Chapter Text
While it might come as no surprise that Stephanie Brown is possibly not the most organized person in the world, she’s very good at keeping her life together, thank you very much. In fact, she takes immeasurable pride in the fact that she manages to stay on track in her college courses, don a cape and fight crime at night and sustain social life.
…she’s not sure how well she actually does it, but that’s besides the point.
Today, however, is not her finest moment. It’s mainly because she is irrevocably and unabashedly late for her final in the Organic Chem class that she also irrevocably and unabashedly hates and has paid no mind to since the semester began.
Steph is also self-aware, and knows that the predicament she is currently in is totally and wholly her own fault - she’d done all her required assignments flimsily and in a hurry, sometimes submitted two minutes before the deadline at midnight and put off actually studying for the exam for two weeks. She’d tried to calm the pit of worry forming in her gut by assuring herself that she’d read the textbooks the night before, that she only needed to get a passing grade, get the class marked done and she’d be fine.
What Steph hadn’t realized to take into account was just how frustrating the rest of her day before would be, and that the only way to allay the tenseness of her body was to go out and beat up some thugs who deserved it. She’d forgotten all about her textbooks and no one had reminded her, because, well, she hadn’t told anyone it was finals week, because then Bruce would just take her out of patrol to let her focus on school, which was completely unfair, because unlike he (and everyone else, it seemed) believed, patrol actually helped to soothe her nerves. It gave her an outlet to channel her pent up frustration, which in return served her well in the morning, when she had to stay calm and collected.
And so she’d finally made back to her dorm at the ungodly hour of four a.m., jaded from a lack of sleep and her vigilante lifestyle, seen her textbooks and laptop open on the desk and freaked the fuck out. Steph had tried to convince herself that it was fine, she’d survive, if not only through willpower, spite and caffeine, put coffee to brew in her little coffee maker on the verge of breaking down, and promptly fallen asleep on her computer as it brewed.
She’d woken up to a document of pages and pages of tiny h’s and already running late.
And so, she’s now sprinting across the campus, still in her sweats from the day before, hair in a matted mess and stuck in her hairtie because she’d put it up while still wet, the taste of cold and bitter coffee on her tongue (she’d chugged down a cup to wake her mind properly up). Even her stomach is rumbling - she hadn’t eated in, what, fifteen hours? She usually keeps her bag stacked with those good chocolate and raspberry power bars, but she’d run out the day before. Just her luck.
Way to start the day, she thinks, teeth gritted as she wrenches open the door to the building her exam is supposed to be held in.
Immediately, her stomach drops at the sight of other angry students pacing, their bags drawn into their laps as they sit on the provided seats of the hall. There is a very stern looking woman standing by the door Steph recognizes as the one she should be behind of. Come to think of it, some of the students in the hall look familiar - she probably shares the chem class with them, which does not bode good.
“Hi”, she says, winded from her little impromptu morning run. “I’m here for the Organic Chemistry exam?”
Please please please let me go inside-
“You’re late”, the woman says, voice gritty yet squeky, peering at her over the half-moon glasses resting on her nose. “I can’t let you inside.”
“No, please, I had a family emergency last night, I came home really late and forgot to set an alarm”, Steph lies on her feet.
“That’s what they all say”, the woman purses her lips as if she’s heard the same story over and over again. “You know the rules as well as anyone else - without a special permit, you can’t enter late.”
“Please?” Steph musters the best puppy eyes she can. “I have to retake the course if I can’t go do the final now.”
“Cry me a river”, the woman says, unimpressed. “Rules are rules.”
Steph can’t believe it. Those are the Dick Grayson patented puppy eyes that have got him everything and more since…
What year was Dick born again?
She feels torn between punching the woman square on the nose - breaking those damn ugly glasses as a treat would be a nice bonus - and just storming angrily off.
In the end, she hesitates for so long that the woman looks up again and asks:
“You got something more you want say?”
Which in itself infuriates Steph even more and only then does she stomp out of the building, muttering profanities that would put even Jason to shame under her breath. She gets a little bit of satisfaction from slamming the door on her way out so hard the glass clinks threateningly.
She makes it all the way across the road and to the small park close by before she officially breaks, slumping down on a bench next to a loud flock of pigeons not even slightly bothered by the appearance of her presence. Steph drops her bag on the ground and brings her hands over her face, unable to stop the sudden flow of tears streaming down her cheeks. She tells herself she’s being stupid, that running on a cup of coffee and roughly three and a half hours of sleep is bound to make a person emotional, but it doesn’t help to quell the frustration. In addition, she’s absolutely freezing - she didn’t even have time to grab beanie, and the wetness on her face allows the cold breeze to stab straight through her skin and into her bones.
