Chapter Text
May 15th 2018
Jason and I went on a solo patrol mission today. Well, it wasn’t really solo as much as it was just, without B, which is about as solo as he’ll let Jason do. We didn’t really do much crime-stopping, but we bought a bunch of food and handed it out around Crime Alley Park Row. Jason makes me call it Park Row.
I can still hear his voice telling me on one of the rooftops.
“It’s Park Row, say it with me, C, PARK ROW!”
He’s still working on his BatGlare™, but one day it’ll scare the begius out of the justice league, just as mine does-
“Damian!” A knock came from his door, making him shove the diary under his pillow in a panic.
He was losing his edge. A simple knock had startled him.
He opens the door with a scowl already in place.
“What?” He asks his brother flatly.
“Have you seen my camera? I need to get my latest photos into my computer so I can-”
“Timmothy,” Damian pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why must you bother me with such trivial nonsense?”
“It’s not as if you were doing anything important.” Timothy leaned toward the gap in the door.
Damian shifted immediately, blocking his view. “Tt. For your information, I was studying, which is much more pressing than trying to find your missing camera.” Damian scoffs, “I have an anatomy quiz tomorrow.” He moves to shut the door, but stops. “Try checking in the kitchen. I believe I saw it there last.”
He closed the door in time to see his brother’s wide smile and rush off to the kitchen. Damian shook his head, thoroughly annoyed by his brother’s intrusion, and returned to his bed. He retrieved the diary from beneath his pillow and continued reading. At least the page had the decency not to ask him idiotic questions.
He’s still working on his BatGlare™, but one day it’ll scare the begius out of the justice league, just as (haha) mine does, and B’s does.
I tried texting Dick today. He left me on read. I guess I need to visit the Titans later. No, no, I should give him his space. That fight he had with B during Christmas was pretty bad. I hope he considers coming over for Jay’s birthday. He practically worships the ground Dick walks on whenever he comes over. I know it’s really early to be asking, but knowing Dickie, I’ll have to start trying to convince him to come over early.
I think that’s all of my thoughts right now. Maybe I’ll come back later and write more.
- J
May 30th, 2018
I-
“Master Damian?” A slight rap accompanied Alfred’s voice on his door. Damian suppressed an eye roll, hid the diary under his pillow once more, and opened the door.
“Yes, Alfred?”
“I just wanted to see if you shall be studying for the rest of the night, or if you shall be coming downstairs and having dinner with the rest of the family.” Alfred's slight smile dropped for just a moment as he turned on his heel and walked away. “Even Master Jason is coming to tonight’s dinner. And I suspect he and the rest of the family will be for the rest of the week.”
Of course, today was Saturday. Saturday was her birthday. No one in this family was foolish enough to forget it.
–
Cass knows almost everything about her family.
Dick hides his feelings behind the face he shows the world. Jason loves his family enough to die for them, even if he acts like he doesn’t care. Tim works too hard because some part of him still believes he has to earn his place here. Damian trusts them all now, and that frightens him less than it used to.
Cass knows about her. She doesn’t know much, but she knows that her once-sister has left a hole in everyone’s hearts, even the ones she hasn’t met. She sees it everywhere: in the way Dick stares too long at the old family photos, in the books Jason still cannot read because she used to read them to him,, in the search Tim pours himself into, checking and rechecking that she hasn’t appeared somewhere in their world, in the way Damian disappears into his room with her diary tucked under his pillow, and in the empty suit case that speaks volumes more than words ever could.
Cass feels the absence, too.
Not only because the family aches around it, but because she cannot help imagining what it would have meant to have another sister. One who would understand what it meant to be shaped into a weapon. One who might have understood without needing it explained.
She could talk to Damian about that, if she wanted. He would understand parts of it. But it is different with him. He is younger. He came later.
There have been many deaths in her family.
This one stayed.
–
Tim knows that no one in his family stays dead, especially if no one found the body. He knew this when Bruce was trapped in the timestream.
But death is the only logical option for what happened to…her.
He knows almost everything about her, and nothing about her.
He’s seen the footage more times than he thinks even Bruce has. He doesn’t think Bruce would be able to handle it, especially this close to her birthday.
