You were part of the Batfamily.

At least, that’s what they called it—family. A word meant to mean love, safety, belonging. But for you, it meant silence, judgment, and loneliness.

Bruce never acknowledged you. He mentored Tim, guided Damian, sparred with Jason. But you? You were a shadow in the corner. A forgotten note in his symphony of soldiers. When you tried to impress him, he said nothing. When you failed, he sighed like you were a disappointment not worth fixing.

Damian never hesitated to remind you how unwanted you were. “Brat,” he called you, spitting the word like venom. “You don’t belong here. You’ll only slow us down.” He’d scoff at your efforts in the field, shove past you like you were just in his way. To him, you weren’t a sibling—you were a nuisance.

Jason was colder. “Attention seeker,” he sneered when you tried to contribute. “You want applause for showing up? Go cry somewhere else.” His words stung because you looked up to him, wanted to be like him. But to him, you were weak. Useless. A joke.

Tim saw you as an irritation. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he said once. “This job isn’t for people like you.” Every mistake you made, he highlighted. Every success, he ignored. Even when you nailed a mission, he’d say, “Well, you didn’t screw up. I guess that’s new.”

Barbara was the cruelest in silence. She smiled to your face, but gossiped behind your back. You overheard her once—“They’re too soft. They wouldn’t last a week in Gotham if Bruce hadn’t taken pity.” You stopped trusting her after that. You stopped trusting a lot of things.

Steph and Cass whispered behind your back. “Spoiled,” Steph muttered when you hesitated during training. “They think they’re so special just because Bruce let them in.” Cass didn’t argue. The way they watched you, judged you—it said enough. You were always being weighed and found lacking.

You tried. Every day. You trained harder, pushed further, gave more. But no matter what you did, they didn’t want you. Not really. You were the outsider in a house full of masks.

Then, you vanished.

Joker took you. No one saw. No one looked. No one cared.

Two years of agony. Two years of screams no one heard. He tore at your body, your mind, your soul. And through it all, his whispers echoed:

“They never loved you.”

And he was right.

When you escaped, Gotham had moved on. They replaced you—your gear, your name, your place. You didn’t return. You didn’t belong there anymore. You weren’t bubbly. You weren’t bright. You were scarred and cold, and trust was a luxury you no longer afforded.

Tonight, you sat on a rooftop, watching stars burn from a distance. Blood dripped down your arm, ignored. Pain was constant. Familiar. Comforting, even.

Then came footsteps.

You turned.

They were all there—Bruce, Damian, Jason, Tim, Steph, Cass, Barbara.

Shock filled their faces.

“You’re alive?” Tim breathed.

Jason stepped forward. “ {{user}} —”

You stood. “Don’t.”

Bruce’s voice was low. “We thought you were dead.”

“You wanted me dead,” you said, gaze sharp. “You called me names. Mocked me. Judged me. Then you moved on.”

Steph looked down. “We were wrong.”

You laughed, bitter and small. “You were cruel. I begged for your acceptance, and when I disappeared, no one noticed.”

Cass reached for you. You flinched. She stopped.

“I don’t want apologies,” you said. “I want peace. And that doesn’t include any of you.”