems too angry, but does he know about Nelly?"
"No, I've tried to reach him with the news about Penelope, but he still won't listen, and Barbara's on his side," Bruce sighed, letting his weight fall back into the chair.
Selina sighed. She knew the pressure Bruce was under, she'd seen him through his darkest times, she'd witnessed the progress Tim had made with Bruce, but she'd also seen Dick move on from his father.
"I know Jason's death has been very hard for you all. I also know Tim came at the worst possible time, but..." he hesitates for a moment, not knowing what else to say. "Neither Dick nor Barbara had any reason to treat Tim that way, and neither should you. That boy has only known isolation, and now, now he has you, Alfred, Nelly, and me..."
Bruce knew Selina's confession was true. Everyone had been affected, but Dick and Barbara not so subtly pushed Tim away, to the point that if the younger one tried to get close to them, if Tim wanted to learn something Dick or Jason knew, the former would rudely push him away, coldly tell him no, and even suffer her cruel words. As for Barbara, she had refused to acknowledge Tim as Robin, never accepting his polite requests for instructions, and whenever he tried to communicate with her, Barbara would cut off the transmission. And Tim was human, a young man, and he cried, even though he tried not to let it show.
"What do I do now?" Bruce asked, looking at Selina and then at the children, who were now examining the stuffed animal Selina had brought Penelope. "If I react badly to Tim, he'll react worse to Nelly."
His fears were valid, and even so, he knew there was nothing he could do.
"Are you going out?" Selina asked, not needing to tell him anything else, but detailing the fact of her leaving.
"Yes, I've been going out, but I've been rushing home anyway," Bruce calmly assured her.
Before he could say anything else, the television, which had been more like a focus of external, deep commotion, had been interrupted, causing the broadcast to be lost.
"Breaking news, this afternoon at the Gotham police station, a duffel bag containing eight heads was found..." The adults' attention shifted to the television. "The police claim it was a desperate attempt by the criminal underworld to take control of the crime alley, but our sources indicate that the person involved is a new mob boss named Red Hood..."
The image on the screen could make viewers vomit or be traumatized. An incompetent police officer had ripped open the duffel bag containing the heads, which fell to the ground with an almost dull thud, as if they were balls. It didn't help that the camera that was recording everything remained motionless, recording and broadcasting how the bloodstains spread across the floor, and in the background, at least two other police officers had begun to vomit.
"Well, it's clear you'll have to go out tonight," Selina says, staring at the news in terror. "Will you take the little bird?"
"I have to. Alfred can take care of Nelly, at least of course, if you want to stay tonight," Bruce suggested, looking at the woman with blue-green eyes.
"I'd like to, but I have an errand to run." The way Bruce looks at her, as if quietly hoping she wouldn't do anything illegal, makes her raise her hands in surrender. "Relax, big guy, I won't do anything wrong."
Bruce wants to believe it, but he finds it difficult, and yet, a soft smile was about to appear.
In Blüdhaven, Dick Grayson was finishing his double shift as a police officer when he noticed he had four missed calls from Bruce, and his voicemail was also overloaded. This frustrated him.
He pressed the button on his screen, right where his voicemail was, and recognized Bruce's voice, the person he least wanted to hear from at that moment.
"Hey, friend, I just wanted to tell you that I need you to come to the mansion, it's urgent."
"Dick, I know I haven't been the best, but we have an important matter to discuss."
"Dick," a defeated sigh is heard. "I know you don't want to be here. I know Tim's presence bothers you, but I need your help with something."
There were more messages like this, always asking for his help, always asking him to please come to the mansion, but Dick doesn't sense a valid reason, at least until he hears the last message.
"You don't need to come anymore. Selina, Tim, and Alfred have been helpful, just... goodbye."
He wouldn't have been surprised by the message, except that between the goodbyes and the brief silence before the message ended, he heard a little girl's voice calling someone "Dad." He might have been confused, which would be the most normal thing, but something inside him told him he'd have to return to Wayne Manor, and resigned himself, he called Barbara.
"Hi, Babs," he said calmly, just as the line on the other end of the cell phone had stopped ringing.
"Dick," he greeted, his voice sounding muffled, as if he knew he was going to call.
"Hey, I can't hear you well. Did something happen?"
"When are you coming to Gotham? There's something you should know," she said, as if she were about to reveal a secret.
"Babs, what's up?"
"Bruce has a daughter, she's Tim's age," she blurted out.
Dick almost staggered. A daughter? How come he hadn't told her? Anger was taking over, the rage he felt like when he'd been told so late that Jason had died. Barbara seemed to say something, but her anger was greater, her anger beginning to cloud her perspective and vision. Hanging up Barbara's call, he quickly searched for the contact he'd learned for safety, and with trembling fingers, Dick dialed the number.
"This is Bruce Wayne, leave your message..."
Voicemail immediately picked up, which annoyed Dick.
"Bruce, what the fuck? How come you have a daughter?! Who's the girl in the videos with you? You're already planning to replace Barbara! Seriously!"
His angry voice has fully filled the brief time he had to leave a message, when he hears the three tones, the same ones that tell him that time is up, Dick hurries to go pack his suitcase, Bruce had a lot to tell him, a lot!
Jim Gordon had been police commissioner for some time, about six years, and had made several changes there.
He knew he'd tried hard to clean up Gotham, but miracles weren't in his abilities; he could only trust God and Batman.
Batman, the man, was at best that disease (or immune system, however you want to look at it) that everyone loves. Easy to deal with, and even more so when little Robin was around. Yes, Jim adored the Robins and had mourned the death of the second, but the third had risen quickly, in a way that if what he'd heard was true; he was the new beacon of light for many.
And now he was there, waiting for the big bat to arrive.
"Hello, Commissioner Gordon!"
Robin's soft, childlike voice brought a smile to Jim's face. Had he already said he adored the kid? He was so sweet!
"Hey, Robin. Where's the big one?"
"He's stopping a robbery, but he told me to go ahead," the boy said calmly, pulling a brown bag from under his cape. "I brought some cupcakes for you, Detective Bullock."
Bullock, who was "hiding," came out and ruffled the younger boy's hair.
"Thanks, kid, but I'm worried you're off on your own," he confessed.
"I'll be fine!"
Robin's childish nature had almost caused the two adults to flank him, but the arrival of the Bat made them stop.
"Gordon, Bullock," he said in his deep voice. "What do you have for me?"
"The psycho who staged the decapitated heads scene seems to be an old friend of ours," Jim said, handing a file to Batman. "Does Red Hood ring a bell?"
"Impossible..."
"It's not. There was a card inside the tarp. The madman took the time to wrap it up," Bullock commented, handing over the evidence bag that had the card inside.
Red Hood's signature was there, along with what looked like blood.
"Who is Red Hood?" Robin asked quietly.
"Red Hood was the Joker's alias," Batman commented. "Before he started out as the killer clown, he called himself that. His appearances were brief, very few people remember him, and he was rarely involved in complicated cases."
"So how did he become the Joker?"
"It was when the Bat stopped an illegal sale. The clown was there as Red Hood. According to our man, the guy tripped over his own helmet and fell."
"But if he was a nearly invisible figure, how did anyone know about him?" Robin ventured to ask, because he knew he was somewhat right. If said character was rarely seen on the scene, only a select few would know.
"That's what we're going to find out. Do you know who the decapitated people were?" Batman asked.
"That's where it gets better. They were drug dealers. There was also a pimp and a murderer," Jim replied. "The guy claims he'll clean up Gotham, but I have my doubts."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah..." his gaze lingered on Robin for a moment.
"Robin, go over there," he pointed to the other end of the building, Batman.
"Good," Jim sighed. "This madman is after your little bird. There was a second note, it talked about how he would clip the brightly colored bird's wings."
Bruce's heart trembled, and he glanced sideways at Robin. He had to make a contingency plan or a protocol to keep him safe.
Chapter 11: Chapter Ten: Dick and Bruce's Fight
Summary:
Dick arrives in Gotham, but unfortunately, things don't go as Tim expects.
o
Dick's harsh words cause Tim to start crying, causing Penelope to cry, Alfred to get angry, and Penelope's magic to become a little complicated.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Knowing that Red Hood was after Robin had made Bruce even more paranoid. He hadn't taken his eyes off Tim all night. He knew several of the rogues had a soft spot for the boy. Even with the most reinforced armor to cover his small body, it was easy to see they were hesitant to attack the boy, but would send their men or lackeys to do it. He also noticed that the same rogues never went too far with Tim, always letting them catch them, but this was different.
Someone out there was hunting Robin, and whoever it was, there was a high probability they knew who was behind the mask. It also didn't help that the madman left a bag of heads at the police station, since whoever it was seemed to have been anxious.
"We're done, B!" Robin exclaimed, as he tied up some assailants.
"That's it, buddy," he said calmly, while keeping an eye on Robin. "Let's go..."
Jumping between the walls of buildings and rooftops, he didn't lose sight of Robin. He couldn't lose another Robin, another son (because he was his son!), so when they reached the Batmobile parked there, he felt a certain sense of relief once they were inside the vehicle.
"B," Tim called calmly, fiddling with his fingers. "Have you talked to Dick?"
His childish voice was almost covering up the nervousness he felt.
"You know, for Nelly's sake, she deserves to meet more people," Tim assured him, trying to justify his actions.
Bruce (Batman) almost smiled. Tim was indeed enthusiastic about being in the same room as Dick, but of course, that enthusiasm was overshadowed when he got a hurtful response from Dick.
"He's busy," he lied, though he tried to sound convincing. "He's the only vigilante in Blüdhaven, so he must be very busy."
"You're right, but I'd like him to meet Nelly," Tim replied.
The curve down to the cave had been comforting as they went over the small bridge, but of course, even so, he felt a certain pressure on him.
Alfred was waiting for them, as was his custom, and Tim, who had quickly gotten out of the vehicle, had run to the showers.
"I'll shower to see Nelly!"
Her small boots made a soft echoing sound that almost made Bruce laugh.
"Quiet night?" Alfred asked calmly. "Miss Penelope went to bed early in Master Tim's room."
"You understand..."
Alfred knows there's something Bruce hasn't told him. He had raised that boy, so yes, he knew there was something he was keeping from him.
"Good night!"
Tim, who was coming out dressed in pajamas with gentle drops of water running through his hair, watched him go, and when they lost sight of him, Alfred turned his attention to Bruce.
"Will you tell me what's going on?" the butler asked.
And Bruce almost, almost sighed, knowing he would have to tell Alfred what was happening.
The first thing Dick Grayson saw as he approached Wayne Manor was that the gloomy air that had once hung over it had disappeared. It seemed dark, no longer somehow chilling; in fact, it seemed as if the mansion had come to some kind of life.
His blue eyes gazed almost emotionlessly at the ancient architecture. The trip from Blüdhaven to Gotham had been very difficult, not because it was long—at most, it was two and a half hours—but because he didn't want to see Bruce. It was still difficult, with Jason's death and their daily fights. He had tried to stay away from Gotham, the mansion, and especially Bruce.
When he parked his car (the car Bruce had given him for getting into college), he tried to remain calm. He got out, hesitated for a moment, but when he remembered the fact that Bruce had a new daughter, his fury continued to rise.
The heavy oak door opened with a creak that echoed in the silence that had settled in the mansion. Dick entered. The cold, thick air that had once enveloped the place was now gone, or at least not entirely. Instead, there was a warm, almost soft air, as if something good had happened. The mansion seemed... different. As if it were breathing, as if the pain left by Jason's death had been forgotten.
His footsteps echoed in the foyer, each echo a thud in his chest. He stopped in front of a portrait of Jason, barely fifteen years old, with a mischievous smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes. The image brought a lump to his throat, a pang of pain so sharp it made him squeeze his eyes shut. Why him? Why Jason? The question, silent and desperate, echoed in his mind like a painful mantra.
Suddenly, he heard a soft voice, one that was comforting on his saddest days. It was Alfred.
"Master Dick," said the old butler, his eyes no longer showing the sadness that seemed to envelop him, and although there was still a certain amount of tension in them, it was almost no longer predictable, "I'm glad to see you."
Dick forced a smile, a mask that barely concealed the inner turmoil.
"Alfred..." he whispered, his voice barely audible, trying to keep a furious shout from escaping his lips. "How is Bruce?"
Alfred almost sighed. He knew Dick was trying to make things right, that in fact, he wouldn't be the target of his shouts, but he also knew things weren't going to last long. Of course he did! Once they were face to face, a fight was bound to break out.
"Master Bruce is sleeping. Despite it being a quiet night, to say the least, he stayed up to solve a case," the butler said.
Dick felt like he might explode. Asleep? Bruce never slept more than two or three hours. Those were, so to speak, the hours he considered necessary to stay awake, but knowing that he was, in fact, asleep, that he was resting, was something he hadn't considered.
"I need to see him, Alfred. I need to talk to him," he said, hoping that the butler could, in fact, wake him, that he could go and wake him.
"I'm afraid you'll have to accompany me to the kitchen; he'll wake up on his own. I suspect they're already doing that work," Alfred smiled softly.
Somehow, Dick knew there was more to Alfred's words. He was sure that even the butler was hiding something from him. What? He didn't know, but he chose to listen and approached the kitchen.
The kitchen (Jason's favorite place) was spotless, right next to a small dining room, the same one they used when they all wanted to be in the same environment as Alfred. He watched him work, smelled the freshly brewed coffee and the soft aroma of food, a pleasant setting, managing to transport his mind to another place.
Bruce was assaulted by two small, thin bodies.
"Get up, B!"
"Get up, Dad!"
Their voices, soft and childlike, without any trace of malice, rose above the surroundings of his room. His blue eyes looked directly at where the two bodies were, just to the right of the bed, where the two little ones who now lived and roamed around were staring at him: Timothy and Penelope.
Tim, with his usual seriousness tempered by sleep, held a fine china cup, the steaming coffee emanating from it like a small cloud. The warmth of the cup felt pleasant in his hands. Penelope, on the other hand, was sitting next to him, carrying a small china plate, seeming proud of having arrived in the room with the plate untouched; it contained toasted bread with a torso spread with butter on it.
"Good morning, B," Tim said, his voice hoarse with sleep, like the caw of a crow. "Alfred asked us to bring you the coffee. It seems to be part of their special harvest; it tastes like hazelnuts."
Penelope, with a radiant smile that lit up her face like the morning sun, added:
"And I brought the toast, and I didn't mess with it. It was great! Alfred thought he'd lend me a saucer."
Bruce took the coffee cup, the warmth of the china conveying a comforting sensation. The aroma of hazelnuts was intense, a scent that reminded him of autumn mornings in the English countryside, a time that seemed distant and almost forgotten. He looked at the toast, the melted butter forming small golden pools on the crusty bread. It was a simple breakfast, but charged with unexpected affection.
"Thank you, Tim, thank you, Nelly," he corrected, smiling slightly.
Using the diminutive for Penelope felt natural now, a small concession to the tenderness these children had stirred in him. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of familial warmth.
Tim, who had developed a more analytical side to know when Bruce was wrong, sat on the edge of the bed, watching his mentor with a mixture of concern and affection.
"You haven't slept well, B," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Your dark circles are... noticeable."
Bruce nodded, feeling the pang of guilt. Jason's death was still an open wound, a pain that refused to heal, but in Tim and Penelope's presence, that pain seemed to lessen, as if the light of their innocence dispelled some of the darkness. But it hadn't just been the pain of remembering losing Jason, but also the veiled threat to Robin.
Penelope, on the other hand, had settled on the floor, playing with the edge of her plate. Her eyes, large and bright, followed Bruce with curious attention.
"Dad," she said, using the term with a casualness that surprised him. "Alfred says you should get more rest. He says bats need to sleep, too."
Bruce felt a warmth spread through his chest. "Dad." The word resonated within him, an echo of a life he'd never had, but which now, somehow, he was beginning to build.
"You're right, Nelly," he said, his voice soft. "I should get more rest. And thank you for breakfast. It's delicious, but I'd like to join you for breakfast, if you don't mind."
He took a sip of coffee, savoring the hazelnut flavor. He looked at the renowned twins, at Tim with his serious concern, and at Penelope with her innocent joy. They were two polar opposites, but united by an invisible bond, a bond of brotherhood that extended to him, enveloping him in an unexpected but deeply comforting web of affection.
"Here, Daddy," Penelope said, handing him the black slippers. "Come on, I heard Alfred say he'd make pancakes."
"Really?" Bruce asked playfully, as he sat down on the bed and took the first bite of toast. "Well, let's not keep Alfred and his pancakes waiting."
"Especially the pancakes," Tim mocked, knowing Bruce was eager to sink his teeth into pancakes.
Leaving Bruce's room, he held Nelly in his arms, who smiled delightedly, while Tim talked about some things she didn't quite understand, but she listened with complete attention to what her brother was saying.
He was starting to despair, and it wouldn't be long before he screamed in annoyance.
He didn't know exactly how much time had passed. He did know he was on his second cup of coffee. He wasn't stupid. The almost bitter taste had made the sleepiness that had begun to manifest due to how little sleep he'd had, but his attention soon shifted from the cup to the voices.
He could identify Tim's and Bruce's voices, but he felt like he was missing something, and he knew it when he saw Bruce walk through the kitchen door. There was Bruce's new daughter.
"Dick," Bruce said when he noticed his eldest son, "What are you doing here?"
But he didn't get an answer. His blue eyes remained on the little girl who had been placed on the floor next to Tim. It was complicated; he didn't know how to feel. One part of him was annoyed, the other intrigued, having expected to see a girl who looked like Bruce, not a girl with the wrong colors.
"Dick?" Tim called, looking curiously at the older son. "Is everything okay?"
"Who is she?" he asked, his voice sounding annoyed, irritated.
"It's Nelly, my twin sister," Tim assured calmly, as if it were a fact that had always been there.
The silence that followed was thick, charged with a palpable tension that could be cut with a knife. Dick continued to stare at Penelope, who was playing with a small wooden toy Selina had brought her three days ago, oblivious to the storm brewing around them. Bruce, with his usual impassiveness, watched his eldest son, waiting for an answer, an explanation for the hostility evident in his gaze, but at the same time, he was worried by the way Dick's gestures were giving him away.
The kitchen, normally a space of calm and order, where Alfred ruled, now felt claustrophobic, oppressive. The aroma of coffee, once comforting, now felt heavy, like a veil hiding the truth.
"It's Nelly, my twin sister," Tim repeated, his voice soft but firm, trying to break the tension.
"Hello," Penelope said, but when she didn't get a response, she turned to Bruce. "Dad, is he mute?"
Tim's explanation, however, did nothing to calm Dick, and it was made worse by the words the younger girl had spoken. His gaze remained fixed on Penelope, analyzing every detail, every feature of her face, searching for some clue, some sign that would explain the discomfort she felt.
"Dad?" Dick snapped, his voice raspy, full of bitterness. "Just like that? Weren't you going to tell us about her?"
Bruce sighed, a low, resigned sound that echoed in the silence of the kitchen. He approached Dick, his expression serious, his dark eyes filled with a suppressed sadness.
"Dick, I need you to understand..." he began, but Dick interrupted him.
“I understand you feel alone,” Dick said, his voice full of reproach. “I understand that losing Jason has left you devastated. But this… this isn’t the solution. You can’t just replace someone with someone else. You can’t…”
“I’m not replacing her,” Bruce said, his voice firm, but with a hint of weariness. “Penelope… Nelly… needed a home. And I… I needed…”
“You needed company,” Dick finished, his voice cold and sharp. “You needed to fill the void Jason left, with these two children.”
Bruce fell silent, his eyes fixed on Dick’s. The accusation was direct, hurtful, but there was a truth in it he couldn’t deny. The pain of losing Jason had been unbearable, an abyss that had swallowed him whole. And in that abyss, in that darkness, he had found Penelope, a child in need of love, a child who had offered him a glimmer of hope, a reason to keep going. But Dick didn't see it that way.
"It's not fair, Bruce," Dick said, his voice cracking with emotion. "It's not fair to Jason, it's not fair to Barbara."
The tension in the kitchen was almost palpable, a silence filled with pain, guilt, and blame. Bruce looked at Penelope, his heart wrenching as he saw how suddenly those innocent eyes filled with tears.
"Dad..."
"He's not your dad, you silly girl!" Dick yelled, annoyed and furious at how easily the little girl had called Bruce "Dad."
Dick's scream echoed through the kitchen, cutting the air like a knife. Penelope flinched, her large, shining eyes brimming with tears. The word "replacement," spoken so cruelly, hit her like a punch to the stomach. She'd heard that word before, whispered in the shadows, in moments when loneliness wrapped around her like a cold blanket. She'd always felt she was a replacement, a shadow, a blurred figure in Bruce's life. Now, hearing it from the mouth of Dick, Tim's older brother, the original Robin, made her feel even smaller, even more insignificant.
Tim, his face pale, stood between Dick and Penelope, his hands shaking. Dick's rage was a whirlwind, but Penelope's sadness was a knife piercing her heart. He knew that in some ways, he was Jason's replacement, that he was merely the Robin keeping Bruce alive, but hearing Dick, the first Robin, call his sister by that nickname was painful, even more so knowing that his sister had suffered under the words of the family who, he claimed, had taken care of her, when that wasn't the case.
Dick's gaze, filled with icy bitterness, chilled him to the bone; a gaze that told him he was also a substitute, a mere patch on Bruce's broken heart.
"Don't yell at her," Tim repeated, his voice barely a whisper, but with surprising strength. His shoulders trembled, not just with rage, but with the sadness that flooded him, with Penelope's vulnerability, with Dick's cruelty, and with the doubt that now gnawed at him.
"Stay out of this, replacement!" Dick snapped, his gaze filled with blind fury. The word, thrown like a poisoned dart, echoed through the kitchen, wounding both siblings.
Something inside Tim had snapped in that moment. It wasn't just rage, it wasn't just sadness for Penelope. It was the realization, the painful realization, that Dick wasn't just attacking Penelope, he was attacking all of them, the family they were trying to build, a family fragmented by grief, by loss, and by an inability to forgive.
Penelope, tears streaming down her cheeks, hugged herself, seeking solace in her own body, in her own fragility. The bittersweet taste of sadness engulfed her, a feeling that was both familiar and new. Familiar because she had always felt she was a spare part in the duchy, being called a fake, a copy, or a replacement, a shadow, a child who didn't fit in. New because Dick's cruelty had exposed that truth, made it visible, palpable.
"Richard!" Bruce shouted, annoyed, furious that the children who were building it had been attacked in such a manner.
Bruce's scream echoed in the silence of the kitchen, which was filled with an oppressive sadness. Penelope, her face bathed in tears, clutched the edge of the table, while Tim, staring at the floor, seemed to be barely containing his own rage. Bruce, with an expression of unspeakable pain, watched the scene, helpless. It was then that the door opened and Alfred entered. In his hands were some things needed to properly complete breakfast, but his face was expressionless, but his normally serene eyes were filled with suppressed anger.
"Master Richard," Alfred said, his voice firm, echoing in the silence. "Enough."
Dick, still wrapped in his fury, turned sharply. His bitter gaze fell on Alfred, who stood firm, not budging an inch.
"Stay out of this, Alfred!" Dick snapped, his voice harsh and filled with resentment. "This is none of your business."
"It is my business when it comes to the well-being of this family," Alfred retorted, his voice even firmer. "And your behavior, Master Dick, is unacceptable. There is no place for that kind of cruelty in this house. Penelope is a child, a child who needs love and understanding, not your insults."
"She's a replacement," Dick said, his voice low but full of venom. "A replacement for Jason, a replacement for..."
"Say no more," Alfred interrupted, his voice cutting. "That is a terribly unfair accusation, and a testament to your own inability to deal with your own pain. Instead of blaming others, you should focus on healing your own wounds." And that, young Grayson, begins with a little respect and consideration for others.
Alfred's rebuke was like a bucket of cold water for Dick. Alfred, the father figure who had been present in their lives for so many years, was scolding him, reprimanding him as if he were a child. The humiliation, combined with the guilt he already felt, made him snap.
"Don't tell me what to do!" Dick shouted, his voice filled with rage. "You let him replace Jason with something like that…!"
With those words, Dick turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving behind an even heavier silence, a silence filled with pain, guilt, and profound sadness. Alfred watched him go, his face a mask of worry and disappointment. He approached Penelope, who was still trembling, and hugged her tenderly. Tim, his eyes red and swollen, approached as well, seeking comfort in Alfred's embrace. Bruce, head down, stood alone in the kitchen, aware that the task of healing his family's wounds was far greater and more complex than he had ever imagined. The bittersweet taste of sadness lingered in the air, a sadness that only time, and perhaps, much effort, could ease.
The fight that Dick had started on his own had been, in a way, the breaking point.
Notes:
Before anyone says, "you're doing Dick wrong, Dick is good" take as a starting point that in the stories, Dick had fights with Bruce, he lost his brother and nobody told him, he didn't show up for his funeral, so yes, Dick has problems, and believe me, he'll regret having made the children cry.
Chapter 12: Chapter Eleven: Dick and Derrick Sound Similar
Summary:
It's no coincidence that Dick and Derrick sound similar, but somehow, it stirs up negative emotions in Penelope.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Penelope and Tim didn't leave the second-floor bedroom for the rest of the day, and Bruce didn't know what to do anymore.