Steph claws at her eyes, willing herself to stop sniffling. She’s annoyed, because now she has to retake the course next year, because the University doesn’t do the specific class of Organic fucking Chemistry during the spring semester, which means that her all efforts - no matter how minimal - have gone to waste and she has sat in that fucking lecture hall for no fucking reason for three fucking months, and-
Inhale. Hold in for eight counts. Exhale.
Steph groans, wiping furiously away the saltstream tracks from her cheeks. This is embarrassing. She’s making a scene. She’s not being reasonable.
It’s fine, she tells herself as she gathers her bearings and stands up, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, you can handle this just fine. No biggie.
All Steph really needs now is some darn good coffee and a good long nap before patrol. Tomorrow is Saturday, which means no exams, so she can safely take the rest of the day for herself.
“Sounds like a plan”, Steph says aloud with a breathy chuckle. She takes another deep breath, before steering her voyage towards her favorite little cafe in the corner of the street. Her poor fingers have gone numb, and she’s glad that she can walk all the way back to her dorm with a steaming cup of coffee between her palms. Small mercies.
The line to the shop is tediously long, as is expected - finals weeks are famously fueled by coffee and energy drinks. Steph takes her place behind two girls with bags under their eyes and smudged mascara, hoods pulled over their heads and sleeves over their hands. Steph probably fits right in with them - she knows for a fact she hasn’t looked into a mirror since coming home last night, and even though her sweatshirt doesn’t have a hood, she slides her hands inside the sleeves to keep her hands from stiffening up too badly.
Really, Steph is a patient woman, she is, no matter what Tim says. But her patience burns out fast when there are other things wearing her down. Her bag feels too heavy on her shoulder, the chatter of the street is ringing in her ears, her feet feel like she’s walked twenty miles in barefoot in the sand. And she just really, really craves some good fucking coffee with enough sugar to give her type two diabetes to drive away the forthcoming headache and get the wheels in her brain turning again.
She does no attempts at hiding the way she grits her teeth when the two girls in front of her take forever to order. By the looks of the barista, the feeling is shared - Steph has long ago learned to recognize what a smile pulled too taut looks like.
Finally, when the second girl has settled on ordering a latte - a freaking latte, of all things, seriously? - they move out of the way and Steph gets to rattle of her own order.
“That’ll be $5.50”, the barista says, and Steph digs for her wallet.
And doesn’t find it. She left her wallet in her dorm room.
When Steph leaves the shop, she’s absolutely seething.
—
“Jeez, you look like hell”, Tim comments when she walks into the Cave.
“Fuck off”, Steph snarks back with a little bit more bite than necessary. Tim acknowledges this by lifting his eyebrows and opening his hands in surrender.
“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that”, he says defensively and Steph sighs.
“Sorry, it’s just been a long day”, she says, rubbing the corners of her eyes. Clearly the pound of concealer she’d applied under her eyes wasn’t doing its job properly.
She really, really feels like the universe has decided to spend the entire day fucking her over. Because once she’d finally made it back to her dorm, tired, peeved and decidedly coffee-less, her window was jammed and refused to close, and with the construction site next door, Steph hadn’t managed to get the nap she’d desired. Tim had always marveled at it - seriously, screw him and his uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time - the way she couldn’t fall asleep unless it was dead silent.
Oh, and also, the cold wind blowing inside her room had left her shivering whilst wearing three hoodies and hiding under a blanket pile. So, you know, fuck you, universe. C’est la fucking vie.
Steph had tried on earmuffs (uncomfortable), to burrow her head between two pillows (her arm fell asleep) and even taken some melatonin stashed in her cupboard. Nothing had worked against the sound of drills (when she put it like that, it wasn’t that surprising) and the clinking of other tools as some high-rise was being built from the ground up right next to her ear.
She’d given up after two hours of struggling and just spent the day rotting in bed, re-watching Grey’s Anatomy.
“You wanna talk about it?” Tim asks, turning back to the computer.
“Nah”, Steph says, heading to the locker room. “Just need to kick some ass, that’s all.”
—
The slow patrol is just the icing on the cake.