He took pictures of her. Leaping across the rooftops with Dick, Jason, or Bruce, solo patrols where she would talk to the working girls, genuinely interested in their stories, and the week before Jason died, on her last patrol before she died.
He never showed those photos to anyone. It felt that if he’d shared the only photos he’d had of her, then he’d lose the only thing he’d remembered.
Everyone in the family knows the unspoken rule: don’t talk about her and don’t ask any questions. You aren’t ready for them.
He remembered the one time someone did ask questions, 2 years ago. Right after one of Jason and Bruce’s biggest arguments. Everyone knew what it was about. But no one interrupted, not even Dick, afraid to have Jason or Bruce’s anger directed at them. Until Steph walked into the room, sensed the tension, and saw the photo that Jason had thrown on the floor in a rage.
“Whoa, what happened to her?”
It was one of the only times outside the mask that Tim was genuinely scared for his friend’s life. He still remembered the relief he’d felt when Jason, instead of punching Steph like he looked like he was going to, punched the wall so hard he made a hole, and walked out the door. Red Hood’s death toll was high for weeks after that.
It wasn’t really about the question. Tim knew that.
It was about a ghost that still lived in the Manor, in every room and every person in it. It was about ten years of silence pressed so tightly over a wound that even the slightest touch could still make it bleed.
The hole in the wall was still there.
No one had fixed it. No one talked about it, either, just like no one talked about her. But every time Tim passed it, he thought of all the things this family left broken on purpose. The wall. Jason. Bruce. Dick. All of them orbiting around a name none of them could stand to say aloud.
He looked down at the photograph still clutched in his hands. The only one he’d printed out. The edges were bent now, worn soft from years of being hidden and handled in secret. In it, she was looking in the direction of the camera, caught in a crouch, looking over the city she protected. It was the clearest photo he had of her. He held it to his chest, as if she might vanish the second he let go.
Maybe that was the cruelest part.
For everyone else, the photo would have been grief. A wound. A warning. A silence so old it had settled into the bones of the house.
But for Tim, it was proof.
Proof that she had been here. That she had laughed and fought and lived and loved before Gotham swallowed her whole. Proof that he hadn’t imagined the shape of her absence.
He slid the picture back into its hiding place with careful hands.
No one in this family stayed dead.
Deep down, Tim knew that.
But as he turned off the light and let the room fall into darkness, he had to admit the thought he never said aloud:
5 years was a long time, and sometimes people don’t come back.
And some holes never stop being empty.
–
Duke had only been in the manor for six months, but even he could feel it.
Something was off.
Not in the usual Wayne-family way, where the house always seemed one bad memory away from exploding, but heavier than that. Like everyone was carrying the same secret, and no one had bothered telling him what it was.
It wasn’t usually obvious: a chair no one sat in, a joyful remission that suddenly turns somber and cut off, the way everybody went strange and sharp when some reporter called Dick Bruce’s oldest son.
But this was different.
The tension felt heavy. Suffocating. It felt like he and the rest of his family were drowning in it. And Duke wanted to help. That was the problem. He just had no clue how
He wanted to ask someone. But he didn’t know who.
His first instinct was Dick. Dick usually knew what was going on, and Dick would probably get that Duke was only trying to help, right?
Only one problem: Duke had no idea where Dick was.
And he was lost.
He’d never been in this part of the manor before. It seemed…older, somehow—quieter, too, like even the dust here knew not to make noise. Duke slowed as he walked, a weird knot tightening in his stomach. He had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here.
It was worse when he saw the photo. It was impossible to miss; it sat in a frame, floor-to-ceiling.
Bruce was in the center, seated, looking younger than Duke was used to seeing him, a small smile on his face like he’d been caught off guard into it. Dick was leaning against one side of the chair, all bright grin and easy confidence. Jason was on the other side, younger too—young enough that Duke guessed it had to have been before he died.
There was someone behind them, leaning against the chair. He shuddered, feeling like she was watching him from inside the frame.
She appeared to be caught post-laughter, her sharp canines gleaming. Her hair was brown, so dark it was almost black, with a white patch that mirrored the one Jason had now, along with several white strands mixed in. She had dark skin accented by a redness in her cheeks and pale patches scattered across her face and, presumably, the rest of her body.