He'd tried everyone, and he meant it, but nothing had worked. Tired, he decided to call the only person he knew could help him, Selina. So, when Bruce was suffering an existential crisis from not knowing what to do, the two siblings were huddled together in one corner of the room.
"Why did he treat us like this?" Penelope asked Tim softly, her eyes brimming with tears. "We're not bad, so why..."
"For Jason," Tim replied, as he approached his bed and took something out. "There's something I want to tell you, if it's okay with you."
Penelope's watery green eyes looked at Tim, at her brother, her eyes conveying that she wanted to know what had happened to the man named Jason.
"There was a robin before I took the mantle. His name was Jason Todd, and he was the brightest robin, like an Alpha Canis Majoris, the brightest star you could see in the sky," Tim began, his blue eyes seeming to have taken on a beautiful glow, one Penelope had seen when he held her in his arms, happy to have her as a sister. "But there will always be someone who hates that there is a bright star."
In Penelope's small hands, she formed the image of a boy. He wore the colors Tim made him at night, but he was wearing very short pants, in what appeared to be a bright green color, as if it were some kind of fabric she didn't recognize.
"Bruce found him one night, days after Dick left Gotham. It was a cool night, and while he was patrolling, a young man, thin and with a defiant gaze, slipped through the shadows, his nimble fingers working on the Batmobile's tires," Tim began, as if it were some kind of story, a tale Penelope would have to know. "His name was Jason Todd, a street kid, an orphan who had learned to survive in the city's crevices, an expert in the art of survival, to say the least. But I think stealing the Batmobile's tires hadn't been the best idea." His smile had been more of a reflex, not something he'd wanted to express genuinely. "But Bruce found him and decided to take care of him. At first, it was complicated. Jason defied authority, but he was also a good kid, I know, because I followed them every night with my camera.
Penelope frowned. Going out every night? Without his armor, that was dangerous, wasn't it?
"He became a Robin, one who had enviable energy, he was like a beacon of light, my beacon of light." His eyes showed a longing that Penelope found curious; it seemed as if her brother had been stripped of a part of his own life. "He was active until he was fifteen, he..." She took a breath, seeming to have difficulty speaking. "Nelly, you should know that there is someone out there who calls himself the Joker, and he's very evil. If you see a guy with green hair and a purple suit, you have to promise me that you'll run away from there..."
Penelope wanted to tell him that it wouldn't be necessary, that in fact; she knew he and her dad would keep her safe, but seeing the desperation on her brother's face, she nodded.
"What are we doing? Like this!" he exclaimed, showing more photos. She took a deep breath, trying to control the shaking in her hands, as she held the last photograph, an old one. In it, Jason smiled as he flew behind Bruce, behind his father. "Jason was Bruce's second son, and adoptively his first. I understand Dick didn't agree to be adopted. He was... he was incredible, fast, impulsive, strong, but he had a huge heart and was Bruce's beloved son, and although he didn't adapt to high society, he was someone who didn't forget his origins."
"Brother?" Penelope asked, then looked at the boy more closely. "Is he our brother too?"
Tim hesitates, but nods. To him, Jason was his brother, his robin.
"I don't know the details; Bruce hasn't told me, but as far as I know, Jason traveled to Ethiopia. Why?" I don't know, but the Joker captured him. Someone turned him in, I'm sure of that—Tim's voice trembles. “He died from a bomb. I know the Joker hurt him too. Blows that... blows that kept Jason from getting back on his feet, but it was mostly the bomb that killed him. Bruce couldn't get there in time, and he's lived with that guilt.”
Penelope felt the air escape from her lungs. Tim's words echoed in her mind like alarm bells, and her heart pounded, almost as if she were trying to release the tension of that heavy moment. She hunkered down a little further, seeking refuge in her brother's warmth, but still holding onto the image of the man who should have been her older brother.
“How could someone do that to our brother?” Her voice was a whisper, as if she was afraid the walls could hear her.
Tim looked down, searching for the right words. The evening light filtered through the window, illuminating the room with an orange hue that contrasted with the gray surroundings. His mind traveled back to those dark days when Bruce had let alcohol dictate his feelings, causing him to act in an unhealthy, unreal way. He didn't want Nelly to see that side of Bruce. He'd done a good job so far keeping it at bay, but he didn't know when another attack might come.
"I don't know, Nelly," he finally answered. "The Joker is... he's madness personified. There's no logic to what he does. But Jason... he always found a way to brighten even the darkest days."
Penelope looked at the photo in her hands, where the boy was smiling, not knowing what lay ahead. It was a face full of life and hope, and now that life had completely vanished. Confusion and sadness twined in her chest.
"And Dad?" "Penelope asked, her voice still trembling." How is he now?"
Tim let out a heavy sigh, a mixture of sadness and frustration. It was clear that even though he wanted to keep his sister from seeing that side of Bruce, sooner or later she'd ask questions, and they were starting to come.
"I'm not going to lie to you, at first it was difficult. I didn't see myself, I only saw Jason. I think I thought I was still with him, but recently, he's started to feel more stable, less prone to erroneous thoughts," Tim assured calmly. "But even so, I know that every time he sees me wearing the Robin mantle, he remembers Jason and feels responsible. It's like a part of him has died too."
Silence fell between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Penelope could feel tears beginning to gather in her eyes again, but this time she didn't want to cry; she wanted to understand.
"Brother, is that why Dick treats us badly?" she asked softly. "Is it because he thinks we're taking Brother Jason's place?"
How ironic, Tim thought. Jason was ten feet underground, but he already had a place in Nelly's heart, just like them.
"I don't think it's just that," he assured her. "Bruce and Dick had problems before, they fought a lot, so I feel like Dick is letting out everything he's been repressing."
In that instant, Penelope realized that her brother wasn't just talking about Jason; he was talking about them, about the weight they all carried in that house full of secrets and shadows.
"I would have liked to have met Brother Jason. I know that somehow, he would have taken care of us," Penelope commented in a low, almost faint voice.
And Tim smiled. Suddenly, a dull noise interrupted his thoughts: someone was on the other side of the door, gently knocking on the thin wood before entering without waiting for a reply. It was Selina. Her expression was clear, there was a spark of concern in her dark eyes.
"Children?" she said softly, as if afraid of scaring them. "Can I come in?"
"Yes," they chorused, as if the woman's presence in the room wasn't a nuisance, and it certainly wasn't.
"What are you doing? How are you?"
Tim exchanged a meaningful look with Penelope before answering.
"We're fine... just talking about Jason."
Selina's reaction was clear; she hadn't expected that, but when she saw the photographs surrounding the two children, she smiled, a soft, fragile smile, like a mother remembering her son's most sacred moments.
"I see," she said, taking a seat across from the two children. "Bruce told me that Richard was here, and there was an exchange of words..."
There was no need for the children to say anything; the way their reaction changed was clear; the fight with Richard had been even worse than Bruce had possibly told them.
"Do you want to tell me?"
They both look at each other, but it's Penelope who speaks.
"It reminded me of the young duke," she whispered, her voice trembling with something between fear and sadness. "The young duke called me a replacement, telling me I'd never be the real daughter, that I was just a decoration, and when I heard Dick, for a moment I thought I saw the young duke." Penelope hesitates for a moment, but finishes what she wanted to say. "Besides, Dick and Derrick sound alike, and they're similar in appearance, so..."
Penelope leaves that remark hanging, and Tim's shoulders tense. If Dick hadn't already earned a blow, now he certainly had every chance of receiving one.
"Oh dear," she whispered as if it were a complaint she'd been holding in. "Tim?"
"I was upset that he yelled at Penelope," she replied. "I accept that he treats me like a fly, that he takes off my nets when I practice gymnastics, but I don't accept that he mistreats my sister. If she wants so much drama, I can go and say a few things to Barbara, see if she'll stop bullying and yelling at a little girl..."
Tim's outburst was clear. Richard (Dick) Grayson had passed a point where he shouldn't have. Yes, it might have been only days since Penelope's arrival, but in a period of time where it was just him against society, Penelope was becoming his pillar, and Dick had had the brilliant idea to humiliate and attack the girl.
"I understand," Selina assured. "But you'll have to leave. Bruce is waiting for you. He doesn't look exactly well. I dare say he looks horrible. It's as if he's aged suddenly."
"Did Dad get sad?" Penelope asked, surprised and worried.
"The poor thing has been wandering around for hours. He didn't know how to approach you. He had to call me," Selina joked, somehow bringing a smile to the younger girl's lips.
"So what are we waiting for? Let's go with Dad!" Penelope exclaimed, as she stood up and pulled her brother along. "Come on, come on, we can't leave Dad looking so bad..."
Selina laughed as she watched them leave the room. The pictures of Jason and the second Robin had been put back in a small box. The children, who were already leaving the room, didn't know that Selina turned off the microphone Bruce had given her. The big guy had already heard what he needed to hear, and if he had to use it to stop Dick, so be it.
The Bat Family
Night fell, and Penelope was sitting on her bed. Her father had promised her at dinner that Selina would stay with her and Tim that night, which, in fact, the latter wouldn't be going out on patrol.
It was a little strange. She knew her brother liked going out. Somehow, she even knew that if Tim wanted to, he could spend hours outside the mansion. But for now, he would stay with her, which was a good thing. Somehow, she liked knowing her brother could be with her at certain times.
"What are we going to watch?" she asked curiously, seeing Tim still browsing the enormous shelf in front of him. "Please don't let it be something I'm afraid of, either."
"No, I was thinking about something else..." She paused for a moment as she pulled out a few movies in particular from the huge pile. "I was thinking about something like Pride and Prejudice. It was Jason's favorite, and..."
"I'd love to!" Penelope exclaimed happily. "I think... I think we could connect with Brother Jason that way, don't you?"
Tim nodded, his cheeks bathing in a soft pink. It was a silly, childish thought, but there was something in the air whenever Jason was mentioned, it was as if he were still among them, and for a moment, Tim wondered if Jason had even liked them.
"You know, I have a feeling he'd really like you. You're from a world where none of that exists yet, something like the Regency era. I'm not entirely sure, but I think he'd be the one who would connect with you the most," Tim calmly assured, looking at his sister.
"You think so?" she asked curiously. "I've always wanted siblings, and now I have you here with me. I guess in some way, Dick counts, and so does brother Jason."
"I know you're not comfortable, but I just want you to answer me something, please." Tim's blue eyes looked at Penelope. Hesitant to tell her what he wanted to say, he finally worked up his courage. "Is this Derrick guy one of the main reasons you sometimes looked at the door in fear?"
Penelope's body tensed, but if there was one thing she wanted to do in that world, it was be honest.
"I know Dick and Derrick sound similar, but I don't want you to get mad at Dick," she asked, making Tim frown. Right now, Dick wasn't her favorite, not even close. That place somehow still belonged to Jason and Cass, whom she hoped would arrive soon so she could meet Penelope. "I'm asking you, more than anything, because aside from what he called us, Dick hasn't... hasn't..."
Penelope stops for a moment and looks at Tim. There was something, a voice similar to the Duke's, whispering to her that if she told Tim what was happening, it would be a disgrace, but she pushed that thought away. The Duke was nothing to her anymore; only her father, her brother, and her grandfather, Alfred.
"Dick hasn't tried to enter the room when I'm changing clothes or showering," she blurted out, looking away at the screen. Without realizing it, a tear had started to roll down her cheek. "I guess that's okay. Even though Dick has black hair and blue eyes like Derrick, I know he won't try to find me when I'm changing my clothes or washing my body..."
As she said more, Tim's mind shut down. He felt a pang in his chest when he heard Penelope's words. There was something in his mind whispering to him to go find that Derrick, to hit him, to hit him with one of those Batarangs, but at the same time, there was something telling him not to leave her side, that his little sister was going to need him, and he believed it.
"Nothing's going to happen," she said, her voice firm, though her heart was breaking inside at the thought of her sister being this vulnerable in front of someone other than them. "No one should make you feel this uncomfortable, and whoever does, you should let me know so I can defend you, and I know somehow, Dick would never do something as low as spy on you or anything like that."
Penelope shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I don't want to cause trouble. I don't want them to think I'm a crybaby or..." her voice cracked a little, but she continued, "or that I can't defend myself."
"It's not about that," Tim insisted, moving a little closer to her on the bed. "It's about you having the right to feel safe. You're not alone, you're not anymore."
She looked at him, seeking comfort in her brother's eyes. There was something in his gaze that gave her strength, as if he were a shield against all the evil in the world.
"Sometimes I feel like it's my fault... for accepting the Duke's hand that day..."
Tim frowned at that.
"It's not your fault, Nelly," he assured her, looking at his sister. "No one should do such base things, spying on you while you change, while you bathe. It's disturbing! It's from someone sick."
The screen was still showing the movie, but they were both too absorbed in the conversation to pay attention to the romantic dialogue echoing in the air. Tim took Penelope's hand in his own, squeezing it gently as if he could transfer some of his courage to her.
"I know there are more things you haven't told me. I'll wait until you feel comfortable, but please, if these events ever happen again, you must tell us. Alfred has the shotgun loaded and ready to use," Tim assured her.
Penelope nodded slowly, feeling the weight on her shoulders begin to lighten a little. The idea of facing something this terrifying again terrified her, but she also knew she couldn't let that fear control her life.
"Thank you, Tim," she murmured, feeling stronger for having him by her side.
As the movie continued and the characters faced their own love dramas, Penelope and Tim realized they, too, were facing a battle of their own: the struggle to keep fear at bay and find the courage to talk about what bothered them. Although Jason was no longer physically present, they felt his support through every difficult moment, as if he were reminding them to always fight for what was right and protect each other. No one knew that Selina and Alfred had heard everything and had been relaying this very thing to Bruce.
[Across Gotham, Batman watched as Nightwing was vomiting on the roof of an abandoned apartment building. His jaw was clenched, and all he wanted was to get back to the mansion to be with the twins, but to do that, he had to make Dick understand that he'd been wrong.]
Notes:
I must say, I know Derrick had an obsession with Penelope. They tell us it started when he arrived. He saw her as a pretty girl, and his crush (obsession) grew until he didn't want to see her with another man. But they don't tell us what he did. They leave that up in the air. They only point out the unjustified scoldings and punishments, so I've decided to show a side that would be 100% Derrick.
An obsession.
Chapter 13: Chapter Twelve: Dick thinks... Dick cries... Dick stays
Summary:
Dick has a reality check
Chapter Text
Richard John Grayson could count on his fingers the times he'd made a mistake, and to his horror, he'd made many... with innocent children.
Yes, he never denied that it hurt that Bruce had cast him aside, that he'd scolded him for an accident. He loathed Jason. He hated him for wearing his colors. And just when he was beginning to accept him, when he finally began to see him as a little brother, Jason died.
Losing him was like losing a piece of his soul, that little wing he'd tried too late to protect. And then, like another blow, he saw another boy—Tim—wearing the colors that had belonged to Jason.
It had made him so angry. He had unwittingly hated the idea of someone else taking the place of the boy he'd barely learned to love.
And now... now a little girl looked at him and thought in fear. And worse: He'd made her remember one of the people who had tortured her in a way that stayed with her heart.
The night chill seeped through the slits in his suit's collar, but that wasn't what was making Dick's stomach churn, nor was the wind blowing from the east what was making his jaw clench on the verge of spasm. He was kneeling at the edge of a building on the Gotham Cliffs, hidden in shadows, but his mind wasn't there.
Bruce's voice still echoed in his ear, neutral and steady, as if trying to maintain emotional distance. But Bruce never said anything unintentionally, and even though he was emotionally constipated, he knew that somehow, every word he uttered had been a direct blow, without cloak or compassion:
"You're not Derrick, Dick... but he looks too similar through the eyes of a scared little girl, Dick, the little girl I'm trying to piece together with the help of... Tim and Alfred."
Dick forced himself to swallow as another wave of nausea rose from his chest. He'd taken off his mask a few minutes earlier. Bruce hadn't scolded him. It seemed to be one of the few safe places in Gotham not surrounded by cameras, so he stared at his trembling hands, unable to bear the reflection of the visor. What had he done wrong? What gesture, what word, what attitude had caused Penelope—that sweet, broken, but brave girl who was now possibly asleep in Tim's arms—to feel she had to clarify that he wasn't going to spy on her? How could it be that in her mind, that wasn't a fact, but a relief?
Throwing up didn't help. The disgust still clung to his throat like tar.
Bruce said nothing more. He just left her the weight of the information and left. He knew that somehow, Selina would be accompanying the children, but no matter how happy she tried to appear, glad to be with her children, she could be disappointed or saddened by Dick's actions. And Alfred, the man who had raised him as a son when his parents died, knew he wasn't going to scold him or judge him, but he also knew it hurt that Dick (who was his first grandson) treated children this way, and for a moment, Bruce wondered if Alfred saw Dick as the little boy who had escaped through the mansion's windows, seeking validation.
As Bruce faded into the darkness and the alleys of the city, Dick searched for a moment of peace, though his thoughts drifted toward the little girl he'd upset and hurt with a tantrum.
Dick pressed his knuckles hard against the cement. Not against Penelope. He couldn't do it against her. But he couldn't help but wonder: How had he made her feel so unsafe? Yes, he was aware that he'd yelled, he'd expressed his anger at those who had nothing to do with it. He wasn't stupid, he'd let himself be blindsided, and now a little girl was afraid of him.
He knew he hadn't crossed any lines... but maybe he hadn't been where she needed him to be.
He hadn't been able to appreciate fear, not when his fury and anger had clouded his judgment, focusing only on Bruce and the actions he considered wrong, because he never noticed the way her eyes had widened in surprise, because Dick hadn't realized that in her eyes, he was the memory of someone who had set his sights on her in a sinful, filthy way.
And now, he understood that every time she looked at him with those giant, round eyes (similar to Tim's), it wasn't just out of surprise at being Bruce's first protégé, but because maybe... maybe she was surviving.
He jumped up, pacing the dark roof. Gotham stretched out below like an open wound, but that night, Dick wasn't thinking about the criminals, or the Penguin's plans or the new mob boss, Red Hood, or even the gang he and Barbara had been investigating. All of that could wait.
Not Penelope.
Not his new sister.
He had experienced something he couldn't quite imagine. Something that, unlike the bumps and falls Gotham or Blüdhaven dealt him every night, left deeper, more silent marks.
Dick rubbed his eyes. They were wet; at some point, they had filled with tears.
"What did I do?" he whispered, his breathing, which seemed to become labored, making his voice tremble. "I failed."
It wasn't a confession to Bruce, who was already gone. Not even for Penelope, who was sheltered from all harm in the mansion itself. Not even for Tim, who was possibly looking after his new sister.
It was for himself.
Because he failed. He failed by not asking why Penelope had appeared. He failed by assuming Penelope was Barbara's replacement, just as Tim was Jason's. He failed by not listening. He failed by looking too much like the monster with whom he shared a similar name, and, worst of all, by knowing that monster had looked under the clothes of his sister, who had been fleeing the abuse she had experienced at the hands of those who called themselves her family.
He put his domino back on, even though his eyes felt heavy; he needed to get back on track, so he pulled out his communicator, his hands still shaking.
"Batgirl... I need you to cover for me tonight."
"Are you okay?" Barbara asked from the other side.
Dick hesitated. He sighed.
"No." But I need to get back to the mansion. There's someone I need to talk to.
The silence lasted a second. Dick didn't know if Barbara knew who she was talking about or why, but finally, she spoke again.
"They'll understand."
Dick put away the communicator and ran toward the ledge. He jumped into the void like so many times, but this time he wasn't fleeing the crime; he was returning for redemption. He needed to see that sweet little girl who had experienced horrors in her life and who, in her eyes, was a monster just like those who had hurt her.
Returning to the mansion had been a strange journey, sometimes long, sometimes short. Bruce in his Batman suit could only think about what he heard.
He'd had that instinct, that feeling that he should bug the movie theater. Yes, it had been a bad thing, he'd been violating his children's privacy, but now he knew he'd done the right thing.
Getting to the cave was easy, a path he'd been traveling for over ten years. So when he got out of the Batmobile, he noticed Alfred and Selina there. In the shadows of the cave, which was only softly illuminated by the white lights they managed to project onto the rock walls, they could see that Alfred had a serving cart with hot tea, though Bruce wasn't sure he was interested in drinking it. Further away, sitting in one of the armchairs Jason had requested in silent pleas for when he wanted to stay with him, was Selina Kyle, her arms crossed over her chest and her legs tucked under her, like a restless cat who had lost something precious and didn't know how to protect it.
"Good evening, Master Bruce. How was patrol?" Alfred asked, but in his soft, serene voice, there was a hint of curiosity about why the theater was bugged.
"Fine, too calm for my own taste," he sighed and sat down in front of the Batcomputer, but even though he wanted to start a report, he knew firsthand that something was up, that they had failed.
"Bruce..." Selina spoke, looking at the taller man. "We need to talk about Penelope. She... Somehow, I feel like we failed her.
"It's not a technical glitch, Miss Kyle," Alfred said calmly, but with the firmness of someone who has raised someone like Bruce Wayne, and at the same time, That someone had experienced a lot, more than others could possibly know. "It's emotional. And that makes it more dangerous."
And Alfred was right.
Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. Penelope's voice was still echoing in his head. Not directly, of course. She hadn't been there. But feeling the tremor in every word through the tiny microphones was the worst, because he felt his little girl telling him so directly.
"Dick hasn't tried to enter the room when I'm changing clothes or bathing..."
A simple sentence. One no child should have to say.
Bruce felt his jaw clench again. His fingers clenched until his knuckles, bare without those gloves, turned white.
"Whatever brought her here—" Master Bruce, he thought she'd be safe, he thought maybe he could get her away from that world, from the one she calls a duke, from the hell she lived in so young," Alfred said, his soft, measured voice like a tranquilizer to the monster that wanted to break out of each of them.
"But she brought fear with her. She lives with it. She breathes with it," Bruce said, his voice, which had mostly sounded serious, devoid of any emotion, now sounded scared, as if he thought something might happen to the youngest in his care.
Selina shifted slightly, uncrossing her arms.
"You can't put out a fire with bricks, Bruce. You can build walls, you can lock away all her demons... but that doesn't make them go away," he said, hoping that his words would actually reassure the older man. "Penelope needs more than a roof." She needs to feel like she doesn't have to justify herself for existing. I know you've been doing an exceptional job, Bruce, but now, that little girl is opening up, and her demons have been worse than we imagined.
Bruce then turned slowly, his blue gaze reflecting a contained storm.
"And what kind of father am I if I can't guarantee that?"
Alfred spoke calmly, placing the cup on a small base by the Batcomputer, hoping she'd drink it to calm her fears.
"One who can still learn. One who has the will to correct what others would destroy without a thought, Master Bruce."
Alfred's words were, as always, a sequence of words that he was right, that he would support her more than anything. He looked at his hands for a second. The same hands with which he had trained every Robin, with which he had built armor, designed plans, taken down criminals...
But he couldn't protect his new daughter from a memory.
"The worst part is..." he began, his voice deep and wounded. "That she thinks she should be grateful someone didn't see her naked. That she should be relieved a man didn't touch her. That's her standard of safety."
"She didn't learn that here," Selina said in a measured but harsh voice. She could be a criminal, but both Bruce and Alfred knew Selina had a soft spot for children. "She learned that there. With that monster who called himself a father, that thing that turned her into a bargaining chip. Into something to be looked at, to be used. Not into someone. Not into a child."
Bruce ran a hand over his face. It wasn't just guilt that ate at him: it was the certainty that the damage had been done, and that they could only help rebuild what was left, that they could do it, that with any luck, Tim would be a solid foundation for Penelope, a brother when no one else was.
"I don't want her to be afraid of Dick... And if Jason were here, I wouldn't want her to be afraid of him either," he said finally. It still hurt to think of his dead son, but he knew Jason would never have allowed anything to happen to Penelope. I don't want her to think we're like those guys, I don't want her to think that when she lets her guard down, we'll see her at her most vulnerable.
"Then don't push her," Selina replied gently, rising from the chair and approaching him. "Listen to her. Let her set the pace. Be her father... you are her father, she said so herself. Whatever brought her here said she was the daughter of the Bat, your daughter."
Alfred nodded. He had heard the words the little girl had said when she arrived. If some entity believed she was Bruce Wayne's daughter, then he believed it too.
"Master Bruce, Miss Kyle is right. You are her father now. The tests you performed on Little Master Penelope are another sign that both she and Little Master Tim...
Bruce closed his eyes. Sometimes he forgot he wasn't invincible. That wounds didn't just bleed when you were hit, but when you blamed yourself for not being stronger, faster, more vigilant.
Penelope had lived in an invisible cage long before arriving in Gotham. And although some entity had brought her there in the hopes of freeing her, the truth was she still didn't know how to make her lower her barriers, to let them know they weren't a threat.
But she would.
For her, she would.
For Jason, for Dick, for Tim, for every child the system had failed.
And most of all... because she shouldn't have to be grateful that someone didn't touch her.
She should grow up in a world where that was normal.
And as if there were nothing else to add, the sound of a motorcycle was heard. Entering the cave was her first son, the first Robin, Dick Grayson, voluntarily.
Penelope was asleep, curled up among the pillows, while Tim remained awake, his eyes on the screen but his mind elsewhere.