And look, Steph loves being Spoiler, loves being a vigilante and doing good - has loved it ever since seeing her father’s face behind bars, in his rightful place. And she knows that doing good is way more than just busting drug rings and fighting off muggers. Sometimes it’s saving cats from trees and walking down unnerved girls to their homes. And she likes that part, too - she’s not as good at it as Dick, but she is better than Tim and Damian and that’s pretty sweet. But today (tonight?) she craves no dull smalltalk. Her hands itch to draw some blood, release her anger into a deserving crook’s face.
She’s grappling past a park in Chinatown (it’s not her usual patrol route, but Tim had busted his ankle a few days back and she’s attending to his domain, too) when she hears a small, timid voice calling out.
“Help!”
Steph frowns, but calls out herself.
“Hello?”
“Hi!” a small voice - definitely a little child - shouts back. “Help me, please! I’m in the tree and I can’t get down!”
The sound comes from one of the tallest trees in the park. It’s evergreen foliage is dense, so Steph can’t actually see what she presumes is this kid calling for help.
“I’m coming!” she reassures, aiming her grapple at the treetop. Landing as smoothly as she can on a branch - which is not smoothly at all, she has to grab the leaves for support - she pushes her way through towards the trunk of the tree.
And there she is, a little girl clad in a pink jacket, blue pants and a black beanie, hugging the trunk so hard Steph can see the print of the bark pressing into her cheek.
“Hi”, Steph says gently, crouching down to best her ability without falling off and plunging down twenty feet. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Linnie”, the girl says, looking worriedly at the branch Steph is standing on.
“Linnie”, Steph repeats the name, smiling, even though the girl can’t see it behind her mask. “How did you get up here, Linnie?”
“My brothers said I’d be a wuss if I didn’t”, the girl sniffles without releasing her grip. “But then they left and I couldn’t get down on my own.”
“Well, that wasn’t very nice of them”, Steph says with a laugh. “Trust me, I know, I have a lot of… brothers.”
(She’s actually not certain if they are her brothers. The Waynes, she means. Bruce isn’t her father, that’s for sure. Well, maybe he’s the closest thing she’s ever had to a good one. But that doesn’t really count - overall, Steph doesn’t really think she’s the kind of girl to actually have - or need - a father.
Tim’s definitely not her brother, because that would just be weird, given their history. He’s probably her best friend, maybe even a little bit more - but strictly in the platonic sense. Cass is definitely her sister, though, in that way that you choose people to be.
And as for Dick, Jason and Damian… they’re her business partners. Associates. Cousins that you only really see at birthday parties and Thanksgiving.
She’s not a Wayne, and so the Waynes aren’t really her family. Maybe that prohibits her from calling them brothers, but it’s the closest equivalent to what she can give them.)
“No, it wasn’t”, Linnie agrees firmly, looking at her dubiously.
“How about this”, Steph proposes. “You and I grapple to the ground, and I’ll help you find your brothers, okay?”
“Okay”, Linnie says, and Steph shuffles forward, reaching an arm out for the small girl. Linnie latches onto her quick, determined to have one hand holding onto something at all times.
“Missing girl reported in Chinatown”, Oracle’s voice crackles over the comm in her ear. “Spoiler, your closest.”
“Would this missing girl happen to be named Linnie?” Steph asks, tucking the small girl closer to her body.
“You got her?”
“Yep, we’re in the park”, she aims her grapple gun, even though Oracle most definitely already knows that.
“Mother’s there too, try to locate her”, Babs says before shutting the line.
“Are you ready?” Steph asks Linnie, who looks up at her curiously.
“Are you Batgirl?” she asks.
“No, I’m Spoiler”, Steph replies. She visibly sees the girl deflate.
“Oh”, she says. “I thought you were Batgirl. She’s much cooler.”
I was Batgirl, Steph thinks, glad for the mask hiding the way her face distorts for a second. She doesn’t say it aloud, of course, because secret identities and all that.
“She’s pretty cool”, Steph agrees. “Okay, hold on tight.”
Linnie squeezes her side so tightly Steph has a hard time breathing as they grapple down.
“Why didn’t she come to save me?” Linnie asks as their feet find steady ground once more.
Well, save for the fact all three Batgirls are currently working under different monikers, both Babs and Cass are further away and unavailable.
“She was taking care of other things”, Steph pats Linnie’s shoulder, scanning the park for any sign of a mother. “You did really well! That can be a little scary for the first time. Let’s go find your mom, okay?”
It doesn’t take long for Steph to find the somewhat hysterical parent, who insists on hugging and thanking her profusely, even offering to buy her dinner.