But it was her eyes that caught him.
Pale blue. Bright and cold and intense enough that Duke felt pinned where he stood.
He didn’t know who she was.
But suddenly he was sure.
This was it.
She was the hole in the house.
“What are you doing here?”
Duke had never turned so fast in his life.
Jason was standing far away, not entirely in the hall, but his voice carried clearly, and Duke could feel his heart thumping away in his chest.
“I-uh-um,”
Smooth, Thomas.
“Duke?” He tilted his head, a scowl on his face.
Duke gulped.
“Do you have something you want to tell me?”
Duke swallowed. “I got lost.”
Jason just looked at him.
It was the kind of look that made Duke immediately want to start confessing to crimes he hadn’t committed.
“I was looking for Dick,” he added quickly, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. “I thought he might be up here. I thought you were in the cave.” Punching things, Duke did not add. Processing your emotions in the world’s least healthy way.
Jason sighed, “I was, but I needed a break.” Then he jerked his head down the hall. “Come on, I’ll help you find Dickiebird, so you don’t end up in the attic.”
“What’s wrong with the attic?”
“It’s cursed.”
Duke couldn’t tell if Jason was joking or not, but he weighed his options. Go with murderous sorta-brother to find other sorta-brother and possibly get some questions answered, or stay in the hall and get stared at by a possibly alive photo.
He chose the first option.
None of them said anything for a while. The manor was too quiet, and Duke was already on edge from the photo, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. And how Jason looked when he’d found Duke. Not angry, which Duke was glad for, but he looked…tired, which was somehow worse.
The question burned in his mouth until he couldn’t hold it anymore.
“Why were you in that wing?”
Jason’s steps slowed.
For a second, Duke thought he just wasn’t going to answer.
Then Jason said, “I was trying again.”
Duke frowned. “Trying what?”
Jason stopped walking.
Duke stopped, too.
Jason kept his eyes on the floor for a beat, jaw tight. “I can’t go in there. Not really.” He let out a short laugh without humor. “Same way I can’t go to her grave.”
Duke could hear the frustration in Jason’s voice and subconsciously moved away from him.
Jason glanced at him, then away again. “She’s buried next to me, you know that?”
Duke blinked. “What?”
“Yeah.” Jason’s mouth twisted. “Dick told me after I got back. Told me our funerals were together. Guess we died close enough for a two-for-one special.”
The joke fell flat.
“You aren’t mad?” Duke hesitantly asked.
Jason let out a dry laugh, and he leaned against the nearest wall. “Me? Mad? Never.”
“I thought you were gonna kill me,” Duke admitted before he could stop himself.
That got a short huff out of Jason. Almost a laugh.
“Yeah, well. A couple of years ago? Maybe,” he crossed his arms, hands gripping into the opposite biceps. Duke had seen him do that a few times in the months he’d known Jason, enough to figure out what it meant.
Jason was uncomfortable.
Before he could redirect the conversation, Jason continued. “The one time anyone asked a question…didn’t end in sunshines and rainbows.”
Duke hesitated. “Didn’t you punch a hole in the wall?”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. But when Steph asked, it wasn’t just me who freaked; everyone had acted like she’d tripped a land mine.”
Jason scrubbed a hand over his face. When he spoke again, his voice had gone flatter, rougher around the edges.
“Nobody says her name. Nobody asks. Nobody even looks too hard, because then they’d have to deal with it.”
He looked down the hallway they’d just left, his fingers tightening where they were tucked against his arms.
“With her.”
Jason laughed once under his breath, bitter and tired. “This family’s got a real talent for pretending if we don’t say something out loud, it can’t hurt us.”
He swallowed.
“And I’m tired of it.” His voice cracked, and his eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “I’m tired of her turning into this—this thing nobody touches. Like she’s some haunted room in the house instead of a person.”
He looked at Duke then, and for one raw second, all the usual bite in him dropped away.
“Instead of someone who was here. Who lived, laughed, loved, so much that she infected everyone with her fucking joy of life, and everyone in this motherfucking house acts like she didn’t exist. Like she wasn’t my sister.”
Jason looked away.
“She mattered. And I’m not gonna act like saying her name is worse than losing her,” he muttered.