In the words of his little sister, his twin.
Tim hadn't moved from the couch. The movie was over, and although it was one of Jason's favorites, it was certainly as if he didn't remember it at that moment, as if his mind had truly shut off from everything around him. The words passed like floating shadows on the black screen, while his sister slept, clutching one of the pillows, her face barely serene after a conversation that continued to pierce his soul.
He couldn't stop hearing it. "Dick hasn't tried to enter the room when I'm changing clothes or taking a shower..."
Those words shouldn't exist in a child's mouth. Yes, she knew Gotham wasn't the safest place in the world; after all, it was the capital of crime, but knowing that her sister had suffered something like that was painful.
And yet, there they were. Clear. Fragile. Marked by fear.
Tim ran his hands over his face, his fingers trembling slightly. He had faced criminals, murderers, entire mafias with less anguish than he felt now. Because this time, the enemy wasn't external. It was the memory Penelope carried with her. It was the distortion of what should have been safe.
How could she think that of Dick?
He knew who Dick was. The boy who had lost his parents, but who flew like a robin to obtain justice, the one who grew up and was forging his own legacy, the brother who always tried to make others laugh even when he himself was breaking inside. But in Penelope's eyes, Dick wasn't Dick. He was another silhouette. Another shadow with blue eyes and dark hair. Another possible threat.
And that tore him apart.
"How did we get to this...?" —he whispered, without waiting for an answer, because no one would give him one.
He got up from the couch and put more cushions around his sister. He felt a surge of electricity in his hands, but he ignored it, simply letting his footsteps carry him out of the theater room and into the deserted hallway. The mansion was silent, save for the faint creaking of the wood and the night wind. Bruce must still be in the cave, along with Alfred and Selina.
He leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. The cold air of the hallway enveloped his body, but he didn't feel it. He only thought of her. How she'd tensed, how she'd had to explain that she didn't feel threatened... as if the opposite was normal.
How broken do you have to be inside for the absence of harassment to feel like a relief?
"I shouldn't have to say that..." he murmured.
And yet, he said it.
Penelope had looked at Dick like one looks at a reflection in a nightmare: with confusion, with a hint of terror, and with the fear that, at any moment, that reflection would emerge from the mirror and become real.
What if Dick knew? What if he'd noticed... and ignored it? What if none of us wanted to see it?
Tim clenched his fists. Not because he believed Dick was capable of hurting him, but because the mere fact that Penelope believed he should fear him was a grievous wound in itself.
He wanted to cry, he wanted to wrap his sister in the softest fabrics and never let anyone touch her again, he wanted to keep her safe.
As he immersed himself in his thoughts, wondering how he could get even for what that ghost had done to him, he reacted when he heard the noise on the stairs, his body tensing.
When he looked to his right, he saw him. It was Dick, who appeared without his armor, only wearing comfortable clothes, his face haggard and his gaze broken.
"Hi Tim," he said, and although he wanted to smile, he knew he couldn't, not only because of the way the boy's eyes were looking at him, but because he couldn't smile like that either.
"What are you doing here?" Tim asked, an absurd question, but he needed to know. "If you come screaming again..."
"No!" Dick exclaimed, stopping and looking at little Robin in fear. "I... I came to apologize... I..."
But Tim didn't let his guard down, and Dick couldn't blame him, not when he'd been acting childishly toward that little boy, the same one who had seen him scream at Bruce.
"I'm really sorry," he whispered. He didn't know if that would help, but he had to try. "I'm sorry for yelling, for yelling at you and Penelope. I..."
Dick knew he had no more words to say. It was clear that even if he searched for them, Tim would be reluctant to let him near.
"Can I...?" he asked, pointing to the door that separated Penelope from Dick.
Tim hesitated. His pale blue eyes seemed to want to say both yes and no, but Dick understood. Tim, the little bird, was reluctant to let him near his little sister, and he couldn't blame him.
"You can come in," he said, and although his voice wasn't confident, it seemed to give Dick a chance to see her.
"Thank you," the older man whispered.
Tim nodded, but didn't move away from the wall. When the older man entered, Tim followed with slow steps, but Dick approached slowly, watching the sleeping little girl, his breathing calm as if she'd never let go of that sad reality.
He knelt in front of her and whispered,
"I'm sorry, Nelly. I didn't know how to see it."
Penelope's hand, still asleep, moved barely, brushing Dick's fingers. He held it with infinite care, as if the slightest touch could break something even more fragile than glass.
Tim watched him from a few feet away, saying nothing. But for the first time in a long time, he forgave him a little. Because he saw him. Not Nightwing. Not the perfect first son. But to Dick, the human who had made mistakes... and was trying to right them.
Maybe, with any luck, Dick would stay, show Penelope that he wasn't bad, that he wasn't the shadow that had tormented her.
(Tim silently hoped Jason was alive, because he knew he would never allow anyone to touch her, and maybe with any luck, his robin would look after him too.)
Chapter 14: Chapter Thirteen: Bipaternal Chimerism
Summary:
Tim has an idea.
The craziest idea ever.
And Bruce supports it.
Notes:
⚠ ATTENTION
I'm out of school now, and I already have some chapters ready, so I think I'll start publishing them.
Not all at once, but at least today, I'll update two stories.
Not the Harry Potter ones, because I want to do it on September 1st, which is when we're supposed to return to Hogwarts.
Chapter Text
The next morning arrived more quickly than expected, but for Penelope, it was a moment filled with curiosity.
She remembered falling asleep on the couch after watching a movie with her brother, but at that moment, something was happening.
Light filtering softly through the blue curtains, casting a faint glow on the sheets. Penelope stirred barely, feeling the warmth of something—or someone—very close. A steady breathing, an arm resting on her stomach, the distant murmur of birdsong in the gardens outside.
But... this wasn't her room.
She blinked, confused.
The ceiling was higher, and the walls... weren't creamy or wooden like those in the bedroom she occasionally shared with Tim. They were a light shade of blue, like the sky in spring, the sky she could rarely see from the basement window in the duchy. The bedding was different too. Thicker, softer, more fragrant. He didn't smell damp or dusty... but rather something clean, warm, almost familiar.
She sat up a little, just a few inches, afraid to move suddenly. The first thing she noticed was Tim's messy hair, fast asleep to her left. His face looked relaxed, as if he didn't have a care in the world. To her right, someone else was snoring softly.
Cautiously, she turned her face... and there he was.
Dick, the same Dick who had yelled at her that her dad wasn't her dad, was now face down, snoring softly while hugging a pillow like a teddy bear, his hair falling in messy curls over the back of his neck. His breathing was slow, and Penelope was sure the boy was trying to regain his strength. For what? She wasn't sure; maybe he also went out at night like his dad and brother, but she allowed herself to appreciate him a little more: his jaw was almost square, his cheekbones high, his face had a certain resemblance to Tim's.
Penelope didn't move.
Her small, slender hands rested on the white sheet. She wanted to ask where she was, why she was there, but she was also afraid to. She had learned at the Eckhart Duchy that waking up in unfamiliar places could mean punishment, yelling, or being sold to other nobles. She clutched the sheet between her fingers. The fabric was so soft that even that made her uncomfortable.
Her chest tightened with the old, familiar feeling of fear. Had she done something wrong? Had they moved her room as punishment? Did Tim no longer want to share his room with her? Had they left her there to get rid of her?
But... then she remembered something.
The night before, Tim had talked to her longer than usual. He had told her about Dick, the oldest Robin brother, the jokester, the most outrageous according to Alfred, and how the death of Jason, her oldest brother, had affected her.
She felt curious, but soon, she looked around. The place, the room, wasn't anything bad. In fact, it wasn't a trap. No one had thrown dirty water on her when she woke up. No one was calling her a "fake" or a "squatter." There were no screams, no knocks. Just soft breathing. And a warm light.
Curious, she looked again at the walls, the pictures hanging in white frames, the shelves filled with books and a few toys she didn't recognize. In the corner of the room stood a bat-shaped lamp, and next to the bed, a neatly folded blue robe. It all seemed too much... for someone who had yelled at her hours ago.
And yet, there it was.
Her eyes fell on Tim's hand, which had slipped out during the night and now brushed against hers. A warm, small connection that made her feel less alone. Then, very carefully, as if any sudden movement could break the moment, she reached out with her pinky finger... and intertwined hers with Tim's.
He smiled faintly, very softly, as if that gesture were his little secret.
And just as she was preparing to go back to sleep, the sound of firm footsteps on the polished wood made Penelope open her eyes a little wider. It wasn't Alfred's slow pace, nor Tim's sleepy clumsiness, because he was beside her, asleep and with his mouth open. He was stronger, more restrained... more serious. She knew that walk. Bruce. Her father.
He didn't move.
Part of her wanted to hide under the covers, afraid that maybe she had done something wrong, like back in the duchy, where loud footsteps always preceded a cruel voice or a slap. But another part, the one that had begun to trust the big bat with the serious look, encouraged her not to tremble.
The door opened with a barely audible creak.
"Good morning," said a deep, deep, but not harsh voice.
Penelope turned slowly, and there he was. Bruce Wayne, in a dark robe, with the disheveled hair of someone who had slept little—or maybe not at all. His brow furrowed, his lips pressed into an almost imperceptible line. He looked tense, as if something was bothering him.
She didn't think twice. She sat up in bed, and as if afraid he might faint, she slid to the edge, stretching out her arms. Bruce blinked, surprised, but as soon as he saw her pleading eyes, he bent down with a pent-up sigh and wrapped her in a hug.
Penelope clung to him tightly, pressing her cheek to his chest.
"Is everything okay, Dad?" he asked softly, his voice muffled by the fabric of his robe.
The question stopped him for a few seconds.
"Dad." He still couldn't get used to that title on her lips. Sometimes he felt unworthy. Other times, like now, she held him like an anchor to keep her from losing her way.
"Everything's fine, Nelly," he murmured, though his tone didn't match his words. "Just... we have visitors coming."
She tilted her face, still in his arms.
"Visitors? Who?"
Tim stirred just then, muttering something unintelligible before opening his eyes. Seeing Bruce so close, and Penelope hugging him like a koala, he frowned, half-asleep.
"Did something happen?"
Bruce sighed.
"Wake up fully and go down to the dining room. Alfred is already preparing breakfast. I'll explain there."
The Bat Family
The kitchen was filled with delicious aromas: freshly baked bread, eggs, bacon, strong coffee, and... cinnamon. Penelope rubbed her eyes as she walked barefoot, her hair still tousled. Tim walked beside her, scratching his head, while Dick trailed behind, a sleepy version of himself, like a zombie in a Superman t-shirt.
Bruce was already in his place, his face resting on one hand and the other around his coffee cup. Alfred, immaculate as ever, was pouring orange juice into crystal glasses.
"Is everything all right, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked discreetly.
Bruce didn't respond immediately. It wasn't until Penelope sat down next to him, nuzzling her leg against his and looking up with an uneasy expression, that he spoke.
"I got a call this morning," she said, looking directly at Tim.
The atmosphere immediately tensed.
Tim put his fork halfway down his plate. Dick raised an eyebrow, alert. Alfred stopped moving; even the spoon he was going to use to serve the jam hung in the air.
Bruce continued,
"Jack and Janet Drake are arriving in Gotham today. They're staying for a week. They want to spend time with their son."
The silence was absolute.
Penelope didn't fully understand the weight of those words, but she felt it. She saw it in the way Tim's face drained of color. In the way his hands trembled slightly as he gripped his napkin. In the way he didn't look up, but stared at his plate as if he'd suddenly stopped being hungry.
She frowned.
"Are they... your parents?" she asked quietly, her curious eyes darting between Tim and Bruce.
Tim nodded wordlessly.
Bruce watched them both. Dick lowered his head and began to break his roll with exaggerated slowness, trying not to intervene, trying not to tell the magenta-haired girl that Bruce and his way of repressing emotions were more like fathers to Tim than Drake himself. Alfred, with his usual tact, quietly began to pour the tea.
Penelope looked down.
She didn't know how she felt. She'd wanted parents all her life, and here was Tim, with some returning for a visit. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? She already had a dad. He was sitting at the head of the table, wearing a black bathrobe, a steaming cup of coffee, and a look in her eyes that she couldn't decipher, but that still worried her quite a bit.
"So... do they know I exist?" she asked in a whisper.
Bruce shook his head slowly.
"Not yet," he replied neutrally. "But they will."
She swallowed. Something in her chest ached.
"Are they going to take me with them?" —she asked quietly, almost not wanting to be heard.
Tim looked up instantly, his eyes wide with alarm.
“No!” he exclaimed, then lowered his voice. “No... no, Nelly. They’re not... you’re with us, you’re only mine... maybe Bruce’s too, since he pays for our food... Yes, I think Bruce counts, too.”
Tim’s rambling about Bruce drew an almost hidden smile from Bruce, who was happy, but at the same time, Bruce looked at her.
“You’re not going anywhere, Penelope. It’s just a visit. But it might be awkward... for everyone.”
Penelope didn’t quite understand. But Tim’s face... she understood that.
There was pain there. Pain similar to her own, and for some reason, she was annoyed with the Drakes.
The Bat Family
After breakfast, Bruce had gone out to make a call, and Dick had disappeared with Alfred to "mentally prepare himself," as he put it. It was just the two of them, sitting in the long hallway that connected the dining room to the music room.
Penelope was swinging her feet from the padded bench, playing with the hem of her blouse. Tim was beside her, silent, his gaze fixed on a point that didn't exist.
"Are you mad?" she finally asked, breaking the silence with her curious little voice.
"No," Tim answered quickly. But then he looked down and corrected himself. "Well... not with you. I'm a little... confused."
"Because of your parents?"
He nodded. He didn't need to pretend with her.
"I don't hate them," he murmured. "But I don't miss them either. It's weird. When I was younger, I was left alone all the time." They went on trips, business trips, or vacations... I always had the nanny, but she didn't do a good job since I left the mansion, and when I became a Robin, I kept coming back until Bruce discovered I was alone, and practically dragged me here.
Penelope listened attentively, without interrupting, like a little emotional sponge. She knew these things hurt. She knew that sometimes, talking about it lightened the pain. A little.
"What if they want to take you with them?" she asked, somewhat trembling. "What if they get mad that I'm here?"
"They don't even know you exist. And when they find out..." Tim stopped. He looked at his hands. He thought. He considered. And then, a spark flashed in his eyes. "Wait! That's it!"
"What?"
Tim turned to her, his expression determined.
"We're going to present them with the truth, but... a truth they can't argue with."
"A truth... they can't argue with?" "She repeated, tilting her head.
"Exactly. Nelly... do you remember when Alfred took the blood tests and the results said we shared a 93% genetic compatibility?"
"Yes," she nodded, remembering the big screen with glowing letters. "Isn't that what makes us siblings?"
"Yes. But there's one detail. Physically, you don't look like my mom. Not completely, but we can use that to your advantage," she said excitedly. "A few years ago, a photo came out of Bruce with a woman who had hair like yours, striking and beautiful. In other words, you have some of Bruce in you too," she pointed out. "The way you frown like him, the way you cross your arms when you're upset, even the way you look. And that mark on your right side, I think I saw it on Bruce."
Penelope blinked.
"What does that mean?"
Tim took a deep breath, like someone about to drop a science bomb.
"There's something called bipaternal chimerism."
Penelope frowned.
"Whi-me-what?"
Tim smiled a little, delighted to sound like a genius for once.
"Chimerism. It's very rare. There have only been about a hundred recorded cases in the world," he explained, using his fingers to tick them off. "Basically, what happens is that when a woman releases two eggs, they can be fertilized by the sperm of two different men. That creates two twin babies. But if those embryos fuse very, very early in pregnancy... they combine into one. And that baby has two sets of DNA."
Penelope looked at him, wide-eyed.
"Like... two dads?"
"Exactly! Two biological fathers. It's extremely rare, but possible. And..." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "that's our card."
Penelope thought about it for a few seconds.
"So... Are you going to say I'm your dad and Bruce's daughter?"
Tim nodded, smiling mischievously.
"In the eyes of science, you will be. We can make a file showing that you share 50% with my dad... and 50% with Bruce. Alfred can help us do that." His blue eyes shone surprisingly, as if he believed he could move the chips in his favor.
"And they won't get angry?"
Tim shrugged.
"Maybe. But if you tell them you don't want to leave, they can't force you. And if Bruce acknowledges you as his daughter... they can't. Besides," he added in a softer voice, "you don't know them. And I... I don't want you to leave. Not now. Not ever."
Penelope looked at him silently. Her heart was beating faster, not from fear... but from a strange mix of emotions. No one had ever said they didn't want her to leave. No one had ever stood up for her. No one had ever called her sister with such pride.
Then she smiled. A small, barely perceptible smile.
"And you think they'll still love me?"
"You're my sister," Tim said firmly. "And if they don't accept it... that's their problem. You already have a place here. Okay?"
She nodded.
"So... I'm Penelope Drake-Wayne. Does that sound good?"
"Sounds perfect."
Tim somehow knew he'd accomplished something important, the way his sister's little eyes sparkled, they looked adorable.
The Bat Family
Bruce watched them from his desk, his fingers intertwined, his expression impassive. Tim stood with his arms crossed, while Penelope clung to the edge of the sofa for dear life. Beside her was her pink bunny, dressed in a little robin's egg costume Alfred had made her that day they came back from shopping.
"Bipaternal chimerism?" Bruce repeated slowly, as if still processing the word.
"Yes," Tim affirmed, with a mixture of pride and anxiety. "There have only been about 100 cases worldwide. Two eggs, two sperm, two parents. The embryo fuses, and a baby is born with two different genetic lines. Science backs it up, B."
"Tim says we can use the blood results and a photo of you from years ago," Penelope pointed out calmly.
"What photo?"
"B, my parents' secret is that they have an open marriage, and a few years ago, you were in Europe with a woman with striking hair. I thought... well, Jack was with her too," Tim pointed out.
"And the blood results... confirm that I'm Tim's sister," Penelope added in a low voice. "So we thought maybe we could get the results to say I'm half Bruce and half... Jack Drake."
Bruce narrowed his eyes. He remembered, during a quick mission to Europe, he'd met a woman with striking hair, and thinking back, it was magenta, like Penelope's.
"Are you saying I should introduce you as their biological daughter?"
"Just as a convenient truth," Tim said. "You can't deny what you saw, Bruce. The medical tests were already done. Genetically... she's my sister. And legally, you can recognize her. If the Drakes ask, we have a solid story."
Bruce leaned slowly back in his leather chair, exhaling through his nose.
"And what story are you suggesting exactly? Aside from basing it on that old photograph that probably no one remembers..."
Tim brightened. He'd already rehearsed this in his head.
"Her mother was a woman you met over a decade ago, on a private trip. You weren't aware she was pregnant. But before she died, she left you a letter, entrusting you with custody of her daughter. As for Jack, he never knew she existed. But medical tests accidentally discovered a genetic match during a checkup. Bipaternal chimerism is our answer. Strange, yes, but scientifically plausible."
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"And you expect Jack and Janet to accept that without question?"
"They don't have to accept it," Tim said, crossing his arms. "They just have to listen. Penelope won't leave." If they ask legal questions, you can file for direct custody as the legal parent. And... well, knowing them, I doubt they'd want the media pressure of publicly questioning you.
Penelope looked at Bruce with wide, fearful eyes.
"Is it wrong to want a place?"
Bruce didn't respond immediately. The silence stretched so long that Tim began to worry.
But then, Bruce leaned toward the computer on his desk, pressed a button hidden beneath the edge, and a secret compartment opened, revealing a secondary screen. He typed a couple of commands, and soon, several lines of code and forms began populating the screen.
"We'll need a complete legal identity," he said finally, his voice neutral. "Birth certificate. Social security number. School records. Medical records with verifiable signatures. And a clean history that won't raise suspicions."
Tim smiled, relaxing his shoulders.
"So...?"
"Then we'll do it my way." If we're going to present this, we'll do it impeccably.
Penelope narrowed her eyes in bewilderment.
"All that... can you do it?"
Bruce nodded without looking at her.
"I'm Batman."
The rest of the morning became a parade of secret activity. Alfred contacted a trusted doctor to compile a credible clinical record: Penelope had been diagnosed with mild anemia, vitamin deficiency, and childhood post-traumatic stress disorder. Nothing that couldn't explain her thinness, her marks, or her withdrawn nature.
Meanwhile, Lucius Fox received a direct call from "Mr. Wayne" asking for help validating a set of administrative documents related to "a recently recognized illegitimate daughter." In less than an hour, Lucius had a new birth certificate with the full name:
Penelope Martha Drake-Wayne
Date of Birth: July 19
Location: Gotham General Hospital (registration delayed due to medical privacy agreement)
Mother's Name: Isolde Lemaire, foreign national who died six months earlier from heart complications. No immediate family. Clean record.
And of course, the finishing touch: two medical results, one official from the Gotham Clinic with a 50% genetic match with Bruce Wayne, and another, from the Wayne Biotech Research file, accidentally reporting a 50% match with Jack Drake, the result of a cross-check of genetic systems during a routine checkup.
"And school?" Tim asked as he helped Penelope choose a "casual but adorable" outfit.
"Alfred is falsifying a registration for a boarding school in Europe. He has an old friend there, and she'll help us," Bruce replied without looking up from the screen. "Penelope was homeschooled with tutors abroad. Advanced English proficiency, basic French and Latin, intermediate algebra. All justified."
"What if they want to talk to her mother?" Penelope asked, still somewhat unsure.
"She's already 'dead,'" Tim said softly. "No one will look for her. You're with us now."
Penelope nodded.
It was strange. Part of her was scared by how fast everything was moving, but another part... she felt like, for the first time, someone was fighting for her.
And that, even though she couldn't say it yet, gave her peace.
Chapter 15: Chapter Fourteen: The Drakes Meet Penelope
Notes:
I noticed I skipped a chapter. I'm truly sorry, but here it is. My apologies again. I'm also leaving the link to the story in Spanish. You can find it on Wattpad under the name EBolivar01.
Chapter Text
The Drake mansion was similar to the Eckhart mansion. Cold, filled with valuable objects that were only a reminder of what money could achieve. And Penelope didn't like it.
She didn't like that place; it reminded her of the Eckhart mansion.
For Tim, the mansion was just as she remembered it. The memory that for his parents, archaeology was more important than their own son. Too quiet, too empty, too white. The marble gleamed as if no one had set foot on the floor in months, and the faint scent of fresh flowers—so carefully chosen by the housekeepers—was almost ironic.
It wasn't home. Just an expensive postcard. The cold, quiet air enveloped them immediately, and as Tim's small suitcase was placed on the floor, Penelope looked at her brother.
"So... you're not coming home?" she asked, her blue-green eyes looking at her older brother.
"Not right now," Tim denied, giving his sister a soft smile. "Relax, they only come every so often, maybe they'll only last less than four days here."
"Four days?" she asked, curious.
"Sure! They never take me seriously, so I'll be fine," Tim smiled.
Dick, who was leaning against the mansion's front door, grimaced. He didn't like the idea of leaving Tim here alone. He didn't like the idea of the boy who was his little brother (his little brother!) being alone in the grand architecture, but he knew there was nothing he could do.
"Would you repeat how we're going to introduce Penelope to the story?" Dick asked, looking at the two children. They'd told him the plan, and while he accepted that it was completely crazy, he also accepted the fact that it was a good plan.
"We'll just say Nelly arrived here with a letter of instructions and a paternity test," Tim smiled happily.
Dick blinked several times. Was it even a good idea? He could doubt it, but he also knew it was for the best.
"Well, I'm not one to point out flaws," the eldest of the three calmly assured him.
Tim gave them a quick tour of the mansion, and when they reached Tim's room, he looked at Dick with flushed cheeks.
"I have a lot of pictures of you, Jason, and Bruce," he said, embarrassed.
And Dick blinked several times, but smiled nonetheless, perhaps expecting a few pictures, but what he saw surprised him.
"That's a lot of photos!" Penelope exclaimed loudly.
And the magenta-haired girl wasn't lying. There were a lot! One of Tim's walls was covered with photos and red thread connecting some dots to others. Dick found it amusing.
Two hours later, Tim was left alone in the Drake mansion.
The Bat Family
Tim was waiting for his parents. He wasn't happy to see them, and not because he didn't love them; he'd always been alone since he turned four, so there wasn't that connection he'd had with Bruce. All Tim wanted was to be back at Wayne Manor with his family.
Bruce's calls came every hour, Dick's every half hour, and Penelope's messages came through Alfred's cell phone, who had also been checking on him and his health.
It was joyful to hear his family's voices; unfortunately, he had to keep up a facade, so when four o'clock in the afternoon rolled around and the few rays of sunlight had begun to leave the Gotham skies, he saw a Rolls-Royce approaching and knew his parents were on their way.
He looked in the nearby mirror and nodded, noticing that he looked as presentable as possible. His hair had grown out of the strange mushroom cut his mother had given him several years ago, and seemed to be more of a modern cut, so he calmly smoothed out the few remaining wrinkles in his clothes and waited for the car to finish parking.
"You're not a child," he said quietly to himself. "No more."