“That’s quite alright”, Steph replies, hands locked together behind her back. “The pleasure is all mine. You have a quite a brave little girl.”
Linnie blushes at the compliment, hiding behind her mother’s skirt.
“Oh, I know”, she says, squeezing her daughter’s shoulder. “I always say that one day she’ll be as brave as you, Miss Batgirl.”
Steph’s facial expression falters for a moment.
“She’s not Batgirl, ma”, Linnie pipes up. “She’s Spoiler.”
“Spoiler, right”, the mother’s tone doesn’t fall once. “Thank you so much, again.”
“Of course”, Steph says dryly, reaching for her grapple. “Well, if that was all, Gotham’s a big city and the night is still young, so…”
She gives a lazy two-finger salute and grapples away, tension coiling in her gut. Seriously? Spoiler’s surely not that unrecognizable. She’s the only purple one! And not that she minds being called Batgirl, because Batgirl is in her own league of badassery, but c’mon, Spoiler’s pretty kick-ass, too, right?
“Spoiler”, Oracle once again speaks into her comm and pulls her out of her mind. “Robbery near the Clocktower. Batman and Robin are on site, Nightwing is en route. Go help them.”
“Yes ma’am”, Steph grins. Finally, some good old action.
—
It all culminates there, really. In that measly little diner which a gang of wannabe supervillains decided was an absolute must to raid.
By the time Steph gets there, all hell has broken loose. The gang is bigger than anticipated, with thugs running in from all around, Batman and Robin both doing their best trying to keep them at bay while also trying to keep the number of civilian casualties at a round zero.
So, Steph wastes no time jumping in, surprising a goon by kicking him in the side so that Robin can get a hit from where he’s been cornered.
“I didn’t need your aid, Spoiler”, the boy hisses, blocking another hit and disarming the petty crook.
“Sure you didn’t, brat”, Steph has just enough time to roll her eyes before she has to duck as another goon takes a swing at her. She sweeps his legs from underneath him, before planting her knuckles into his jaw.
“You okay?” she asks in passing from a couple, pressed into the far corner of a booth. The guy only nods and she gives the two of them a thumbs up, before charging towards another crook in the process of pulling out a gun.
That’s when another of the thugs pulls at her hood and yanks her back. She’s not expecting it, so she loses her balance and crashes into a set of tables, wincing as her elbow cracks against the wood painfully.
The guy kicks Steph’s side, but she grabs his ankle and twists. He yelps, gun going flying out of his hand and sliding under a vacant table as he goes down.
“You bitch”, the thug snarls whilst on his hands and knees, his voice lower than she’d have expected it. He tries to leap towards the pistol, but Steph jumps onto his back, and the two of them crash into the floor. Clearly deciding that a grudge against her is more important than retrieving his weapon, he rolls onto his back so that she’s squished against his weight and the floor. Gasping for breath, she tries to roll away as the crook shifts on top of her, but her side hits the leg of the table she’d previously been smashed on.
Steph tries to swing her right hand at him, but the man catches her wrist in time. He settles his weight comfortably over her hips, restricting her movement almost completely to the spot, even as she tries to thrash and kick.
“I betcha you look real pretty under that mask”, the man snarls, his eyes gleaming wildly. Oh, oh no. Steph does not like that at all. She tries her best to tug her arms free. The man just smirks, twisting her right wrist so hard pain shoots up and down her bones.
“I’ve always been into blondes”, he continues and Steph has the urge to gag at his repulsive tone. “It’s a real pity I have to beat you. I’m sure you could’ve been a real fun time. Then again, maybe this’ll teach you that a gal like you has no place in a fight.”
And that’s the final straw. The man leans forward and mustering all her strength, Steph headbutts him. He shouts in pain, his weight on her pelvis easing, and she hits him in the throat with her now released arms. Gaining the upperhand, she pounces on him, pushing his back to the floor and straddling his waist.
“Shut the fuck up”, she snaps, emphasizing every word with a punch in the face. The sexist asshole has the audacity to moan in pain as he tries to push her off. Steph never stops punching.
Her veins thrum with adrenaline, drowning out the commotion around her. All she knows is that she’s had a beyond shitty day, and she’s done with dealing with this kind of crap.
“-op!” somebody is tugging at her shoulders. She shrugs them harshly off.
“-ler!” Steph blinks. She knows that voice.
Her slackening gives the person enough time to get their arms around her torso and pull her off the man. She’s so bewildered she doesn’t even realize to try and fight back.