The hall went silent again.
Duke barely trusted himself to breathe.
After a moment, Jason pushed off the wall, all that openness closing up almost immediately. “So if you’ve got questions, ask them. Somebody should. Might as well be you.”
Duke stared at him. What did he even say to that?
“So tell me, sunshine, you got any burning questions?
Duke looked back the way they’d come, toward the hidden wing, toward the girl in the photograph with the impossible eyes.
Then he asked, softly, “What’s her name?”
Jason went still.
When he answered, his voice was quieter than Duke had heard it throughout the whole conversation.
“Jackie.”
Jason said it so quietly that Duke almost thought he imagined it.
Then Jason looked away, jaw tight, and started walking again.
–
Jason hadn’t said her name out loud in years.
Not since his argument with Bruce, where her name had been thrown around like candy because some sick part of him liked every time he’d winced when he'd said it.
The argument echoed in his mind like a song on repeat.
“DO YOU EVEN WANT ME AROUND? I BET YOU WISH JACKIE CAME BACK TO LIFE INSTEAD OF ME!”
He shook his head, trying to get that day out of his mind. He tried to think of something happier, but everything made him keep coming back to the argument.
Fuck, he needed to hit something again.
Ding!
His phone buzzed annoyingly in his pocket, and he took it out, seeing a string of texts from Babs.
Babs:
Hey.
I know this is a hard time for you.
But I have something that might make it better.
Come to the Clocktower as soon as you can.
Well, that’s not suspicious at all.
Jason:
K
I’ll be there soon
Then he pocketed the phone and headed for the garage, already annoyed and curious in equal measure. He snagged his helmet off the counter and was halfway to the bike when a voice came from behind him.
“Where might you be off to, Master Jason?” Alfred asked as he put his helmet on.
“Clocktower. Babs wants to give me something. I’m not sure what it is, but it sounded important.” He says as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Be careful, Master Jason,” Alfred said, and Jason could hear the knowing smile in his voice even without looking. “And do be home in time for supper. I shall let Master Bruce know where you are if he asks.”
Jason gave him a two-finger salute and kept moving.
When he got to the Clocktower, Babs was already there. Of course, she was already there. Babs probably clocked him on traffic cams and had his ETA down to the second.
“What’s up?” He asked as he walked in, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm.
“I’m sorry, Jason.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. That wasn’t expected.
Jason quickly looked around for a sign of an intruder, eyes flicking to the ceiling, shadows, and windows, and looked back confused when he found nothing. No blood, no ambush, no assassins dropping from the rafters to slice his head off. “Uh, Babs, unless you switched teams and there are a bunch of ninja assassins waiting in the ceilings, I’m going to need more context.”
She didn’t smile. His stomach dropped.
“I kept something from you when I should’ve given it to you the second I figured out that it was you under that mask.”
She reached for a wrapped box on her desk and held it out to him.
Jason took it slowly.
It was small. Light. Wrapped in birthday wrapping paper with rainbows, unicorns, and sunshine. He snorted.
“You do know it’s not my birthday coming up, right?”
“It was for your birthday, 5 years ago. From Jackie.” She said quietly, not looking him in the eye.
The name hit him like a punch he hadn’t seen coming. He almost dropped the package. His throat tightened, and he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“She gave it to me for safekeeping,” Babs went on, voice softer now. “She didn’t trust herself to give it to you early. When you showed up dead, she threw herself into figuring out who killed you.”
For weeks, Babs said she’d kept it.
Then Jackie had gone missing. Presumed dead.
And somehow that made it worse.
Jason’s hands suddenly tightened around the package, and he stared at the box like it might give him answers if he looked hard enough.
“What’s in it?” he whispered, not taking his eyes off the box.
“I’m not sure,” She shrugged. “I never opened it.”
His fingers dug into the paper hard enough to crease it. For one ugly second, anger came easier than anything else. Easier than the ache in his throat. Easier than looking at Babs and asking why she’d kept this from him.
But underneath was something raw and careful and almost painful in how much it mattered.
It was from Jackie.
For him.
Jason swallowed, then looked up at Babs. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”
Babs’ expression twisted, helpless, and sorry all at once. “I don’t know.”