The car stopped in front of the marble staircase. The chauffeur got out first, opening the doors with ceremonial precision. Janet Drake got out first, impeccable in a beige designer dress, dark glasses that obscured her gaze, and lips painted a red as severe as her expression. Then Jack Drake got out, a light gray suit, blue tie, and a wide, fake smile, as if just returning to Gotham was cause for celebration.
Tim didn't smile. He didn't want to; he didn't feel comfortable. He wanted to go home.
The air between them was icy even before they spoke a single word.
"Timothy," Jack said, extending his hand, as if he were greeting a business partner and not his son. His voice sounded cordial, like that of a man meeting a business partner.
There were no hugs, and Tim's body remained rigid. He could smell the expensive perfume, the scent of travel, private planes, hotels. Not home.
"Son," Janet said in a neutral tone. Her eyes, after removing her glasses, appraised him from head to toe, as if sizing him up not as a son, but as a collectible he'd kept hidden for too long.
"Mother. Father," Tim greeted calmly.
No one else spoke immediately. The echo of the hall filled the void between them.
Tim took a deep breath, aware that the real dinner, the real test, was yet to begin, and he just wanted to return to Bruce's arms and Nelly's games.
The hall had swallowed up the first greeting, and soon Jack decided to break the tension with his best weapon: talking about the one thing he knew well.
"So, son... how are things going with the company?" he asked, straightening his tie, with that textbook smile he wore at investor meetings.
Tim blinked. He hadn't expected the first question to be about the company. Not about his life, not about his health, not even about how he felt after so many months without seeing them. Just about the numbers, the excavations, the Drakes' prestige.
He took a deep breath. He had promised himself to remain calm.
"The company's still the same," he replied in a neutral voice. "But actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else."
Jack raised an eyebrow, surprised by the tone. Janet, who was sitting in a nearby armchair, crossed her legs with an elegant but tense movement, as if already preparing for something unpleasant.
Tim leaned over and took a white envelope from the hall table. He placed it carefully on the glass table in front of them.
"This letter arrived a few weeks ago. I want you to read it."
Jack took it, curious. Janet, suspicious, leaned over his shoulder as he unfolded the paper. Her eyes flicked over the handwritten lines.
The letter read:
Dear Mr. Wayne,
I know this news may come as a surprise, but I must tell the truth before I depart from this world. My name is Isolde Lemaire. Over a decade ago, I had a relationship with you, and at the same time, also with Mr. Jack Drake. From that relationship, a daughter was born. I am not sure which of us is her biological father, and so I can only trust that both of you will assume this responsibility. In my final days, I have sent my daughter to Gotham, hoping she will receive the care and love I can no longer give her.
Yours, with respect,
Isolde Lemaire.
The ensuing silence was suffocating.
"What kind of joke is this?" Janet asked, her lips compressed in a line of pure anger. Her tone had an edge that could cut the air.
Jack didn't respond. His face had paled, and there was a spark of memory in his eyes.
"Isolde..." he whispered, incredulous. "Yes, I remember her. In France. God..."
"And you remember her?!" Janet burst out, turning on him with suppressed fury. "Did you know about this, Jack?"
"No!" he retorted, throwing up his hands. "I just... I just had an affair years ago. I didn't think..."
Janet bolted upright, the letter still in her hand, trembling with rage.
"So what now? A lost child claiming to be yours? A letter written at the last minute?" And Bruce Wayne mixed up in this? How are we supposed to look if this becomes public?
Tim watched them in silence for a few seconds, until he spoke, his voice clear and firm.
"The girl the letter speaks of exists. She's in Gotham. She's at Wayne Manor."
Janet turned to him, frowning.
"What are you saying, Timothy?"
"That it's not a joke. And that this conversation doesn't end here."
As if fate itself wanted to underline her words, at that moment the mansion's doorbell rang. The echo reverberated off the cold marble walls.
Jack and Janet exchanged a confused look. Tim, on the other hand, already knew.
A moment later, the door opened and the impeccable figure of Alfred Pennyworth appeared on the threshold. With a small tray in his hand, he greeted them with his usual serenity.
"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Drake. Mr. Wayne invites you to dinner tonight at Wayne Manor. He has an important matter he wishes to discuss with you."
The silence grew even heavier. Janet still held the letter with trembling fingers, and Jack swallowed, unable to deny the obvious. They still couldn't believe what they were hearing.
Alfred said goodbye to Tim with a warm smile; it went unseen by the Drakes, but they didn't care. Alfred wanted to take his youngest grandson and take him to the mansion, but he must remain calm. When the Briton left, the silence grew heavier.
Janet was the first to react.
"This is ridiculous," she said coldly, dropping Isolde's letter onto the glass table. "I'm not going to lend myself to a play organized by Bruce Wayne. If he wants to add more orphans to his collection, let him. We have nothing to do with it."
Jack didn't respond immediately. His fingers continued to brush over the invitation envelope, as if the texture of the paper called to him. There was something in the letter that troubled him beyond prestige or scandal: a memory, a shadow of a face he'd tried to forget.
Finally, he looked up at Tim.
"And you? How do you know about this girl?" he asked seriously, in a tone she rarely used with him.
Tim held his gaze. He didn't hesitate.
"Because I've already met her."
Silence fell suddenly. Janet raised an eyebrow, incredulous.
"What do you mean, 'I've already met her'?"
Tim took a deep breath, prepared for the carefully constructed lie with Bruce. Although he wanted to tell them she was his little sister, his princess.
"Bruce introduced me to her a few weeks ago. He said she was shy, not used to talking to new people, and that it would be good for her to have a friend." At first, I thought it was a weird joke from Bruce... but no. It was real.
Jack squinted, trying to catch some detail.
"So... what's she like?"
"She's quiet at first, but smart. Very smart," Tim answered without hesitation, because in fact, Penelope was shy at first. "She likes books, puzzles, and has a strange sense of humor. She's unlike anyone I've ever met."
"So why did Bruce introduce you to her?" Janet persisted, her voice thick with suspicion.
Tim lowered his gaze for a second, as if hesitating, but then looked up again.
"Because... because he thinks she could be my sister."
The blow was sharp. The word hung in the air, impossible to ignore.
Jack opened his eyes in surprise, and for the first time in years, he appeared unarmed in front of his son. Janet, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes, skeptical, but she couldn't hide the curiosity that was beginning to infiltrate her expression.
"Your sister?" Jack repeated in a whisper.
Tim nodded.
"I'm not the only one saying this. There's proof. They don't know if she's your daughter or Bruce's, but... she's real."
Jack remained silent, thoughtful. That word—sister—stuck in his head like an uncomfortable echo.
Janet, who had remained standing, turned toward the window. Her reflection in the glass showed a stern face, but her words betrayed her.
"So what's she like?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
Tim watched her closely. It was the first time his mother had shown anything other than disdain.
"She's... special," he answered sincerely. "I don't know how to explain it." You have to see it for yourselves.
Jack ran a hand over his face and let out a sigh.
"Maybe we should go to that dinner," he murmured, as if talking to himself.
Janet turned to him in disbelief.
"Do you really want to play along with this?"
"I want to know the truth," Jack replied, with unusual firmness. "And if there's even a chance, even a small one, that that girl is mine... I need to see her."
Janet said nothing more. But deep in her eyes, a spark of curiosity was beginning to ignite, and that was a good thing, because if Janet became interested, Penelope might have a good chance.
The Bat Family
Tim paced back and forth in his room. It had only been a few hours since Alfred had left the invitation in his parents' hands, but for him, the wait was unbearable.
He hadn't imagined the distance from Penelope would hurt so much. Since she came into his life, he'd gotten used to hearing her voice in the hallway, to her interrupting him when he was deep in research, to her following him with stealthy steps that weren't quite so. It was strange, but Wayne Manor now felt like home because she was there.
Now, at Drake Manor, everything was different. The silence was cold, unkind. Every wall seemed to be watching him, reminding him that he didn't really belong there. And the worst part was, he couldn't see her. He couldn't be sure she was okay, that Bruce and Alfred were watching over her, that she wasn't scared.
He took out his phone and checked his notifications. No new messages. He had spoken to Penelope a while ago, through Alfred, but that wasn't enough. His fingers drummed against the glass, a lump in his throat refusing to go away.
"Just a few more hours," he told himself. "Just a few more hours and I'll see her, I'll see my little sister."
Meanwhile, across the hall, Jack and Janet were in the mansion's main study. The crystal chandelier illuminated their tense faces as they argued in low voices, though Janet's tone couldn't hide her displeasure.
"This is a mistake, Jack," she said, crossing her arms. "We can't allow Bruce Wayne to bring that little girl into the equation. Timothy is our only heir, he always has been. He's more than enough."
Jack paced back and forth, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His expression was more confused than annoyed. He could understand Janet; it had taken them a long time to get Tim born, it had been a high-risk pregnancy, and now the appearance of an illegitimate child was a serious problem.
"I know, Janet. But... there's something that won't leave me alone."
"What is it?" she asked impatiently.
Jack stopped in front of the window, looking out at the distant lights of Gotham.
"Over a decade ago... in Europe. I remember a woman. An archaeologist, or something. She had the strangest hair I've ever seen: vibrant, like a fiery magenta. A woman impossible to forget."
Janet frowned.
"So what are you implying?"
Jack took a sip and looked down thoughtfully.
"That maybe Bruce isn't making all this up. Maybe that girl really exists. And if she has that hair color... I can't help thinking... she could be mine."
Silence fell in the room. Janet watched him with a mixture of suppressed fury and fear. Not only because of the infidelity implied in those words, but because of what it meant: that someone else could claim what had always belonged to her son. The son she had worked so hard to conceive and bear.
"We're not going to allow some unknown girl to jeopardize Timothy's future," Janet declared, an icy edge to her voice.
Jack, however, didn't seem convinced. His curiosity had been awakened, and with it, a shadow of doubt that would haunt him until dinner at Wayne Manor.
The Bat Family
The black Rolls-Royce drove through the iron gates of Wayne Manor as night fell. The headlights lit up one after another, illuminating the path to the main entrance. The air inside the car was tense: Jack silently observed the landscape, deep in thought, while Janet held her chin up, her brow furrowed, and her lipstick set in a tense line.
When the vehicle stopped, Alfred Pennyworth was already waiting for them at the top of the stone steps, immaculate in his butler's suit and white gloves. His expression was serene, as if nothing unusual was happening in welcoming Timothy Drake's parents under such circumstances.
"Mr. and Mrs. Drake," he greeted with a respectful bow. "Welcome to Wayne Manor."
Janet merely nodded. Jack, on the other hand, forced a cordial smile.
"Alfred... always so punctual."
"Punctuality is a virtue that never goes out of style, sir," the butler replied with British calm. Then he extended an arm inside. "If you'll join me, Mr. Wayne awaits you in the tea room."
The echo of their footsteps on the marble floor resonated as they made their way through the halls. The walls were adorned with antique portraits and discreet pieces of art, but Janet barely paused to look at them; her attention was focused on what awaited them. Jack, for his part, allowed himself to be led, the invitation still in his hand and Isolde's letter echoing in his mind. And Tim—Tim—all he wanted to do was run into Bruce's arms and tell him not to leave him in that mansion again.
Meanwhile, in the east wing of the mansion, in a room painted in soft tones, Penelope sat at the dressing table. The oval mirror reflected her focused face while Dick stood behind her, his sleeves rolled up and a comb in his hand.
"Hold still, Nelly, or I'm not going to be able to get these knots out," he growled through gritted teeth, though amusement was evident in his tone.
"It doesn't hurt," she lied, wincing as the comb caught on a wayward strand of her magenta hair.
Dick snorted and rolled his eyes.
"You're worse than Tim. He also says 'it doesn't hurt' when he gets hurt and then limps for three days."
Penelope smiled shyly, watching her older brother in the mirror. She wasn't used to having someone do her hair, much less with the patience Dick displayed between complaints and jokes.
"Why are you combing my hair and not Alfred?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"Because Alfred is busy entertaining two people who are probably going to ruin the evening," Dick answered bluntly. "And because Bruce has no idea how to braid." Believe me, he tried it once with Barbara, and it was a disaster.
The girl let out a soft laugh. She'd been hearing so much about Barbara and Cass that she wanted to meet them, and the tension in her shoulders eased. Dick noticed the change in his reflection and smirked.
"There," he announced after a few minutes, securing a braid on the side with a small blue ribbon Alfred had left ready. "Perfect for the occasion."
Penelope turned slightly in her chair, touching the braid with careful fingers.
"Do you think... they'll like it?" she asked softly, almost fearfully.
Dick crouched down to her level, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Listen to me, Nelly. The only thing that matters is that you like it. But if you ask me... yes. You're amazing. And if they don't see that, that's their problem."
The girl's eyes shone for a moment, and although she said nothing, she clung to that certainty like a shield.
The Bat Family
The tea room was lit by wall lamps that cast a warm glow, but nothing could ease the tension that permeated the air. Bruce Wayne stood, hands clasped behind his back, as he watched Jack and Janet Drake take the seats across from him. Alfred stood discreetly in the corner, pouring tea into china cups, though his movements had the precision of a silent witness, aware of every word about to be spoken.
Bruce felt the weight of the situation as if he were wearing one of his suits of armor. Feet away from him stood Timothy, his son in all but blood, and he couldn't get closer, couldn't show what he felt. He had to maintain the mask of the tycoon, not that of the man who watched over the boy when he was sick, nor that of the father who dragged him to Wayne Manor the first time he noticed Drake Manor was deserted and the boy had no adult around.
"Mr. Wayne," Jack said, breaking the initial silence with a polite tone, but with distrust etched in every syllable. There was no "Brucie," just more formality. "We appreciate the invitation... although I must confess I don't understand what you're trying to achieve with all this."
"It's not a matter that can be explained in a few words, Jack," Bruce replied, his voice echoing in the room, trying to smile as if it were some kind of joke, and as if trying to lighten the mood. "But I'll try to be as clear as possible."
Janet raised an eyebrow, placing the cup back on its saucer with a sharp click.
"The least you can do, Mr. Wayne, is be clear. My husband and I don't have time for fantasies."
Bruce didn't flinch. Alfred, however, tensed his jaw slightly.
"What I'm about to show you is not a fantasy," Bruce finally said, leaning toward the table. He took a set of documents out of a black folder and slid them toward them. "They're genetic tests, verified by two different labs."
Jack cautiously took the first page. His normally calm face turned one of disbelief as he read the results.
"This... this says there's a 50% match with my DNA," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.
Janet raised her eyebrows, but before she could speak, Bruce added,
"And there's also a 50% match with me."
Janet's gaze hardened to ice.
"Are you suggesting that... that you and my husband have..." Her voice cracked with indignation, but Bruce raised a hand, interrupting her.
"What I'm suggesting," he said with controlled calm. The last thing he wanted was for Janet to think that he, with his playboy reputation, had seduced her husband, "is that there is a scientific explanation, albeit a rare one, for these results." It's called bipaternal chimerism.
Jack raised his head, confused.
"Chimerism...?"
Bruce nodded, reciting with the precision of someone who had memorized every word.
"It's an extremely rare phenomenon. It occurs when two eggs are fertilized by different sperm, and instead of developing as twins, the embryos fuse into a single entity. The result is a child with two distinct genetic lines. In this case, analysis suggests that this child carries genetic material from both yours, Jack, and mine."
A heavy silence filled the room. Jack leaned back in his seat, unable to tear his eyes away from the paper. Janet, on the other hand, seemed more offended than incredulous.
"And you expect us to accept this without further ado?" she snapped, her tone icy. "A child who suddenly appears and, by chance, turns out to be related to my husband and you? This is ridiculous, Bruce."
Bruce held his gaze, implacable.
"What you choose to believe is your business. But the results are there. And the girl too."
Tim, sitting to one side, remained silent, rigid, his hands clenched in his lap. He wanted to shout that Nelly wasn't a fabrication, that she wasn't a nuisance, that she was his sister. He wanted to defend her with every fiber of his being, but he knew any other words would arouse suspicion. The role of the distant son was suffocating him, and Bruce could tell.
Deep within himself, Bruce felt the pang of helplessness. Before him was the boy who had risked his life a thousand times, who had shown more courage than any adult, and yet he had to restrain himself, maintain the cold mask of a millionaire, because if he allowed himself to act like a father, the Drakes would use it against him.
Jack finally spoke, his voice low and trembling:
"Where is she?"
Bruce watched him silently for a couple of seconds before answering.
"Here. At the mansion."
Janet pursed her lips in disgust.
"And you're going to bring her to us now as if she were... a spectacle?"
"No," Bruce replied, his tone unwavering. "I'm going to present her to you as what she is: a child. A person deserving of respect."
As if fate had been waiting for that moment, a soft knocking sounded at the door. The handle turned slowly, and the figure of Dick Grayson appeared
"Oh," she said, with her eternal half-smile and an air of studied naturalness.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," she said lightly.
Beside him, holding hands, was Penelope. She was wearing the braid Dick had done for her minutes before, adorned with a blue ribbon, and a simple dress Alfred had carefully chosen. Her eyes, large and bright, darted nervously between the faces waiting for her.
Bruce took a deep breath, knowing that moment would change everything.
"This is Penelope."
The tea room fell completely silent.
Chapter 16: Chapter Fifteen: 2-for-1 Trauma Package
Summary:
We all hate Janet, I'm sorry, but somehow, I just can't see her as a good mother.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The silence in the living (or tea) room grew heavier than the marble beneath her feet, and fear had begun to take hold of her.
Jack and Janet remained motionless, still holding the cups Alfred had given them, when they saw the small figure of Penelope enter the room accompanied by Dick.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
Jack's eyes widened more than he could remember in years. His breath hitched, and the cup he was holding rattled faintly against the saucer. Because there she was. A little girl with vibrant hair, magenta like the memory he'd wanted to bury for over a decade. That same color, that same power impossible to ignore.
His first thought was that his mind was playing a cruel trick on him. His second was that the documents didn't lie.
She looked up timidly, and at that gesture, Jack felt something tighten in his chest. Because her eyes... she'd seen those eyes before. Not Isolde's, not Bruce's. But Timothy's. That mix of green and blue, that strange combination her son had inherited and that showed against the light, that restless glow that begged for affection without daring to ask for it out loud.
"My God..." she murmured almost unconsciously, placing the cup on the table with a slight tremble in her fingers.
Janet, on the other hand, tensed as soon as the girl walked through the door. Her gaze scanned her from head to toe coldly, as if examining someone else's item at auction. She didn't look for similarities or connections; she looked for differences, errors, anything that would allow her to deny what someone like Bruce Wayne had insinuated.
The resemblance to Tim infuriated her. The hair was different, vibrant, out of place in her rigid concept of elegance. But the shape of the face, the eyes, the way the girl shrank shyly when she was looked at... that was Timothy's. And Janet couldn't bear it.
"This is absurd," she said suddenly, her voice icy.
Penelope lowered her head slightly, as if the harshness of that voice had pierced her chest. Dick gently squeezed her hand, giving her support. Tim wanted to run to where his twin sister was.
Jack turned to his wife, bewildered.
"Don't you see?" he said in a barely audible murmur, as if his voice was struggling to get out. "Janet... take a good look at her."
"All I see," she replied with venom in every word; she was upset, she was furious, "is a strange little girl that Bruce Wayne brought here with papers that any of his contacts can falsify. Do you want me to believe that this... creature... is our daughter? That she's Timothy's sister?"
The word creature made Tim, sitting rigid in his chair, ball his fists under the table. His heart hammered in his ears, but he knew that if he spoke now, he would ruin everything. Bruce had warned him: facade was key.
But he wanted to throw a Batarang at... Janet.
Jack didn't respond immediately. His gaze went from the documents Bruce Wayne had given him to the girl's face, and from the girl to his own reflection in the window. He remembered that night in Europe, her magenta hair in the light of an antique lamp, the fleeting smile of a woman whose name had slipped from his memory, but whose image now returned with brutal clarity.
He couldn't deny it. There was a possibility. And that possibility was there, standing, breathing before him in a pretty dress.
"You can't ignore this, Janet," he said finally, his voice grave.
She pressed her lips together, furious.
"What I can't ignore is that Timothy is our only son," he retorted harshly, glancing sideways at Penelope as if she were a threat incarnate, as if it were threatening Tim's position as heir. "And that this... whatever it is... only complicates things."
Bruce, who had remained silent, intervened with calculated calm:
"The girl isn't here to replace anyone. Nor to claim anything that isn't hers. She only deserves to be recognized for who she is," he said, his voice for a moment sounding grave, identical to Batman's, but it seemed that their time abroad and their clear aversion to being connected to the outside world made them ignorant of the fact that they were standing before the great bat of Gotham.
Jack stared at Penelope again. She silently played nervously with the hem of her dress, not daring to speak. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips trembled slightly.
The resemblance to Timothy was impossible to deny.
And that truth was a shock too strong for the Drakes, especially for Janet, because it meant that Timothy was no longer the sole heir to the Drake fortune; that girl would also have a right to it.
Bat Family
Penelope had heard many times that first impressions were the most important thing, and she wanted to leave a good impression on her brother's parents. But the silence there, in that beautiful living room, was painful.
She had entered with an unsteady step, not because her manners were wrong, no, it was because she was nervous, and the reality was that she found herself holding Dick's hand tightly, trusting that her older brother would protect her from whatever was on the other side of the door. She had taken a deep breath, silently practicing what Alfred had taught her: keep your back straight, Miss Penelope, smile a little, not too much, just enough to let them know you're not shy or forward.
But then she heard it.
"Do you want me to believe that this... child... is our daughter?"
Janet's voice fell on her like a bucket of ice water.
And in an instant, the Wayne Manor tea room disappeared. The lamps, the armchairs, Bruce's figure, as firm as a wall... everything was erased, dragging her back to the Eckhart Duchy.
To her hell.
There she was again: in that damp basement, with walls that smelled of mold and fear; the favorite place where the maids locked her. Again she heard the maids' mocking laughter, the poisonous whispers calling her an imposter, a bastard, a mistake. Derrick Eckhart's face stared at her in disgust as he threw her dolls into the fire, telling her she had no right to play with anything pretty. And higher up, in the duchy's dining room, the cold voices of the Duke, of Reynold, of even Pennel, the same people who continued to whisper hurtful words under their breath: a fake, a nuisance, a dead weight.
The present and the past blended cruelly. Janet's voice rose above them all, as if she had always been part of that chorus of contempt.
Penelope clenched her hands against her dress, her fingers trembling. The soft fabric offered no comfort; it wasn't silk she remembered, but the roughness of the old rags she'd been given to sleep in in the corner of the basement.
"Child." The word resonated in her head like a blow.
She felt a burning sensation in her throat.
Her eyes stung, wet, rebellious. She didn't want to cry. She'd promised not to. Not here, not in front of her father, not in front of Tim and Dick. Much less in front of that woman with lipstick who looked at her as if she were less than nothing, just as Countess Dorothea had done many times.
But her chest tightened, so tightly she could barely breathe. Every breath was an effort. Every second she remained in the room was torture.
"Nelly..." Dick murmured, bending down a little to be at her level, noticing how the girl's fingers twitched in despair.
She didn't respond. She was afraid to open her mouth because if she did, a sob would escape.
And if she cried, everything would fall apart.
She wanted to run. She wanted to hide under the bed in her room, curl up in her blanket, and disappear. She wanted to be with Tim, because he always looked at her as if she really existed, as if she mattered. But he wasn't. He was far away, sitting in another chair, and he didn't move. She didn't understand why. She wanted to be with her bunny in her hand.
A tear rolled down her cheek before she could stop it. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand, as if no one had seen. But Jack did, and his expression changed slightly, as if something inside him had cracked. Janet, on the other hand, only pursed her lips deeper, as if that tear confirmed her prejudices.
Penelope felt then that she didn't belong. That she would never belong. Not in the duchy, not here.
A mistake, a burden, a child.
The lump in her throat grew so large that for a moment she thought she couldn't contain herself. She was eleven years old, but in that moment she felt smaller than ever, trapped once again in the darkness of a place she had sworn never to feel again.
And in her mind echoed a single question, choked with anguish:
Are they going to abandon me here too?
But while Penelope felt like she was drowning, Tim couldn't stand being like this. He couldn't let his sister cry, couldn't let the tears stain his cheeks.
He tried to stay still, tried to keep up that facade, to keep his face neutral, to listen like Bruce always asked him to when it came to confronting his parents. But when he saw the tear roll down Penelope's cheek, he knew he couldn't take it anymore.
The facade collapsed.
He pushed his chair back with a thud and jumped to his feet.
"Enough!" his voice boomed louder than he expected, breaking the silence like thunder.
Everyone looked at him in surprise: Jack in bewilderment, Bruce with contained tension, Janet with indignation, as if she couldn't believe the boy she molded to be the perfect heir would dare to scream. Penelope's eyes widened, as if she couldn't believe he had spoken for her.
Tim breathed
His voice was deep, but it didn't waver.
"She's my sister," he said, with a firmness that didn't seem like a teenager's, but rather that of someone who had endured too much. "And no one, absolutely no one, has the right to speak to her like that."
Janet's face twisted, as if the words were a personal insult.
"Your sister?" she repeated, her tone venomous. "Have you lost your mind, Timothy? That girl isn't yours. She's not ours. She's a fabrication!"
Tim took a step forward, placing himself between Penelope and her parents, as if he wanted to cover her with his own body.