“-oiler! Do you hear me?”
Everything comes back in a blast - Steph blinks and suddenly she hears more than just her own heartbeat, smells gunpowder and blood in the air and feels the chest she’s been pulled against.
“Spoiler!” Nightwing’s voice is loud in her ear.
“What?” she asks dumbly.
It’s only then that she registers the man in front of her. His face is a bloodied mess - nose so crooked it probably has three separate fractures, lip cut, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, both eyes swollen shut.
Her own knuckles, glistening dark against the purple material.
Oh. Oh god.
“Get her to the Batmobile”, Batman growls out from somewhere to her right. Steph doesn’t look up - she just stares at the result of her anger.
Nightwing starts hauling her out of the diner, her feet dragging behind uselessly. She can’t quite get them to work.
“Come on, Spoiler”, he murmurs into her ear. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Steph doesn’t manage the vigour to retort something fun back at him.
Nightwing is gentle with her, opening the car door for her and making sure she’s comfortable in her seat, before leaving her to sit in the silence as he returns to help Batman and Robin finish the fight.
Because that’s what she does. Steph just stares ahead, hands folded in her lap, mind numbly replaying the scene at the diner.
She screwed up majorly, didn’t she? She screwed up, because she… because… Actually, why did she screw up? Because she missed an Organic Chemistry final and couldn’t buy herself overpriced coffee?
Did she seriously screw up this badly because of a bad day? Is that all it takes for her to start beating people comatose?
Steph almost brings her hands to her face, stopping only at the last second, when her eyes catch sight of the blood soaking her gloves.
She really did that, didn’t she?
Steph swallows hard, bringing her hands back down into her stained lap.
She doesn’t know how much time passes before Nightwing, Robin and Batman come back to the Batmobile, but when they do, they’re quiet. Steph doesn’t know if it’s because of her. Well, let’s be real, it’s probably because of her. Or maybe they do talk, and her mind just chooses to block out the conversation. Though that’s not a good option, either.
She can feel the prospective lecture simmering in the air, and she dreads its arrival. It’ll be the one where Bruce talks about boundaries and recklessness and disappointment. The one she’s received countless of times before, both as Spoiler and Batgirl. And as Robin, too, she supposes. Maybe especially as Robin.
Contrary to popular belief, Steph has no need to be reminded of just how disappointing she is. How incompetent, and uncertain and-
Yeah, she’s just going to stop that train of thought right there. She has no intention of spending the rest of the night wallowing in self-pity and insecurity. Point is, the lecture will be useless, because she already knows it by heart and tries her best to stick to. It’s not her fault her impulsiveness is a wild animal she can’t tame. It’s like if someone tried to tame Bruce’s habit of hoarding children. Impossible.
Great, now she’s basking in her own self-pity again. This was supposed to be her self-care day, goddamnit!
“Steph”, Dick says kindly. “Were here.”
She blinks, turning to look at him. They’re… where, exactly?
The Cave! Right, the Cave, of course the Cave, where else would they be? Steph wants to laugh at her own stupidity.
She doesn’t. Instead she forces herself to smile.
“Right”, she mumbles, scrambling out of the car. She tries her best ignore the worried looks Dick sends in her direction.
Steph goes to the locker room and gets changed. Steph decides not to shower because she did so last night. Steph opens her hair from the tangle of a braid it’s become during patrol. Steph sits down and takes a moment to breathe.
See? Steph’s got it all under her control.
Except for the fact that when she closes her eyes, all she can feel is the man’s face crunching under her punches, his blood seeping into her suit.
She shudders at the images, at the feel of bone cracking underneath her hands.
“You okay?” Steph startles at Cass’s voice. All around, she prides herself in being the most accustomed to Cass’s silent creepings, but there are times - more often than not, really - when Cass manages to catch her off-guard. Like, apparently, now.
“Yeah”, Steph attempts an easygoing laugh, failing miserably. Cass tilts her head. “I mean… not really, but I’ll get over it. Honest to god.”
Cass doesn’t say anything, just slides to sit next to her on the bench. She lays her head on Steph’s shoulder.
Steph sniffles, the comfort of Cass’s presence opening a chasm inside her. She brings the heel of her left hand to her eye. Why is she even feeling like crying?
“Medbay”, Cass says, tapping on her knuckles. They burn, Steph realizes only now, their skin cracked and red.
“Yeah, yeah”, she chuckles wetly. “Soon.”