Jason made a sound that could’ve been a laugh if it didn’t make the knot in his chest squeeze his heart tighter.
He looked back down at the rainbow wrapping paper, with its dancing unicorns and smiling sunshines. Figures she would pick that wrapping paper. He held it carefully, like it might break if he breathed wrong.
“Thank you.” He says genuinely.
Babs nodded once. “You’re welcome, Jason.”
Jason left the Clocktower with the box tucked tight against him and a knot in his chest he didn’t have a name for.
He was still angry.
He was also, inconveniently, grateful.
Which was the worst kind of feeling, because it meant he couldn’t just hit something until it went away.
He’d have to carry it instead.
And for tonight, that was about all he could manage.
–
Dick is familiar with pain.
The pain of losing two of his siblings within a month of each other. The pain of remembering that only one of them came back. The pain of knowing, deep inside, that only one of them will ever come back.
But it’s fine, because he can handle it. He can handle it when he sees Tim hide the photo of the sister who would have understood feeling like an outsider in your own family. He can handle it when he sees Jason punching the punching bag like it personally offended him. He can handle it when Damian looks at the empty chair in the house longingly, like he’s imagining someone sitting there. He can handle it… when Cass looks at a room in the middle of the hallway, like she knows why Jackie chose that spot.
He. Can. Handle. It. When Bruce reviewed the footage for the millionth time, still trying to find something he had missed.
He.
Has.
To.
Handle.
It.
Because if he doesn’t, the whole family goes under, drowning in their grief over their lost big sister.
Over his big sister.
The one who would sleep in his bed to comfort him on nights he couldn’t sleep when he first moved in with B.
The one who would make birthday cakes and wrap gifts in silly wrapping paper because she thought it was funny.
The one who was firmly in neutral ground whenever Dick and B fought.
The one who became a vigilante because she was worried about Dick getting hurt.
The one who would die for the ones she loved.
The one who didn’t come back.
Ping!
His head snapped up, looking into the bathroom mirror. Great, he looked awful. His cheeks had tear stains, his hair had decided to be dramatic, and he had, in a moment of terrible judgment, bought the shampoo Jackie used to keep around before she died.
He stared at himself for a moment, sighed, and looked over to his phone on the bathroom counter. The screen lit up with a notification.
Reminder:
Dinner in 5 minutes
Of course it was.
He picks his phone up gingerly and checks the family’s trackers. Everyone was home—even Jason. This was happening whether anyone wanted it to or not.
He breathed in and out, trying to calm his pounding heart. He splashed some water on his face and dried it, hoping that would get rid of the tear tracks. He fixed the makeup under his eyes as best he could.
Okay, he could do this. He could break the tension that always gathered at these kinds of dinners.
After his mini-mirror pep-talk, he plastered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes on his face and walked out of his room, steps heavy the entire walk to the dining room.
Dinner was, expectedly, awkward.
Not the screaming kind of awkward. Not tonight. This was the quiet kind, the kind that settled over the table like fog and made everyone move too carefully. The kind where every fork scrape sounded too loud.
Dick took his seat and tried to look normal. Which, honestly, was already a lost cause.
He glanced around the table. Tim was poking at his food like it had offended him personally. Cass sat straight and calm, but her eyes kept drifting—not to the food, not to Bruce, but to the space at the table. Damian looked tense in that way Damian got when he was pretending not to be tense. Jason had the posture of a man who was this close to getting up and leaving, or starting a fight, and Bruce looked like he had already spent three hours deciding whether he deserved to be at the table at all.
He forced himself to relax and remember something that would cheer his family up, or at least get them out of their own minds.
“So, Tim, did you take any cool photos today?” Dick asked much too brightly, taking a bite of her favorite food. Acting like the meal doesn’t burn him inside.
Tim blinked like he’d been yanked out of a bad dream.“Huh? Oh, um, no. Not really.” Tim pushed his food around his plate.
“Oh, inspiration didn’t strike you today?”
“Mm.” Tim stabs something on his plate a little too aggressively.
Dick tried again.
“Uh… Jason, how’d the drug bust go?”
“You sure you wanna ask that?” Jason gave him a look, shoulders dropping momentarily.
Score.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t wanna know.” Dick gave a wide smile that was bordering on manic.