"She's not a fabrication," he retorted, his voice cracking with rage. "She's real. I know her. I know what she's been through. She's my sister, and I'm not going to let her be treated like garbage!"
Penelope's heart pounded in her chest so hard it almost hurt. No one... no one had ever spoken to her like that.
But Janet wasn't listening. Janet only saw a challenge where there shouldn't be one. She stood up abruptly, the cymbal falling to the floor and breaking in two with a loud thud.
"Shut up, Timothy!" she spat, losing the composure she always maintained.
And then it happened.
Her hand flew through the air and slammed into her son's cheek with a brutal crack.
The sound filled the room, chilling the blood of everyone present.
Tim staggered a step back from the blow. The burning pain on his face was unbearable, but the worst part wasn't the physical pain. It was the humiliation. The fact that, even after everything, his mother believed she could silence him with a slap as if he were still a defenseless child.
Penelope screamed.
"No!" —and ran toward him, clutching his arm desperately, as if it could protect him from something he didn't fully understand.
Dick took a step forward, his blue eyes blazing with fury, but Bruce raised a hand, not to stop him, but to restrain himself. The man's jaw was set like steel, and his fists were clenched behind his back.
They had dared to touch the small light that had come when he was plunged into darkness, they had touched his robin.
The silence that followed was unbearable. The air was charged with electricity, with words yet to be spoken, with wounds that had just opened.
Tim, his red cheek marked by his mother's hand, straightened. His eyes shone with unshed tears, but his voice didn't waver.
"You can hit me, you can ignore me, you can do anything you want to me," he said, his breathing ragged; he was a thirteen-year-old boy saying everything he hadn't said. But don't touch her again. Ever.
The entire room trembled at that sentence.
And for the first time, Jack Drake didn't know whose side he was on, but one thing was clear: he didn't want to be on Bruce Wayne's bad side.
Bat Family
The silence after the slap was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Dick was on the verge of throwing himself at Janet, showing her what he was capable of, and Penelope was sobbing, clutching Tim, trembling as if she had been the one hit.
Bruce stood. Motionless. His fists clenched behind his back, his jaw tense, his eyes fixed on the Drakes.
Inside, though, he was a storm. A storm not even Batman could calm.
They had dared.
They had dared to touch their babyRobin.
The boy who, with stubbornness and courage, had lit the way through one of his darkest nights. The boy who had defied him, who had followed him to the ends of the earth with nothing but determination and a brilliant mind, the same boy who loved Jason as much as she loved him. And beside him, the little girl who had only just begun to trust that the world could offer him more than pain.
His son.
His daughter.
And someone thought they could rise up and harm them right in front of him.
When he spoke, his voice was low, deep, but charged with an edge that chilled the air in the room.
"It's over."
Everyone turned to him. Even Janet, still breathing heavily from the slap, instinctively took a step back at the man's gaze.
Bruce moved forward slowly until he stood in front of the table. His footsteps echoed like hammer blows on marble. He didn't raise his voice, but each word fell with the weight of a judgment.
"I won't let them lay a hand on Timothy again. Not one more time."
Dick swallowed. He knew that voice. It was the voice Batman used when there were no more negotiations, only ultimatums. The same one Bruce used when someone had had the audacity to point a finger at them and sneer in their faces.
Bruce placed his hands on the table, leaning forward.
"I'll give you two options. Just two." He looked at them one by one, first at Jack, then at Janet, until both were trapped in the ice of his eyes. "The first: Jack signs the papers recognizing Penelope as part of the Drake family. You don't question her existence, you don't try to erase her, and you agree that I share custody of her. In return, I also assume partial custody of Timothy."
He paused briefly, letting the words sink in. Why, if he was going to take one of the children into his care, would he also take the other?
"The second option..." his voice lowered, even more dangerous, "is for you to face my lawyers."
The silence that followed was almost unreal.
Janet blinked, indignant.
"You dare threaten us? Us!"
Bruce looked at her with deadly calm.
"No." He straightened his back, majestic, unwavering. "I'm not threatening you. I'm explaining the truth."
His dark eyes shone with a cold gleam.
"The Waynes have centuries of history in Gotham. The weight of our name supports hospitals, universities, museums, foundations, and more than half of this city's infrastructure. If tomorrow I decide to go public with what happened here... believe me, no one in high society will wonder if I'm lying. They'll wonder what the hell Jack Drake was doing letting a child grow up alone in an empty mansion while he traveled the world."
Jack tensed, swallowing.
He knew it. Gotham knew it. There was no comparison between the Drake name and the Wayne name. He might have money, yes, but many people had money. The Wayne name was power. And that power was crushing him at that moment.
Janet, however, tried to resist.
"This is... this is a farce," she said, though her voice lost its firmness.
Bruce interrupted her.
"No. This is a warning. Timothy and Penelope are under my care. And they will remain so, with or without your approval," he assured her, his blue eyes, the same shade many had pointed out his children possessed, looking at them. "I've cared more for Tim than you have in all these years."
Jack looked down. His fingers trembled on the edge of the table. He remembered Bruce's words, the weight of his presence, and that magenta-haired girl who had looked at him with teary eyes. Part of him wanted to deny everything, to escape. But another part knew there was no way out.
"Bruce..." he murmured, uncertain.
Bruce straightened. His hands relaxed slightly, but his face was still set in stone.
"Decide quickly. For the sake of my children."
Silence fell again in the room. Penelope, still clinging to Tim, looked at him with large, shining eyes. And for the first time, he understood what it meant to have a father who fought for you.
Bat Family
The air in the tea room was so tense it seemed the walls themselves were listening and shuddering with every word.
Jack had fallen silent, staring at the papers Bruce had laid out on the table. The names, the genetic compatibility percentages, the official seals confirming what his eyes refused to accept. Timothy. Penelope. Wayne. Drake.
Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne
Penelope Martha Drake-Wayne
The tea in his veins no longer warmed him; all he felt was a sticky chill, as if a mirror had been held up to his face to force him to contemplate all the decisions he'd made and all the absences he'd sought refuge in.
"Joint custody..." he murmured, barely audible, as if savoring the words. "I don't know if I can accept that."
He looked up, meeting Bruce's eyes.
"Timothy is our heir. Our only son." His voice trembled, as if he were trying to convince himself. "We fathered him so he'd inherit everything we have, everything we are. And now you're telling me he belongs in your care... along with a little girl we barely know."
Tim gritted his teeth at that. Fathered. As if it were nothing more than a transaction. The burning in his cheek paled against the burning in his chest.
Jack noticed that gesture and looked away. He wasn't a cruel man, but he wasn't blind either. He knew what he was saying and what it implied. He knew they hadn't been good parents. That Timothy had grown up alone, that his life had been filled with absences and silences. He knew it, even if he'd never admitted it. And it pained him to know that Bruce Wayne had taken an active role in his son's life. When did it happen? He doesn't know.
But before he could continue, Janet exploded.
"This is unacceptable!" She stood up abruptly, the chair squeaking against the marble. "I will not allow Bruce Wayne to humiliate us like this, or to bring that bastard into our family!"
The scream reverberated around the room, making Penelope shrink further against Tim.
"This is all your manipulation!" Janet continued, her eyes wide, her lipstick trembling with fury. "You've always wanted to impose your power on this city, Bruce, and now you're using those children as chess pieces!"
Bruce didn't move. His face was as stony as stone.
But Janet didn't stop. The words, sharp as knives, came out of her mouth with a venom no one had anticipated.
"It would have been better if Timothy had been stillborn!"
The world shattered.
Tim froze. His breath caught in his throat, as if he'd just been punched in the stomach. Penelope squeezed him tightly, her eyes blurring with tears.
Dick, on the other hand, moved. The roar of fury that tore from his throat was so savage that Alfred dropped a silver spoon. He'd never seen Dick act like that, never seen his grandson glare at anyone other than the Joker or Deathstroke.
"What did you say?!" Dick took a step forward, his fists clenched, his blue eyes blazing like fire. "Do you dare say that again, you fucking witch!"
His rage was blinding, and he was a second away from launching himself at Janet. Even Alfred was putting away the swear jar. If his grandson wanted to express himself, well, who was he to deny it? But before he could, a shadow emerged from the gloom of the hallway.
A small, silent, lethal figure.
Cassandra Cain. Orphan, Batgirl.
No one had heard her coming. No one had felt her move. He simply appeared, like a specter, standing between Dick and Janet.
Cass's gray eyes looked at her older brother. She didn't need to look around the room; she knew the story thanks to a phone call from Alfred, but she wanted to keep her brother sane.
"No," she signed.
Then she turned to face Janet, and for the first time in the entire conversation, a word escaped her lips like a whip, one of the few words she'd learned.
"Witch."
The insult, simple and direct, fell on Janet harder than any argument. She froze, her eyes wide open, unable to process that someone she didn't know—and had barely spoken to—could look at her with such contempt.
"How dare you?" Janet spat, her voice cracking with fury and offense. "Who the hell are you to call me that?"
Cass didn't respond. She just stared at her. And that cold, calculating look made her feel for the first time in years as if she were truly insignificant.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut, tired, pain running through his face. He raised his hand, pleading for silence.
"Enough."
The echo of his words rose above the shouts. Janet looked at him in disbelief, as if she couldn't believe he wasn't on her side.
"Jack..."
He didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed on Tim, on the red mark on his cheek, on the way Penelope hugged him as if she depended on him for survival.
The silence stretched. Jack took a deep breath,
His shoulders slumped.
"I'll think about it," he finally said, his voice deep and subdued. "Signing the papers, agreeing to all this... I can't decide now."
He stood up slowly and added,
"But one thing is certain." His eyes flicked to Bruce, then to Tim. "Timothy had better not return to Drake Manor."
No one said anything.
And for the first time in his life, Jack left with the certainty that his son no longer belonged to him.
Notes:
It's almost time for Jason, Steph and Barbara to enter the scene!
Chapter 17: Chapter Sixteen: The Custody
Summary:
The custody battle for Penelope and Tim begins.
Chapter Text
It's said that not everyone is born to be perfect children, but what happens when parents fail to be what a child needs?
There are children who are rebellious, who defy their parents, who confront them with shouts or silence. And there are others who do the exact opposite: they seek to please them, to be worthy of praise, a gesture, a look. They become self-sufficient, obedient, almost adults in tiny bodies.
Timothy Drake belonged to that second type.
From a very young age, he understood that, in the Drake household, love wasn't free. It had to be earned. One had to be worthy of it.
His mother used to say that overly clingy children were a hindrance to travel, and his father believed that "early independence builds character." So Tim learned, more quickly than he should have, not to need anyone.
At two years old, he was already dressing himself. Not because anyone tenderly encouraged him, but because no one helped him. At four, he knew how to cook eggs and toast—not for fun, but because the nanny forgot to feed him when she was on the phone with her friends.
When his parents found out, they weren't ashamed. They were proud.
So proud, in fact, that they fired the nanny, saying their son no longer needed her.
At six, Tim knew how to handle money. He could calculate expenses, tips, and bills. He kept receipts in a blue folder bearing his name, because he'd once heard his father say that "a good man keeps his accounts in order."
At seven, he stopped trying to write letters to his parents when they were out of the country. No one answered. Not even a "received." So he began to observe the streets, the shadows, the figures moving on the rooftops. Gotham had its own language, and Tim learned it by heart: the footsteps, the lights, the signs.
That was when he first saw Batman and Robin.
And he understood something his parents never taught him: that an adult could stay, protect, and care for him. That there was someone in the city who, even if it wasn't his father, would never abandon a child.
At nine, he began following them. Secretly, with notebooks full of observations and routes. The bat became his compass, his only role model.
And at twelve, weeks after starting out as Robin, fate brought Bruce Wayne knocking on his door.
It had been after he'd been injured and returned to Drake Mansion. It wasn't until the next morning that Bruce appeared.
Flashback.
The day Bruce entered Drake Mansion for the first time, what he found wasn't a house, but a museum of abandonment. The lights were off, the dust accumulated on the family portraits, the silence.
There was only one voice.
A small voice.
Tim was in the dining room, sitting on an oversized chair, his leg splinted in a way that would make Alfred scream, a cup of tea and an accounting book at his side. It was dinnertime, but there was no food.
"Tim?" Bruce called, looking at the boy who had been initiated as Robin a few weeks earlier. "What are you doing here alone? Where's your family?" he asked, with that tense calm he used when he already knew the answer.
"On a trip," Tim replied, without looking up from his book.
"And who's taking care of you?"
The boy looked at him, for the first time, with an expression Bruce would never forget. Not sadness. Not anger. Just habit. A habit that shouldn't be there.
"Me."
Bruce didn't say anything else. He served the food Alfred had prepared for Tim, and when Tim fell asleep (at an unhealthy hour for a child), he picked him up and returned to Wayne Manor with his little Robin. In fact, Tim didn't realize he was being cared for and was in a comfortable bed until his exhaustion left him after a long while.
End of Flashback
When Tim woke up the next morning, he was surprised to find he had clothes and a room at Wayne Manor. He had asked Bruce why, and Bruce had told him something important: that a father not only pays the bills, but also stays when everything falls apart.
How funny, Tim had thought. The dreaded Dark Knight was talking about looking out for him, when it was he, as a child, who kept the man from falling. But even so, he was teaching him that there was someone who would wait for him if he failed, who would pick him up if he fell, and even that he could sleep peacefully without having to get up to make breakfast himself.
Sometimes, Bruce would see him asleep over the Bat-computer blueprints and stare at him for a few seconds, wondering if he was too late. But every time Tim smiled, or every time she called him "B," he understood there was still time.
And now they were here, Tim in Wayne Manor; being hugged by Penelope, and listening to Bruce, Dick, and Alfred talking to Lucius, while Cass stood by his side, calmly combing Penelope's long hair.
The Bat Family
It seemed the Drakes hadn't believed Bruce's warning about Tim's custody and Penelope's protection, so when they tried to forcefully take Tim to the Drake mansion, they were rudely brought down not only by Dick's mother hen effect, Cass's cold glare, Alfred's rigid posture, or Bruce's fury. No, what brought the Drakes down and brought them to their knees was the presence of the Wayne family lawyers.
Although they had tried to appear as parents desperate to get their son back, they couldn't, so now they were in the place they had been avoiding: a courtroom.
Courtroom 7 of the Gotham courthouse was cold, with bright lights and the echo of the lawyers' shoes on the marble. The heavy curtains barely filtered the little midday light, and every word spoken there seemed to hang in the air.
At the left table was the prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne; he remained silent. He wore a custom-made Brioni suit, which highlighted his poise, elegance, and charm. He wore a unique Patek Philippe watch and silver cufflinks with a topaz stone on each side. His blue eyes shone in a way that made many doubt he resembled the sweet and charismatic Brucie Wayne. No, of course not. He was a father willing to protect his son. And the large group of lawyers standing behind him was intimidating, as only one of them was at his side: an old lawyer with years of experience and a silver tongue that no one could surpass. He was predatory and had a cutting voice, and he presented the documents with the precision of a surgeon.
At the right table were Jack and Janet Drake. He, with a furrowed brow and a tense jaw; she, impeccable, dressed in white, feigning serenity while her leg trembled under the table.
"The custody case for Timothy Jackson Drake is resumed," announced Judge Hampton, a woman with gray hair and piercing eyes, who had known Martha Wayne, but was something no one needed to know at that moment. "Both sides have the right to present their closing arguments."
The Drakes' attorney was the first to rise.
Young, ambitious, with a nervous gleam in her eyes.
"Your Honor, my clients acknowledge the mistakes made in the past, but they allege that Mr. Wayne has unduly influenced the child." She turned to Bruce with a rehearsed smile. "He is a powerful man, with unlimited access to resources and means, and it is not difficult to imagine that Mr. Drake has been... persuaded to prefer him."
Bruce didn't even blink. His attorney leaned toward him when Bruce made a gentle gesture and saw him nod serenely.
"Do you have anything else to add?" the judge asked.
"Yes." The lawyer allowed herself a dramatic pause. "The Drakes wish to exercise their right as biological parents. Their son needs to be with his blood family, not with a benefactor who has... emotionally adopted him."
Janet placed a theatrical hand on her chest, as if simply being there was a humiliation. Jack, on the other hand, remained rigid, his gaze fixed on the table.
When Bruce's turn came, his lawyer didn't immediately rise. He simply opened a thick folder, removed some photographs, and placed them on the judge's table.
"With the permission of the court." His tone was calm, almost gentle, but each word cut through the air. "These are images taken by Mrs. Marc, the Drake family's housekeeper. They show the child in conditions of neglect: preparing his own meals at age seven, sleeping on the couch during his parents' extended absences, and making bank transactions to pay for domestic services."
A murmur rippled through the courtroom.
Janet tensed. Jack raised his head in disbelief.
"That's... taken out of context," she murmured, but her voice barely came out.
The lawyer continued:
"We also have the Drakes' travel records, which show they spent a total of 284 days out of the country last year. The youngest was left in the care of domestic staff who only came twice a week."
The judge frowned, flipping through the documents.
"Is that true, Mr. and Mrs. Drake?"
"Our trips were professional in nature. Archaeology demands... dedication," Jack said, trying to maintain his composure.
"Over your son?" the judge interrupted.
The silence fell heavy. Bruce barely raised his gaze, meeting Jack's eyes. There was no defiance, only disappointment.
"Anything else you'd like to add?" the judge asked, looking from side to side.
Bruce looked at his attorney and nodded.
"Yes, Your Honor," the lawyer nodded, looking at the older woman. "My client also requests that Jack Drake decide what he will do regarding Penelope Drake's custody."
Jack's shoulders tensed. He didn't know why they were bringing up the child's existence, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Janet's jaw tense.
"Who is Penelope Drake?" the judge asked, searching through the papers she had been given.
"Miss Penelope Drake is the daughter of my client, Mr. Wayne, Mr. Drake, and a former lover," the lawyer assured her.
"Objection!" the Drakes' attorney exclaimed. "It's impossible for a child to have two parents!" It must be a lie.
"It's not like that. We have the DNA evidence and the last will and testament left by the girl's mother," the lawyer assured, as he handed another folder to the judge.
The woman read the documents, the DNA evidence, Isolde Lemaire's letter, everything they had prepared to protect Penelope. The tension in the courtroom was palpable. The Drakes' lawyer was beginning to hyperventilate. She knew about the child, had seen him alone many times, but never paid attention to it, and Mrs. Drake had assured her of a hefty settlement to win the case. But the fact that there was a second child was both worrying and suffocating.
While the attention was on the papers, Bruce almost smiled. Mentioning Penelope when neither Jack nor Janet had was a dirty move, but a necessary one. She knew they would both do anything to maintain Penelope's existence as something wrong, when it wasn't. Therefore, when they planned all the chaos to fight for custody of Tim, they also did the same with Penelope's.
No one dared to speak. Janet clutched her purse so tightly that her knuckles turned white; she had forgotten the girl, and Jack... Jack couldn't tear his gaze away from where Bruce Wayne was, because the reality was that what they had tried to keep hidden was now being judged in that place.
"This court will need time to analyze all the documentation," the judge finally said, looking up and removing her reading glasses. "Although science has proven it to be one in a million, we must verify the information, and the arguments from both sides must be reviewed more thoroughly for the protection of both children." Her voice was firm, unwavering. "The verdict will be delivered in three days. During that time, both sides may present additional evidence or testimony to support their position."
The gavel's rap resounded, sharp and forceful.
The trial was over... for now.
Janet exhaled a frustrated sigh, standing with feigned grace. Jack remained motionless for a few seconds before following her, his gaze lowered, his mind tangled between shame and denial.
Bruce, on the other hand, remained seated for a few more moments. His lawyer gathered the documents with the precision of someone who knows they've already won.
"Good work," Bruce said quietly, without taking his eyes off the Drakes. "This is just beginning."
The man nodded, he didn't need to know why he was so worried about the Drake son, he knew he was a good kid, he met him many times at galas, so he could get an idea, and with the fact that there was a girl with his client's blood there, well, the man and his firm would do whatever was necessary to bring the two into the hands of the prince of Gotham.
The Bat Family
When the session ended, the Drakes stormed out. Janet couldn't believe Bruce Wayne's audacity to mention that little girl. Didn't he see that he was making a fool of his family? She couldn't allow it. As they left the courtroom, cameras soon began flashing and reporters shouted questions. Janet squeezed her husband's arm tightly.
"This is your fault," Janet said softly. "You and your carelessness, but I assure you, I will not allow that man to take Timothy from me and that thing to enter our family."
Jack didn't respond. He just walked to the car, his mind elsewhere.
Bruce, for his part, followed behind them, taking calm steps. He knew that somehow, he had won, when suddenly, the questions and photographs turned toward him.
"Mr. Wayne! Is it true that you have a daughter with a woman named Isolde Lemaire?"
"Can you confirm the existence of a girl named Penelope?"
" "How will the Wayne family react to this scandal?"
"Is she his biological daughter or a covert adoption?"
"Is it true that she's also Jack Drake's daughter? How do you explain this?"
"When can we meet the girl?"
Bruce didn't flinch. His face remained calm, smiling gently; as if he hadn't tried to jump the Drakes' gullular to finish a job he hadn't started. It was, in fact, a lie in the face of the implacable demeanor of a man who knew his every word could set Gotham on fire.
Beside him, Alfred, who had been among the sea of lawyers, was already making his way through the reporters with that silent respect that only he commanded.
"Please clear the way," he said politely, although his glance was enough to make several instinctively back away.
Beside the parked car stood Dick, Gotham's prodigal son, the boy who had made Wayne himself king.
"Lucius?" he asked with a half smile. Although he already knew the answer.
"Yes," Bruce nodded. "He did exactly what I asked."
Lucius Fox had been meticulous: while they were in court, the offices of Wayne Enterprises had issued an official statement to the media. Brief, forceful, and explosive. It acknowledged the existence of a minor named Penelope Martha Drake-Wayne, born of an exceptional genetic circumstance, under the legal and medical protection of Bruce Wayne. Nothing more. Nothing less.
It was the masterstroke: announce it before the Drakes could control it, deny it, or even refute it. Turn the rumor into a public truth, a truth protected by the Waynes' philanthropic image.
"He did an exceptional job," Dick smiled, then looked at the reporters and raised his voice. "Come on, Dad, Nelly and Timmy are waiting for us with Cass!"
Bruce smiled, as the flashes and questions increased. Bruce wouldn't be seen as a man who had stolen a child, as Janet suggested, but as a father who wanted to protect his children.
The car started moving away from the courthouse. Outside, voices continued shouting, flashbulbs continued to explode, and headlines were already beginning to circulate throughout Gotham:
"The secret heir of the Waynes and Drakes: Penelope, the child born of Bipaternal Chimerism."
"Custody dispute: Bruce Wayne confronts the Drakes over his son Timothy Drake and the newly emerged Penelope Drake."
Bruce sighed, looking out the window; he knew the game had truly begun.
The Drakes might have money and prestige...
But the Waynes had the city.
The Bat Family
For the next three days, the case became the most talked-about topic in Gotham. On the news, the Waynes were portrayed as heroes; the Drakes, as a distant and neglectful couple, people who dared to deny an innocent child and abandoned the son they had so vaunted.
But inside the Drake mansion, the air was thick with tension. Janet didn't sleep. She spent her nights talking to lawyers, calling contacts, looking for legal loopholes, even something that would help her bury Penelope's existence. Jack, on the other hand, sat silently at his desk, reviewing old contracts, pending excavations, and sponsors waiting for answers. But among all those papers, he saw the letter Bruce Wayne had given him. They needed something to help them get out of there; something that could keep them out of the public eye.
Until the call came.
It was from the Qeshmet Archaeological Institute in Egypt.
They had discovered a set of burial chambers beneath the sand of the Abydos Desert. A monumental find. They wanted the Drakes. They wanted their name in the headlines. They still didn't know about the fight going on in Gotham.
Janet was the one who answered the call, and when she hung up, she looked at him with a tense smile.
"Jack... what if this changes everything?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, although he already knew.
"If we discover something big, if our name comes up again..." his voice became high-pitched, "no one will dare say we're bad parents."
Jack remained silent. He knew that, for her, reputation always mattered more than any bond. He wanted to refuse, to say that they had to stay to fight for Timothy, but soon, an email made his shoulders tense, made him feel like he was starting to choke. It was an email from his lawyer.
The court wanted Penelope and Timothy to appear before the judge. They wanted to meet the girl, and with that, they made a decision. Jack might have gotten someone pregnant, and that mistake would now be known to everyone.
The Bat Family
When the day of the second hearing arrived, the courtroom was ready.
Bruce arrived punctually, with his retinue of lawyers and the documents ready, and at ten in the morning, Judge Hampton appeared.
But the Drakes didn't appear.
Not a call, not an email, not an excuse.
Their lawyer stood, visibly uncomfortable, and mumbled something about an "urgent trip," but couldn't provide any details. Lucius, present as legal counsel, simply crossed his arms with an expression of restrained triumph.
The judge sighed and looked at Bruce.
"Mr. Wayne, this court has seen and heard enough; Therefore, we can't wait any longer." The judge glanced at the Drakes' attorney for a moment, then looked disappointed. "I want to speak to the children, if that's not a problem."
"Of course, Your Honor," Bruce said calmly.
