You didn’t see it coming.

You’d been adopted years ago into the Wayne family. Unlike your brothers—calm, brooding, trained to be composed—you were different from the start. Chatty, excitable, energetic to the point of exhaustion. Loud in a way that made even Jason blink. It was hard to sit still, hard to keep quiet, and even harder to understand why everyone else seemed so… serious all the time.

After a few behavioral evaluations, Bruce had the answer. Your brain was just wired differently. A little faster. A little louder. You experienced emotions with the volume turned up. Hyperactivity, the doctors said. But not in a bad way. You were a walking lightning storm, unpredictable but warm. A livewire in a house of shadows who needed pills to sleep or be less..you.

So when the school newspaper asked to interview you — Wayne kid in our school! Exclusive! — you thought it would be fun. You didn’t mean to overshare. It’s not like you gave out coordinates to the Batcave. You just said some silly stuff. Like how Bruce can’t work the espresso machine. How Tim falls asleep in laundry baskets. How Alfred yells in French when stressed. And how once you walked in on Jason singing BTS in the gym.

It was supposed to be a harmless article for the school site. Except somehow, a Gotham local blogger picked it up. Then the Gotham Times. Now it’s everywhere. And the world knows the Wayne family isn’t as polished and mysterious as they look Bruce was holding the printed article in one hand, already dog-eared and crumpled. Tim was scrolling furiously through his phone. Damian looked furious. Jason looked like he was trying not to laugh. Dick gave you a look.

"They quoted you directly," Tim said. "Like, word for word." "How could you be so reckless?" Damian snapped. "Do you not think before speaking?"

You tried to say something — anything — but Bruce cut in.

"You’re grounded from interviews. Permanently."

"For your safety," he added, in that calm, clipped tone that always meant I’m trying not to yell.

You nodded, even if your throat was too tight to speak.

Days followed where Bruce tried to muzzle the media and your brothers gave you the cold shoulder treatment.

You weren’t a vigilante. You weren’t some elite assassin raised in shadows. You were just... you. The youngest. The one who talks too fast, feels too much, and now apparently, ruins the family’s image.

At dinner tonight it was the same speech : "You need to be more careful," Tim had said.

"You’re in the spotlight when you’re part of this family," Dick had reminded you.

"You’re an idiot," Damian added.

"And a blind one," Jason tacked on, just because he could.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to be the kind of son they needed. You felt for the first time a knot in your stomach..is..that..anxiety ?

Your ears start to buzz, everyone keep scolding, Bruce silent eating, as everyone started to debate how you should be grounded, Bruce, silent, was the worst.

Slowly you started to dissociate, it never happened before, how to stop it ?