Jason snorted. “It went fine. Drug ring, confiscated product, a few people I may have hit harder than necessary, and one very long argument with a guy who thought he could run from me.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened. Just a little. Jason noticed and smiled without any warmth.
“Relax. I didn’t bring the body count home with me.”
Dick really wished he could say that didn’t make the room colder.
“Uhhhh, Cass!” He turned to her, and she tilted his head at him. “If you had to be an inanimate object for a day, what would you wish to be and why?”
Cass shook her head and spoke softly. “You're trying to help, big brother.” She said without sounding accusing.
Dick could laugh in relief.
“Yes, exactly. Thank you, Cass.”
Jason gave him a flat look. “You’re bad at helping.”
“Wow,” Dick said, clutching at his chest in mock offense. “Harsh.”
“It’s accurate,” Damian said without looking up from his plate.
“Traitor,” Dick muttered.
That almost got a real reaction out of Jason—a brief huff through his nose, gone as quickly as it came.
Dick seized on it immediately. “See? Progress. We’re laughing. This is healthy family bonding.”
Cass’s head tilted slightly. “You are being obvious.”
“Me? Never.”
“You are,” Tim said, not even bothering to look up.
Dick leaned back in his chair and lifted his hands. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m being a little obvious. But you guys are all sitting here like somebody died.”
The silence that followed was so immediate and sharp it nearly knocked the air out of him.
Jason’s metal fork snapped in his hand.
Dick froze.
Oh, that was the wrong thing to say.
“I-I was joking.”
“No,” Jason’s voice was rough, like there was a beast inside him, waiting to be unleashed. “You were dodging.
“What do you mean?” His jaw clenched, and he felt a twist in his heart.
“Stop.” Jason set the deformed metal that used to be his fork on the table with a thud. “No. I’m done with everybody pretending this isn’t happening.”
Everyone went still.
Jason stood up suddenly, knocking his chair to the ground. “You all keep doing this, all of you! You act as if no one says it out loud, it didn’t happen.”
Dick hated the way he flinched.
“Jackie was here.” His voice sounded strained. “She was here, and she was our sister. She lived a bright and happy life, and then she was put six feet under.” Jason gripped the table so hard he might’ve left dents as everyone suddenly went rigid. “She’s not some weird family myth.”
No one spoke. Dick looked down at his food, throat dry, blinking tears from his face.
Jason looked up from where he was staring into the table like it owed him a debt and scoffed. “Too much for a nice family dinner?”
Dick looked down at his plate. His appetite had abandoned him completely.
“I just wanted everyone to have a decent night,” he said quietly.
Jason’s expression shifted, just a little—less anger, more exhaustion. “Yeah. I know.”
Tim finally looked up. “Dick, we know you’re trying.”
“Then stop acting like I’m insane for trying,” Dick shot back before he could stop himself.
The words landed harder than he meant them to.
Cass’s voice was soft when she answered. “Not insane. Just running.”
Dick blinked at her.
She met his eyes evenly. “You always run toward people when you are afraid. This time, we need to stop running.”
“We just need space to grieve.” Duke smiles softly.
Jason ran a hand over his face and sat back in his chair. “Finally.”
Damian, who had been silent for longer than usual, set his fork down with precision. “You once said we remind you of her.”
Dick nodded once because he didn’t trust his voice.
“Then explain it,” Damian said. Not unkindly. Just blunt, as always. “If it matters, say why.”
Dick stared at him, then at the rest of them.
Jason looked angry, but not at him anymore. Mostly at the table. Maybe the whole universe. Tim looked tired in that painfully familiar way. Cass watched him like she already knew he was about to break. Bruce hadn’t said a word, but he was listening. Really listening.
Dick took a shaky breath.
Maybe telling them about her would help.
Maybe it was long past time.
–
“Volt?”
“Yeah, Veggie?”
A sigh pierced the comm, no doubt accompanied by an eye roll, “I told you to stop calling me that.”
“What should I call you instead?” Volt leaned on the computer console.
“My name?”
“Alright, Red Vengeance. What’s up?”
“Call MAL. Tell them I’m ready to get out of this fucking universe.”
“Gotchu.” A pause. “Oh, and V?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy Birthday.”