Penelope and Tim made an appearance, each dressed to match the other, but to those present, the sweet little girl was an enigma. It was exactly an hour and a half later that the judge returned. She seemed calm, as if she already had an answer.
"Given the plaintiff's abandonment and the evidence presented, I hereby grant legal custody of the minor child, Timothy Drake, to Bruce Wayne, with full guardianship and supervision by the Gotham Department of Family Services," she said. A bang of the gavel resounded in the courtroom. "Miss Wayne is also being given the surname Drake. Therefore, from now on, they are known as Timothy Jackson and Penelope Martha Drake-Wayne. The children will have the choice upon turning eighteen whether they wish to drop or keep either surname."
The sound of the gavel still echoed in the air as Penelope, not fully understanding what had just happened, looked at Bruce with wide eyes.
"Does that mean... we're now family?" she asked with a mixture of shyness and suppressed excitement.
Bruce didn't respond immediately. Instead, he crouched down, placing a hand on each child's shoulder.
"That means," he said in a low but firm voice, "that, officially, you will never be alone again."
Tim let out a sigh he had been holding back for years. Penelope, on the other hand, couldn't help but smile, a sweet gleam crossing her blue-green pupils.
The camera flashes went off as soon as they left the courthouse. No one knew who had leaked the exact time of the ruling, but it was Gotham, and in Gotham, secrets lasted less than peace.
Bruce, accustomed to the attention, maintained his imperturbable demeanor. Lucius Fox walked beside him, escorting the children while reporters shouted from behind the fences.
"Mr. Wayne! Is it true that you've adopted the Drake heir?"
"What can you tell us about the girl? Is she your biological daughter?"
"How will you respond to rumors of a possible relationship with Janet Drake or the girl's mother?"
Bruce didn't answer any of those questions. He just placed one hand on Tim's shoulder, and with the other, took Penelope's, leading them to the car. It was then that someone from the press group stepped forward with a microphone extended:
"Miss!" a female voice called. "You're Penelope, aren't you?"
Penelope stopped mid-stride. Tim immediately looked at her, concerned, but Bruce nodded with a slight smile, giving her permission to speak.
The girl turned to the reporters. The spotlights blinded her for a moment, but she didn't back down. The wind stirred her magenta hair, a color so unusual it seemed to glow on its own in the midday sun, and murmurs began to multiply.
"Yes..." she replied, lowering her head slightly, as if intimidated by the noise, although her voice was clear. "My name is Penelope Drake-Wayne."
The murmur turned to astonishment.
The cameras captured the contrast of her pale skin, the color of her eyes, the shade of green and blue, and that sweet, calm air that seemed unbecoming of a girl raised among heroes.
"She's beautiful..." a reporter murmured, unable to contain herself, moved by the scene.
"She has the bearing of the Waynes... and the gaze of the Drakes," someone else whispered.
Penelope didn't fully understand what those comments meant, but when she felt Tim's hand squeeze hers, she allowed herself to smile.
"My brother and I have a house now," she said with the purest innocence. "And a dad who won't leave."
The murmur grew louder. The flashes intensified.
Bruce tensed, but pride filtered across his features before he could hide it.
Beside him, Lucius cleared his throat with a barely contained smile.
"I think the city has just fallen in love with your daughter, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce let out a resigned sigh.
"It wouldn't be the first time Gotham has fallen for someone with the last name Wayne," he murmured, as he helped the children into the car.
Night fell, and with it, the news was buzzing about the new Wayne, the little princess of the house.
That same night, the news flooded the screens.
"The Waynes are expanding their family! Bruce Wayne is granted legal custody of the young prodigy Timothy Drake and introduces his daughter, Penelope Drake-Wayne."
"A new heiress in Gotham: the little girl with magenta hair is conquering the press."
"Rumors of Bipaternal Chimerism: Experts Confirm the Scientific Possibility of the Drake-Wayne Case."
The photographs circulated throughout the media.
In one, Bruce was leaving the courtroom with both children holding hands: Tim with his serene but watchful expression, and Penelope smiling shyly at the camera, her hair blowing in the wind and a white flower in the pocket of her dress, a gift from Alfred.
That image became iconic in less than 24 hours.
The public dubbed it "The Gotham Twins."
And at Wayne Manor, the ancient architecture was illuminated with a soft, warm glow. For the first time in a long time, the echo in its halls was neither heavy nor lonely: laughter, the clinking of cutlery, and light conversation filled the spaces like a melody.
In the main dining room, a long dark wooden table was decorated with candles and a centerpiece of fresh flowers, a mix of jasmine and white lilies, chosen by Alfred. On the plates, the glasses sparkled in the golden light. It wasn't a formal dinner, nor a gala banquet, but something much more precious: a family dinner.
Tim and Penelope sat next to each other, inseparable.
She, wearing her sky-blue dress and magenta hair carefully combed by Cass, was smiling so broadly that her cheeks ached. He, on the other hand, couldn't stop talking. Between laughs, he told Dick how he had managed to maintain his composure during the trial.
"And you said that in front of the judge?" Dick asked, bursting into laughter.
"Of course, I had to look confident," Tim replied proudly. "Although my hands were shaking all the time."
"You did well, kiddo," Alfred chimed in with a discreet smile, serving the stew. "Not everyone could stand up to their parents like that."
Cass nodded several times.
Bruce looked at his children because that's what they were, there was no doubt about it anymore. And for a moment, the weight of their responsibilities seemed to dissipate. Penelope laughed when Dick made faces at her from across the table, and Alfred even allowed himself a glass of wine.
Lucius and Barbara had been summoned that evening, but both declined. Lucius wanted to be with his family; he knew there would be questions about Penelope, and Barbara had to study for a college exam, so it was just them.
They toasted and ate. Penelope listened calmly to the news that Stephanie Brown, her brother's friend, would be arriving soon, and Cass had assured them she would be staying in Gotham for a while.
"Oh, Nelly, we have to see about school," Tim said suddenly.
"School? Can I come?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.
"Of course!" Dick exclaimed excitedly. "You'll be able to do many things."
Penelope smiled; her chubby cheeks, full of baby fat, made her look sweeter and more tender, so that while They talked, Penelope allowed herself to listen to about her new school, about meeting and making friends. The more she listened, the happier she felt, and at one point, she turned to see Bruce, her father.
"Dad, can I go to school?" she asked excitedly, and Bruce couldn't deny his daughter's smile.
"Of course you can," Bruce nodded.
And he watched as his daughter's eyes grew brighter. What joy!
[None of them knew it would be a matter of time before they received the call from the commissioner. Batgirl had fallen, and a clown wearing a Hawaiian shirt was laughing loudly.]
Chapter 18: Chapter Seventeen: Barbara Gordon, Bat Girl
Summary:
Let's go with a point of view from Barbara.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Gotham never sleeps, but there are nights when even the noise seems to fall silent out of respect. It's not the kind of comforting silence that heralds rest, but a dense one, heavy with painful memories, with voices no longer there.
Barbara Gordon knows him well.
She lives with him.
She sits in front of a rain-stained window in her small apartment on Burnside. The streetlights filter in orange strips across the floor, and among the shadows, the remnants of a once brighter life can be seen: a shelf full of criminology books, a cane leaning in the corner, and on the table, an old photograph.
Jason Todd smiles at her.
His hands are in his pockets, his hair disheveled, and he wears that expression that combined arrogance with tenderness. Bruce appears behind him, serious as ever, and Barbara, younger, more alive, holds the red helmet that would later become a relic of pain.
She runs her finger over the boy's face.
Every time she does, it seems harder to remember the sound of his laughter.
"You were unbearable," he murmurs, with a broken smile. "But you were our unbearable."
The clock strikes 2:30 in the morning.
Barbara can't sleep. For weeks, the nightmares have returned.
Sometimes they're clear images, other times, just sounds: the echo of a scream, the roar of an engine, laughter that never ends.
The first time she learned Jason was dead, she didn't believe it. No one would tell her directly; she figured it out. Bruce disappeared for two days, and when he returned, he didn't have Robin with him. The cape was torn, the symbol blackened, and there was nothing left of his eyes.
She found him sitting in the Batcave, across from the boy's suit. He said nothing, but the silence screamed everything.
Barbara had seen him deal with grief before, but never like this. It was as if the Bat's soul had been torn in two.
And so had she.
Because Jason wasn't just the second Robin.
He was the younger brother she never had.
The boy who stole her cookies, who fell asleep on the couch in her apartment after patrol and tired of Dick and Bruce's fights, who did ridiculous Alfred impressions just to make her laugh. The one who complained about Bruce's training, but then showed off his bruises like medals.
The one who left sticky notes on her Batmobile with phrases like "Don't forget to smile, redhead."
Barbara closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath, trying to ease the pressure in her chest, but the memory always finds a way to creep in.
That day. Jason's letter about looking for his mother. The day her tracker located him on Eutopia.
She had tried tracking his frequency for hours; they knew where he was, but she wanted to know he was okay. Channel 3 wasn't responding. O5 emitted only static. When she finally managed to intercept something, it wasn't his voice. It was the Joker's laugh.
A sound that pierced her bones, burned her throat, and stole her breath.
"No..." she whispered that time, in front of the console, unable to move.
And when Bruce returned with empty eyes, she understood she had lost him.
There was no public funeral.
Just a grave without a body and a name that weighed more than lead.
Jason Todd.
Beloved son of Bruce Wayne.
But although the grave in the city cemetery said that, in the cave stood a monument that read "Great Soldier." Barbara hated him as soon as she saw him, loathed him when Bruce classified her brother as nothing more than a soldier, as if he hadn't been her son, and yet she kept coming back.
For weeks, Barbara kept going to the Batcave. Bruce didn't speak. Neither did Dick. The two of them shouted at each other, and no one knew how to fill the void the boy had left.
The suit remained in its display case, illuminated by a pale blue light. Sometimes, she swore the reflection in the glass returned the boy's gaze, as if it still wanted to say something.
"I couldn't protect you..." she whispers now, looking at the photo.
The guilt has stayed with her ever since. Not because it was her direct responsibility, but because she should have known. Because she was always the one who listened, the one who saw the signs, the one who filled the gaps Bruce couldn't reach.
And she didn't.
Since that day, every laugh in Gotham echoes the same message.
Every explosion, every scream, every lost child on the news reminds her of the boy who never came back.
Sometimes she dreams of him.
She sees him standing on the roof of the police station, mask in hand, asking her with a mischievous smile:
> "Do you think I did something right in the end?"
And she wakes up screaming, not knowing how to respond.
Jason wasn't just a Robin.
He was proof that even the bravest could break. The reflection of everything Gotham could take from you when you thought you'd defeated it.
Barbara turns off the lamp and remains in the darkness. The rain continues to pound the window, steady, stubborn.
She closes her eyes and whispers his name once more, like a prayer that no one hears.
"Jason..."
And in some corner of her mind, she thinks she hears his voice.
Light, mocking, as always:
> "Don't cry, redhead... you know I didn't like goodbyes."
The clock strikes three. Barbara takes a deep breath and wipes her tears with the back of her hand.
She knows the pain won't go away.
She only learns to hide behind duty.
And tomorrow, when she goes back on patrol, she'll smile at the memory, pretending the echo of Bruce's words about the warehouse exploding no longer rings out.
But she knows.
The laughter never stopped.
The BatFamily
There's a distinct silence in the Batcave when Bruce trains someone new. A tense, measured, expectant silence. As if even the rocks, the machines, and the bats were holding their breath, waiting to see if the boy would survive the shadow of the bat.
Barbara remembers perfectly the day she first saw him.
It hadn't been a formal introduction. She'd simply gone underground after days of absence, with reports of a police raid, and found him there: a boy no more than twelve years old, small, with messy hair and blue-green eyes that regarded everything with a mixture of curiosity and respect.
Bruce was standing beside him, giving him instructions in a deep voice, while the boy nodded, memorizing every word as if he depended on it.
"And this one?" Barbara asked, crossing her arms with a raised eyebrow.
Bruce barely looked up.
"Timothy Drake, our neighbor," he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
The boy turned immediately, and she noticed that the gesture was almost automatic, as if he'd been taught to always respond politely.
"Miss Gordon," he said, his voice low but firm. "It's an honor to meet you."
It took Barbara a few seconds to react.
"Miss Gordon." No one in the Batcave had called her that since... well, since before blood and shadows became routine.
Tim reached out his hand. She took it, and in that instant, she understood something: That little boy wasn't looking for anything beyond being able to help Bruce. He wasn't looking for glory or recognition. She could tell. His eyes shone, sparkled at the fact that he could help.
"You're the new Robin," she said, trying to sound neutral.
"Yes, ma'am." He nodded, his voice polite, soft, and his cheeks flushed pink. "Well... not officially." Mr. Wayne is still deciding.
Barbara glanced at the Bat, who was still pretending to check the monitors, even though she knew he was listening to every word.
"What do you think?" she asked.
The boy hesitated for a second, lowering his gaze.
"There's no Robin without Batman..." he said with a sincerity that disarmed her. "But there's also no Batman without someone to remind him he's still human."
Barbara stilled. The sentence hit her harder than she expected. Bruce didn't say anything, but she noticed the way his shoulders tensed, barely perceptible.
That boy... he'd observed him, understood him, and in just one sentence, he'd given her back something Gotham and the Joker had taken from her: hope.
Over the next few weeks, Barbara watched him grow—not in height, God, it would be a miracle if it were height, but in presence. He was meticulous, reserved, brilliant. He always arrived with impeccably written patrol reports, every wound noted, every suspect classified. And always with that strange habit of saying thank you after each mission, as if he were afraid of being a burden.
"You don't need to ask permission to exist, Tim," she told him one night, while they were reviewing the surveillance systems.
The boy looked at her, confused, not knowing whether to laugh or apologize. And in that moment, Barbara understood something deeper: Bruce needed a Robin... but Tim, without realizing it, needed a father.
A child raised in absence, trying to fill the void with perfection. A boy who had learned not to be a nuisance, not to cry, not to fail. And so, Barbara began to care for him without saying anything.
Not obviously, not with words. In her own way.
She reviewed his routes every night before he went out, adjusted his communication protocols, added emergency codes to his tracker. She taught him how to navigate the network, how to leave no digital trace, how to erase search patterns.
She taught him how to survive.
And when Bruce wasn't there—or sometimes Bruce simply wasn't there—she was the one who responded to his signal. The one who checked if he'd eaten, if he was sleeping, if his wounds were healing properly. The one who silently accompanied him when the weight of the symbol became too great for his age.
She never said it out loud, but Tim knew. Every time she offered him coffee, every time she called him "smart boy," he smiled with a respect that wasn't bought with authority, but with affection, like a child starved for touch, but who didn't know how to ask for affection, only to accept the little that was offered.
Barbara didn't try to replace anyone. She just wanted to make sure that this time, the laughter wouldn't happen again. And deep down, she knew that protecting Tim didn't just keep him safe. It also kept what little remained of her safe, reminding her that she was doing her big sister role well, when she'd failed in the past.
Because every time the boy smiled, Jason's wound hurt a little less. And for the first time in a long time, the echo of the past seemed, even if only for a few seconds, to let her breathe.
The BatFamily
There are moments that are etched in the memory with cruel precision. Not for what they show, but for what they take away.
Barbara remembered that day well. She remembered the cold air of Gotham, the roar of the rain against the rooftops, and the intermittent sound of a broken communicator. Once again, the city had left her without answers.
Tim had gone out on a simple, routine patrol. Nothing out of the ordinary. An intercepted weapons delivery, a couple of suspects in an abandoned warehouse. Bruce was in Metropolis with Clark, Dick in Blüdhaven. Only she, Cass, and Tim remained to monitor the routes.
And when it was time for the patrol, it was only a matter of seconds before something terrifying happened... silence.
The kind of silence Barbara hated. The kind that didn't signify peace, but loss. That same silence that had been on Jason's communicator when he'd fled to Eutopia.
She tried resetting the communicator frequency three times. Nothing. No static. No interference. Nothing.
Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it over the whirring of the computer. Fear seemed to creep up her spine. Cass appeared behind her, wordlessly looking at her with those dark eyes that seemed to read more than one could say.
"Robin?" Barbara asked into the void.
And then, laughter.
At first, distant, almost imperceptible. Then, louder, clearer, more twisted. The metallic echo of the voice that had haunted her nightmares for years.
"Oh, what a sweet surprise. Did you know that birds also laugh before they break?"
The Joker.
Barbara felt the world shrink. Her hands began to shake as she typed, activating every tracking protocol, overloading the systems, searching for a signal, a trail, a coordinate. Cass placed a hand on her shoulder.
There was no need for Cass to speak; her eyes spoke volumes. "We'll find him," Cass wanted to say, as if that certainty were enough to sustain them both.
But time, in Gotham, has a perverse meaning. Every minute that passes can feel like an eternity.
They found him 48 hours later. 48 hours in which Barbara didn't sleep, didn't eat, barely breathed. She only tracked, jumped between rooftops, looked for any clue about Robin, listened, searched. The city became a dreadful echo, questions without answers, the wrong kind of help, bated breaths.
And when they finally located him, in an abandoned amusement park—because of course it would be an amusement park—Barbara's soul was already broken.
She wasn't the first to arrive. It was Bruce, who had also been unable to rest because of the fact that another Robin had fallen, but what she saw when she saw him return with Tim in his arms would mark her forever.
The boy didn't cry.
He didn't speak.
He barely moved.
His eyes, once so alive, were empty.
Harley had done her part.
The Joker, his.
And Gotham... Gotham had once again shown her that nothing was sacred, and yet, they fought, they screamed, they took him back, they had taken back the child they had tried to break.
Barbara stayed by Tim's side for days, saying nothing. Cass watched from the doorway, Alfred came and went silently, and Bruce... Bruce disappeared for hours, returning with his knuckles stained and his soul torn.
The Batcave smelled of disinfectant, metal, and guilt.
Barbara looked at him, sitting on the medical bed, covered by a blanket, staring blankly at the floor.
He was a child again.
A broken child.
And in her mind, the images blended.
Jason and Tim. Two blue-eyed boys, two muffled laughs, two lives shattered by the same monster.
"You don't have to talk," she said softly, sitting next to him. "Just... stay here."
Tim looked up for just a second.
His lips moved, but no sound came out.
She took his hand.
Cold.
Inert.
And she felt the weight of déjà vu, the same chill in her chest, the same feeling of life slipping through her fingers.
Weeks passed. Time healed the superficial, but the deep didn't return.
Tim went back to training, back to patrolling, back to smiling, but he wasn't the same.
Sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, he touched his temple, or his jaw, as if he needed to remind himself that he was still himself. Other times, he stood in front of the mirror, not speaking, staring at his reflection with a blank stare, searching for something he couldn't find.
He never wanted to talk about it. Not with Bruce, not with Alfred, not with her.
And Barbara understood.
Because there are wounds you don't tell.
You only learn to hide them.
One night, months later, while reviewing the intercom feeds, she heard him mutter something to Cass. Just a couple of words, but enough.
"I'm not... JJ."
His voice was firm, almost defiant. Cass, with her quiet empathy, just nodded. Barbara closed her eyes, letting the tears fall without a fight.
"No, you're not," she thought. "You're Tim. You're our brilliant boy. Our Robin." And you will be until you decide to fly.
That experience changed everyone. Bruce began to be more careful, Cass more protective, and Barbara... more vigilant. It hurt, it hurt not to tell Dick what had happened, but she knew Tim didn't need Dick's rage or anger, so she calmly followed him on each patrol, checking the trackers three times, memorizing the coordinates, strengthening the communications. Sometimes Bruce protested.
"You can't protect him from everything," he'd said once, a little hypocritical on his part to say the least, and yet, she answered without looking at him.
"No, but I can try."
What she didn't say was that she wasn't doing it just for Tim. She was doing it for Jason. For the echo that still resonated in the cave every time a communicator went silent.
Because that day, when she saw the boy return from the Joker's grasp, she understood a truth that left her cold: no matter how many years pass, Gotham always tries to steal what you love, but this time, she wouldn't let him.
So when Tim smiled again, a small, hesitant, but real smile, Barbara felt something she hadn't felt in years: relief.
The laughter, sinister and evil, was still there, in the back of her mind, repeating itself over and over, but, for the first time, there was someone standing up to it. A boy in a cape that was too big, a broken heart that still beat. And while Gotham slept under its blanket of fog and crime, Barbara Gordon silently swore to protect that light, though Barbara never expected that little light to come with a surprise.
The Bat Family
At some point, the annoying yet familiar murmur of Gotham City, which never seems to stop, not even when the strange presence of the sun dares to sneak between the buildings, finally seemed to do so. The news wasn't talking about crime, or political scandals, or the whims of business magnates. It was talking about a little girl.
"Penelope Martha Drake-Wayne," the headlines read.
"The long-lost daughter of Bruce Wayne and Jack Drake."
Barbara let the computer's voice synthesizer finish reading, and then she simply stood there, silent. Her hands paused on the keyboard. The screen displayed the official photo provided by the Wayne Foundation: a thirteen-year-old girl, magenta hair, pale skin, a small smile, and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen on a sweet little person.
Tim's eyes.
She felt her chest tighten, a mixture of surprise and tenderness, as if something inside her understood without needing explanation. That little girl, she thought, wasn't just news. She was an echo. A pure part of Tim, a part no one had yet tainted, what Bruce still wanted to protect.
Barbara zoomed in with a slight gesture. Penelope was holding Bruce's hand, while Tim stood at her side, leaning slightly, as if his natural reflex was to care for her. It was the same position Dick used when she was Batgirl and he was the young Robin; the same instinctive gesture, that way of standing between the world and innocence.
She smiled helplessly.
"Little gentleman," she whispered, as if Tim could hear her from a distance.
Cass entered the room quietly, as always. Barbara noticed her reflection in the monitor and barely looked up.
"You saw her, didn't you?"
Cass nodded.
"Eyes like the sky." Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "Hidden pain."
"Yes... I saw that too," Barbara sighed.
Because there was something in Penelope's sweetness that she couldn't hide, something that was hurting her, but the way she leaned her body toward Tim was the key, she was seeking refuge. Her smile did reach her eyes, but the way she seemed to hold Bruce's hand, as if clinging to someone, to something secure.
Like Dick when he thought he was going to fall, like Jason had, when she tried to pretend she wasn't afraid. In herself, in front of the mirror, when her reflection still carried the echo of the Joker's laughter.
In the following days, Penelope's name didn't disappear from the media. Photographers outside Wayne Manor, paternity rumors, canceled interviews, soulless conjectures. Bruce remained silent, as always. Tim, on the other hand, had learned to dodge cameras with the dexterity of a ghost.
College took up her time, but that didn't stop her from paying close attention to the little girl's words. She'd heard Penelope say about Dick, about how he didn't try to corner her, watched her change or bathe, and all she could feel was a fury coursing through her body; a rage she let out when she was fighting crime.
Because if Gotham had been cruel to a Robin, it would be merciless to a new girl who didn't yet understand how to protect herself.
"Dick hasn't tried to enter the room when I'm changing clothes or bathing," she'd said, her small, childlike voice pained, a little girl who was holding back a lot of things. "I guess that's okay. Even though Dick has black hair and blue eyes like Derrick, I know he won't try to find me when I'm changing my clothes or washing my body..."
Barbara pressed her lips together, holding back tears when she heard that. Maybe, she thought, the girl understood more than she let on. At the university, where Barbara was teaching a seminar, she began to hear murmurs.
Hallway gossip, whispered headlines.
"The Drakes sue Wayne."
"Custody dispute."
"Is Bruce Wayne manipulating minors?"
Her heart leapt.
She couldn't stay still. Not after everything she knew. So she started an online campaign, anonymous, under an untraceable alias: Martha's Light. A campaign to show the Bruce no one saw. Photos of orphanage donations, foundation records, volunteer testimonials. It wasn't to clear his name. It was to protect children. His children.
And although no one knew who was behind it, Bruce suspected it. The day before the final hearing, as the wind battered the windows of her apartment, Barbara received a coded message on her computer monitor.
Thank you.
—B.
She smiled happily, but it seemed it wouldn't end there.
They'd invited her to dinner, celebrating Penelope's recognition as a Wayne, but with the university breathing down her neck, she stayed home. That night, the rain arrived.
Not a storm, but that persistent drizzle that seemed to have no beginning or end. Barbara watched her from her apartment window, the reflection of the drops painting lines on the glass, as if the sky were also silently crying.
The apartment was quiet; a Beyoncé song could be heard in the background, the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the soft voice of the radio filling the empty spaces.
It was strange. After so much time, there were no screams, no chases, no news of another loss. Tim and Penelope were safe. Bruce had won custody. Cass had visited her that morning with flowers and a tiny smile. Dick had even texted her before dinner.
"It seems things are starting to look up, Babs. Gotham is giving us a break."
She had smiled, with that tired expression that only people who have survived chaos can have. Because she knew that peace in Gotham was never a gift. It was a truce. A sigh between storms.
She settled into the chair, letting the warmth of the coffee warm her hands. The steam rose slowly, forming small clouds that dissipated in the air. The murmur of the city floated in the distance: a taxi, a siren, the murmur of the soaked streets.
For a moment, Barbara allowed herself to believe she could breathe, that she could focus on school, finish her project and her hobbies.