Cass just nods, but doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t need to - she’s good like that, Cass. Better than Steph, who fumbles the ball in silence every time like a moron with her ramblings, that’s for sure.
“Go”, Cass finally says after a few minutes of comforting camaraderie. There’s such finality in her voice that Steph has no choice but to comply.
Alfred ices her knuckles, cleaning them with some kind of ointment that burns and makes her hiss, before gently bandaging them with white gauze.
“Stephanie?” Bruce appears in the doorway of the infirmary just as Alfred is finishing patching her up. He’s changed out of the suit and cowl and is now wearing a pair of gray sweats and a white t-shirt. “A word?”
Steph swallows the urge to bite back with something along the lines of “Yeah, I know I’m a screw-up, B, no need to rub it in my face”, but doesn’t, instead opting to follow him to the Computers.
Tim and Dick are already there. Great, an audience. Just what Steph needs - more people to acknowledge her ineptitude. Dick offers her an apologetic smile, arms loosely crossed over his chest. Tim just give her a brief glance, not daring to look her in the eye.
The pit in her stomach grows.
“Is he”, Steph clears her throat. “How is he?”
She doesn’t need to specify who ‘he’ is.
“Alive”, Bruce says, voice honest. “But you did do quite a number on him.”
Steph looks hastily away.
She hears Bruce sigh. Involuntarily, her hands clench into fists as she prepares for whatever he’s going to say.
“What you did today”, he starts. There’s a brief pause between the words, as if he hesitates. “I think it showed us that you’re in need of a break.”
Steph’s heart skips a beat.
“Which is why I’ve decided to bench you for an indefinite amount of time”, he says. She finally looks back at him, because surely he’s not serious.
He looks… tired. Concerned.
Concerned because of what she did.
Fuck.
“No, you’re wrong, I don’t need a break”, Steph shakes her head, trying to convey just how fine she feels. Well, fine and fine, but a little white lie never hurt anyone. “Today was just rough on me, some things happened and I wasn’t in the right headspace, I missed a final and-”
“You missed a final?” Bruce lifts an eyebrow. Shit. That was not the right thing to say. “Why didn’t you say it was finals week?”
Steph doesn’t answer. She just sheepishly bows her head, finding the ground suddenly very interesting.
Bruce sighs, again. He does that a lot around her.
“Even more reason for you to take a break”, he says. “Go home, Stephanie. Take yourself some time, gather your thoughts. We’ll talk about bringing Spoiler back once you have.”
“But-”
“No buts”, Bruce says sternly. Dick glances over at him. Tim pretends to be busy with the case file open on the Computer. As if. He’s been staring at the same picture for the past three minutes. “Go home, Stephanie. Goodnight.”
And with that, he heads back upstairs.
Steph stands in the middle of the Cave, frozen, because this is her worst nightmare come true.
“Hey”, Dick walks over, planting a warm hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright.”
But it’s not alright. Benching Spoiler practically means taking her away from the game for good. It’s code for You’re fired. Steph isn’t stupid, she knows she fucked up, but with her track record, a thing like this is the final straw that breaks the camel’s back.
And she’s just broken it, hasn’t she?
She swallows the sob building up in her chest.
“Yeah”, she says.
“I’m heading back to Blüd for the night”, Dick says kindly. “Do you need a lift?”
“No, I’m fine”, Steph shakes her head with pretend-nonchalance, because she can’t- oh god, she can’t break down right now. “I borrowed my mom’s car.”
Dick narrows his eyes at her slightly, trying to figure out whether or not she’s lying. Steph forces the most authentic look she can summon on her face.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Dick nods.
“Okay”, he says. “I’m sure you’ll be up and fighting in no time - just remember to take care of yourself.”
He starts walking up the stairs leading to the Manor, snatching a can of Monster from Tim’s desk. “That goes for you, too, Tim.”
“Hey, I paid for that!” Tim runs after Dick, and suddenly, Steph is all alone.
No one to even escort her out.
This really is happening, isn’t it?
She gathers her things before anyone can come back down and slips out.
Because she lied to Dick about her mom’s car, she walks all the way from Bristol to the University Campus in the freezing night, breaths escaping towards the sky in wisps of smoke. By the time she gets back to her dorm, the sun is already rising from behind the horizon, her fingertips and nose have lost all sense, and she collapses into her bed, exhausted beyond belief.
This time, she falls asleep immediately despite the sound of the cranes right outside her jammed window.