She had spent the afternoon reviewing the latest broadcasts from the Martha's Light campaign. The messages were encouraging: people thanking Bruce Wayne for his donations, for his adoption programs, for his quiet work in hospitals. Gotham was beginning to remember that not everything that emerged from the darkness was evil. Some, like Bruce, had only learned to inhabit it.
Barbara closed the last file of her Forensic Psychology final project and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms. Her back creaked, a gentle reminder that she hadn't moved for hours. The clock on the desk read 8:46 p.m.
She thought about calling Dick, maybe making it to dinner, maybe allowing herself to laugh a little, talking about the kids. Penelope and Tim had spent a busy afternoon with the judge's new rulings; maybe she could bring a cake—maybe it would bring a smile to their faces.
And soon, there was a knock on the door.
A soft, polite sound, too polite for Gotham.
Barbara blinked. She wasn't expecting anyone. The bats were having dinner, and even if they weren't, she knew Cass never knocked; she was silent, but skilled; Dick always used the window; Bruce... well, Bruce had other ways.
She thought briefly of her father, of Bullock, but dismissed them. She thought maybe it was the old woman from apartment 14, the same one who asked her for help when her internet service went down, so she opened the door. The older woman was probably having some problems again, and it wouldn't hurt to help.
She calmly approached the door. It would be quick, it was always like that, so she calmly took the doorknob and turned it.
"Yes?" she said, keeping her tone calm. If it was the lady, she could get this over with quickly.
"Good evening, Miss Gordon. I'm from the Police Department. I have some documents for you." —said a voice, a very kind one, too
Barbara doubted it. Her father would have warned her, but then again, it wouldn't be the first time he hadn't told her he would send someone with documents. She sighed and deactivated the safety, somewhat resigned to the fact that her father would probably give her more work.
She opened it just a few inches.
—What documents are we talking about?—she sighed resignedly.
The man raised his head.
And the smile was the first thing she saw.
That smile.
Wide, grotesque, painted on.
—Just a welcome one, doll!
The shot sounded like thunder.
Time shattered. The impact threw her backward, the air escaping from her lungs. The pain was immediate, burning, searing, as if a flame had pierced her spine. The movement caused a small, beautiful vase her father had given her to shatter into a thousand pieces on the floor. Water splashed on the floor, and the flowers fell near her.
Barbara tried to move. She couldn't. All she could see was the open door, the man's figure walking in with calm steps, a laugh that filled the apartment.
"Oh, dear Miss Gordon," the Joker said, leaning toward her, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "You look awfully serious. You should smile a little more."
Barbara felt her breath catch in her throat, pain enveloping every fiber of her body.
And yet, she looked at him. She looked at him with the same fire she used at night in front of the console, the same fire that kept the Bat-Signal alive when everyone else was falling.
She didn't say a word. She just challenged him with her gaze. The Joker burst out laughing and turned toward the door.
"Oh, and say hi to your dear old dad for me." He clicked his tongue. "Tell him the joke's just beginning."
And he disappeared into the darkness.
Notes:
I know I never pointed out that Tim went through what happened with JJ, and the truth is that it was just a few months after he started as Robin. I think that being Tim, his mind would suppress all the negative feelings; maybe in the future, JJ will make an appearance to protect his sister.
Chapter 19: Chapter Eighteen: The Smell of Blood and Iodine
Chapter Text
The sound of the sirens was a tragic and distant melody to Barbara Gordon. Her eyes, that beautiful caramel color that had captivated more than one person (including Dick himself), were blurred by the tears that threatened to fall, and also by the pain that had begun to envelop her.
She doesn't remember exactly what happened; she can only make out the small figure of an older woman holding her stomach.
"Barbie, dear," they said. The voice was that of an older woman. "Dear, try to stay awake. I already called your father."
Her father? She recognized her old neighbor, that kind woman who used to give her cookies, and she felt like crying. Was he really risking his life to help her? One of the woman's warm hands caressed her cheek, and just when she thought exhaustion was taking hold of her even more, she heard her father's voice.
"Barbara!"
She doesn't know what's happening, she can't remember anything else that's happened, she keeps hearing the sirens, they're still a silent ballad of her pain, of the tragedy that has engulfed her, and all she can do is want her father back. It's what she needs most. And as if Gotham knew, a heavy rain began.
The air smelled of iron and the recent rain. At some point, her window shattered. When? She wasn't quite sure, maybe even the Joker did it, but it didn't matter, she could hear her father forcing his way in, possibly the police trying to calm him down. Mrs. Cherry was still by her side when he appeared. Jim Gordon, her father; he ran toward her without thinking.
His voice, usually firm, broke into a roar filled with fear.
"Barbara! God, Barbara!" He knelt beside her, his coat soaked in blood, his hands trembling as he tried to staunch the wound. "Stay with me, do you hear me? Stay with me, baby!"
The paramedics could barely make their way through the officers, the shattered glass, and the worried old woman. The Joker had vanished minutes ago, but his laughter still hung in the air, like a cursed shadow.
Barbara tried to speak, but only a low moan escaped her lips, a thread of air cut short by pain. Jim held her, feeling the warmth of his blood drain away.
"Dad..." she managed, barely a whisper.
"I'm here, sweetheart. It's okay. It's over." His voice broke as he lied, because he knew nothing had happened yet.
Terror coursed through him, as if every second were a countdown.
The paramedics placed a neck brace on her, carefully immobilizing her body, and Jim followed without thinking. As the stretcher was lifted into the ambulance, he saw his reflection in the window: his uniform soaked, his hands stained red, his eyes empty. He was a father, not a commissioner.
And he felt useless, but even so, he didn't stop to look beyond his own reflection.
The drive to the hospital was a succession of lights, shadows, and distant sounds.
The heart monitor showed an unstable rhythm, each beep a cruel reminder that time was running out.
"Blood pressure dropping," said one of the doctors.
"Internal bleeding. We need an urgent transfusion."
Barbara tried to keep her eyes open. She saw fragments—faces, lights, voices—and amidst it all, she thought she saw something else.
A flash.
A golden color that didn't belong there.
A figure leaning over her, with magenta hair reflecting the light like liquid fire.
A soft, almost childlike voice echoed through the chaos.
"Don't fall asleep, Miss Barbara... not yet."
The Bat Girl
Dick was finishing stretching to go out on patrol. The twins were asleep, and while it would be strange to see Batman without Robin, he also knew that Bruce had become overly protective of the two children, so that night it would just be him, Batman, and Orphan.
The clock in the room read 10:04 p.m., just the right time to venture out into the darkness of Gotham. The air inside the cave was cool, filled with the metallic smell of the equipment and the faint hum of the Batcomputer at rest.
Cass, her face covered by Orphan's black cowl, adjusted her gloves with precise, almost ceremonial movements. Dick watched her for a moment. Sometimes, his silence spoke louder than words. She simply nodded; the language between them needed no more. Ready.
"Bruce must be waiting for us by now," Dick said, turning toward the tunnel entrance. "And if we're late, he's going to give me one of those 'You haven't grown up since you were twelve' looks."
Cass raised an eyebrow beneath her mask and nodded. Bruce had left the cave four minutes ago; it seemed that since he was going to the Gotham Academy tomorrow to enroll Penelope and Tim, he needed to be fully awake.
"Reason."
"Hey!" he laughed, but his voice didn't have time to fade.
A sound broke the air: a short, low buzz. The kind of alert that didn't belong to any patrol or mission protocol.
The Batcomputer activated on its own, filling the cave with the cold light of its screens. The name that appeared in red on the monitor made Dick's heart stop.
PROTOCOL 04-B: BATGIRL ALARM.
The sound repeated, insistent. Cass turned toward him quickly, her eyes, visible through the mask, nervous, nervous as if trying to squeeze her.
"Barbara." The name escaped Dick's lips in a whisper.
Cass was already in front of the monitor, reviewing the incoming transmission. There was no video. Only audio.
"Unit 23, code 901. Gordon Department, 7th floor. Female gunshot wound. I repeat, gunshot wound. Priority one."
"The victim is the commissioner's daughter. I repeat, the victim is Barbara Gordon. En route to Gotham General Hospital. Abdominal injury, possible spinal cord damage."
The rest was lost in the static.
Dick stood still for a second, his entire body paralyzed by disbelief. His mind tried to process it, but his heart denied it with all its might.
"No..." he whispered. "No, it can't be..."
Cass took a step back, her breathing becoming ragged. She, who rarely showed emotion, had her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Dick turned to the Batcomputer, pressing the controls hard.
"Ambulance location! Give me its route!"
"Route 3, to Central Hospital," Oracle's automated voice replied.
Cruel irony. Barbara's own voice, programmed to serve as an assistant, repeating the details of her own fall.
Cass lowered her head, murmuring something in a barely audible whisper.
"Laughter."
"What?" Dick looked at her, hoping he'd misheard, because he wasn't in the right frame of mind to think about the fact that his friend's programmed voice was announcing that she was on her way to the hospital.
"Laughter." Cass looked up, her eyes full of shadow. "Joker."
And then the cameras, which had stopped projecting a repetitive image, now showed what Dick feared most, making the air seem heavier, almost solid.
Dick clenched his jaw, trembling in his hands. The memory of Bruce announcing that Jason was dead, of the blood-stained yellow cape, of his brother's coffin being lowered from a vast mound of earth.
"Call Bruce," he said hoarsely.
Cass had already done so. The connection opened on the intercom.
"Nightwing, report." Bruce's voice was deep, harsh. The tone he used when he knew something was wrong.
"Babs... she's been shot," he said, swallowing hard and barely able to contain his trembling. "Shot in the abdomen. She's on the way to the hospital."
Silence.
A silence that hurt more than any scream.
"Who?"
"Joker."
There was a brief, metallic sound on the other end of the line, as if something had broken, as if Bruce had momentarily lost control of his body. Then his restrained, almost human voice.
“I won’t tell them to stay out, but it would be best,” he commented, adding, “I don’t want the twins to know. I’m on my way.”
The connection was lost.
Dick clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his skin.
“Stay out…” he muttered, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “Does he really think I’m going to stay here?”
Cass watched him silently, the air between them thick with tension and fear. Dick took the batons from his belt and adjusted them precisely.
“Get ready, Cass. We’re not going on patrol.”
“We’re going home.”
The girl nodded. They both went to their respective motorcycles, the same ones he had the colors were assigned to each of them: blue/black for Dick, chrome black and gray for Cass. But all Alfred heard, aside from his worries about Barbara, were the engines roaring like an omen.
The Gotham night unfolded before them. And somewhere, on the wind, they could still hear the laughter of the man who had just broken another part of their hearts.
The Bat Family
Gotham General Hospital had become a war zone.
The wail of ambulance sirens mingled with the clang of gurneys and the echo of hurried footsteps. Doctors, nurses, and police officers crisscrossed the corridors, illuminated by white lights that, instead of bringing calm, seemed to accentuate the brutality of the moment.
At 10:47 p.m., one of the patrol cars guarding the main entrance abruptly pulled away. A dark, unmarked vehicle stopped in front of the emergency room door. There was no need to ask or point out the reason for its visit; they knew it well. It was only a matter of time before two motorcycles arrived.
One person got out of each vehicle: Batman, Nightwing, and Orphan. There was no sign of Robin, but that made sense. They knew someone was looking for the little bird, so it was only logical to protect him.
Silence stretched for a few seconds. The police officers present looked at each other, unsure whether to let them pass or salute. No one spoke when the bat entered. They simply stepped aside.
Bruce advanced, his cape trailing in the air, his brow furrowed, his eyes hidden behind the mask, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. Dick followed, his face covered by the black mask, but if it weren't for the white contact lenses, they would have been able to see that his blue eyes shone with something more than worry—fear. Cass walked behind, so silent she seemed like a shadow within a shadow.
The chaos of the hospital enveloped them; the nurses were shouting, Bullock was yelling orders at the officers, but they didn't hear it. They were only looking for one thing.
"Commissioner Gordon," Batman said, his deep voice cutting through the nurses' murmur.
Jim Gordon stood by the emergency room, his clothes stained with dried blood. It wasn't his. It was Barbara's, his daughter's.
His hands trembled, his hair disheveled, his eyes red from tears and lack of sleep. When he saw Batman, his face broke. Not the commissioner's. The father's.
"Bastard..." he whispered, unsure if he was referring to the Joker or to fate.
"What happened?" he asked, taking a step forward.
Jim took a deep breath, trembling. He leaned against the wall, as if the weight of the words crushed him.
"Her neighbor..." he began, his voice cracking, "Mrs. Cherry. She said she heard voices. That someone was talking to Barbara... a male voice, mocking. Then a gunshot. She thought it was thunder or some idiot playing with guns, but..." He paused for a long time, his eyes fixed on the floor, "when she mustered the courage to go outside, she saw the door was open."
The air seemed to thicken, and yet no one breathed, because they felt it would be an insult to the gray-haired man.
"He said he found her lying on the ground... bleeding. She wasn't moving. He called her name, but she didn't answer. He just cried and screamed until the paramedics arrived."
His words broke into a sob. Dick looked away, his hands trembling. Cass lowered her head, her lips pressed tightly together.
Bruce didn't move, whether because the suit had grown heavier, or because his rigid posture prevented him from doing so, but even so, something inside him seemed to burn.
"Where is she?" he asked, barely a whisper.
"Operating room three. The bullet... the bullet went through her abdomen and reached her spine. The doctors don't know if she'll ever walk again." Jim rubbed his face with both hands, exhaling a trembling breath that sounded like a muffled roar. "She was my girl, damn it! My girl!"
Silence fell like a ton of bricks. The pain of a father, the fear of a brother, the rage of a mentor and a sister.
Batman clenched his fists from inside his cape; there was no need to ask who was responsible, Dick had told him.
“Where’s the Joker?” he asked, his usually deep voice now heavier.
“I don’t know,” sighed the commissioner. “I… I wanted to be with my daughter, but I left Bullock in charge.”
“I understand, Nightwing,” Batman said, pointing toward Bullock.
Dick hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Barbara, but when he felt the pressure of Orphan’s glove on his left hand, he nodded. He knew Bruce meant him no harm; in fact, he could bet he wanted to prevent him from going on another hunt.
“I’ll go see what backup I can get,” he sighed.
He turned and walked toward Bullock, who, with a stained jacket and a hard look, was giving orders to the officers cordoning off the entrance to the operating room. Cass followed a few steps behind him, silent, observing everything with wide eyes. She had seen injuries, she had seen death, but this… this was different. This was family.
The hallway smelled of iodine and blood. The air was so thick it hurt to breathe.
Bruce stood beside Commissioner Gordon, who couldn't stop trembling. The Batman cape barely moved, as if breathing with him, but its owner was motionless. Only the tension in his jaw betrayed his suppressed rage.
"Commissioner, I know I shouldn't ask this, but I need to know if there are any security cameras," he finally said.
He knew Barbara had placed a camera nearby, positioned between her elderly neighbor's door and her own, but it wasn't focused accurately. They knew it had been the Joker because of the laugh he let out as he left, but they hadn't noticed him when he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and light-colored shorts.
"In the apartment hallway, but not in the entrance," he sighed, removing his glasses and trying to remain calm. "The Joker knew exactly where there wouldn't be any witnesses. He entered like a ghost, and left the same way. My officers even doubted it was him at first."
Batman clenched his fists. The Kevlar glove creaked with a dry, metallic sound.
“I’ll find him,” he promised, more to himself than to Gordon.
“Just bring him to me alive,” the commissioner said, without looking at him. “I want to look him in the eye when I see him pay for what he did to my daughter.”
Bruce couldn’t tell him he wouldn’t kill. He knew Gordon had incredible self-control, but he also knew the man wouldn’t accept anyone touching his daughter. Nightwing returned at that moment, frowning.
“Bullock is trying to get the neighborhood call logs, but the whole system crashed right after the shooting. There are no witnesses. Only that old woman…” He looked at Bruce, hesitant. “Batman, this smells fishy. This wasn’t an impromptu attack.”
“It wasn’t,” Batman replied flatly. “The Joker never shoots on impulse. He shoots when he knows the pain will be greater.”
“Are you saying this madman has been spying on my daughter?” he asked, confused and terrified.
“He could have been spying on her,” Batman pointed out. “Keep in mind that both you and I have been involved in his arrests. It wouldn’t be surprising if he were after your daughter, or my birds.”
No one answered. The silence weighed more than the sirens.
It was then that the sound of firm footsteps announced a new presence. Leslie Thompkins crossed the corridor, wearing a blood-stained white coat and still-damp gloves. She stopped in front of them, her expression grave.
“Batman, Commissioner,” she said, without any formality. “I need to speak with both of you.”
“How is my daughter?” Gordon asked, his eyes filled with desperation, searching for answers.
Leslie took a deep breath, her expression calm, but her eyes moist.
“She’s alive.” The bullet was removed, but... the damage is deep— he sighed, it seemed difficult for him to say it, and they didn't doubt it. — Very deep. I can't promise he'll walk again.
The words landed like a gunshot (ironically speaking) in the room. Dick, behind the Nightwing mask, took a step back, Orphan lowered his head and clenched his fists, and Batman, the man dressed in black, didn't move, but the air around him changed; something in his presence hardened, as if rage solidified within him.
And while they considered what else to do, the scent of cigars reached Batman. He knew that aroma of a Havana cigar and a cigarette. He gently turned his head and noticed the brown fabric of a long coat.
"I'll be right back," he said, following that shadow, and when it moved further away, reaching the back of the hospital, he saw him.
John Constantine.
"Hey Batsy," the Englishman said, stubbing out his cigarette and straightening his coat.
"What are you doing here, Constantine?" she asked, her voice serious and harsh.
"I think we need to talk about a certain girl I tutor, don't we?" he asked, a soft smile playing on his lips.
And Batman frowned. What did he want with his daughter now?
Chapter 20: Chapter Nineteen: The Bullet That Pierced and the Magic That Healed
Chapter Text
The night smelled of smoke, metal, and disinfectant.
Behind the hospital, far from the murmur of the police and the rumble of the ambulances, the darkness was almost absolute. Batman stopped in front of Constantine, his silhouette barely illuminated by the dim light of a flickering streetlamp. The Englishman, on the other hand, seemed immune to the cold, his brown coat open and his unlit cigarette dangling between his fingers.
"I don't usually give you the benefit of the doubt, Constantine," Batman said, his voice deep and controlled. "So start talking. What are you doing here?"
"I knew you'd say that," the magician replied, shrugging. "You're about as predictable as a crucifix during an exorcism." He lit another cigarette and took a drag before continuing. “Batsy, I’m not stupid. I can put the pieces together even if others can’t, and I know your girl, Barbara, is Batgirl, but I’m not here for that. I’m here to tell you that she wasn’t just a victim of the Joker. She was a victim of something else. Something that doesn’t belong to this world.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Only the wind stirring the bat’s cape.
“Explain yourself,” Batman ordered.
“The bullet.” Constantine gestured lazily toward the building. “It wasn’t just ordinary lead. I’ve been visiting some places on the outskirts of this city, and I have to say, it’s not the first bullet like this. It’s enchanted, so to speak.”
“What?”
“Not with just any curse, but with energy that doesn’t belong to this reality. We call it ‘interdimensional residue.’ Sometimes, when something or someone crosses between worlds, it leaves a trace, a rift.” "And that crack can be used," he explained. He knew the man wouldn't need anything more, but he also needed to give him an explanation.
Batman didn't move. But in his eyes, beneath the mask, a glimmer of understanding ignited.
"What does that have to do with her?" His voice dropped an octave.
"With her, everything." Constantine took another drag and smiled. "That energy, that crack, has the same flavor as your little girl's magic. You know, little Penelope."
Batman took a step forward. The shadow of his cape completely enveloped the Englishman.
"Don't put her in danger."
"Relax, bat. I didn't come to offer her as a sacrifice." The mocking tone vanished; his voice grew more serious, deeper, because the affection he felt for those two little birds grew stronger every day. "I came to tell you that that bullet left a wound that medicine can't heal. It's not just physical. It's... something that pierced the soul. How?" "I don't know, but she did it"—Constantine leaned slightly toward him, his gaze fixed on the white eyes of the mask. "And the only person in Gotham capable of healing something like that... is sleeping in your mansion."
"No," was the immediate reply.
John sighed. He was aware of what he had told the great bat; the girl needed to be in good physical and mental health to perform the spells, and she was barely recovering from the neglect she had endured before coming to them, and Bruce didn't want to risk his daughter.
"Look, Batsy, it's not what you imagine," John assured him, looking at the great bat. He could understand what he felt. "We know that Penelope's magic is based on her physical and mental state. I'm not stupid, but I want you to know that she won't need to use it actively. She can do it slowly, with touch, with closeness. That girl radiates pure healing energy, Batsy. It's not dark, it's not sacred. It's... balance. And Gotham, damn it, needs a little of that."
Batman didn't answer. The wind stirred the edge of his cape, and Constantine's cigar reignited, illuminating his tired face for a moment.
“I can’t risk her,” Batman murmured, his voice lower. “I don’t want anyone to know what she can do.”
“They don’t have to know,” Constantine replied, shrugging. “He can visit her under any pretext. I think your eldest son knows the commissioner’s daughter, doesn’t he?” Batman nodded. “Well, every visit can count. I’d do it little by little, gradually, invisibly, without anyone really knowing that magic is involved.”
Bruce didn’t respond right away. The bat, the strategist, the father—everyone inside him seemed to be arguing at once. Constantine watched him silently, knowing he had planted the seed.
“I don’t want the League…”
“They don’t have to know,” John assured him, setting aside the cigarette he was smoking. “Listen, the only way they could have noticed the girl is if they touched her—her hand, her face, her hair—it doesn’t matter!”
"Touch her?" Batman whispered, unable to grasp what was happening, but he glanced at his gloved hand.
"Yes, like her father, you should carry her or hold her hand," Constantine pointed out, hoping the bat wouldn't get the wrong idea. "So you, like me, the little bird, everyone who has touched her hand, can be of help."
The breeze stirred the shadows in the alley, carrying with it the distant echo of sirens. Constantine threw the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with the toe of his shoe.
"Think about it, Batsy, the girl can be a great help," Constantine remarked calmly. "I'll come to your house tomorrow; I have to teach Penelope another lesson."
Batman grunted, and John simply waved his hand. Bruce didn't know what to think; he just stood upright, his eyes fixed on the reflection of the flickering lights on the wet pavement.
His mind worked like a precision machine: scenarios, risks, variables, but this time it wasn't an enemy with a logical pattern. It was the unknown. It was Penelope. His daughter.
"She's just a child," he finally said, his voice deep, almost a growl. "She's been through enough."
"I know," Constantine replied, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't sound sarcastic. "And that's precisely why she can do it. Because she hasn't been corrupted by fear, or by greed. Because she believes, damn it. And that faith is worth more than all my grimoires."
Bruce closed his eyes for a second. He knew it: Penelope had something different. Not just magic. It was her innocence. Her way of looking at the world, even with the scars of pain, as if there were still hope that things could heal. Because, after all, she had waited for the love of a family, and there they were for her. And now Constantine intended to turn that into a weapon. A tool to help.
No.
I wasn't going to allow it.
"You're wrong," he said, opening his eyes, cold as steel. "I'm not going to let you touch her. I'm not going to let you turn her into just another tool for your tricks."
Constantine let out a low, bitter laugh.
"Tricks, says the man who dresses up as a bat to scare criminals." He took a step forward. "I'm not talking about using her, Batman. I'm talking about letting her be who she is.
If you do nothing, Gordon's wound isn't going to heal completely. And that darkness, that emptiness, is going to stay with her... and with this city."
Bruce looked at him with an intensity that would have made anyone tremble. But Constantine wasn't just anyone. He'd seen demons, gods, and worse things than men in capes.
"Just think about it," the Englishman said, patting him on the shoulder wearily. "You don't have to decide today. But do it soon." Because if the rift grows... —he smiled humorlessly—, not even you will be able to stop what comes out of it.
Batman didn't answer. He just watched as Constantine disappeared into the smoke and fog of the alley, the silhouette of his coat vanishing like a bad omen.
When the sound of his footsteps faded, Bruce remained motionless for long seconds, the icy wind tickling the edge of his cape. He thought of Penelope. Of her shy laughter, the way she sought his approval, the nights she slept clutching her pink bunny or when she slipped away with Tim to his room, seeking warmth, protection. He thought of how she had arrived in Gotham, shrouded in a mystery he still didn't fully understand. And now... how she could be the key to something much bigger. Something that not even he, with all his training, could control.
He clenched his fists.
He didn't want his daughter to become another soldier.
Not another loss.
But Barbara... Barbara was family too.
The dilemma burned inside him.
It was the same fire he'd felt when Jason died. The same one that compelled him to return to the streets again and again.
Protect one, lose another.
The endless cycle of Gotham.
He turned and walked toward the hospital's back entrance.
His shadow melted into the darkness.
As he passed a lit window, his reflection met Dick's, who was watching him from inside, unmasked, his face etched with weariness and worry.
For a moment, Bruce thought about saying something.
But he didn't.
He just nodded slightly, the gesture of a general who had already made a decision, even if he didn't yet dare admit it.
Constantine was right about one thing: the rift was already open. And if Penelope could close it, no matter how much it hurt, he would have to let her try.
The bat disappeared into the night, the promise burning in his chest like an old wound:
"If light can heal, I will not let darkness claim it."
The Bat Family
Bruce hesitated a lot before telling Penelope, but Barbara's condition was worsening every day; she was drifting in and out of consciousness. So, two days later, he summoned the twins.
Tim had been asking about Barbara, requesting reports every five hours. He stared at his phone with a frown, and if Dick didn't answer his calls or messages, he'd hack into his phone and play random sounds while pouting softly. He was worried about her, about Barbara.
He knew they hadn't gotten off to a good start. Barbara was still grieving for Jason, and she was curt and indifferent to Tim. But Bruce could see how she looked at Robin every time he went out on patrol, how worried she was about the younger boy, and understandably so. He knew she was afraid of losing another Robin, but at the same time, he hadn't really met Penelope yet, whether because of her exhausting days at university or her time as Batgirl. So, it was complicated to bring up the subject with Penelope, but he had to.
So, with evening descending upon Wayne Manor, the same evening that seemed to carry the weight of a storm that never seemed to arrive, gray clouds blanketed the Gotham sky, and the distant sound of rain pattering against the windows mingled with the ticking of the old clock in the study.
Bruce checked one last time, waiting for the twins to arrive, and glanced down at his phone, where Dick's last message was. It was short:
"Barbara is still stable, but the nerve damage is more severe than expected."
Stable. That word, Bruce thought, was a cruel euphemism for "on the brink."
When he heard footsteps in the hallway, he looked up. Tim was the first to enter, his face tired, his hair slightly disheveled, his gaze fixed on the phone he held as if waiting for it to vibrate. His hair was tousled and unkempt, and he wore an oversized red shirt and shorts. He was barefoot. Behind him, Penelope peeked out with her usual shyness, her magenta hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her hands clasped in front of the blue dress she wore. She didn't look like she'd been fighting with her pillow like her brother would. She had that ethereal air about her that sometimes confused him. She seemed fragile, but there was something about her that shone like a contained spark.
"Is something wrong, Dad?" Tim asked, without taking his eyes off the phone. "Is Barbara worse?"
Bruce watched him silently for a moment. That tone, that genuine concern, pierced him.
He had spent years fearing that Tim would lose the capacity to feel, to trust, and now he saw him there, with his heart laid bare, suffering for someone else.
"No," he finally answered calmly. "But I need to talk to both of you."
Penelope sat on the edge of the sofa across from him, her feet dangling on the rug, while Tim remained standing, as if he couldn't stay still.
Bruce took a deep breath. How could he explain to a thirteen-year-old girl that she might be the only hope for saving someone? How could he ask that of her when she shouldn't even have to bear that burden?
“Penelope,” he began, his voice softer than he expected. “There’s something I need to ask you. Something important… but also dangerous.”
The girl blinked, her large, clear eyes fixed on him.
“Is it about Miss Barbara?” she asked quietly.
Bruce froze. She knew.
“Tim told me,” Penelope continued, her gaze unwavering. “He said the prankster hurt her… and that she’s in very bad shape.” Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her dress. “But… he also said you and Mr. Constantine were talking strangely the other day. And at my class, he told me to keep an open mind.”
“What? I didn’t tell you that!” Tim exclaimed, his eyes wide and staring at his sister as if she’d betrayed him.
“You didn’t have to. I can feel it.” Her voice was simple, but full of truth.
Bruce swallowed. The room felt smaller, quieter. It was useless to hide it from her. She sensed everything, as if the magic within his soul responded to every trace of emotion around her.
"Constantine thinks you could help her," Bruce said finally, cautiously. "Not with medicine... but with something else. With what you carry inside. Your magic."
"You want me to use... that?" she whispered, barely audible. Her round, striking eyes widened slightly.
"I'm not asking you to do anything yet," Bruce assured her, leaning closer. "I just want you to think about it. Barbara... she's part of our family. I don't want you to put yourself in danger, understand? But... she needs help. Help that no one else can give her."
Penelope lowered her gaze. The silence stretched out, broken only by the patter of rain against the windows. Tim, who had remained still the entire time, knelt before her.
“Nelly…” he murmured, using that nickname only he ever used. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. But if you do… Barbara will thank you. So will I.”
“I don’t want anyone else to suffer. If I can heal her… I will,” she said, her eyes moistening, nodding slowly.
Bruce clenched his jaw. Part of him wanted to tell her no, to stop her, to protect her from everything. But another part, the part that knew what Gotham was, what the Joker represented, understood that some things could only be fixed with something greater than force.
The little girl stood up.
“But something’s strange,” she murmured. “When you said her name… Barbara… I felt something. In the air. Like an echo.”
“An echo?” Bruce asked, worried.
Penelope looked up, her gaze distant, as if she were hearing something the others couldn’t.
“Yes… I felt it before. Somewhere else.” In Eorka
Bruce and Tim exchanged a silent glance.
The temperature seemed to drop a degree.
Eorka. The world he thought he'd left behind.
"Are you sure?" Bruce asked softly.
Penelope nodded.
"Yes. It's the same magic that was in the slums. The magic that came from that bullet... it came from there too," she said.
And for the first time all night, Bruce Wayne—the man who didn't believe in impossibilities—felt something that rarely touched him.
Fear.
The Bat Family
The following days passed with the deceptive tranquility of a river at dawn. Penelope had finally met Barbara Gordon, the woman she had heard so much about at home, the one Tim admired and whom Bruce regarded with a mixture of respect and sadness.
When the little girl entered the hospital room, the first thing she noticed was the smell of disinfectant, metal, and old flowers. Barbara lay in bed, pale, with tubes and bandages that looked more like chains than dressings. Even so, when her honey-colored eyes fell upon the child, she smiled.
A fragile, trembling smile... but real. It was very similar to her mother's before she succumbed to the illness.
"Hello, you must be Penelope," Barbara said softly, her voice hoarse from the painkillers. "You're even prettier than Tim describes."
Penelope blinked, unsure whether to laugh or bow. She took a small step forward and smiled shyly.
“And you’re Barbara… Miss Gordon,” she replied, with the formality that always came out when she didn’t know how to act, the same formality she’d been taught in Eorka.
Barbara watched her for a few seconds, with a mixture of tenderness and something breaking inside.
And then, unexpectedly, she began to cry.
It wasn’t a loud cry, but a restrained one, as if the tears weren’t for physical pain, but for what she had lost… and for what she had said earlier.
Penelope, confused, looked at her brother, waiting for him to tell her what she had done wrong. Tim, standing by the bed, watched her with an expression of tense relief. When Barbara, between sobs, turned to him and murmured an apology, the girl understood.
“Tim… I’m sorry. For how I treated you. For how I judged you. It wasn’t fair,” she said, squeezing his hand weakly.
Penelope lowered her gaze. That scene made her think of Eorka, of those nights when life and death met at the edge of a bed, and regrets sought to surface before the body surrendered. She had seen that silent plea many times: parents, siblings, mercenaries, and soldiers begging forgiveness to die in peace, to have a clear conscience.
Only Barbara didn't want to die.
She wanted to live without guilt.
The little girl understood. Her magic felt it before she did herself. A gentle tremor, like the beating of another's heart, ran through her fingers.
Penelope took a deep breath and moved a little closer. Tim was about to say something, but stopped when he saw her place her small hand on Barbara's.
The air changed.
It was as if the room filled with a warm, invisible light, something neither doctors nor monitors could register, but that the soul could feel. Barbara, her eyes still wet with tears, felt a current run down her spine, a soft, barely perceptible vibration, as if someone were caressing her pain from within.
Penelope didn't say a word. She simply closed her eyes and let the redhead embrace her, and when she opened them, Barbara seemed to breathe more easily. Her face had changed: the tension had vanished, and although the injury was still there, the shadow of despair had dissipated somewhat.
That's when Tim noticed it, and Bruce too, though he said nothing. There it was, the gentle glimmer, Penelope's magic slowly embracing Barbara's hand, her arm, her body. They saw it, they saw how it swirled at a central point, precisely where the wound, the bullet, had been.
Penelope, on the other hand, simply smiled at the woman from the edge of the bed, with that sweetness of hers that seemed to promise something greater than miracles.
"It's going to be okay," the girl said, with the certainty of someone who's seen it before.
Barbara looked at her and, for the first time in days, relaxed.
Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty: Five Months
Summary:
Five months have passed, but what has happened?
Chapter Text
Curing Barbara Gordon was a complicated matter.
The doctors had been blunt: the bullet had destroyed irreparable nerve tissue.
Hope was minimal, almost nonexistent. Commissioner Gordon had listened to the diagnosis in silence, his hands clenched on his knees, trying to maintain the composure expected of a man like him. But every time he was alone, the facade crumbled.
Even so, the Waynes didn't give up.
Bruce had moved heaven and earth: advancing a rehabilitation program for people with disabilities, opening research funds, improving accessibility in Gotham. It wasn't an empty promise, but a way to ensure that no one else would have to go through the same thing. And while foundations, journalists, and investors talked about altruism, something deeper was happening inside Wayne Manor, something few could understand.
Penelope's healing.
It was slow, invisible to the eyes of strangers who hadn't connected with the minor, and sometimes, it was exhausting. It wasn't because she was actively doing it; John, her uncle John, had told her, her magic healed her, fed her when she was hungry (though it wasn't very effective at making her gain weight, it helped her body keep functioning), healed her wounds, scarred and closed cuts, and prevented sleep from overcoming her. And Barbara, without knowing it, healed every time the girl visited her.
The first few days had been difficult. Sleep overcame her more and more, her hunger became monstrous or receded alarmingly, and some bruises that had suffocated her body (and left just as quickly) seemed to linger a few days longer than expected. But she didn't care, she didn't care about anything because with every conversation, with every little laugh they shared, something inside her began to improve drastically.
Barbara didn't need to know.
Bruce did. And every time she saw the little girl gently caress Barbara's hands, she understood what Constantine had meant.
Penelope's magic wasn't fire or spell: it was a gentle breeze that restored, asking nothing in return.
The Bat Family
July 19th dawned bright, with a clarity rarely seen in Gotham.
It was the fourteenth birthday of the Drake-Wayne twins.
Alfred had decorated the dining room discreetly, though Selina Kyle's early arrival—with a feline smile and a box of French chocolate cake—made everything seem more festive.
"A touch of elegance, darling. Birthdays should have class, too," he'd said, letting Penelope choose the flowers that would adorn the table.
Tim was in the back garden, trying to hide the white envelope that had arrived that morning. It bore the Drake seal.
Jack and Janet.
He didn't need to open it to know what it said, but he did anyway. The message was cold, mechanical, as if it had been written by an assistant. "We hope you continue to make us proud. Happy fourteenth." He sighed. It was no surprise that the letter was cold, unsigned, and devoid of affection, because months ago, Bruce had been in his custody, and it seemed his parents' secretary had overlooked that detail.
When he went back inside, Penelope looked at him from the sofa, her legs crossed and a small white bow in her hair.
"Does it hurt?" she asked gently.
Tim hesitated. Then he placed the envelope on the table and shrugged.
"A little. But not as much as before," he said, having hesitated, but simply leaving the letter near where Bruce would sit.
"So... we let it go," she said with the calm voice of someone who had already learned to heal invisible wounds.
Bruce, who was standing near the fireplace, watched them without intervening. It hurt her, it hurt her as it had hurt to see Dick's tearful eyes that fateful night, Jason's wounded gaze, Cass's empty stare, but even so, she was grateful that her children spoke of leaving the pain behind.
At midday, Wayne Manor was filled with life.
Cass had come downstairs with Barbara, who still used a wheelchair but could move around more freely, and they both settled in the main hall. The young redhead wore an emerald green dress, and her smile, though still fragile, shone with pride.
"And this is the famous Penelope?" Barbara asked playfully, knowing her little sister's upbringing; she knew that Penelope would instinctively act like a lady of old.
"Oh, beautiful lady!" said Penelope, smiling and curtsying. "I must greet you with grace and pride."
"Oh, my dear, it's more than obvious that you're so lovely. I wonder if putting a skirt on Timmy would make us look like that?" joked Barbara, and Tim nearly choked on the juice Alfred had just poured for him.
Laughter filled the room.
“You’re not going to put me in a dress!” he squealed, blushing.
“No?” asked Cass, who these days seemed to be talking a little more—loose, direct words, but ones that helped us understand her better.
“Absolutely not!” Tim insisted, frowning and squinting at his family.
“But you’d look cute,” said Dick, pulling a dress that matched Penelope’s out of thin air.
Tim’s fur stood on end like a cat, like those fluffy cats that jump around in cartoons, and he hurried to hide behind Selina, who laughed and kissed the younger boy’s cheek, leaving a lipstick mark on his pale skin.
In the afternoon, the special guests arrived.
Dick, who had spent the last few weeks between Blüdhaven and Gotham, appeared in the lobby with his unmistakable smile and his jacket draped over his shoulder. He wasn't alone; it seemed he'd managed to convince Bruce to introduce Penelope to at least three people he trusted.
Beside him, three young and vibrant figures peered curiously into Wayne Manor.
"Nelly," Dick said, in that cheerful tone he only used with her, "I want you to meet my best friends. This is Wally, the fastest person I know; Donna, an Amazon princess; and Kori, who... well, sparkles. Literally."
Penelope blinked several times, dazzled. The boy had red hair like Barbara, but beautiful green eyes and a face sprinkled with freckles. He was tall, as tall as Dick, but had a different build. The dark-haired lady, Donna, had black hair like Dick, but her eyes were a beautiful shade of gray. She was also tall, but she had a bearing that reminded Penelope of high society ladies. The last girl, Kori, had darker skin than the others, almost an orange hue, long reddish hair, and green eyes. She was very pretty, beautiful to say the least.
Wally West was the first to approach, extending his hand with a mischievous smile.
"Nice to meet you, little bat," he said, his voice cheerful. "If you ever need a ride to Metropolis for ice cream and back in five minutes, you know who to call."
"In five minutes?" Penelope asked, her eyes wide.
"Well, four if there's no traffic," the speedster joked.
Donna laughed softly before taking Penelope's hand with a firm, warm gesture.
"You have such a noble energy, little one. Don't let anyone extinguish it," she said calmly, her voice soft and sweet, unlike anything other people used to say.
And then Kory leaned forward with a radiant smile, her eyes shining like two gentle suns.
"Your hair... it has the colors of the sunrise on Tamaran," she said. Tamaran? She knew there were things she didn't understand—magic, aliens—but was she from far away? Her soft fingers stroked her magenta hair in a gentle, tender gesture. "There, a color like that is a sign of hope."
Penelope didn't know what to say. She just laughed shyly, her cheeks flushed.
"Thank you..." she said softly, and Wally pointed at her playfully.
"Did you see that? She's adorable. She's definitely a Wayne."
From the back of the room, Bruce raised an eyebrow in mock annoyance, which made Dick laugh out loud.
"You heard Uncle Bruce, Wally. Don't provoke the bat."
The room filled with soft, warm laughter; all that was needed was for the remaining guests to arrive.
A little while later, the hall clock struck seven. The echo of firm footsteps and a deep voice resonated from the main entrance.
Clark Kent and Diana Prince had just arrived.
Selina, who was serving a tray of wine, was the first to smile.
"Oh, superhero royalty. Are you here for the party or for the kids?"
"Both," Diana replied with a calm smile, hanging her coat on the coat rack.
The Amazonian woman radiated a majestic serenity that filled the entire room as Clark approached, adjusting his glasses with that gentle gesture that not even Gotham's most expensive suit could diminish.
Bruce, arms crossed, feigned a resigned sigh. He knew Dick had been right: the twins deserved to meet the people who could one day guide them, understand them, protect them if he weren't there, and although he liked his children's friends, he also wanted to further ensure Penelope and Tim's well-being.
Clark crouched before Penelope, who gazed at him with the same curiosity as if she had seen a comet.
"So you're the famous Penelope Alfred told me about," he said warmly. "You have a special glow, young lady."
"Glow?" she repeated, tilting her head.
Diana, approaching gracefully, replied:
"Yes. It's the light brought by souls that have survived the darkness."
Penelope didn't quite understand, but she nodded with a smile that was enough to make even the gods smile.
It was then that, behind them, the door opened once more. A contagious chuckle preceded two figures who entered the room with complete nonchalance: Conner Kent and Bart Allen.
“Are we late, or is there still cake?” asked Bart, who had already crossed half the room and was inspecting the table with greedy eyes.
“You’re just in time,” Wally replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But if you touch the cake before the singing, I’ll make you run all the way to Keystone without your shoes.”
Penelope laughed. Conner, on the other hand, leaned forward slightly and smiled at her with genuine kindness.
“We can finally meet Rob’s sister!” he exclaimed, then handed her a small bouquet of wildflowers. “Happy birthday, Penelope. Rob told us about you. He says you’re ‘the calm in the midst of chaos.’”
“Did he really say that?” she asked, surprised.
“He did,” Kory confirmed, amused, “right before Dick said Tim was ‘chaos on legs.’”
Tim frowned, but his smile betrayed him.
“You’ll say it like it’s a bad thing,” he retorted with feigned pride.
The group burst into laughter.
During dinner, they all mingled as if they’d known each other forever: Cass silently observing with the serenity of someone who understands more than they say; Wally and Bart arguing about who could run faster while Donna served them cake; Kory and Selina exchanging knowing glances about fashion; Clark chuckling softly with Alfred; and Bruce, at the far end of the table, allowing himself a moment of quiet.
When he saw Tim and Penelope blow out the candles together, he understood that, at last, Gotham had given him back something it had taken from him many times: a family.
The Bat Family
Autumn had arrived early in Gotham.
The oak leaves on campus were falling in golden swirls, and the air smelled of new books and freshly brewed coffee. For most students, that Monday was just the start of another school year, but for Penelope Drake-Wayne, it meant something entirely different.
It was her first day at Gotham Academy, and her heart was pounding so hard she thought everyone could hear it.
Bruce had insisted on driving her and Tim, even though she, in her usual modesty, had tried to dissuade him.
"Everyone will be going with their parents or chauffeurs," he'd said, straightening his tie and glancing over at them. "They're not going to be the exception."
So inside that beautiful Mercedes-Benz, Penelope sat next to her brother, Tim, who was wearing the same clothes as her, only with pants. And so, the Waynes' black Mercedes-Benz pulled up in front of the main gate of the city's most prestigious school. “Breathe,” Tim reminded her, adjusting his uniform tie.
Penelope nodded.
The uniform fit her perfectly: a gray skirt, a navy blazer, and a white blouse with the crest embroidered in gold, but it was impossible for her to go unnoticed. Her magenta hair fell in soft waves down her back, and the first rays of the sun seemed to set it ablaze.
As they walked down the main corridor, Penelope felt the weight of their stares. Some murmured her name, or tried to; others simply stared at the unusual sheen of her hair and her blue-green eyes. It was as if a character from a fairy tale had stepped into an overly realistic painting.
She tried to imitate Tim's relaxed gait: straight shoulders, serene gaze, measured breathing. Walk like him. Talk like him. That was the secret rule she had learned at home: when fear haunts you, do what your brother would do.
But the fear was still there, hidden in the trembling of her hands.
"They're just people," she repeated to herself. "Not monsters. Not nobles from Eorka. Just students."
Then she heard it. A whisper. Then another.
"Did you see her hair?"
"It must be dyed."
"They say she's Bruce Wayne's daughter."
"And Jack Drake's daughter."
"Drake-Wayne... then she's a millionaire."
Penelope lowered her gaze, walking a little faster. The words haunted her like shadows.
In Eorka, she had learned to move gracefully, to behave like a noble lady; but in Gotham, that elegance seemed to make her even more of an outsider. One false move, one miscalculated step... and she tripped.
The impact was slight, but enough to send the books she was carrying tumbling across the floor.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" exclaimed a female voice. "I didn't see you coming."
Penelope blinked, trying to regain her composure. Across from her, a blonde girl with blue eyes stared at her with a mixture of surprise and guilt. Her tie was loose, her skirt unfolded, and her awkward smile undermined any semblance of formality.
"No, it was my fault," Penelope said gently, bending down to gather her things.
The other girl did the same, but stopped mid-movement. Her eyes widened slightly.
Penelope didn't notice, but the light filtering through the window caressed her hair, tinting it with pink and violet highlights. It was like looking at a living painting.
"Wow..." the blonde whispered without thinking. "You're beautiful."
"Excuse me?" Penelope asked, raising her head, confused.
"I mean... uh..." the blonde scratched the back of her neck, stammering. "It's... it's just that your hair is... very pretty."
Penelope smiled shyly, her cheeks flushed.
"Thank you."
There was a brief silence, that kind of awkward pause that could have blossomed into friendship, if fate hadn't intervened. A male voice echoed from the entrance.
"Penelope! Hurry, the car's waiting!" It was Tim, waving a folder.
Penelope grabbed the last notebook, bowed her head in farewell, and ran toward him.
The blonde watched her as she walked away, unsure why her heart was pounding so fast.
She saw her take Tim's hand, run to the waiting black limousine, and disappear behind the closed doors.
"Great..." the girl muttered to herself, sighing. "I'm late, I almost killed the new girl, and on top of that, she's friends with the Drake heir. Bravo, Stephanie. A flawless first day."
She stood still for a moment, staring at the magenta reflection the light had cast on the floor.
Something told him he would cross paths with that girl with the dawn-like eyes again. And that when he did, nothing would ever be the same.
The Bat Family
Night fell upon Wayne Manor like a cold gust. The dining room lights reflected off the tall windows, and the scent of jasmine tea mingled with the murmur of distant conversations.
Bruce sat in one of the armchairs in his study, cup in hand, his brow furrowed in his usual expression of concentration. He wasn't reading any reports or checking the security system monitors. He was waiting.
Tim entered first, still partially untucked in his school uniform, his hair a little disheveled. Cass followed silently, and behind her, Dick appeared with a smile that already promised inappropriate remarks.
"So," Bruce said, setting his cup down on the table. "How did it go?"
Tim sank down onto the sofa, letting out a long sigh.
"Fine... I guess." He glanced at his father. "Although half the school seems obsessed with her hair, and the other half thinks she's a lost princess."
Dick burst out laughing.
"Ah, the first days of school! The myth, the drama, the stares," Dick sighed dramatically, then laughed. "I told you, little bird: having a sister with magenta hair is both a blessing and a curse."
Cass, sitting at the other end, raised an eyebrow.
"A curse?" she asked quietly.
Dick threw up his hands defensively.
"Don't get me wrong, Cass. I'm just saying that if Penelope keeps growing up with that smile and that shiny hair, soon half of Gotham will be lining up to invite her to study 'biology together.'"
Tim glared at him.
"Can you not say things like that in front of Bruce?"
"Too late," Bruce said, looking up from his tea.
The ensuing silence was brief, but long enough for Dick to burst out laughing again.
"A curse?" “Oh, come on, B, don’t tell me you didn’t imagine it,” he smiled mockingly, knowing how to provoke Bruce.
Bruce looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m imagining the list of young people who will mysteriously disappear from Gotham if they get too close.”
“Please, someone stop them…” Tim pleaded, burying his face in his hands.
Cass covered her mouth with one hand, laughing softly. Her smile was slight, but warm, that smile that only appeared when she felt truly comfortable with them.
“Penelope’s okay,” he finally said. “Scared, but happy.”
“That’s what matters,” Bruce nodded slowly.
Silence returned, this time calmer. Outside, the wind moved the tree branches, and from upstairs, Alfred’s voice could be heard calling for dinner.
“And you?” Bruce asked suddenly, looking at Tim. “How did it go with her?”
"With whom?"
"With Penelope," Bruce clarified, though he already knew the answer. "It's her first day in a civilian setting. I want to know if she felt comfortable."
Tim shrugged.
"She did better than I expected. Although... there was a little accident."
"An accident?" Cass asked, glancing sideways at her little brother.
"She tripped over a girl. Blonde." Tim paused briefly. "She seemed nervous, but nice."
Dick narrowed his eyes, amused.
"Uh-oh... that sounds like the beginning of one of those rom-coms Alfred watches on Sundays."
"Dick," Bruce warned.
"What? I'm just saying that great friendships sometimes start with a stumble," he asserted. "Look at Wally and me, I kicked him thinking he was a criminal."
Tim shook his head, but smiled a little.
“I don’t think we’ll see her again.” Penelope was too nervous.
Cass, on the other hand, spoke for the first time in a calm tone, almost as if she sensed something the others didn’t.
“Yes, you will see each other again.” She looked at Bruce. “There are people whose paths cross more than once.”
Bruce watched her silently. With Cass, you never knew if she was speaking from logic or intuition, but she was almost always right. He sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“Good. The important thing is that you both are at peace. Gotham doesn’t always offer respite, but at least today…” He looked at the three young people in front of him, with a small, almost imperceptible smile, “…today the house is at peace.”
Dick nudged Tim, breaking the solemnity.
“Until exams start. Then get ready, B. You’re going to have to fight monsters more fearsome than the Joker: Gotham Academy math!”
Cass let out a short laugh as Bruce closed his eyes in resignation.
"Why did I bring you to dinner?"
"Because you love me," Dick replied, smiling.
The bat didn't respond, but the slight curve of his mouth betrayed him. Neither of them knew it was only a matter of time before news reached them.
The Drake accident.
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